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Daryl wakes up to a hand in his fluffy, disheveled hair; a ghost of breath against his cheeks.
". . . sleeping beauty. . ." He hears someone mutter in a deep, morning-fresh tone, through his dreamlike haze.
The hand runs from his forehead to his cheek, stroking his jaw with calloused fingertips. Odd as it is, Daryl's foreign to this type of soft affection, so he finds himself tilting his head sleepily into the palm of the hand so that it's unknown owner holds him with delicacy.
"Ohoho," comes the reply, husk, quick, and familiar, "you like that?"
Daryl slowly cracks an eyelid and, laying on his side as he is, comes face to face with beautiful yellow eyes, a beautiful mop of grey-like blonde hair, and pretty little blue lips set against an even prettier blue face.
"Chaos. . ?" He groans, not angry or upset- something more like confused. Hazy, better yet. It isn't often that Daryl awakens to see Chaos beside him, shirtless and peaceful. Typically, he is only met with a small note left on the right pillow of his bed, explaining that Chaos had to dart out early for discretion. This is a darling change.
The man before him smirks, putting his other arm around Daryl's back, stroking it gently. "Good morning, My Liege."
It's a tricky thing, this relationship Daryl has with Chaos. Under any other circumstances, he'd be quick to call it love, because, that's what it is in it's simplest term. He didn't want to at first, but he's grown to really care for Chaos; the man was the first to really see Daryl, not King Daryl, not Third King of Illyria, and not the King of Groundwork. He saw Daryl beyond just a title or facade, which was not something that happened when you were any sort of public figure.
Chaos holds Daryl with a casualty that the latter can't truly afford or find elsewhere. He likes his sharp tongue and cutting words, but doesn't mind his exhausted personality, workaholic tendencies, or any of the other less-than-pretty sides he has to offer in addition. He thinks he's beautiful, which is new, and finds him to be entertaining in any circumstance, not just when bedded or tangled up with candles lit. He has the entire world in his hands and yet, he still comes back to this damn castle nearly every night a week, stealing kisses and attention like a criminal Daryl doesn't want to apprehend.
With that kind of tender treatment, Daryl couldn't help but fall for him. Hell, he still can't.
If he knew better, he wouldn't keep entertaining these random visits, illicit touches, hushed whispers, and strong kisses. He shouldn't be corralling with a damn terrorist, not in any way, but especially not with this much attachment and love but it's his to give and he knows who he needs to receive it. It's so foolish to fold under Chaos' mischievous glimpses and silly comments, but yet, Daryl has found he can't contain himself when with the man; he's finally human and loved and appreciated and he needs to return it all tenfold.
But, of course, what can you say in defense of your heart where Chaos is concerned? "No, no, please! He's a handsome terrorist!"? Please. He's the Third King but he isn't stupid.
It's a schoolgirl-like crush and Daryl has no defense for his heart. It just hurts though- nobody should need to.
Daryl groans out a mix of yawns and approval, blinking sleepily at Chaos. "What're you doing here?"
"Looking at you, handsome."
"Is that right?"
"You should keep that shirt off more often." Chaos grins, gesturing to Daryl's bare chest under the sheets.
"If I did that," Daryl chuckles lightly, "you might not think that anymore. You'd just want me to put a shirt on for a change."
"I don't think I can be sick of lookin' at you like this. Frankly, I'm insulted you could even think of something like that."
"Well, good. I don't want you to be sick of looking at me either." Daryl sighs. The conversation falls into a lull. Chaos puts his head down on one of Daryl's pillows, tilting to gaze at him with unbridled affection. It makes the king want to hold his lover closer and just. . . thank him for his love.
"Didja sleep well, Daryl?" Chaos asks after a moment, tracing little shapes into the muscles on his back.
Daryl tilts his head to press his lips against Chaos' white palm, kissing his pulse point gently. "I did. You stayed this time."
"Oh, I'd stay any time if I could." Chaos sighs, drinking the touches up like liquor.
"I say you can." Daryl argues teasingly. "And I'm the King, so that's really all the permission you need."
"Issat so?" Chaos' eyes gleam. "What about the other two?"
Daryl groans, moving further against Chaos' chest. The hand that cradled his head finds his nape now, rubbing it tenderly. "Let's not talk about Ky and Leo now. Tell me how you slept instead, how about?"
His arm finds purchase around Chaos' waist, his head tucked under the man's chin. Chaos kisses the top of his head.
"Okay, okay. I slept divine last night. I always do when I'm beside you."
"Well then, you'll have to join me more often."
"Lucky me, getting chosen by the king and all." Chaos hums, drumming his fingers along Daryl's spine. He pauses for a moment and then adds, "I would never leave your side if I didn't have to. You know that, right?"
"It's a complicated thing we have, I understand." Daryl mumbles, hiding his frown against Chaos' skin.
"I'm selfish as hell, but I'm not stupid, Daryl. I don't want to bring your reputation down to my level, so I try to keep a distance during the day. The housecleaning services could see me in the halls or smell my perfume on your clothes and. . ."
It's surprising to hear such a thoughtful, considerate statement from Chaos' lips. Most who haven't learned him as deeply as Daryl may write him off as someone who would stir the pot for his own benefit. He would in most circumstances, but for some reason, he's too attached to Daryl to take risks for him. Nobody ever considers him a lover, but he is quite the cherishing man with the right circumstances.
Is it because he's in love with Daryl? Or does he have an ulterior motive?
Well, Daryl doesn't pretend to have the answer to that.
"If your friends knew how you handled me last night, there's no doubt you'd be ruined." Chaos continues.
"And, if I'm ruined, these meetings don't become illicit enough for your entertainment? Or is it that you-"
"If you're ruined," Chaos takes Daryl's shoulders and pulls him away slightly, taking a good look at his face, "then you'll be upset. That's bad enough for me."
Daryl falls silent, his lips taut with surprise. His eyebrows rise, giving his position away.
"Dar?" Chaos asks cautiously, the nickname slipping off his tongue so casually it does something dangerous to Daryl's heart.
"I appreciate your consideration, Chaos," Daryl's brows knit together, "but let me be blunt for a moment, if I may?"
"I'm listening."
"I don't like the thought of being in a public scandal. I've thought about it several times, of course, and it won't stop making me nervous."
Chaos eyes Daryl's lips greedily, his hands slipping back into his hair with an aura of comfort. "But?"
"But, ruin aside, do you know what makes me really upset?" Daryl huffs. "Waking up in a cold bed twice my size, all alone. Waking up with just the lingering touch of someone I care about somehow, even though I shouldn't- waking up feeling hung up and dried out by the man I love."
Love.
He doesn't quite register that word choice until it leaves his mouth, settling over the two of them like a weighted blanket.
Chaos' pupils dilate just so, meeting Daryl's gaze. "Love? Do you mean that?"
". . . I do."
"Me?" Chaos points a hand to his chest, unsure.
"You." says Daryl, simply.
"That is *dangerous*." Chaos looks smug, or, at least, he tries to, but his wide eyes betray him. "Don't tell me that- you'll kill me."
"Is that a good thing?" Daryl asks.
Tentative comes the answer, "I'm thinkin' I might love you too, y'see."
Stifling a surprised laugh, Daryl pulls his arms around Chaos and tugs their lips together. Like clockwork, Chaos only moves his hands to his waist while Daryl finds his way atop him. Chaos' lips aren't soft, but they're sweeter than sugar and two times as addictive as alcohol; no matter how Daryl relents, it's something he keeps coming back to.
In-between kisses, the strawberry-blonde man finds himself murmuring, "That makes this easy, then. If you love me, don't leave my side, hm?"
To which the reply is, "Is that an order?"
They fall back upon each other, chests rising and falling, hands in each others' hair. Daryl's knuckle trails down Chaos' chest; Chaos' hand rests upon the back of Daryl's neck.
"Does it need to be to have you stay here with me?" asks Daryl, catching his breath.
"No." Chaos replies, this time moving his lips to kiss Daryl's jawline. The latter relaxes into his touch. "But you're hot when you're authoritative, if that stands for something."
Another kiss finds its way to Daryl's jaw, trailing from his earlobe to his chin. He can't help but sputter a cavalier laugh.
"Then, you'll stay with me today?"
"I'll stay every morning if it's what you want."
"It's what I need."
"Done."
Daryl collapses against Chaos' chest, allowing the man to wrap his cyan arms around his waist. Unsurprisingly, he does so, holding Daryl ever closer with unexpected affection. Daryl can feel the rise and fall of his chest and hear the sound of his breathing.
It's peaceful, unsurprisingly.
It's possibly the first time Daryl's felt true love in his life.
So, just for a few minutes, he lets himself sleep in, hands tucked against his lover's side in respite and peace.
-
Daryl is late to breakfast.
If Ky and Leo notice how his hair is ruffled up, his eyes sparkle, and his skin is tinted scarlet, they choose not to say a thing. If they notice the absence of his usual necktie, they try to pass it off as a coincidence.
He's very thankful for their consideration.