#cher writes

thinking about how rick hasn’t made out with anyone in a while. he’s too old for it. he hasn’t genuinely made out with someone with tongue and teeth in years.

your form is straddling his lap and he’s drunk off of it as you nip and lick and suck at each others lips, soft groans falling from his throat as he tries to get more of you. palms on your hips tugging you flush against his.

thinking about how at his core, rick believes he’s a greedy, selfish lover. because that’s all he wants really, is more. more of you, more of this, more of everything that comes with you.

he wants more of his tongue down your throat, even when he physically cannot angle either of your heads so he can reach any deeper.

he wants more of your hands tugging at his hair- he wants you to tug harder even. he wants you to tug hard enough that strands are yanked from his scalp.

he wants more of your skin under his palms. he wants to feel the warmth of your flesh under his and leave bruises in his wake so that he knows he was there.

he wants more of your kisses. he wants his lips swollen with you. he wants to kiss you until his lips are raw.

and thinking about how the area around your lips are shiny from how he’s been licking into your lips and further.

thinking about how fucking hard rick is from all of this.

he’s so hard that it physically hurts him. it aches in ways that have him knocking his hips up into yours while his tongue is down your throat.

you whine into his mouth and it’s all he can do to tug his belt off and chuck it across the room. he can’t even get his pants off all the way- he doesn’t even know if he wants to. down his thighs is good enough to fish out his cock.

he doesn’t even get the chance to spit into his own palm before he feels it. the glob of saliva that falls from your lips straight onto the flushed tip of his cock.

his eyes flutter. his mouth drops and the neediest sound he’s ever made tumbles out. his hips jut up into the air, your spit still on his dick. oh please he needs more of this for the rest of his life.

he’d be so good. he’d do anything and everything to fill the rest of his life with this. one life isn’t enough. he needs there to be more lives. more lives to fill with you and this. it’s not enough and he’s not too old for this sort of thing.

his fist pumps frantically around his cock, your spit making it smoother and better. is it possible for someone else’s spit to be better than his own? rick doesn’t know, but his dick certainly does.

and all the while, you’re still perched on his lap, straddling his thighs and watching with lust drunk eyes as he strokes himself to the sight of you.

please take mercy on him. he’ll take anything that’s not his own fist, please, he needs it.

and you must be able to read him, because you’re guiding his hands to your belt. his cock twitches in dismay at its abandonment, but his hands are too busy yanking and tugging until your belt joins his somewhere. you kick your jeans down your legs and his mouth is watering.

you guide his cock where you want it and he whines.

your voice is quiet when you tell him he’s not allowed to put it in yet. you’re breathless but he clings to it like an order.

rick whimpers. but you never said he couldn’t do anything at all.

and so with an uncomfortable amount of restraint, he knocks his dick against your crotch, angling himself so he slides against you in a way that feels oh so heavenly.

over and over and over and over again.

and it’s killing him. it’s genuinely testing every bit of his self control, but true to your wishes, he doesn’t put it in despite how every instinct in his body screams at him to bury himself balls deep in something tight and warm and wet and-

he really thinks you like to torture him. that you’re making up new ways to keep him in agony as you go. because now he’s got your voice in his ear cooing just the tip baby, can you do that for me?

and he really does intend on that. he intends fully on just popping the tip into your tight hole and thanking his lucky stars that you even let him do that much. that you're so good to him, even if it's absolute torture.

but it doesn't work like that, does it? all the self control in the universe can't stop the way he goes downright dumb once he pops the head in. you know it right then and there that he’s not gonna stop there. that he can't stop himself from driving the rest in deep, from squeezing his eyes shut and moaning with how good you feel.

and he has so much he wants to say. he wants to give you every word that could possibly make you understand how goddamn good you make him feel. how you make all the stress and every overwhelming emotion go away. how you make it all better.

but the words lodge in his throat and all he knows how to do is grunt, plant his feet, and hilt himself again and again and again.

and maybe that’s all he wants to do anyway. that would be just fine, wouldn’t it?

 “Well, I’ve got a Geometry test this Friday, so aside from Hellfire I can look forward to inevitably bombing that! unless Suzy can coach me through my study guide.” Dustin shoots back in an ironically chipper tone.

 Steve lets out a breathless laugh as he turns around  “Hey man, at least you have a smart girl in your life to help you with stuff like that,” 

Dustin playfully raises his eyebrows at him, “Oh…You mean someone like Nancy?”

“Cut it out Henderson, I just meant that you’re lucky is all. Nancy and I barely-”

Steve is abruptly cut off by Robin poking her head into the open passenger window,

“Oh, we’re talking about Nancy again?”

“-Jesus Robin, maybe a hello or something first?!” Steve scolds, startled by her abrupt appearance.

“Oh, I’m Sorry! it just seems like every time I see you the first thing I hear about is Nancy this, Nancy that-“ Robin teases, knowing how easy it is to get a rise out of him.

Steve quickly shuts down Robin’s heckling, starting to get irritated and slightly raising his voice, “seriously? you’re gonna join in on this with him now? I’ve moved past it. Are we clear on that? Now get in, I don’t want to be late for work.”

Robin looks over at Dustin, the both of them grimacing, silently communicating that they both knew they set Steve off for real this time.

The drive to Dustin’s house is uncharacteristically silent. Steve hits the brakes just in front of Dustin's driveway, saying nothing, but promptly unlocking the car.

Dustin tries to cut through the tension, “Thanks for the ride man, I’m-uh sorry for bringing her up...just joking around y’know…” Letting out an awkward laugh as he opens the car door.

“Don’t worry about it, I know you and Robin aren’t being serious, and I’m sorry for kind of acting like a dick about it.”

Steve pursed his lips, pulling them into a half smile. He felt obligated to apologize despite the fact that his friends' constant teasing was starting to take a blow at his confidence. The second Dustin enters his house, Steve hits the gas, eager to get to Family Video. Robin looks over at him to notice he now has a concentrated expression. Although curious, she decides it’s best to save any conversation for when they get to work, when things have simmered down.

It’s a fairly slow shift for both Robin and Steve, having very few customers to attend to. The only responsibility left for them to focus on is stocking the shelves with new inventory. Steve hovers over the horror movie section, mindlessly holding a tape as his thoughts wander. Robin and the kids making his love life a punchline had him considering all sorts of ridiculous schemes, literally anything to prove to them that he was over Nancy and still in fact, had game. He already had his sights set on someone, but he would keep that to himself until he knew he could convince her to agree to his heinous plan under the guise of a “joke”. His contemplations are cut short by the chime of the store entrance, looking up to see (Y/N) walk right in, as if he manifested her presence at this exact moment.

Steve’s eyes light up the second he sees her, quickly stepping over to the register, “(Y/N)! Long time no see! In the market for some movies?!”

She was startled by Steve’s intense greeting, although happy to see him outside of the school parking lot for once.

“Well, people come here to rent movies, right Harrington?” She chuckled, looking at him with a bright smile.

“Uh-yeah, usually. You know I was hoping I’d run into you actually.” Steve admits, looking down, rubbing the back of his neck. (Y/N) didn’t think anything of what he had just said, assuming it was a typical favor a distant acquaintance might ask.

“Oh yeah? You looking for a new job or something? I mean I could put in a good word for you at the high school-“

“No, I’m not asking for any favors like that! Well, it kind of is a favor but-oh geez, this is going to sound extremely idiotic at best….” 

Steve leans over the counter lowering his voice, so Robin won’t overhear his outlandish proposition, “I was thinking that maybe you could help me out with this sort of…prank I have planned out. I would need you to pretend to be my girlfriend for it to make sense...” Steve trails off, looking up at her, brows scrunched as he chews on his lip. He thinks he’s already blew his shot, but before he can dwell on his nervousness, (Y/N) leans into the counter, inches from Steve’s ear,

“Really? Well tell me, what’s in it for me if I play along with this so-called prank of yours?” 

Steve’s face grew hot from the closeness and playful tinge in her voice.

“Whatever you’re comfortable with really, I mean I’d take you out of course, buy you dinner…you name it.” He held his breath, waiting for some sort of response. (Y/N) straightens back up, arms crossed, looking him up and down. a few moments of silence floating past. 

“Eh, what the hell, you’ve got yourself a deal Steve Harrington!”

Steve’s eyes widened in shock at the lack of convincing it took for her to oblige him.

“Wait, you’re actually agreeing to this?”

She shrugged at him, trying to hold back the grin forming on her face.

“Why not? Sounds like free entertainment to me. You and I would look pretty good together I think. Also while I’m here can you like, actually help me find a movie?”

She motions him to follow her over to the horror section, and he trails closely behind. Robin peers over from the edge of the sci-fi aisle, confused as ever after eavesdropping on the entire interaction the two of them had just had. Biting her tongue, she continued to organize the tapes, not sure whether to be embarrassed or impressed at Steve’s boldness. He sends (Y/N) off with a copy of Body Double, feeling giddy that his stupid plan went over so well. As the night came to a close and he was finally home, Steve found himself tossing and turning in bed. His head is filled with potential scenarios between (Y/N) and him. He pondered over how much she would be willing to commit to this act…How much would be allowed. Eventually he is able to silence his somewhat salacious fantasizing, and knocks out for the night.

Friday rolls around in a flash, and yet again Steve is driving Robin and Dustin home from school. He has to contain his excitement for the “date” he has planned with (Y/N) as well as the satisfaction of finally telling the gang he’s won the affection of someone new, or so it would appear.

“A girlfriend?! No way! Well good for you man.” Dustin commends Steve, Robin side-eyeing both of them.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that yet Dustin, if my guess is right I think this would be their first date.” She smirks, knowing Steve will inevitably clap back.

“No! We’ve been talking for like, weeks. I even met her parents already! This is a sure thing, I’m telling you.” 

Steve cringes at his own haphazard defense but figures Dustin is trusting enough not to question it, and he knew Robin would hyper analyze him no matter how solid of a story he had. After dropping them off, he starts heading toward (Y/N)’s neighborhood, the anticipation making his heart skip. Steve pulls into the driveway, quickly getting out and marching to the front door, ringing the doorbell right away. He steps back in awe as (Y/N) opens the door, wearing a white three quarter sleeve scoop neck top that hugged her figure, tucked into a black silk skirt. Her hair cascaded around her face that was adorned in a bright blush and cherry stain on her lips. Steve doesn’t bother hiding his blatant ogling, 

“Wow…you look amazing.” His compliment earning a smile from her.

“You’re pretty easy on the eyes yourself, Harrington. ” (Y/N) closes the door behind her and grabs Steve’s hand, leading him back to the car. 

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” He hints, backing out of the driveway.

(Y/N) is quite surprised when Steve ends up taking her to a little dive bar just outside of town, the brick building looking aged but brightened by the neon signs surrounding the entrance. She turns to Steve, eyebrows raised and curious,

“Although this is a fun idea, you know I don’t have a fake, right?” Steve chuckles, “What? You nervous? Look, I’ve been here before and they don’t card, you’ll be fine! Besides, I brought you here to dance, not just for drinks.”

 (Y/N) gives Steve a skeptical look, but figures there’s no harm in trying. 

“Whatever you say, baby,” she says in a saccharine tone, Steve taken aback by the pet name. The two of them exit the car and (Y/N) grasps Steve by the hand as they enter the bar. From the looks of the rather youthful clientele, it seemed like no one would bat an eye at the two of them up by the bar. Still, (Y/N) decided to look for a less populated corner for them to sit. She finds a small round table to situate herself and a few moments later Steve sits down, two cans of Miller Lite in hand. Although she wasn’t much of a beer drinker, she went with the flow. She scoots her chair closer to Steve, grabbing the beer. 

“So what made you decide to work at the high school? It feels like we were students there just yesterday.” 

Steve asks, leaning back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other. (Y/N) puts an elbow on the table and rests her face in her palm, sipping her drink with the other hand, “Well, you don’t need a degree and the pay is a little better than most of the work we have around here. I like it a lot actually! The days go by pretty fast since I’m always running errands. I will say though, it is a little weird being on the other side of it after just graduating.”

Steve chuckles at her confession, “Well I think it’s admirable, definitely a step up from scooping ice cream or working at a video store!”

 His self deprecation striking a chord with (Y/N),

 “Cut yourself some slack Steve, you’re doing just fine. I mean, you’ve been through so much more than most people our age and…” 

She stops, worrying that bringing up what happened last summer at the mall would make things tense. Steve looks up at her with vulnerable eyes, feeling a sudden wave of emotion. He was surprised that she was willing to hear about that side of him, the parts of his life that most people brushed off. It was strangely disarming.

“Hey, it’s okay. I appreciate that you don’t pretend it never happened like everybody else. Even my parents act like nothing has changed, but…I’ve moved on from it for the most part.”

He reassures her, trying to put on a brave face and hoping things segue back into something more lighthearted.

The conversation starts flowing more easily as the night goes on, a few drinks in. They discuss movies, (Y/N) being very well versed in the subject, Steve a more casual movie goer despite the fact he worked at the video store. Although their tastes differed, Steve would be more than eager to watch some obscure giallo film or grindhouse shlok if it meant he could spend more time with her. He felt his stomach flutter every time his ludicrous movie theories got a laugh out of her. Suddenly, (Y/N)’s eyes go wide as “Drive” by The Cars comes on, other patrons making their way to the dance floor.

“I love this song! You are gonna dance with me right now, Harrington.”

She gleefully rises from her seat, a hand outstretched to Steve. He obliges, fingers intertwining as she raises their joined hands in the air, leading the way. She playfully twirls around to face him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Steve’s breathing hitches at the contact, slowly lowering his arms to her waist. They gently sway back and forth to the music, their faces inches from each other. Steve’s eyes trail down to her lips, desperately wanting to bridge the gap between them, but his thoughts are halted at the sound of a familiar voice. He looks over to see Eddie Munson, third time senior, strolling into the bar with a few of his goons. (Y/N) turns to look at them, a lightbulb going off in her head. She looks back up at Steve with a smile on her face, ”Hey, Steve?”

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to get distracted, I can be a terrible dance partner sometimes-”

He’s cut off by (Y/N) grabbing his face and pulling him into an intense kiss, making sure there were plenty of eyes on the two of them. It was an electric shock to his senses, something he had wanted to do himself all night. His grip on her waist tightened as she pulled away. He had to remind himself it was simply for show now that they had a familiar audience, but he couldn't help wanting her to do it again.

“That’ll get them talking, huh?” 

(Y/N) laughed, her eyes glistening and reflecting the glow of the green and purple colored lights above the dance floor. They kept on dancing, Steve absolutely mesmerized by her face in the dim lighting. Perhaps it was his slight drunkenness, but he couldn’t stop thinking of kissing her all over right then and there on the dance floor.

He thought about that kiss for the rest of the night. Once the bar died down and he had sobered up, they began the drive back to Hawkins. The ride was rather quiet aside from the sound of the radio and engine. (Y/N) had her head leaned against the window, visibly tired after an exciting but long venture. She smiled to herself, thinking that she could get used to sitting pretty in Steve’s car all of the time, even if it was just to keep up his act. Steve had thoughts of his own, feeling foolish as ever for finding himself under her spell. It felt irresponsible, he told himself that he only wanted to get everybody off of his back, that he didn’t actually want to get this close to someone again, and that despite her playing the part perfectly, there was no way that (Y/N) would be interested in actually dating him. He turns up the radio, trying to drown out his self doubt. A few miles later, they pull into her driveway, Steve making sure to shut off his headlights so he doesn’t disturb her family inside. They both look over to each other, Steve still gripping the steering wheel with one hand. (Y/N) can see the thoughts racing through his head from the look on his face alone. She leans in to give him a light peck on the cheek, quietly opening the car door and whispering,

“I had a wonderful time tonight. Drive safe, okay?”

Steve watches her unlock the front door of her house, pulling out of the driveway once she was inside. He kept replaying the moment in his head on the way home. Was she just being polite? She didn’t have to kiss him goodnight, but she did, even when there was no one to see. Was she just fully committed to playing the role? If only (Y/N) knew how oblivious he truly was, perhaps the coming weeks would have been a lot less confusing for both of them.

As the weeks went by, almost everyone in Steve’s social circle was convinced that the relationship was legitimate, and he had no plans of telling his friends the truth. He took (Y/N) on movie dates, roller skating, and even attempted to make dinner for her. He may have been a subpar cook, but (Y/N) was very flattered by his efforts. Their public displays of affection weren’t slowing down either, (Y/N) finding any reason she could to steal a kiss or have his hand in hers. Every time she was around Steve, she could feel herself wanting to get even closer to him. She felt like their “relationship” was becoming something real, and tangible, but she wondered why he hadn’t made a move yet….surely her hints were coming through? She knew that she wasn’t imagining the new level of intimacy between them. The way their kisses lingered, how he looked at her with longing eyes, listening to every word she said when she spoke of her passions and fears. She desperately wanted to know that he felt it too, but something was pulling at her within, telling her to wait it out. It all came crashing to a head later that week.

Another Friday, another date night. This one more casual than the usual, Steve renting a tape of After Hours and ordering a pizza. As he’s tidying up the living room, the doorbell rings and he drops everything to answer it, knowing it’s (Y/N). He was practically vibrating from his nerves, but he tried his best to mask it when he opened the door.

“(Y/N)! I think you’re really gonna like the movie I picked for tonight,”

She flashes a soft smile at him as she enters his home, the two of them heading over to the living room. (Y/N) makes herself comfortable on the couch, Steve going into the kitchen to grab two plates and dimming the lights in the living room when he returns.

The faint glow of the television lit their faces as Steve popped the tape in, taking a close seat next to (Y/N) on the couch.

“Have I influenced your taste in movies, Steve? Or did you just happen to know this is one of my favorites?” She questions playfully, knowing that it probably wasn’t a coincidence.

“I may have asked around for this particular occasion aha, I-uh I actually did wanna see this one though,” Steve confesses, shuffling around on the couch, trying to get comfortable. He felt a lump forming in his throat as he tried to contain what he wanted to say, stalling for the moment to feel right. His plans to wait it out would be quickly thwarted by (Y/N), as she could sense that he was on the cusp of finally saying what they were both thinking, if she could work it out of him. She could admit to herself that she was just as, if not more stubborn than Steve, but she was going to get it out of him first, regardless. She turns to face him,

“What does this particular occasion happen to be?”

Steve Freezes. She puts him on the spot, and he realizes he’s already been caught. There’s a few beats of silence between them, Steve taking a deep breath before letting everything spill out.

“(Y/N)....There’s been something on my mind a lot lately….I um, I just don’t want to freak you out or anything, but it’s been driving me crazy hiding it from you. I know that this whole thing we’ve been doing is just for show, and maybe you just agreed to it purely for entertainment, or maybe to have a crazy story to tell later on, but-”

(Y/N) grips him by the shoulders, looking him dead in the eyes,

“Steve! Please, for the love of god, just say what you really want to say! You can tell me anything, really.”

“I don’t want to pretend anymore!” He blurts out, looking away for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb.

“I just-I don’t want it to be pretend anymore, okay? The time we’ve spent together has been so wonderful, I can’t remember the last time I’ve had so much fun with someone. I know at first it was just to make me look good to my friends, but somewhere along the way I let myself get so caught up in it….so obsessed with you, that I forgot you aren’t actually my girlfriend.” Steve drops his hands to his thighs, lowering his head in embarrassment. (Y/N)’s hands trail down from his shoulders to clasp his hands,

“Steve….I stopped pretending a while ago.”

He looks up at her, mouth half open. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Wait, so you’re telling me that I’m not crazy?! You feel it too?”

“Yes, Steve. I thought it was obvious. I was just waiting for you to say something!”

Steve’s hands release from hers to dramatically smack his forehead,

“Why didn’t YOU say something?! I was over here thinking you had no interest in actually pursuing me!”

(Y/N) laughs at Steve’s revelation, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms.

“Oh, come on! Was making out with you every chance I got not clear enough? Or, you know, hanging out with you….ALONE! The whole point of your “prank” was for people to see us! I just wanted to hear you admit it first.”

Steve can’t help but laugh and shake his head at his own cluelessness.

“Wow, and I thought I was hard headed! You are something else (Y/N).”

(Y/N) smiles, suddenly pushing Steve down on the couch to hover over him,

“And that’s exactly why you’re….what was it you said? Obsessed with me?”

Daryl Dixon has been pissy the last 20 minutes.

He'd been this way since you’d gone into town on a supply run, you’d checked a house while he went after the deer he’d seen in the yard. Because that was one thing you were coming to terms with in the post-outbreak world: deer and other such animals felt comfortable wandering deep into towns and cities.

He’d come back after a few hours, no deer, but visibly tense.

It made sense. Really, it did. Because if you knew Daryl- which you very well did- then you knew he tended to get pissy when he came back from anything empty handed. Especially when the aforementioned thing happened to be his bread and butter.

So you'd done the (slightly nonsensical) act of opening your mouth in an attempt to console him.

“You can go back out, I don’t mind-”

The glare he shot you had your mouth clamping shut instantly though, the rest of the sentence be damned.

Anyone could call you dumb, but they could never call you stupid. And you weren’t planning on taking the downright moronic approach of getting further on Daryl’s nerves when he was in a mood. Even with the last few months having been good between the two of you, you'd seen what he was like in said mood before, and you wanted none of it.

Despite the tension, he helps you scavenge for a bit. And honestly? It has you on edge.

He’s aggressive with it. Aggressive in the way he gets when he’s drunk. The tension is thick enough you could cut it with a knife.

Finally- suddenly, even, when your back is turned to him, he groans low, followed by a clatter made only louder in the silence, and he mutters a quick, “Goin’ out.”

There’s an unspoken ‘stay here’.

He’s gone before you can say anything.

It’s not until a good hour later that he comes back. His flannel’s tied around his waist, revealing the toned biceps you hadn’t seen since the warmer half of fall. You can tell he's overheated even from afar.

He’d look damn good if there wasn’t something so unsettling about the look on his eyes.

“Did you-“

“Walkers got it.” He cuts you off. His voice is thicker than usual.

“…You get bit?”

Daryl gives you an incredulous look, “Fuck you askin’ that for?”

“You’re actin' all pissy and weird- you drunk?”

“It’s noon.” He refutes, as if you’re somehow the one that’s acting off.

“Then fuck’s wedged up your ass?”

He’s silent for a long moment, “'llergic to something out here.”

A smile crosses your lips, thinking that maybe some banter would distract him from whatever funk he was in, “Didn’t think you got allergies-“

“Shut the fuck up, will ya?”

You take a step back as if he’d slapped you. Daryl had spoken to you like that before, sure. You’d slapped him for it more than once. But that’d been at the beginning. Back before he’d calmed down a bit and gotten used to being part of the group.

So why the hell was he acting up again?

“You’re so sick? Go look in the damn cellar then.” You snap finally, more hurt by his words than you're willing to let on, “Or a bedroom for a nap, fuck if I care. Come back once you put your big boy pants on.”

He grumbles something that has you setting down your cans a little rougher before he disappears to the cellar.

You’re not exactly sure how long passes, but the clatter of something in the cellar followed by several grunts has you on guard.

Walker! it's a walker! your brain screams. And no matter mad you are at Daryl, you’re rushing down before you can even fully process it.

But it’s not a walker. It’s Daryl leaned against the wall, pants shoved down around his thighs.

His hand is pumping feverishly around his cock, which in turn is bucking up frantically. His mouth is open, panting shallowly, drool leaking from the side of his chin. He hasn’t seen you yet, eyes squeezed shut as he huffs out a ‘please, please- oh fuck- please’.

Your jaw goes slack. Your hand does too, weapon clattering to the ground.

His eyes shoot open, pupils blown and glossy with tears, staring directly at you.

He cums.

There’s so fucking much of it. You’re not trying to notice, but it’s impossible not to. And you can’t look away.

He’s barely done cumming before he’s practically crying for you, one hand still on his cock, the other trying to push himself up. You have a feeling that if he couldn’t stand, he’d crawl.

It grows increasingly more obvious with every passing second that something is definitely, very not right with him.

“Please, you gotta-“ He rasps, “I don’t- I can’t.”

“What the fuck, Daryl?”

You don’t mean your voice to sound harsh, you really don’t.

But this isn’t Daryl. This isn’t the guy who’ll come by your cell just to sit quietly with you. And while you’d be lying if you said you’d never fantasized about him, you’d also be lying if you said you didn’t think there was something wrong.

“‘M sorry- can’t stop.” He’s panting again, “Figured it was- fuck- and walkers- too many. Saw the bush- didn’t think it’d- damnit- didn’t think it’d do this.”

He’s almost impossible to understand right now, babbling on about walkers and some- fuck. It was coming back to you now, something Eugene had said once. A flowering bush that was sort of… well, natures way of ensuring the next generation.

And while it was late fall and surely it had died by now, actively hiding inside the bush was likely enough for any lingering effects to get pushed onto Daryl.

“C’mon- don’t make me beg.” He pleads, pushing off the wall shakily.

He makes it a few steps before you catch him, supporting his weight as he grasps at you like a lifeline.

While you’re internally debating on if you can even morally fuck him, he’s actively grinding his sensitive cock against the denim of your jean clad crotch, making downright unholy sounds in your ear.

“Fuck- Dar- cool it a second.” You finally get the words out, trying to push him back for a second.

The lack of friction on his cock for that half a second has him looking like he wants to cry. He’s tugging you back within the second, “Can’t do that- fuck- need it-“

His irises are practically eclipsed by his pupils, a pure, rabid hunger in them. He’s clearly deep in the course of the bush’s effects, ration abandoning him.

“Dar, this is- shit- you can’t exactly want this-“

He scoffs, still grinding, clearly thinking you’re joking, “Can.”

You try to pull away again, but his grip is strong. “Daryl, ‘m serious, you’re like horribly under the influence right now- it’s wrong-“

The way the air shifts is practically enough to give you whiplash.

“But it’s not wrong to leave me like this?” He all but snarls, mood flipping in an instant as he reaches for your belt. He doesn’t unbuckle it yet, but his hands are trembling with the need to, “Gonna leave me down here? Hope it goes down? Tha’s not wrong to ya?”

He’s not wrong. Either way wouldn’t exactly be right… and you’d be lying if you said you wanted to leave him like this.

You cave surprisingly easy, considering all your concerns. But then again, you always do when Daryl’s involved.

His eyes darken further than they already were when you spit into your hand, and a whined ‘fuck!’ all but tears from the back of his throat when you wrap it around his aching cock.

His hips are jutting forward frantically, slipping through the ring of your calloused fingers.

He doesn’t say thank you, despite his earlier pleading. But he’s got his lips against your neck, kissing a sloppy and frantic path down to your collarbone and then further down still.

The hands that had been resting on your belt were finally unfrozen, and he all but threw it across the room, pushing your jeans down, and shoving you against the wall, your face resting against the cool stone.

“‘m sorry, ‘m sorry.” He pants directly into your ear.

You don’t get the chance to ask what he’s sorry about. Because you hear him spit. You hear the slick sound of him jerking his cock. And then you feel it.

The tip presses against the entrance to your hole. And then he’s pushing in, babbling apologies as he bottoms out in a single thrust.

It hurts so strongly that you can barely focus on the way he babbles almost incoherently in your ear.

You’ve never heard Daryl talk this much. Never heard him make this much noise. But he’s so vocal right now, panting and moaning and babbling about how you feel so damn good around his cock.

Its almost enough to distract from the burning pain of the sudden stretch.

He’s humping into you frantically, moaning and groaning incoherently into your ear as he tries to tug you closer. His hands might as well be bruising your hips- you’re sure there’ll be 10 little bruises by the time the effects of that bush wear off.

And that burning is quickly getting eclipsed by the way he reaches so deep and fills you just right and you're gasping as he drives in over and over and over again.

And he's cumming. He's cumming so fast and so hard that you can barely even process it, despite the warmth that fills and leaks out of you.

It's not enough- you don't even get a few moments of deluding yourself that it could possibly be enough to sate the bush's effects because he's already starting to guide you onto the floor.

Whether his legs gave out or yours did first, you're not sure, you just know that the way he's practically on top of you has your mind dizzy with it. All the while, he's breathing out a string of desperate "please" into your ear, the stuttering of his hips still more irregular than not.

He's babbling directly into your ear, not a word of it understandable, only broken pieces of praise and pleading.

And then he's flipping you onto your back, kissing frantically down your chest like he's running out of time to do it. Each thrust is punctuated with a whine, some incoherent babble, and you're cumming so hard it's almost pathetic.

And he's just. Going. Going. Going. Going.

He's going like he's chasing anything he could ever need, and all he has to do to get it is merge himself into you.

With the way he manhandles you into different positions so often, you're half convinced he's just looking for a way to get deeper inside of you. It's all a haze of white hot pleasure, orgasm after orgasm that you're note even sure he's intentionally giving you, but it's just so much that you can't help it.

And then he finds it. That spot that gets him so deep inside that he gives one last stuttered buck of his hips against your ass and he's crashing over that edge.

There's so much of it that he's not even done cumming before it starts leaking out of you. Not a single thought can even begin to form in your head.

Drool leaks from the corner of your lips, eyes glazed as you look back up at him. You're not even sure how wrecked you look, but in that moment, you're sure Daryl Dixon is off ten times worse than you are.

There's maybe the faintest hint of coherence starting to return back to his eyes, but it's quickly overtaken by sheer exhaustion. He tugs you into his arms and you're pretty sure he's just operating based on whatever his scrambled brain thinks would be good right then, because you've never felt Daryl be this clingy with you- not that you're complaining.

But his head is smushed into your chest and his eyes are already shut and it's so Daryl that your chest practically aches.

Sleep's already halfway overtaken you both when you feel it. His cock- which he'd never had the energy to pull out- twitches deep inside you. The soft whine that tugs from him is muffled by your chest, and it's becoming quite obvious that the effects of the bush haven't quite worn off yet like you'd hoped.

He doesn't ask for it though. Doesn't even try to move his hips beyond a few involuntary twitches. He wants to rest- he wants you to rest, though he's clearly having a hard time with that. So you chose to take mercy on him, rolling him onto his back and starting the whole thing back over again.

Daryl wasn’t the kind of partner who asked for much. That was something you’d realized early on in your relationship.

You figured it stemmed from some deep insecurity, or a childhood full of premature self-sufficiency. Whatever the reason, he staunchly refused to ask you for something you hadn’t already offered.

And so when he finally asks for something? You’re tripping over yourself to get it done.

It just so happens that what he asked for was to take pictures of you when you happened to be going at it like rabbits. And technically, he hadn’t asked. More like, heavily hinted that he wanted to do so.

He’s huffing against the crook of your neck, balls deep inside you and babbling on about how good you are to him, how good you feel, and how good you look. And he's going on and on about how pretty of a picture you'd make right then, pawing at your hips to get you closer as he bites down at whatever skin's available to him.

After the first twenty comments on it, you start to think maybe he wants a picture or two. So you leave that in the back of your mind for a time when you're not in the midst of getting your back blown out.

And really, it must be fate. Because wouldn't you know? Rick says he found an extra camera on his last supply run with Glenn.

So you put your plan into action. Not that you think Daryl would be opposed to the idea that he suggested, but you've learned that when you come on too strong, too fast, your lover gets skittish.

He'd brought you home a buck a few days ago. Some had gone to the rest of the community, but you'd gotten first pick. And while you were aware his favorite foods of all time were inaccessible in this post-outbreak world you found yourselves in, you did happen to know his favorite modern foods.

The stage was set perfectly. His favorite meal laid out on the table, fireplace warming the home, and you'd gotten Rick and the others out of the house so that the two of you wouldn't have to worry about keeping quiet.

And fine, maybe the outfit he'd expressed drove him crazy in the past. Whatever, at least your ever oblivious lover would get the hint that you were trying to have sex with him tonight.

"What's all this?"

Speak of the devil- or think really hard of the devil- and he shall appear. Daryl's leaned against the doorway of your kitchen, by the looks of it having already kicked off his boots at the door.

"Date night."

"Y'didn't have to."

"Wanted to."

You keep your responses simple and that's how he knows you have ulterior motives in this. Though he seems satisfied enough in spite of that.

Conversation flows easily enough once you get him sat down, though you lead it for the most part. Daryl seems far too distracted with the way the your shirt brings out... well, everything about you. It affects him in ways that have him eating faster so that he can get to what he knows will come in lieu of dessert.

It's only once the meal is done and you're tidying up the table that he presses up behind you. He doesn't need to see your face to know the grin you're fighting.

"Daryl..."

"Hmmm?" He echoes your tone in response, your name on his lips.

"'m cleaning." You're toying with him now.

His lips press wherever he can reach. "Clean later."

The retort doesn't even get to form on your tongue before he's got his fingers on your jaw, guiding your lips to his.

His tongue probes lazily until you let him in- not that it takes much persistence anyway. Your body turns to face him, one hand going to his hair, the other falling down to his belt.

He nips at your lips in response, a muttered, 'be patient' before his tongue flicks out as a not-quite apology.

"Got you something." You breathe out, not exactly trying to hide your grin.

Daryl doesn't give any indication that he's heard you other than the low hum that sounds from the back of his throat, instead focused on laying kiss after kiss along the column of your throat.

"Daryl." You try again, trying to get him to look up. He doesn't.

A low groan tears from his throat at the sound of his name on your lips. He mouths more urgently at your skin.

"Daryl, kinda need you to see the surprise." You murmur, pulling out the camera with absentminded hands.

With what he'd call a commendable amount of effort, Daryl pulls back, pupils blown and lips swollen.

Click.

He blinks at you with what can only be described as confusion. "Wha...?"

Your lips are on his again before he can finish. A muffled sound that's not-quite protest tears from your lover before he starts kissing back, camera momentarily forgotten in his lust addled brain.

Its only after he goes to grind his hips into yours, that he remembers the camera.

"Y' got us a camera?"

"You looked too good not to."

It's technically the truth- you're going to be revisiting that photo of Daryl with his kiss swollen lips and lust darkened eyes on the nights when your bed is empty and cold, you know that even now. But you're not going to tell him that his 'subliminal hints' weren't that subliminal.

"Bein' greedy with it?"

"Not above sharing."

If it's even possible, his pupils blow wider, and within seconds he's herding you towards your bedroom at a speed that has you giggling the whole way.

And then he's crowding you against the mattress, lips bruising yours and the camera transferred into his own hands. And once you tell him to pose you?

Your clothes aren't even off before he's got you on the mattress, on your hands and knees with your jeans and boxers shoved half way to your thighs, swollen lips, and a dazed, lust-drunk look in your eyes.

Click.

The speed with which he poses you again and again is enough to let you know this was 1000% the right idea. He changes your positions like he's thought about this for god knows how long, and by the time he's got you with your legs spread and you're stretching yourself out with head tilted back, you don't think you've ever been hornier in your life.

By the time he's had his fill of photos- or maybe the camera just ran out of film- he tosses everything to the bed and crawls over you. With all the pictures he's taken, it's easy for him to slide inside you. But when he bottoms out and starts humping into you? You're so lost in him that you barely catch when he starts reaching over.

This prison was… well, a prison.

And unfortunately, it wasn’t a very secure one. Meaning that among the human threats you faced, you also had several undead.

Which led to your current situation. Daryl had grabbed you that morning- long before you had any right to be up, told you to grab your weapon of choice with a shit ton of ammunition and get on some riot gear, because your joint to do list was clearing the halls.

It’d been easy at first. You’d kept your backs to each other, stabbed and slashed and whacked and shot, corpses slowly littering the ground around you. But there was a misstep. From you or him, you don’t know. The effect is the same.

It’s out of control. Fast. And you’re cramming yourselves into a storage closet, barricading yourselves in.

There’s barely any room, and you find yourselves chest to chest. It’s uncomfortable, sure, but not moreso than being torn to shreds and eaten alive. Its only after the growls die down that you start to try the door.

It doesn’t budge.

“Fuck.” The word tears from your lips as a breath, “Dar, help me with this, will ya?”

Daryl gives a quiet grunt as he turns to face the door, fumbling with it as he tries to help before giving a frustrated, “Damnit.”

“We’re fucking stuck?”

“Seems it.” He mutters, pressing his back flat against the wall to try and put some space between you.

Time passes slow. Really slow. You love Daryl, but he’s not your conversation pick. But you know time is passing, because your back aches, and your legs feel like they’re going to give out.

“Dar, my legs are feelin’ it man.”

He grunts. But then he shifts, so that his back is sliding down the wall. There’s not enough room for him to sit comfortably, legs spread and planted on the ground, “No room.”

“Don’t give a damn.” You grunt, sighing in relief as you finally get to rest, sitting on his lap.

And it’s true. You couldn’t give less of a fuck where you had to sit, just as long as you did. Resting on Daryl Dixon’s muscular thighs is just a bonus- not that you’d ever say it.

Your head rests against the wall, the cool of the stone helping you relax. Daryl’s a human furnace, and while it’s not his fault, it’s inconvenient.

You shift your position again. His hands grip tight at your hips.

“Stop squirming.” His voice is low.

“Sorry.” You’re not. You just want to sit comfortably while you wait for your group to realize you’re missing.

Finally, you find that perfect position, thighs no longer screaming at you. Daryl makes a sound under his breath, you don’t catch what he says.

Its almost… cozy. The warmth isn’t unbearable now, and you’re at a perfect rest.

You only realize you’ve nodded off when you’re blinking awake. It’s hot again- unbearably so.

An almost whimper tears from your throat, body now aching. You’re jostled out of your thoughts by the slightest, most barely there movement underneath you.

Daryl groans quietly. You’re still blinking awake when you realize why.

He’s so insanely hard.

“Dar?” The nickname rolls off your lips, questioning.

He grunts, and the bulge against your crotch twitches.

“You moved.” His voice is low, almost raspy. Makes sense, he’s barely spoken this whole time. Once he notices your confusion, he gives the short elaboration of, “Told you to stop. Ya didn’t.”

“‘M sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

It kind of is though, you’re realizing. Personal feelings aside, you’d been squirming on his crotch for a while- it was bound to have an effect on anyone.

“It gonna… go down?”

“Give it a minute, just… stop movin’.”

It does not go down. Probably because you can’t stop squirming.

“Fuckin’- stop.” He snaps, holding your hips firmly in his grasp and lifting you off of his lap. He’s just… holding you there.

The tone combined with the way his biceps flex has you freezing in place, thighs tensing under his large palms as he adjusts his grip. A few unbearable minutes pass, with him keeping you off of his lap the whole time.

His hard on still doesn’t go down, and if anything, you’ve been visibly aroused since you’d woken up.

Your eyes meet his, and though your lips don’t part once, the conversation that ensues is more than enough.

Slowly, he lowers you back down onto his lap, the bulge fitting just right against you.

Daryl groans low when you roll down onto him, clothed crotches knocking into each other. It starts slow, neither of you just yet ready to admit how affected you are.

And then the energy shifts.

Your breathing is harsher in his ear, panting and whining. The pressure of your body against his cock is just right, the cool of the wall grounding him just enough.

He groans your name, plants his feet, and bucks up against you.

The pretenses are dropped just like that. Daryl’s chasing it now. He needs it now- then again he has for a while. Longer than just in this closet.

It’s not enough. This frantic, rutting of bodies through layer after layer of fabric, riot gear half shrugged off and half still on.

But it has to be enough. Because as much as he needs to get your pants down just far enough to bully himself into your hole, as much as he needs the tight, warm squeeze around his throbbing, aching cock, there’s no room for that. And he has to make do with what he has.

And when your lips brush against his? He goes dumb.

Singleminded. Greedy. Trying to get as much of you as possible. An almost embarrassingly high sound pulls from him as he goes back in for another kiss, panting into your mouth like a dog.

His hands paw at your hips. He needs you closer. He needs more. Greedy.

What he’d give to feel your skin instead of the rough, unforgiving bulkiness of the riot gear. Your hands are on his face, cradling it as you kiss him harder, your tongue is down his throat and in this moment all he can feel is wanted.

It’s frantic now. Moreso than before. Just chasing and chasing and chasing that high until-

He’s never cum so hard in his life. Not in his tent after a failed attempt at teaching you to aim his crossbow. Not in his cell to thoughts of you.

It only hits him after he’s come down, chest heaving, unbearably hot with the way the remaining riot gear clings to the two of you, that you’re glassy eyed too. You’re coming down from it too.

He did that for you.

If he weren’t so swelteringly overheated, his cock might’ve responded further to that.

He has a feeling it might be a while till someone comes to help. There’s worse company to have, at least.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to close his eyes… just rest them for a bit.

Rick’s the one who comes to get you. He’s half expecting the worst- that one or both of you had been bitten. That he’ll have to put you and Daryl down.

He’s not expecting to find you both on the floor, you straddling Daryl- presumably from the lack of room, both of your breathing synced up, deep and even.

you can see it in his frame.

he’s always been stressed- everyone is. it’s the end of the world and its all on his shoulders. if anyone has a right to be stressed, it’s him. but it's been worse lately- it always seems to get worse.

and you’ve never been shy about your admiration for the man and all he does for your makeshift family. so when he comes to you one night, eyes dark and face flushed, there’s not a doubt in your mind on what to do.

you’re the first to kiss him- you have to be, it's not like he'd ever really make the first move. it’s a hesitant brush of mouths, but you mean every bit of it.

there’s a beat of nothing, just your lips on his, and then it’s as if a chain reaction has begun. large, rough hands that’ve spilled so much blood- both living and undead- those same hands cup your face almost reverently.

he holds your face so reverently, that you almost wouldn’t know how fiercely he’s kissing you back. kisses with tongue and teeth and a burning that needs not spoken aloud.

the sound that tears from his throat is almost inhuman, almost reminiscent of an animal. and he kisses and kisses and kisses you, until you’re stumbling back against a tree.

it’s stupid, and reckless, and a million things could go wrong over this. but you’re not thinking about that, and he seems to be on top of it anyway, with his weapon sat in the dirt at your feet- easy to grab and dash if needed.

he kisses you like you’re the oxygen he’s been deprived of for so long, soft, low, greedy sounds tearing from his throat. and in turn, you kiss him like he’s the food you’ve needed for months on end.

his hands leaves your face, trailing down to your belt. your own hands reaching for his.

it’s a scramble, frantic and frenzied as he pushes himself against you like it’s the only thing he’s done in the last year that’s been worth a damn. a muttered 'please' in your ear. he asks it like he doesn't already know the answer.

it's faster than you want it to be. maybe it's faster than he wants it to be too.

all you know is that when he cums, its with a desperate groan and fingers gripping your skin tight enough to leave reminders over the next few days.

his hair sticks to his forehead, and with admittedly shaky hands, you brush it out of his eyes. without the hair covering them, the dilemma is present: distance himself or let him have this?

In your most professional opinion, Rick Grimes puts himself through too much.

When he's not going on runs, he's up at the ass crack of dawn to live his life as a farmer. When he's not farming, he's mediating. When he's not mediating, he's working on the prison's defenses. And when he's not doing that? Well, you can't even say for certain that he's sleeping, because with your utmost certainty, you can truthfully say you've never seen this man sleep.

Lay down? Sure, briefly. Sleep? Not so much.

You love Rick, you really do. But it's that love that's made you take these current, drastic measures.

Getting Rick alone was already a task and a half, considering he always wanted to be doing something. You'd eventually had to make up some anomaly in the watchtower.

That had finally caught his attention, the prospect of a new threat too worrying to let him ignore it.

Which led you to phase two of your plan: seducing him.

It was harder than you thought it'd be, considering how easily you'd gotten him worked up in the past without even trying. But as it turned out, Rick Grimes did not appreciate being lied to mislead into briefly abandoning his responsibilities.

"Seriously? This is the anomaly at the perimeter?" He scoffs, though you can tell he's not actually that irritated with you.

Unfortunately, you're about to have to toe the line with that.

"Come onnnnn." You groan, rubbing up against him as you go to wrap your arms around his neck, "You never give me any attention anymore."

A big fat fucking lie, by the way. Rick may be busy, but he's gotten you off more than a few times. Damn if that man wasn't good with his hands.

Rick's jaw sets as he feels your body against his, though his hands make their way to your hips with very little thought, "You trying to make a habit of lyin' now, sugar?"

"You calling me a liar, Grimes?"

He raises a brow, "If the shoe fits so well, then maybe I am."

You can't fight the grin that threatens to spread across your lips, so you turn your attentions elsewhere. Like, for instance, how your hand trails down to his crotch.

Rick calls your name as a warning, your hands fumbling with the buckle of his belt.

You make quicker work of it at that.

"I can't- you know I can't." He tries to reason, but you're watching his pupils eat away at his irises like lust eats away at reason.

"Do I though?" You murmur, tossing his belt to the ground and working on unzipping his jeans. "Way I see it, I convinced Glenn to take over for the next hour."

You watch as he considers the idea. He's seriously entertaining it now.

"Think you'll be satisfied with an hour?"

"I can work with it." You grin, "Come on, Grimes. It's still morning. Just an hour, then you can go back to doin' everything in the entire universe, yeah?"

It's a lie. You're dragging this out longer than an hour. You'd covered for Glenn more than enough times to warrant this. Besides, beyond just owing you many a night's worth of covering for him and Maggie, he was Rick's friend. And as his friend, Glenn had agreed Rick needed the day off.

And if you had to fuck Rick Grimes stupid enough to warrant him forgetting about his responsibilities and take a good sleep after? Well you weren't gonna complain.

Just like that, Rick's pawing at your hips for more. And you're grinning wider, sinking to your knees, taking his boxers to the ground with you.

"You don't-" Whatever your lover was going to say is cut off by your tongue flicking out to collect the already beading precum off his tip.

Rick has to remind himself that you genuinely enjoy giving him head, and that on your knees is exactly where you like to be. Of course, it's not that difficult to do because your mouth on his cock tends to make his mind go blank.

He's a bit of a greedy lover, he thinks, because it doesn't take much for his hands to fist in your hair and guide your mouth further onto his cock. You don't seem to mind, in fact, you relax your throat so easily that it's almost routine. It coaxes him deeper into the warm, wet, tightness of your throat.

The way it constricts around his cock has him seeing stars, and he can't stop himself from bucking his hips.

"Lord you feel too good." He rasps, pressing your face deeper into his crotch, till your nose is brushing against the coarse hairs at the base of his pelvis.

You let him fuck your throat, just like that, until you can feel his balls start to draw up and his thrusts start to get just a bit too frantic. It's impossible to say his name with his cock down your throat like this, but trying anyway is always what gets him. It's the vibrations that send him over the edge.

Rick Grimes doesn't exactly have the dirtiest mouth, but when he's cumming? He could put a sailor to shame, you think. It's as if every word escapes his mind, and with his very limited brain function, it's all he has in him to just say whatever does pop into that head of his.

And normally this is where you'd stop. He'd get you off with his own mouth- or hands, depending on the day.

But you need your lover stupid with it. You need him shaking and on the verge of tears and downright incoherent with it. Because after you're done, you're counting on him passing out, and catching up on some much needed rest.

So you pull off, and move your lips to his (now empty) balls.

"Mmmm, what are you-" He cuts himself off with a hiss, still sensitive from his very recent orgasm.

"Shush." You murmur before going back to your task, popping one of his balls into your mouth and suckling.

He writhes like he's been electrocuted. And yet he doesn't make any effort to pull you off of him.

Rick's head is tossed back, panting harshly and knuckles white as he grips at whatever he can to ground himself.

And finally, he thinks you're giving him mercy. You're not. You've just decided he's hard enough to get him inside you- even if it takes a little effort.

"I don't think-" He starts.

"Shush." You say again, pushing him back against the wall of the railing, starting to tug your own clothes off.

His eyes darken further, if possible. It's like all he can do is stare as more and more of your skin is revealed to him. Each inch of it has him practically salivating, eyes trailing from your collarbone to your happy trail. His pupils follow your hands as you trace them down your body.

"Please." The plea is breathless as it falls from his lips.

You don't think he's aware he even said it, but his cock is twitching again, trying to get itself ready for what he knows is coming next.

You're already past that hour you'd promised him this wouldn't exceed. He doesn't notice, eyes still locked on everything that had been freshly revealed to him. The plan is still working perfectly.

He's almost drooling as he watches you stretch yourself out for him, hands twitching with the need to be the one making you whine and groan. But he's patient. He swears he is. You have to make him sit on his hands.

Good things come to those who wait though. His personal hell is finally ending and you're finally crawling towards him, looking like something out of a wet dream.

He moans low as your hand makes it's way to his hair, tugging it back to force his eyes on you. His body is like a live wire at this point, just waiting for you to sink down onto him and make him forget his own name. Which is the bare minimum of what you intend to do this morning.

The sun beats down on the back of your neck as you lower yourself onto his cock. His hips jerk up before you can finish, causing you both to hiss. Him from sensitivity, you from the sudden fullness.

Rick can feel it all now. It's more intense than any encounter with you in recent memory, so overstimulated that he can feel every throb of his cock in your tight, hot hole. It's so much, too much even. And yet it's still not enough.

You tug at his hair again, the slight pain grounding him as if you'd seen him start to float away. It makes a proud grin spread across your face, sharp and pleased because he's unravelling so much quicker than you've ever seen him do before.

Each bounce on his lap has a whine tumbling from his chest, as if it'd been forced out of him. The grip on your hips tightens- he's close again, you can tell. So you take him there- and then further.

It's enough to make him delirious, he's cumming so hard he's seeing stars. But you don't stop.

If he'd felt like a live wire before, that was nothing compared to this. Because you just. kept. going.

And going, and going, and going until he's cumming again- a feat he didn't even know could occur so soon after his last one.

You watch the drool trickle from the corner of his lips, eyes glassy as you use him to get yourself off.

"One more, jus' one more, baby. Can you do that for me?" You pant into his ear, though you're pretty sure you can see your words immediately go out the other.

He whimpers. You cum.

It's practically second nature to you, to ride him through your orgasm until you're spent. And finally, you feel his balls draw up a final time.

You think Rick's shooting blanks by this point. Rick isn't thinking at all by this point.

You linger for a bit after that, not climbing off of him till he's completely soft inside you. He's still out of it, only the occasional hiss under his breath as you clean his hypersensitive cock with a rag.

He's still pliable, much to your relief. It'll make getting him to a bed much easier.

It's only once you get him into solitary that he seems vaguely aware of his surroundings. But his body practically sobs in relief as he lays on a mattress, the warmth of your body and the blankets surrounding his.

Your quiet giggle is what breaks the silence.

"Wha's so funny?" He rasps, voice barely audible.

"Haven't kissed you good morning yet."

"Should fix that." He murmurs, eyes barely open.

The gentle brush of your lips against his has his eyes shutting. And once you pull away, they don't open.

His breath evens out quicker than you've ever seen it happen and a grin spreads across your lips.