Darryl/Roxie, Darryl/Kat, Darryl/Joanna
With Roxie, it’s fast and desperate and she sits on top of him so those frazzled blond curls drape across his chest. She’s loud, exactly what he expected, but so much better. When she wanders around in one of his shirts, it’s always unbuttoned and he’s terribly glad Fidel is so good at averting his eyes.
“Oh, oh, god, Darryl!” Something about the way she screams his name, her hands pressed to his chest, her back arched and her head tipped back, it makes him smile like nothing else does. She’s so extraordinary, so unusual. He loves watching her work because she pours the same concentration into her art that she does into making love to him. Her lips quirk into a little, pleased half-smile when she is this close to perfection. And then when she gets perfection, when everything is right in her world, he holds her close and somehow she thinks maybe this new start, maybe Darryl taking Chad’s place in her home, her heart, her bed, is perfection in and of itself.
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With Kat, it’s soft and slow and the height of romance. She wraps her arms around him and holds on tight, her eyes closed in bliss as he shows her what she’s been missing all this time. They rarely leave the bedroom even though he knows she has a wild side. No, Kat prefers expensive sheets and classical music because she hasn’t ever been spoiled the way he loves to.
She lounges in his massive bed with nothing but a sheet wrapped around her, a glass of wine in one hand and a square of chocolate in the other, and smiles languidly when he comes in from whatever errand he’s been running this morning. Darryl slides onto the bed on top of her, taking her wine and chocolate and setting it on the nightstand just out of reach before kissing the pout off her lips. Kat grins when he wraps his arms around her, kisses her softly and passionately, and she can’t help thinking that he is the perfect beginning to her single life.
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With Joanna, it’s frustrating and rough and not at all like he expected. She insists on calling him Sebastian, her breath hot in his ear. They aren’t loud, exactly, but he can always feel her just on the edge of screaming at him. She doesn’t trust him, he knows it, he can sense it whenever she’s naked and sweating beneath him, her wrists bound to the headboard.
She tends to be angry when she comes to him. She shows up in the middle of the night, occasionally when one of the others is there, just to spite. She’ll pull him down the stairs to the dining table or maybe to that big picture window with the seat in front of it. Her eyes meet his and he really is helpless to whatever she wants from him. When Darryl holds her afterward though, Joanna always knows he isn’t the bad guy. He loves her. Maybe he’s her fresh start, her second fresh start.