#trans daryl

"You're shakin'," Rick murmurs against the inside of Daryl's thigh, breath hot even through the worn fabric of his jeans.

They’d pulled the mattress from the bunk down onto the floor. The curtain hangs limp, cutting them off from the rest of the block. Regardless, they have to be quiet. It does very little to muffle the sound from within.

Daryl grips the edge of the mattress with both hands, knuckles whitening.

Rick reaches forward to start unbuttoning his jeans, but Daryl grabs his wrists and stops him. "Stop—it ain't—" He swallows. He tilts his head back, staring at the ceiling, jaw tight.

Rick patiently waits.

The prison’s quiet tonight, just like every night, the only sound being the occasional distant murmur of voices and a steady drip of water somewhere they can never find.

Finally, Daryl whispers, "Ain’t gonna be the equipment you’re expectin’."

Rick pauses. His thumbs rub slow circles against Daryl’s wrists. "Okay?" he says, simple as that, like Daryl hadn’t just thrown a grenade between them.

Daryl exhales hard through his nose. His grip loosens, but he doesn’t let go.

"Used to get all sorts’a shit for it," he mutters. "Merle, my old man. Just figured you oughta know ‘fore we—" He cuts himself off. 

Ain’t like he’s got the words for this.

Rick tilts his head, then realization settles into his expression. He almost seems more excited by the prospect of getting his mouth on him now.

"You just tell me what you need," Rick says.

Daryl’s pulse thrums in his throat, loud enough he’s sure Rick can hear it. He lets go of Rick’s wrists, fingers twitching against the mattress again.

Daryl’s throat clicks when he swallows. "Ain’t—" He exhales sharply through his nose. "Ain’t done this before." The words scrape out like gravel, too loud in the quiet. He regrets them instantly, heat crawling up his neck.

Rick stills.

Then, Christ—his whole face changes, like someone lit a match behind his eyes. His breath hitches, fingers tightening just slightly where they rest against Daryl’s hips.

"Yeah?" His voice is rough, lower than before. "That right?"

Daryl glares at the ceiling, jaw working. "Don’t gotta mock me."

Rick huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "I'm not, just—" His fingers flex against Daryl’s hips, restless. "Christ, Daryl. You gotta let me see you."

Daryl swallows hard, the heat in Rick’s voice curling low in his gut. His pulse stutters when Rick noses at the inside of Daryl's thigh, eyes flicking between his crotch and his face.

"Please," Rick breathes, barely audible. "Lemme get these off you."

Daryl nods, just once, shaky.

Rick’s sitting up and his fingers are on his belt before he’s even finished the motion. The buckle clinks, leather sliding free with a quiet hiss, and then Rick’s dragging his jeans and boxers down his hips with a hunger that punches the air from Daryl’s lungs. 

He wasn’t expecting the enthusiasm. 

Daryl’s legs snap shut before Rick can even get a proper look, thighs pressing tight enough to ache. His heart jackrabbits against his ribs, and he claws at his chest like he can physically stop it. 

The air tastes thick, sour, panic climbing his throat like bile.

Rick doesn’t push. Instead, he exhales warm against Daryl’s knee, pressing a kiss there. 

"You’re doin’ so good," he murmurs, lips brushing skin.

His words stitch together some of Daryl’s frayed nerves. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Rick's hands glide down the outside of Daryl’s thighs, palms smooth. Soothing, not demanding. "Already lettin’ me go this far." 

Rick nuzzles his face on Daryl's knees.

Daryl takes a shaky breath and slowly, minutely separates his legs, just enough to let Rick plant another kiss on the inside of his knee, a little higher on his thigh.

"Sweetheart," Rick breathes against his skin, the word so tender it makes Daryl’s stomach flip. "C’mon, lemme see you."

Rick’s arms tuck under Daryl's knees, then circle around his thighs. His thumbs trace idle patterns against the skin there, coaxing, and when Daryl doesn’t pull away, he kisses the inside of his knee again, breathing hot.

Daryl’s legs part in slow, trembling increments, the muscles in his thighs jumping with tension. Daryl slips one hand down his chest, until his fingers are splayed protectively over himself; like he’s still bracing for ridicule, expecting to be the punchline.

But Rick doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even blink. His eyes drift shut as he presses his mouth to the soft skin just inside Daryl’s knee, lips warm. 

An open mouthed kiss, then another, each one moving higher, slower, until his teeth scrape lightly. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make Daryl’s breath hitch.

Rick exhales, puffing against damp skin, and Daryl feels it all the way up his spine. His stomach clenches, tight and hot, but his hand still doesn’t budge.

It’s stupid. 

Pointless. 

Rick’s gonna see him eventually, but the thought of Rick’s eyes on him like that makes his pulse throb painfully in his throat.

Rick’s tongue drags a slow, wet stripe up the inside of his thigh, and Daryl’s hips jerk without permission, a punched-out noise catching behind in his teeth.

Rick hums, pleased, and does it again, this time with a hint of teeth at the end that has Daryl shaking with it. His breath comes faster now, uneven, his fingers twitching where they’re still pressed tight against himself.

"Rick—" It’s half a warning, half a plea, but Rick just nuzzles deeper between his thighs, nose brushing Daryl’s knuckles. His breath is ragged against the back of Daryl’s hand.

He kisses his knuckles just once, soft, and Daryl deflates like a punctured tire. All the tension bleeds out of him in one ragged exhale. 

Rick takes advantage of the moment, nudging at Daryl’s wrist. “C’mon. Please.”

Daryl presses his eyes shut and lets his head fall back against the mattress with a soft thud. His hand finally moves, then lands over his face like a shield.

Rick’s breath stutters against him, hot and uneven. 

"Holy shit," he murmurs, voice thick with something Daryl’s never heard before. Some syrupy, saccharine twang that curls around his ribs and squeezes. 

"Fuck, you’re so pretty," Rick breathes, and the reverence in it nearly knocks Daryl sideways. 

Rick’s hands hover, barely touching, fingertips skimming the inside of Daryl’s thighs like he’s afraid he’ll spook him.

"Sorry, I gotta chill—" Rick exhales with a laugh, and that’s when Daryl realizes Rick’s shaking too.

"No you don't."

They lock eyes, and Rick holds his gaze as he slowly settles down onto his stomach between Daryl’s thighs.

This is the first time in his life anyone’s looked at him like this. Not like he’s broken or wrong, not like he’s a problem to solve or a disappointment to bear, but like he’s desired. 

Wanted.

Daryl’s throat tightens.

Rick doesn’t say anything else, just ducks his head and licks a hot stripe up the center of him.

Jesus Christ, Daryl wasn’t expecting that.

His hips jerk off the mattress with a punched-out moan, bordering on too loud. Daryl slaps a hand over his mouth, fingers digging into his cheek.

Rick shushes him gently, chuckling, his breath blowing hot.

Daryl acknowledges him with big shaky nods. The other hand settles on Rick’s head, gripping his hair.

Rick gets back to it, and he's relentless, tongue circling his clit with a precision that speaks to his experience.

Fuck, fuck, his tongue is so broad and wet.

Rick hums against him, the vibration shooting straight up Daryl’s spine, whose hips jerk again before he can stop them. Daryl’s fingers tighten in his hair, but Rick doesn’t pull away—just presses closer, lips sealing around him with a gentle suck that makes Daryl’s vision blur at the edges.

He’s too good at this, dammit. 

Daryl’s panting now, breathing wild through his nose.

Rick’s eyes flick up to watch him, dark and hungry. Like he’s starving for every twitch, every stifled noise Daryl makes, like he’s filing this moment away.

Then one of Rick’s hands shifts, fingers sliding around and away from Daryl’s thigh. Daryl’s hand falls away from his mouth when a fingertip drags through his slick heat.

Slow and testing.

“Yeah, shit,” Daryl breathes. “Please—oh.”

The first press of a finger inside is careful, just to the first knuckle, but it’s enough to make Daryl’s stomach flip. His breath catches, legs twitching with the effort of keeping them spread. 

Rick’s mouth never leaves him, tongue lapping at him in slow, wet strokes while his finger thrusts shallow, moving deeper in increments, inching further inside until he’s got it all the way in.

He pauses there, breathing in deep through his nose—like he’s trying to memorize Daryl’s scent, like he wants to drown in him.

Then he curls his finger up, pressing against something inside that makes Daryl gasp and seize up.

Daryl’s thighs jerk together on instinct, trapping Rick’s head between them, squeezing a little, and Rick—Christ, Rick groans on him, finger flexing and pressing right on that money spot again.

That touch punches straight through Daryl’s gut like an arrow. Rick’s free hand grips his thigh hard, fingers dimpling in like he’s trying to keep him right there, like he needs that pressure around his head.

Craves it.

Daryl’s fingers tremble as they scrabble for purchase against the mattress. He needs both hands now. Needs to grip something, anything, because Rick’s pushing a second finger in, and it just glides alongside the first. 

The stretch is so satisfying, just enough to make Daryl’s breath hitch, but then Rick’s fingers start to move, and—

“Shit, shit, shit.” Daryl’s hips jerk off the mattress, thighs clamping around Rick’s head again.

Rick doesn’t stop—just presses his tongue flat and licks at him while his fingers curl and twist inside. The combination gets a ragged gasp out of Daryl, loud enough that Rick glances up, eyes dark. Daryl’s stomach flips.

“Quiet,” Rick murmurs against him, voice wrecked.

“Yessir,” Daryl blurts breathlessly. 

Oh.

It takes him a second to process what he just said.

Rick’s eyes widen, then they flutter shut.

Oh.

Rick's hips jerk down against the mattress, a muffled groan vibrating against Daryl's skin as he sucks again, oh fuck.

Damn.

The friction on the mattress must be good. Rick's nose flares with every ragged inhale, his whole body moving in shallow, desperate thrusts against the bedding like he can't help it.

Daryl pants, arching off the mattress at the sudden flare of pleasure. His legs wrap around Rick's head on instinct, calves pulling at the back of his head, thighs clamping like a vise.

Rick just moans around him, fingers twitching inside as Daryl grinds and writhes against his mouth in erratic little circles.

Rick’s fingers go stiff and hold, letting Daryl take over, letting him fuck himself on the stretch of them, on the wet heat of Rick’s tongue.

The surrender of it makes Daryl's stomach clench.

Seeing Rick give up control, letting Daryl chase his own pleasure and set the pace from the start.

Shit, it's too much.

He’s never had this before, never been allowed to take, never been given the space to want without shame.

Daryl’s hips stutter, losing rhythm, overwhelmed.

Rick’s free hand grips Daryl’s hip hard, digging in, like he’s trying to ground him, to keep him from flying apart.

Daryl squeezes tighter—just to see if he can, just to hear Rick groan again—and his nose digs into him, his stubble tickling just right.

Yeah, fuck.

The pressure is electric, sending sparks skittering up his spine, and Daryl arches into it, thighs trembling with the effort of holding Rick right there.

Rick groans, muffled, ragged, uneven, but he doesn't pull away. Just takes it, both hands gripping Daryl's hips now, fingers flexing like he's trying to ground himself.

Almost a minute passes like that. Rick's face buried between Daryl's thighs, his calves locked behind his head.

Then Rick's hand starts patting frantically at Daryl's leg, fingers tapping urgently. Like a fighter tapping out.

Daryl releases him instantly, thighs falling slack, his chest rising and falling too fast. Rick moves up gasping, lips slick and chin shiny, eyes blown black as he gulps air like a drowning man.

"Christ," Rick rasps, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His hair's a wreck, sticking up where Daryl's fingers had been buried in it. 

Then he's moving before Daryl can process the motion, tilting forward over him and pressing two fingers back inside with no warning, no tact—just deep, relentless strokes that make Daryl's vision go fuzzy.

Daryl's hips buck off the mattress, a desperate sound building in his throat. He barely catches himself before it turns into something loud, something that'd carry, biting down on his lip.

Rick doesn't slow down. He speeds up, fingers curling just right on every pull out, the heel of his palm grinding against Daryl's achy clit in a way that's cruel and intense and so, so good.

Then Rick's just leaning, propped on an elbow overtop him, beating his fingers in and out of his cunt.

Daryl's so fucking wet he can hear it. It’s so loud, but Rick doesn’t quit.

"Feelin' good?" Rick's voice is wrecked, lower than Daryl's ever heard it. "Gonna come on my fingers?"

Daryl nods frantically.

Then Rick's fingers twist, crooking just so—and fuck, fuck, that's—

Daryl muffles a sob into Rick's neck, curling up into him as his thighs clamp around Rick's hand.

He's coming. Oh, god, he's coming so hard. Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck, Daryl just grinds.

"There it is," Rick breathes. "That's it."

Daryl rides Rick's hand through it, thighs trembling, arms wrapped tight around Rick's neck.

The pleasure crests, sharp and bright, then he's just shaking and panting, boneless and twitching as he collapses onto his back.

His chest heaves, skin slick with sweat, aftershocks still sparking through him in little jolts, cunt pulsing around his hand.

Rick sits up between Daryl's legs, his breath uneven as he fumbles with his own jeans. His hands tremble as he hurriedly works the buckle loose.

Daryl props himself up on his elbows, curiosity outweighing exhaustion, and holy shit, Rick’s cock is pretty. Long and veiny, flushed, curving slightly toward his stomach.

Dripping.

Rick doesn’t waste time. He sweeps his fingers through Daryl’s wetness. Daryl gasps, oversensitive.

Then his jaw drops open, because Rick is using his wet to slick himself up.

“Holy shit,” Daryl whispers.

Rick pumps his hand recklessly. Fast, hard, chest heaving. His gaze flicks between Daryl’s face and his cunt like he can’t decide where to look.

Daryl’s chest tightens. He should say something, but his throat’s dry and his mind blanks.

Rick’s grip stutters. He shoves Daryl’s shirt up with his free hand, bunching it under his ribs, exposing the soft plane of his stomach.

Daryl barely has time to register the cool air before Rick’s coming with thick, hot stripes painting his skin in long lines.

Rick bites his lip so hard it goes white, his shoulders hunching as he rides out the last waves of his orgasm, fingers twitching where they're pressed against Daryl's hip. 

Daryl watches him covetously.

The way Rick's lashes flutter, the sheen of sweat highlighting his toned shoulders and collarbones.

Then Rick finally sits back on his haunches, head lolling back, sucking air into his lungs in deep, ragged breaths. His cock is abandoned now, still half-hard, resting against his thigh, glistening with his own mess.

God, Daryl's so lucky.

Rick's eyes drift shut for a moment before he cracks them open again, gaze landing on Daryl, warm and satisfied.

"Fuckin' hell," Rick heaves, voice wrecked.

Rick gestures vaguely toward the box of tissues beside Daryl’s head, catching his breath. Daryl reaches for it blindly, fingers closing around the cardboard to simply shove the whole box toward him. 

Rick huffs a laugh, shaking his head as he plucks a few free.

“What?” Daryl asks.

“Nothin’,” Rick smiles.

The first swipe is careful. Rick’s other hand rests on his waist, thumb smoothing over Daryl’s skin. Daryl twitches, oversensitive, nerves still sparking.

Rick murmurs a soft apology without breaking rhythm.

“Was that—uh.” Daryl’s voice cracks. He clears his throat, staring resolutely at the ceiling. “That too much for you?”

Rick pauses, then barks out a laugh so sudden it makes Daryl jump. 

“Hell no.” His hand settles just below Daryl’s ribs. “You kiddin’ me? That was—” 

He just shakes his head again. "No, that wasn't too much, Dixon." 

Daryl watches Rick’s hands work, methodical and unhurried as he wipes the mess from his stomach. This is more care than he’s ever been given in his life. 

Daryl flinches when he drags lower.

Rick catches it, pausing mid-swipe. “You alright?” 

Daryl nods, smiling. “‘M great.”

➜ Part Two

thanks for reading, friend! comments are always appreciated. 🖤

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of course, ten years after that, the world goes to fucking hell, and all at once daryl loses merle, finds him, loses him again, and in between gets a family who loves him in a way that isn’t broken, who show him what love without pain is

coming out to rick is easy as breathing; he’s been out so long now that it barely feels like it matters, and the world is shit and doesn’t mean anything any more. coming out to the rest of them goes much the same way, and sometimes they say something a little stupid but daryl just rolls his eyes and laughs

so the run lists now also include testosterone and needles and antiseptic wipes, and occasionally someone grabs daryl a trans-flag-style towel to use, and it’s good, it’s great

carl comes out when they get to alexandria, is the first person he goes to; all shaking hands and worried eyes and daryl asks “do you want to transition?” and carl says “my body- it’s stupid, but it doesn’t feel like it belongs to me” and they talk it through with rick and daryl talks it through with carl, and then carl’s starting a long, long journey towards getting what he wants, too

and daryl suddenly has this entire family, not just his racist attempting-to-be-understanding brother who sold coke for three years to get daryl surgery, a group of people who love him not in spite of being trans, and gay, but because of it, because that belongs to daryl and is his

and he finds a community, a home, and he never thought, when he was a kid and worried about his daddy’s belt, that he’d get it

but he did

"Do you have any idea how embarrassing it was to ask Glenn to get this on his last run?" Rick shakes around a bottle of lube while he sits down on the mattress beside Daryl.

Daryl chews his lip. "The hell we even need it for? I get wet."

Rick’s thumb strokes over the bottle’s cap like he’s nervous, which is stupid, because Rick doesn’t get nervous about shit like this.

"It’s not about need, Daryl," he says sweetly, quieter now. "Just don’t wanna risk hurtin’ you. It’ll be your first time having sex."

Daryl shifts uncomfortably on the mattress. "But," he mutters, timid and quiet. “You touch me inside all the time.”

Rick laughs through his nose. “Dicks and fingers are very different things, D.”

“Ain’t made’a glass.”

"I know that. Trust me." He tosses the bottle aside on the bed and turns to press a gentle kiss to Daryl's cheek, then he leans in close to whisper, "I also just happen to like it extra wet and messy."

"Stop," Daryl groans. He leans forward, elbows on his knees with his face in his hands.

Daryl always squirms when he talks like this. He knows just what to say to get him flustered. Sometimes he even treats it like a game.

He’s being especially incorrigible today.

Because the cell block is quiet. The rest of the group has gone outside for dinner, and Rick seems intent on capitalizing on that.

Rick moves closer beside him, looping an arm around his waist. He always smells a little like campfire and gunmetal.

"Been thinkin’," Rick starts, thumb rubbing absent swipes over the dip in his waist. "Should probably talk about—" He pauses, brow furrowing like he’s searching for the right word. "Hard no’s? Like, things you don’t want me to do."

Daryl shakes his head with a shrug, shoulders lifting awkwardly under the weight of the conversation. "Ain’t got none."

“Nah, c’mon.” Rick’s mouth twitches into a smile. "Everyone’s got ‘em."

Daryl crosses his arms over his chest and slouches forward. The toes of his boots tap restlessly against the floor. "Well, I don’t." His voice comes out gruffer than he means it to. “Sorry, I dunno, Rick.”

And he ain’t lying, he just doesn't know. 

He wouldn’t know. 

He’s never fucked anyone before. The most he and Rick have done since their first time is some impromptu fingering, and every time they have ample privacy, Rick goes down on Daryl like he’s famished. 

For a while, Daryl was just fine with that arrangement. In fact, he was becoming somewhat of a pillow princess.

But a few days ago, while being fingerfucked within an inch of his life, Rick growled in his ear about how bad he wants to stretch him open and ruin his cunt with his cock.

That’s what made Daryl come.

So yeah, whatever. He hasn’t really had the chance to find out what he likes or doesn't, not with the way things were before the world went to shit, and especially not after. 

Merle’s sneers still echo in his head sometimes.

Sissy boy. Ain’t nobody gonna want you like that.

Et cetera. Daryl doesn’t like to dwell on it too long.

And Rick’s here, isn’t he? Rick, with his calloused hands and that stupid, deep, commanding voice. 

Who looks at Daryl like he’s something worth keeping.

Rick exhales through his nose, slowly. "Alright." He leans forward in front of Daryl’s hunched shoulders, meeting his eye. "But if somethin’ doesn’t feel right, you say so immediately. Got it?" 

Daryl swallows, throat dry. He glances up at him and nods.

Rick hums, his hands traveling along his back, sliding down to come right back up under his shirt, making it ride up. “How about things you like?” he asks. “Stuff you wanna try?”

There’s so much that he likes, and he definitely can’t name it all. Not without spontaneously combusting. 

Oh, but wait, actually…

Daryl fidgets, ears burning.

“Kinda like it when you talk to me… during... you know.”

“When I talk you through it?” Rick asks amusedly.

Daryl squirms when Rick starts nosing at his neck. He gets the memo, tilts his head to the side, then Rick’s pressing wet kisses on the skin he offered him. 

“What else?” Rick whispers against his neck.

“This,” Daryl keens quietly.

"I know." Rick chuckles, low and pleased. “Keep goin’. Anything else?”

“Praise.”

“Knew that one too.” Rick’s teeth drag on his throat. “Keep talkin’, pretty boy.”

"I like—shit—" Daryl moans when he starts to nibble at his pulse, one hand flying up to clutch at Rick’s head. “I-I like—”

“Be creative.” 

Fuck.

Daryl shudders and wriggles away from the assault on his jugular, then turns to simply shove his face into Rick’s shoulder, face scalding hot.

Daryl's words come out fast. “There was this one time, when you put your hand on my throat. Not squeezin’, just...”

"Oh, yeah?" Rick hums, interest piqued. “Just restin’ there?”

“...Yeah.”

Rick hums and rubs his hand along his back. “Noted.”

“And I like…,” Daryl trails off, then just shakes his head. “Nah, never mind.”

“Ah-ah. Tell me.”

Daryl gulps. “Like it when you get a little rough.”

Rick takes a long breath in, then exhales a quiet, “Fuck.”

Daryl goes on, "When you kinda get meaner… Like when I'm about to come."

"Darlin', can I come inside you?"

Daryl turns away from him with a groan, hiding his face behind his palm. “God, Rick.”

Rick laughs, "What?"

"You're just..."

"I'm what?"

"Blunt."

"Well, can I?"

Daryl nervously picks at some dry skin on his lips, then finally lifts his head to look at him. Rick's pupils are so dilated it looks like he just snorted a line of coke.

Daryl looks away. "Yeah. You can... come inside."

There’s a faint tremor in Rick’s fingers where they’re still pressed into his waist. Rick always shakes a little when he’s getting worked up, like his body can’t contain whatever’s burning under his skin.

It’s ridiculous. 

And very fucking hot.

Daryl squirms, breathing jagged when Rick leans and presses his lips to the side of his neck again. The scrape of his stubble tickles, sending Daryl’s breath stuttering out of him in a rush.

Rick retreats, only to lay on his side and drag Daryl down with him to the pillow. 

Rick pulls Daryl flush to his chest, one arm slung heavy over his waist. He props on an elbow and leans over him and picks up where he left off, kissing his neck all slow and open-mouthed. 

Daryl’s breath hitches, fingers twitching and pulling where they’re tangled in the scratchy prison-issue blanket. He can feel how hard Rick is already. The hot line of him, rigid against the curve of his ass.

Rick hums. “Let’s test it out, hm?” His hand slides upward along Daryl’s belly and chest, until his fingers curl around the base of his throat. “Just wanna see how much you like it,” he teases.

“Fuck,” Daryl breathes. 

“You’re so easy.” 

“Shut up.”

Yeah, he is.

Only because Rick knows just how to disarm him. Playing him like an instrument. 

Daryl's head tilts back even farther, exposing the long line of his neck to him. His pulse thrums wild under Rick's thumb, then moves it and kisses him, slow and hot right over the jump of it.

“Rick—fuck—”

His teeth scrape lightly, just once. Daryl's breath catches on a whimper. Daryl squirms, but Rick's hold on him tightens, then he's rolling his hips forward against his ass.

Daryl pushes back into it, stomach fluttering. Rick lets out a gratified hum that travels directly to his cunt.

Rick's lips move up to his jaw, kissing the rough stubble there, the hinge of it. He noses the sensitive spot just below his ear that makes his whole body jerk.

"Shit," Daryl whines.

"You like this too?" Rick murmurs against his skin. “Rubbing back on me?”

It’s rhetorical, more a taunt, really. Because he already knows the answer. 

Daryl nods anyway, quick and jerky, too far gone already to feel ashamed about it.

Rick's chuckle vibrates through him, warm and low, and then his hand slides down, fingers slipping under the hem of Daryl's shirt to press against the soft skin just beneath it. 

His touch is calloused from years of gun grips and knife handles, but it's gentle too, tracing idle patterns that make Daryl's muscles twitch.

Then Rick’s hand starts working at his belt, and Daryl looks down to watch, shaking just like him. 

Rick whispers, “I think we’ve got enough time, don’t you?”

Daryl starts panting when Rick’s got his jeans undone. 

Rick's fingers dip past the waistband of Daryl's boxers with the same deliberate ease he uses to reload his revolver—slow, practiced, like he's done it a thousand times. Daryl certainly feels like a loaded gun.

His palm cups him first, warm and firm. Daryl's breath leaves him before Rick even moves. And when he does, stroking him slow, dragging his middle finger through slick heat, Daryl's hips tilt forward.

“You’re so wet for me already.”

"Stop teasin’ me," Daryl grits out, fingers clawing at the blanket.

Rick's breath hitches against the back of his neck, his own hips stuttering forward in answer when Daryl grinds back against him. 

The friction is electric, Rick's cock hard and insistent against the curve of his ass. Daryl can't decide which sensation to chase. The wet glide of Rick's fingers, or the hot press of him through fabric.

So, he tries for both, rocking forward and back in a jagged rhythm, and Rick groans like he's been gutted.

"Fuck," Rick rasps, his voice wrecked already. His fingers curl, pressing lower then hooking inside of him. Daryl's thighs tremble when Rick finds that money spot that makes his vision blur. "That's it—keep moving just like that."

Daryl obeys without thought. It's been weeks since he last heard Rick like this. All low and throaty and fucking hungry. It coils tight in his gut. 

Rick's other arm snakes under Daryl's neck and tightens around his chest, hauling him even closer. Daryl whines when Rick's fingers slide out of him only to press back in with a twist that makes his back arch.

"Tell me," Rick murmurs against his ear, his breath hot. "Tell me how it feels."

"G-Good. Fuck, feels good," Daryl gasps, the words spilling out between panting breaths. His hips jerk forward again, chasing Rick's fingers, and then back, grinding against his cock. 

“Just good?”

Daryl gulps. “Nah, it’s—shit—”

Rick starts fingering him in earnest, and Daryl turns his head into the pillow to muffle his surprised moan.

Rick exhales sharply. "That’s it, sugar," His fingers slow, teasing, dragging just enough to make Daryl whimper. "Want me inside you?"

Daryl nods frantically, face still buried in cheap polyester, fingers twisting in the blanket. He rocks back against Rick's cock harder, surer, rolling more confidently now.

Rick groans, his hips jerking forward in response. "Damn—" His voice is ragged, his breath hot against Daryl's skin. "You're gonna kill me."

Daryl grins, shaky but triumphant, and does it again, rubbing back on him insistently. Rick's hand falters for a second, rhythm stuttering, and Daryl feels a surge of satisfaction. 

He can rattle Rick too.

But Rick recovers fast, fingers curling just right. Then he’s just rubbing him inside, right over that spot. Daryl’s face leaves the pillow and he looks down at where Rick’s hand disappears into his pants. 

“Yeah,” Daryl whispers, panting hard. “Yeah, yeahyeah.”

He's close, so fucking close, and Rick knows it, his fingers speeding up just enough to push him toward the edge without tipping him over.

"Not yet," Rick murmurs, his lips brushing Daryl's ear. "Want you to come with me inside you."

Daryl whines, pitiful. 

Rick's hand stills, his fingers rubbing deep, and Daryl's hips buck against him.

"Please—"

The moment fractures.

Laughter ricochets down the hall. Daryl jolts, every muscle locking tight as the noise swells. Maggie’s dry edge cuts through it, Sasha just behind her, sharper, brighter.

Shadows spill across the thin curtain at the front of the cell, stretched long and warped. They sway with each step on the metal stairs. Climbing. Closing in.

Daryl moves fast.

Too fast.

He scrambles off the bunk just as the shadows sharpen on the other side, but his foot catches in the loose sheet half-dragged from the mattress.

And then he’s going down.

He hits the concrete hard, flat on his stomach. The air punches clean out of his lungs.

God. That hurt.

Behind him, Rick breaks. Not even a proper laugh, just a wheezing, breathless mess of it, like he can’t get enough air to make sound.

Daryl pushes up with a hiss, cheeks burning, one hand already flipping him off over his shoulder before he’s fully upright. He staggers toward the door, dragging what’s left of his dignity with him as he hurriedly puts his pants back together.

Maggie’s voice lands right outside, clear as a knock.

“Daryl? You in there?”

He scrubs a hand down his face like he can wipe the heat right off it. It doesn’t quite take. Just makes his face redder.

Still, he moves, stepping close to the cell door as he drags the curtain aside, just enough to poke his head out.

"Yeah," he rasps. His throat clicks when he swallows. "Yeah, m’here. What’s up?"

Maggie frowns. “You okay? You’re breathin’ funny.”

“Tripped. Fell.”

Maggie stands framed in the sun, one brow tipped up. Her gaze flicks past him, quick as a knife.

Daryl shifts. Blocking it.

“What were you doin’ though?”

“Nappin’.”

The lie lands flat between them. Maggie stares at him vacantly for a second, then sighs.

"You comin’ to eat?" she asks, casual as anything. “We’re outside.”

“I know.” Daryl nods, stiff as a board. “Be out in a bit,” he mutters, chin jerking down like his boots have suddenly become real interesting.

Maggie hums, slow and knowing. She doesn’t move. 

Instead, she tips her head toward the bunk behind him. “Tell Rick to come eat, too,” she says, sweet as pie.

Daryl’s face burns so hot that fire crackles in his ears.

Maggie turns, already walking off. Sasha throws him a grin over her shoulder, like she’s caught the punchline.

Daryl blanches and drops the curtain back into place. 

Behind him, Rick lets out a quiet chuckle, then whispers, “You could be a little less conspicuous, y’know.”

"Christ," Daryl hisses, dragging both hands down his face. His palms come away damp.

When did he start sweating?

Daryl goes on, “I’m just not good with this stuff.”

“What? Talkin’?”

Daryl crosses his arms and frowns at him.

Rick coos as he sits up and reaches for him, fingers curling around his wrist and tugging him back toward the bunk. Daryl goes, petulantly, knees hitting the bed frame with a bump between Rick’s thighs.

Rick pushes up the front of his shirt to nuzzle his face in Daryl’s belly, arms circling around him.

"Mm. So, Maggie knows," Rick murmurs against his skin, then he chuckles.

Daryl makes a noise of disgust and shoves at his shoulder weakly. "Ain’t funny."

“Sure it is.” Rick grins up at him, all lazy confidence and boyish charm. His thumb hooks into Daryl’s belt loops, tugging him closer as he kisses a slow line up Daryl's body until he's standing tall in front of him. "Especially when you faceplant like that," he adds.

"Fuck you."

"That can be arranged."

Daryl deadpans.

Rick laughs, full-bodied and bright. Daryl feels it everywhere, smiling despite himself.

About an hour later, full of lukewarm beans and a surprisingly decent garden salad, Daryl trails after Rick down the prison corridor.

His boots rasp against the concrete, steady and unhurried. He’s got a cigarette rolling between his fingers, already digging in his pocket for his lighter, muscle memory carrying him through it.

Rick doesn’t slow for him.

He also doesn’t warn him.

His hand flashes out, catching Daryl by the elbow and yanking him hard off course.

One second he’s in the hallway.

The next, the world tilts sideways and he’s hauled through a doorway, shoulder clipping the frame as he stumbles into a dark room.

The door shuts behind them with a sharp metallic click. 

It’s pitch dark in here.

“What the hell, Rick?”

Daryl turns, then two hands are shoving him back into the metal door hard enough to rattle it. Daryl’s breath jolts out of him as Rick crowds in close, pressing him flat before he can get another word out.

Daryl gasps in at the same time Rick’s mouth meets his.

Hot. Urgent. No space left for second thoughts. His teeth catch Daryl’s bottom lip just enough to sting. He pulls on it, then soothes it with a sweep of his tongue.

The cigarette slips from Daryl’s fingers, forgotten the second it leaves his hand.

Rick groans eagerly as one hand drops, searching by feel until it finds the lock near Daryl’s hip with a quick, decisive click.

The sound feels final, like a bullet chambering. Both of Rick's hands frame Daryl's face, thumbs rough against his cheekbones as he kisses him deeper, licking into his mouth.

They kiss until they’re breathless. Rick places one quick peck on Daryl’s cheek.

Then he simply sinks to his knees like a man in worship. Rick gets Daryl’s boots off, then promptly moves up to his belt.

“Fuck,” Daryl breathes.

The metal buckle clinks loud in the cramped space, followed by the rough slide of denim and boxers being shoved down past his hips, pulled off, and thrown onto the floor somewhere nondescript.

Daryl drags in a sharp breath, hands shooting out blindly, skimming along the wall until his fingers snag the light switch. He flips it up fast.

Fluorescents flood the room with light, plinking and buzzing on.

Rick comes into focus piece by piece, kneeling and peering up at him. There’s a curve to his mouth. “Wanna watch me, huh?”

“Mm-hm,” he manages.

The room’s actually rather big. Shelving units crowd the walls as well as creating aisles between them, stacked with yellowing paperwork and dead electronics. Other stuff too, but whatever.

He doesn’t care.

His hand tangles into Rick’s hair, gripping tight. His breath breaks, when Rick’s hands close around his left leg, lifting it up and over his shoulder with easy strength, like Daryl weighs nothing at all

The sudden shift makes him lean off the door, his shoulder blades scraping against the metal.

Then Rick's mouth is on his cunt, wet and eager, tongue dragging a slow, filthy stripe up that wrenches a shaky sound from Daryl's throat. His head thunks back against the door, teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

Rick groans against him, the vibration pulling Daryl's hips forward, chasing the sensation like a magnetic pull. One of Rick's hands digs into the meat of his thigh, the other spreads Daryl open on either side of his mouth as he laps at him in wide, slow licks.

Daryl's leg trembles where he holds himself up.

Rick's tongue flicks over his clit, alternating between quick, teasing circles and broad, wet presses that make Daryl's breath hitch.

He never got to finish earlier, when Rick had him writhing in bed, fingers inside him. So now he’s eager for release, grinding a bit on his face.

Rick’s tongue presses deeper, slick and relentless, tracing paths Daryl didn’t even know existed. The heat between his legs is liquid, pooling fast, and Rick laps at him like he's his post-dinner dessert. Like he’s been waiting for this all goddamn day. 

And, well, he probably has.

Daryl’s thighs twitch, his fingers tightening in Rick’s hair. Daryl's sussed out that Rick likes a little pain. So he's not surprised when Rick growls his approval against him, the sound vibrating straight through to his bones. 

Rick pulls back, eyes locked on the seam of him with fiery obsession. “Still so wet ,” he murmurs. He pulls both hands down, thumbs pressing in, spreading him wide.

Daryl looks away, scandalized by the scrutiny.

“I could live between your legs, shit—” His words dissolve into another rough groan as Daryl pulls him back to shut him up, because God.

Rick ducks back in, peering up at him just as he starts to suck. Daryl's hips jerk forward with a bitten cry. Rick's hand slides around from his thigh to palm his ass, squeezing hard as he drags him even closer yet.

Daryl trembles, heat clinging to his skin, sweat beading at his temples. Rick stays locked in, focused like nothing else exists.

Voices drift past on the other side of the door.

Daryl can hear it over the wet sounds of Rick's mouth and the ragged panting of his own breath.

Glenn passes by, easy and familiar. Maggie’s laugh follows, light and bright, the sound swelling as they pass, then tapering off down the hall.

Too close.

Way too close.

God, they’re right off the main stretch leading straight to the cell block.

Daryl bites down hard on the inside of his cheeks, swallowing the sound that tries to claw its way out of him as Herschel’s crutches tap their steady rhythm past the door.

Then another set of footsteps. He knows those too. Sasha’s stride, sharp and even. Tyreese is just behind her, heavier.

A whistle echoes faintly from the far end of the hall.

Life moving. People everywhere.

And here they are.

Pressed up against a thin door that might as well be paper for all the noise it lets through, every sound from the hallway bleeding in. Every breath Daryl takes feels too loud, too obvious.

It’s reckless in a way that borders on stupid. No lookout, no plan, just a locked door and hope holding the line.

It also makes his head spin deeper into his arousal.

Daryl bites back a moan, eyes squeezing shut as Rick's tongue presses deeper, pushing inside of him. His hips stutter forward, grinding on the heat of Rick's mouth.

Rick growls approval against him, one hand sliding up to press flat against Daryl's stomach, pinning him to the door.

"Shit—Rick, I'm—" The whisper fractures on a gasp as Rick's free hand slips lower, two fingers rubbing slow circles at his cunt before pushing in easily, curling and rubbing and, "Yeahfuck."

Daryl comes, jerking and grinding. The door rattles behind his back, his leg hooked tight over Rick's shoulder.

Rick's eyes flash open, gleaming in the light. He looks up at Daryl like he's something holy.

And he doesn't let up, tongue working him through it, fingers still curled deep inside him, bruting against the way Daryl clenches.

Daryl's leg wobbles dangerously, thigh quaking where it's holding him up, and he knows he's about to collapse. Rick must feel it too because his grip tightens, fingers digging into the back of his thigh to steady him even as his mouth keeps moving, lips dragging wet, slow kisses along his inner thigh now, gentler but no less intent.

"Fuck," Daryl rasps, voice wrecked already, head resting back against the door again, chin tilted up at the ceiling. His chest heaves, sweat cooling on his skin. "You’re insane," he breathes.

Rick lets his leg back down and moves fast. He swipes a hand over his mouth, then he's back on his feet and kissing him again. Hard and messy. He can taste himself on Rick's tongue, and Christ, that shouldn't be hot, but it is, it just fucking is. Daryl groans into it, hands clutching at his shoulders.

Rick practically lifts him away from the door, both hands spread wide on Daryl's back as he’s steered around in the room. The kiss breaks only when Daryl's thighs hit the edge of an old work desk, rattling what's stacked on the other end.

"Gonna fuck you right here," Rick growls against his mouth, one hand already working his own belt open. "Right now."

Oh.

Oh, that’s why they had that conversation earlier.

He’s been planning this.

Daryl's breath stutters out of him in a rush, nodding before he can even think, hands fumbling to help. His fingers brush against Rick's knuckles, clumsy with want, and Rick bats them away with a laugh to get it done quicker, shoving his pants down past his hips.

The sight of him makes Daryl's mouth water.

Rick palms the desktop with one hand, the other gripping Daryl’s hip. 

“Up,” he orders, voice gravel-deep, and Daryl clambers to obey, hoisting himself onto the edge of the desk with shaky arms. The metal surface is so cold on his ass, he hisses.

Rick reaches around to fish a familiar bottle of lube from his back pocket.

“Christ, you’ve been carrying that this whole time?”

Rick grins as he pops the cap one-handed, squeezing a thick glob onto his fingers. Daryl watches, throat dry, as Rick rubs it between his fingers, warming it.

“Seriously. Ain’t sure I need that,” Daryl mutters, shifting on the desk and laying back. His thighs tremble where they’re spread, still wet from Rick’s mouth.

“You don’t,” Rick agrees easily, just before he drags lubed fingers through Daryl’s slick, smearing it down the seam of him in one slow, drag. The sensation pulls a groan out of Daryl, oversensitive. 

“But I like it wet and messy,” Rick adds, voice rough as he circles his fingers at Daryl’s entrance, teasing. “Remember?”

He pushes in wihtout an answer, two fingers sliding deep without resistance. Daryl’s breath catches. 

The glide is too damn easy, his fingers slipping in like Daryl's body just knows him already.

Daryl bites down on his own noise, eyes squeezing shut for a second before he’s forcing them open again, needing to see Rick's face. 

Fuck, Rick's grinning at him, sharp and satisfied. "You good?" he asks, fingers curling just enough to make Daryl jerk. 

The bastard knows he is.

Daryl nods though, fast, like if he doesn’t answer quickly, he’ll stop altogether.

Rick hums with amusement and withdraws his fingers. “Want my cock now, darlin’?”

Like Daryl would ever say no to that. He nods again, quicker this time, mouth open on a silent gasp when Rick presses the blunt head of him against his entrance.

“Say it,” Rick murmurs, grinding just enough to tease, to make Daryl squirm. “Then you can have it.”

“Don’t make me,” Daryl complains, hips hitching up. “C’mon, Rick—”

Rick slicks himself with what’s left on his hand, rubbing the excess off on his jeans before gripping Daryl’s thigh, thumb pressing into his skin.

Rick tsks. “Say it proper,” he murmurs. He drags the head of his cock over Daryl’s clit, side to side. Daryl flinches with every pass. “Go on.”

“F-Fuck—” Daryl chokes out, peering down. 

Daryl watches Rick spank his cock against his cunt, wet and heavy, and his brain misfires.

Words dam up in his throat, half-formed and clumsy, coming out in fast stutters that sound more like breaths than anything, punctuated by puffs of air. “I can’t—fuck—Rick—please—” His fingers curl around the edge of the desk, hips lifting uselessly like he can somehow force Rick inside faster.

“Shit, Dixon, all you gotta do is ask nicely.”

Daryl’s insecurity finally just crumbles, words rushing out as the dam breaks. “Please fuck me with your cock, Rick. Please, please—”

Rick stares at him in awe as he keeps rambling.

Daryl can’t stop. 

He wants him so bad that…

“... I'm gonna die. Shit, I need it, please.” Daryl sucks in a ragged breath, face on fire. 

“Damn.” Rick’s trembling, violently. His voice shakes with it. “Already got you cockdrunk and I ain’t even inside you yet.”

The words curl hot in Daryl’s belly, then Rick finally lines up and pushes forward, breaching him slowly.

“Ohhshit,” Daryl whimpers.

He’s splitting him open and it doesn’t hurt at all. Nah, not like he thought it would. It just burns, stretches, fills him up so damn good his eyes roll.

A moan rips out of him before he can choke it back, loud enough to bounce back at them between the shelves, and surely to the hall beyond the door. 

Rick freezes, the grip on his thigh tightening with a warning. “You sound so pretty, sweetheart,” he grits out. “But you gotta be quiet, okay?”

Daryl nods fast, because he knows, he just can’t help it. It’s so good.

Rick’s trembling like he’s fighting to keep control. He isn’t even halfway in yet, and that thought alone makes Daryl whine.

Rick tries pushing in farther, just a bit, and Daryl thighs tremble, then his fingers scramble at the backs of his own knees, yanking them back until they’re up beside his chest. Like he’s desperate for it, like he can’t stand the idea of being empty anymore.

“Rick, fuck—why didn’t we do this sooner?” His voice cracks, ragged at the edges. “Feels’s’damn good—”

Rick groans, rough, gaze locked on Daryl’s face. "Yeah?" His hips stutter forward again, but this time it doesn’t seem intentional.

Daryl barely registers the words spilling from his own mouth. Something about how full he is, how his body seems to know exactly how to take him, and Rick’s breath just comes faster and faster. 

His hips inch forward in shallow, stuttering thrusts, like he just can’t help it anymore. Like he’s fighting not to lose it.

But Daryl loses it.

Fuck.

Another moan surges out of him, lurid and unfiltered. Daryl covers his mouth, cutting it off.

Rick’s grip on his thighs tightens, fingers digging in hard. “Hey,” he grits out, voice strained. “You gotta quiet down.”

“M’tryin’,” Daryl whines, but the lie shatters the second Rick finally gives him one solid, deep roll of his hips. He doesn’t stop pushing until his hips settle against Daryl’s ass. 

Effortless. Glides.

The sound that tears from Daryl is humiliating. Downright obscene, high and broken.

Rick freezes, pupils blown wide. His whole body goes rigid above him. Jaw clenched, knuckles white where they’re resting on the back of Daryl’s thighs. 

And for a wild, breathless second, Daryl thinks he’s going to move. Finally fucking move. But then Rick’s face twists, frustration darkening his expression like storm clouds rolling in, and he pulls out. Slow at first, then all at once, the sudden absence of him so sharp Daryl actually whimpers.

Rick turns around, then starts to walk away.

“Wait, no, no, no—” Daryl scrambles upright, fingers reaching for Rick’s wrists, his forearms, anywhere he can reach. “I can—nah, I will be quiet, swear, it just—” His voice cracks, raw with desperation. “Need it—Need you—”

Rick doesn’t answer. He just walks toward the door.

That’s when the panic really hits, like a snake winding around his throat. 

He fucked up.

He fucked up.

Rick’s gonna walk. Decided it ain’t worth the risk, ain’t worth the noise. 

Hell, maybe he hates how he sounds. The thought makes the snake coiled around his neck squeeze tighter.

But Rick doesn’t walk. Doesn’t leave. Just shakes out Daryl’s crumpled pants with one sharp flick, then he drops them again. 

He turns around to walk back toward him, holding his black bandana. Rick balls the fabric up in his hands.

Oh.

Daryl knows what he’s—

The bandana is held to his mouth before his brain can finish the thought, jaw opening wide for him. Rick doesn’t bother being careful as he stuffs it past his lips and works it in.

“There we go,” Rick murmurs, voice rough. “That’s better.”

Daryl sucks in a sharp breath through his nose when Rick simply lifts him by his hips, then puts him back on the edge of the table. Then he’s lining himself up again.

Daryl’s leftover panic in his chest dissolves into something hotter, sharper. Then, God, fuck yes, he’s pushing back in. Daryl tosses his head back, moaning, loud in his head, but muffled now.

Rick loses it the second he bottoms out again, hips snapping forward in a sharp thrust that punches a whimper out of Daryl.

But he doesn’t stop like he did before. He keeps moving.

Out, then back in so goddamned far he almost feels it in his stomach.

Daryl’s eyes widen, overwhelmed as Rick drives into him properly. Every drag of his cock lights him up from the inside. Daryl’s legs tremble, pushed back by Rick’s hands.

Rick’s breathing goes ragged, sweat collecting on his brow already. “Fuck, you’re takin’ me so good.”

Daryl’s never seen him quite this unraveled. Wild-eyed. Animal. it sends a thrill rattling up his spine.

Rick sweeps his tongue across his bottom lip, vein on his forehead standing out. Then his teeth sink into his bottom lip like he’s trying to hold back an avalanche. 

His gaze flicks up to Daryl’s face, assessing and hungry, before flicking back down to watch himself disappearing inside him. “You’re lovin’ this, aren’t you, baby?”

Daryl watches his thrusts too, nodding, breath hitching as one of Rick’s hands slides down his belly. 

Oh.

Oh.

Daryl gasps through his nose when Rick’s thumb finds Daryl’s clit and rubs slow, firm circles.

Daryl arches off the desk, muscles locking tight, every nerve alight. The moan that tears out of him dissolves into weepy moans as Rick keeps rubbing.

Keeps talking.

“Needy as shit. Look at you.” His voice is so low, gravel-rough. “Dammit, I’ve wanted to fuck you like this all day,” he murmurs, thumb working in time with his thrusts. “Weeks. Months.”

Rick thrusts hard and surprises him. Daryl’s arm jerks out instinctively, hands scrabbling for something to hold onto.

But his fingers find something cold and metal instead, catch on it, then send whatever it is to the floor with a garish tinny clatter. 

Rick winces and Daryl jolts.

That was loud as shit. 

There’s no way people didn’t hear that.

For one heartbeat, two, the only sound is their ragged breathing.

Daryl yanks the bandana from his mouth, his voice cracked and desperate. “Rick, I'm sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Rick doesn’t let him finish. He snatches the bandana from his hand and bullies it back into his mouth.

God, it makes Daryl’s legs quake.

Rick pulls out and grabs him by the forearm. He yanks him off the desk, and Daryl goes eagerly, body pliant. Rick spins him around with a rough twist, and the push comes next, firm between his shoulder blades. Daryl bends at the waist without resistance, forearms hitting the desk. 

Rough.

He’s being rough.

He’s putting Daryl’s words from earlier into practice. 

Rick leans over his back, his cock an iron rod branding into his asscheek. 

“How many fuckin’ times do I have to tell you to be quiet, huh?” he growls, voice stuck between fury and hunger. He pushes off between Daryl’s shoulder blades as he leans upright again. “Now, you’re gonna take what I give you. Quietly.”

Daryl whimpers and nods profusely when he feels Rick lining up. He slips back inside in one effortless push. Daryl jolts, his elbows sliding outward on the desk until his chest drops to meet the surface. 

“And since you like throwing things around,” Rick purrs. He grabs both of Daryl’s wrists and pulls them behind his back. Arms straight, shoulders pulling. Then they’re just being held like that.

Daryl’s mind whites out when Rick starts thrusting again. Harder. Rougher. Using Daryl's arms as leverage to yank him backward onto his cock to meet his assault.

The rhythm is brutal from the jump, unrelenting, knocking a muffled whine out of Daryl’s throat with each snap of his hips.

Fuck, it’s too much.

Or maybe it’s not enough.

Either way, he doesn’t want it to stop, doesn’t ever want this to end, God—

The sound of voices whiz through his haze like a bullet. Daryl goes rigid, chest stuttering in his effort to keep quiet, to listen.

“... hell. Was that in here?” Glenn’s voice, right outside the door. “Didn’t we already clear this room?”

Daryl’s stomach drops when the doorknob rattles. His fingers twitching and flexing in Rick’s grip. His pulse jackhammering so loud he’s sure they can hear it.

Rick’s thumbs dig into his wrists. 

He hasn’t stopped thrusting.

Daryl squeaks, but Rick shushes him quietly.

Then, nonchalant as anything, Rick calls out, “Sorry ‘bout the noise. Just lookin’ for something.” 

His voice is so steady. Like he isn’t balls-deep in Daryl right now. Thrusting and working him over like it’s nothing. Like his cock isn’t throbbing inside of him right now.

“Rick?” Glenn replies, confused.

“Yah.”

“You good in there?”

Rick’s hips snap forward, sharp, and Daryl bites down on the bandana, eyes pressing shut. “Fine,” Rick answers, voice tight, but amused. “Found an old toolbox and the handle broke. I dropped it.”

What the fuck.

Daryl turns to look at him over his shoulder, huffing through his nose. 

Rick keeps fucking into him in quick, punchy snaps of his hips.

God, this shouldn’t be so fucking hot.

None of it should be.

Daryl should feel mortified. Disturbed. Instead, he feels his stomach curl with want—

Oh.

Oh, shit, ohh.

Daryl’s second orgasm hits him before he’s prepared for it.

"You seen Daryl? Hershel’s looking for him."

The man in question whimpers, eyes rolling back, legs clamping together, shaking and failing to hold himself up. He starts sliding down the edge of the desk.

“God, what the hell, Daryl,” Rick breathes out softly. He quickly lets go of his wrists in favor of holding him up by the hips.

“Uh," Rick starts, "he went on a hunt. Said he’d be back by dusk.” He punctuates the lie with another deep thrust, grinding his hips in as Daryl rides his bliss.

Daryl breathes out through his nose hard.

“His crossbow’s still here though.”

Rick answers again, smooth as fucking silk. “He said something’s busted on it. Doesn’t fire right. Probably took a gun.” His grip on Daryl’s hips tightens, and he starts driving into him again. 

Daryl’s face goes ruddy with the effort of keeping quiet, clamping both hands across his mouth.

Glenn sounds pretty convinced, or at least too preoccupied to think about it much. “Alright, thanks, man.”

Daryl listens to two sets of footsteps retreating back down the hallway, and the moment the sound disappears, Rick exhales hard through his nose, his grip loosening enough for Daryl to feel the tremor in his fingers.

“Did you just fuckin’ come?”

Daryl’s neck burns as he nods timidly.

“You’re filthy,” Rick murmurs, forehead dropping between Daryl’s shoulder blades, then pushing  higher, resting his cheek on the back of Daryl’s head. “You’re so fuckin’ filthy,” he heaves.

Daryl huffs breaths through his nose, still twitching, so unbelievably sensitive. He’s thankful for how he’s pinned, because Rick’s hand slithers up under his arm and settles on his neck just like it did earlier. Just like he asked for.

Only he does squeeze this time, just a little, and Daryl’s back bows, groaning as Rick’s head comes to rest on his shoulder.

“Gonna come inside you,” Rick growls, voice coarse with restraint. “So be fuckin’ quiet. You hear me?”

All Daryl can do is goddamn nod. Then Rick’s using his hold on his throat to pull him upright, until Daryl’s back meets Rick’s chest. 

Daryl's head drops back on his shoulder when he loops an arm around his waist and starts fucking up into Daryl in earnest. Short, sharp thrusts.

The edge of the desk digs into his thighs, the metal cold against his overheated skin. Rick’s rhythm falters after a handful of thrusts.

Then he’s groaning, louder than Daryl expects him to, rough and unrestrained. His fingers tremble around Daryl’s throat as he jerks forward one last time and stays there, buried deep.

His cock pulses hot, and his head lolls around on Rick’s shoulder, breathless, fucked out and bone-tired.

Rick grits out another groan, voice wrecked, lips dragging damp and open-mouthed over Daryl’s jaw. “Feel that?” His words are throaty, hips twitching shallowly as he rides out his orgasm.  “Fillin’ you up?”

God. 

Damn.

Daryl whimpers when he gives him one last deep thrust.

“Fuck,” Rick huffs. “Holy fuck.”

They stay there for several minutes, floaty, rocking back and forth while Rick showers him with kisses and praise.

“You did so good,” Rick says shakily. “You took me so well.”

Rick tilts his hips back with a slow, slick pull, and Daryl feels the loss instantly, empty and raw.

The bandana gets plucked from his mouth, and Daryl gasps in a deep ragged breath.

"That’s it," Rick murmurs, his voice gone soft, reverent. He cups Daryl’s jaw, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. "Breathe, sunshine."

He does, shuddering through the exhale, body near-limp. Rick gathers him up again, pulling him tight against his chest. His heartbeat thumps wild under Rick’s palm where it settles over his sternum.

"You okay?" Rick asks, lips pressed to the crown of Daryl’s head. His hand rubs slow circles on his chest. "Did I hurt you?"

Daryl licks away the dryness in his lips, then he grins lazily. Croaks out a, "Hell nah," voice shredded.

Rick exhales against his temple. Relief, or amusement, maybe both. He grips his waist and turns him around again. 

Rick’s fingers dig into the backs of Daryl’s thighs and hoists him up to sit on the desk.

The moment Rick lets him go, Daryl just slumps forward. No grace, forehead thunking against Rick's shoulder, body liquid and loose.

Rick laughs into his hair. "I can’t believe you came with Glenn on the other side of that door.”

“Shut up.” Daryl curls his fingers into Rick's shirt, wrinkling the fabric as he tucks his face into it. "Didn’t mean to."

“Guess that’s another thing to add to your likes.”

“Stop,” Daryl groans.

Rick stops teasing, but he definitely doesn’t shut up. 

He keeps talking, warm and whisper-soft, praise right in his ear about how tight he was, how pretty he looked when he was coming on his cock, how he wished he could’ve just taken that bandana out of his mouth and just let him be loud. 

All until Daryl groans and bites Rick’s collarbone through his shirt.

His teeth stay latched for a solid few seconds before he finally unclenches his jaw, leaving behind a damp spot on the fabric. He exhales hard through his nose, the adrenaline still buzzing under his skin.

Rick chuckles, rubbing a slow circle between Daryl’s shoulder blades. “Biting? That a new thing?”

“Shut up, God,” Daryl groans. He lifts his head just enough to glare, but it’s ruined by the way his eyelids keep drooping. “Did it 'cuz you won’t stop runnin’ your damn mouth.”

“You like it.” Rick grins. “And that comes from a reliable source.”

Daryl takes his bandana back and shoves it into Rick’s mouth.

hah. thanks for reading, friend. i already have plans for a pt. 3, and i'm going to start working on it ASAP!!

comments are always appreciated 🖤

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