Daryl followed you, barely able to hold his own hands, keeping them in the pockets of his clearly tight jeans. His blue eyes were fixed on the floor, embarrassment etched on his reddened ears hidden beneath his dark hair. He glanced at the shower door, seeing you open it and gesturing to him, smiling as if you'd suggested a simple walk in the woods.

— What? It looks like you've never seen a shower in your life. - And he doesn't answer, implying that maybe he has, but only a few times, and you laugh even more, making him almost drag himself inside. - Come on, you know what to do.

Of course he knows, and that's why he's nervous.

But then, slowly, he ran his hands under his vest, opening it slowly and sighing heavily. Your eyes drifted down to his black jeans, noticing a wet spot; maybe he wasn't wearing underwear, maybe he had gotten wet... even better. He set the vest aside, placing it on the chair where he was sitting, listening to you lock the bathroom door to prevent anyone from entering. Clearly, you were impatient, but you weren't going to rush him, knowing him well, since he always did things at his own pace.

Soon his shirt slipped down, and his back was against the wall, you know why, you'd already accidentally seen his marks before. His hand went down to his belt, you remember having to undress too, but you weren't too busy looking at him by that, so you just slowly took off your own shirt, revealing your chest, making his breathing quicken even more, hyperventilating.

Not wanting to rush him, you finished undressing and walked to the bathroom, using that shower that was just barely adequate for now, even though the water was a bit cold and low due to a small opening in the pipes. But soon the water felt lukewarm, your body warm because of him, seeing him so exposed.

He pulled his pants down very slowly, revealing that he wasn't wearing underwear, placing his hand lightly in front of his body, since his erection was on display, and he felt the wetness in his palm. His eyes traveled down his body, but he was struck by how shy he seemed, his thin lips slightly parted, his head bowed, that large man turning into a pudding before your eyes.

You reached out your hand to him, smiling slightly, offering him extra comfort, and he reached out his, gently caressing your thumb. You both embraced, pressing him against your chest, feeling the back of his hand brush against your stomach, as he was still hiding. Your hand moved down to remove his, soon feeling the wet tip of his member pointing towards your stomach.

He clearly didn't know what to do now, his erection was so hard that his mind couldn't even function to pull away or react, just letting you move, pressing your chest against his and listening to him whimper. Low, weak...

Your head lifts, looking at his face, his eyes closed, he was so low on you, so fragile, then you gave him a little kiss on the cheek, seeing him pull away slightly, but not too much, indicating that he was starting to calm down, soon feeling another kiss from you closer to his mouth, slowly licking, letting you get closer.

Your face pressed against his cheek, your tongue extended along his chin, slowly, torturously slow tasting the saltiness of his skin, and it made him squint as if a prayer could fix that. That pulse, that sensation, but it won't happen, and that's what makes it worse.

That woke you up, made you feel wet, taking the opportunity to lick his mouth, caressing him with the tips of your fingers behind his ear, pulling his hair in the process, listening to him grumble, a little annoyed, that he was enjoying it and not pushing you away, making his cock move against your stomach without him noticing.

Daryl is still terrified of being so susceptible to this, to a simple caress, barely able to stand, wanting to adorn his hand around him, but too embarrassed to do so.

His cheeks flushed red when you ran your tongue over them, his ear too, your lips moving towards his mouth, slowly joining and kissing him so slowly he could get used to it.

— I can't... I can't... no...- he murmured, feeling his own thumb on the wet head of his cock, caressing it slowly, struggling to hold back a low groan that echoed close to your mouth. That voice, always so hoarse, but now so low, you can't fool yourself, it was so good to hear him like that.

— Yes, you can...

And your hand adorns around him, rubbing up and down more thoroughly, making his legs tremble slightly, and he rests his hand on the bathroom wall beside your head, listening to him whimper again, now with his hair wet from the thin shower water. You pull him closer so you can hear him moaning, along with the sound of his breath, since you're using your hand to move slowly up and down, feeling each vein slightly bulging in your palm.

His forehead rested on your shoulder, just like he does when he's feeling bad, scared, or even confused, giving you more leeway to caress the back of his neck, hearing another weak moan. Your thumb brushed against the tip to catch some pre-cum, which didn't seem like a small amount; it even looked like he had already cum, judging by his quick exhalation.

But no... almost.

His blue eyes didn't dare rise to look into yours, darkened by the power of having someone like him so fragile. This made your hand move more forcefully, brushing your fingers against his heavy balls, then you decided to use your other hand to caress them directly. You sought his gaze, but he closed it, feeling terrible for being vulnerable. This isn't him, not the famous hothead. This is a weak version, and he hates appearing weak.

— It's just a shower, Dixon.- you whisper, and he doesn't even respond, too far away for that, as if he weren't about to come on your stomach.

You increase your speed and not only that, but also light squeezes as you rise onto the tip, your breasts rubbing against each other while he still groaned lost in thought, his forehead resting on your shoulder as if he needed comfort for such a filthy act, dripping like a tap wetting his belly.

You raised your hand to his face, in a silent request for him to lubricate it with saliva, but he couldn't, and that made you spit on it and lower, gripping his thick cock more firmly, giving him time to let out a low "Fuck...", while the water dried, never seemed to calm him, even though it was lukewarm.

Saliva helped you slide your hand under the soft part of his body, although he himself was completely soft, bent over you, breathing, sometimes opening his eyes to see the movement of your hand on him, and who would have thought that years of Apocalypse, him losing everything he knew, would still not be comparable to the discomfort of being nothing now, while someone is masturbating him, as if he were incapable, useless.

In a way (now), he is.

And you were taking him down, so low that he felt his own balls tighten with the urge to come, but not so fast. How disastrous it would be if they found out that Daryl Dixon was nothing more than a premature ejaculator; perhaps if Merle were here, he would laugh in his face, and just with that thought, he felt everything drain away in fluid, tired of hiding his own shame.

You feel a warmth in your belly, where the tip of his cock was pointing, looking down and seeing him trembling with his hands clenched into fists, moaning a little louder and sobbing. It was too much for him, but not too much for you. And with the same hand that was shaking him, you held his dick, lowering slightly between your legs and pressing there, rubbing both of your intimacies together, and he no longer has the strength to resist the temptation.

Perhaps he should indeed start being more like what Merle said, but he wouldn't let go of the fact that he's just a sweet, premature puppy who will always end up wetting his own jeans at the slightest sexual contact.

Even more with you.

       The excuse didn't hold water, but Jesus isn't the type to force an answer; simply understanding that not having an answer is already an answer... like your gaze in Daryl's direction. Returning to the task of replanting and cutting away the dead parts, now with the news that Daryl was still smoking, but leaning against the doorframe of Kingdom's cafeteria.

After taking off his gloves, you noticed he had lit another cigarette; he was probably too stressed, and that made you mentally approach him. You smelled the strong scent of damp earth and the cigarette—maybe this wasn't his second, not that you cared, it was his characteristic smell. Despite this, you knew he was like a big man, less intimidated by approach, having developed a greater affinity for physical contact since the difficult times at the Sanctuary.

So you always approached him and placed your hand on his shoulder; he knew it was you just because of that, exhaling a puff of smoke, looking in your direction with those bright blue eyes, and giving a silent nod.

     — Are you really going to the Sanctuary?

       — Until Rick changes his mind or I smash everythin' up there.

       — I know we're on the same page about disagreeing on this, and it also irritates me that communities need to come together to build bridges, but... there must be a better way to do things.

       — With them all dead, I don't believe in any redemption for them.

        — Me neither. Can I have a cigarette?- He nods, showing you the pack, but you become the epitome of audacity, slowly taking the cigarette from his lips and placing it on yours, glancing away as if it were nothing.- Thanks.

         He looked at you sideways, incredulous, his angry gaze softened by the joke, and instead of making an irritated comment, he grunted as always, took the cigarette back from his mouth and tasted the nicotine and now his saliva mixed together, first touching it slowly with his tongue, and then with his lips.

       — If I had known you'd want to taste my saliva, you could have just told me and I would have shown you myself.- And so, he threw his cigarette and stomped on it with his mouth, tilting his face to give it a little kiss, a peck to see if he would recoil. He looked around and scratched his lower lip, but didn't move away.

     He just looked at your mouth again, pecking once more, then twice more, until it was actually a kiss without tongue, just lips, somewhat dry, but that wasn't a problem. You extended your tongue to moisten them, hearing a hoarse moan from his throat, feeling relieved that you weren't the only one who had wanted this since the Governor's time; perhaps that's why he was accepting the kiss so readily. A line of saliva formed between your lips, and you extended your tongue to cut through it.

        — I can accompany you to the Sanctuary tomorrow, why don't you take today to rest? A coffee, a shower... there's still plenty of water for that, and you know how things are at the Sanctuary.

        — Bath?- He frowns, and you agree almost immediately. See him naked? Obviously, that was at the peak of your wishes for a genie.- Oh...

       Something clicked, and he realized: you didn't mean it was "just" a shower, of course it was more. And he responded by glancing around, a little kiss of agreement.

       — We... uh... in 25. In a little while...

        And so it was said, him stomping almost to run away from you, not out of fear, but to hide the erection that had formed inside his pants. Even though he was an old country bumpkin, he didn't know how to deal well with the fact that she would be naked, and soon he would be too.

Not that he was a virgin, but it was a strange, curious feeling every time he got a hard-on, and he felt somewhat frustrated that it was more frequent since he noticed your gaze on him: a strong survivor, but a weak man when it comes to feel horny, he felt that pain, you didn't even do much and you left him disconcerted, that's terrible, but so good... fucking good. It was so disconcerting for him to feel that way over such simple acts; it should be normal, right?

Maybe not for him, who had always been very reserved in these matters, even when Carol played around with making out, he always refrained from getting like that.

But now it was inevitable with you around, he would get lost, feel his ears burning, luckily he has long hair so you couldn't even see it, but even more embarrassing was the painful throbbing inside his jeans.

He didn't even want to think about it, but the image of him as so vulnerable in a place with water was created; just the phrase was frightening, but it was even worse with the figure of another person inside the same cubicle... naked.

Perhaps he should allow himself to be alone with you, because he automatically felt his pants getting wet: pathetic, he was practically leaking just thinking about it.

It's going to be a long afternoon.

Part2?