Blood Bourbon

Paralyzed

Daryl was just wrapping the towel around his waist, hanging his clothing up on the towel racks to dry out, when he heard Ryker curse a couple times, followed by the sound of a phone slamming on the table. He pulled the door open and stepped out, freezing when Ryker turned towards him, looking a little more than slightly perturbed.

There was something alarming in the man's expression, something predatory, near primal that drew Daryl to a stop in the doorway, watching the other man cautiously. He waited for his fear to spike, for anything to happen, only to find himself oddly unperturbed by whatever fury Ryker was going through.

Daryl blinked and Ryker was normal, though still incensed about whatever the phone call had covered, watching him oddly. "My clothing is drying..."

He winced internally, knowing he was being a coward by dancing around the rather large elephant in the room. But Ryker relaxed, offering him a half grin as his eyes raked over Daryl in a way that spiked his heart beat. "I'm not inclined to offer you an alternative."

"Is everything alright?" Daryl nodded towards the phone, not wanting to make that grin disappear, but fearing the worst. Though he really couldn't imagine what the worst could be.

"Yeah. My boss is being an asshole." Ryker shrugged absently, before flashing him another grin and turning, walking over to where the last remaining whiskey for him to try was waiting.

Fear seized his heart then. Whatever this ritual with the bottles meant, it was going to be over as soon as he was done. And he had an irrational fear that the reason Ryker was dead set on not sleeping with him was somehow involved. What would end once Daryl told him which whiskey he preferred? The celibacy? Or this... whatever it was.

"Tim?" Daryl frowned then, reaching up to rub his temples, "or the whiskey one?"

Ryker shot him a curious look, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly, "you ever meet Tim, Daryl?"

He shook his head, "no."

Then he paused as he tried to recall the man they were talking about, blonde, well built, tattoos... It hit him and he blinked a couple times as a memory he hadn't realized he was missing filtered back."Uh... yeah... I taught his girlfriend how to line dance."

Ryker's Tim... was Samantha's Tim. The cute redhead who had introduced him to her group of very, very odd friends. Hell, he still got random parcels from the other girl that night, Ferya. Why had he never put two and two together, why would he?

"You what?" Ryker stilled, putting the bottle down and turning to face him fully, arms crossed over his chest, "you know Olivia too?"

Oh, that extremely attractive, flirtatiously dangerous woman who was also Tim's girlfriend. Daryl rubbed his forehead. "Her too. But at first it was just Samantha and Ferya. This was literally the night before I met you in New Orleans. I swear to god I think I was high..."

"Did you sleep with Samantha, Daryl?" Ryker was still glaring at him, though there was a fair bit of confusion on his face.

"Uh... no... Some jackass Rider from the circuit was being a dick, so I helped them out... then some asshole tried to ply me with whiskey... then I taught them to line dance... then... I... oh.." He stopped, looking up to Ryker. "I did sleep with... someone. But not Tim's girlfriends. He hangs out with some really strange people, Ryker."

"Which one of Tim's friends did you sleep with? I didn't even know he had friends." Ryker had relaxed a bit, turning back to the bar, "you don't remember it?"

"Bits and pieces. There are... I was pretty drunk. And I swear the asshole with the whiskey drugged me or something, cause things were... well, really odd." Daryl shrugged and cautiously approached, "then I met you while trying to figure it all out, then I got my concussion."