Archive of Our Own

Rick spotted Maggie first. He almost didn’t recognize her with her ball cap and plain white tee. But the smile that broke out on her face? That he recognized, even if it had been awhile.

“Sasha! Enid!” she cried out.

The gates to Hilltop loomed before them as they completed their journey—on foot, as they had left their car back aways, tucked under some shrubbery. When they reached the corrugated metal doors, the wait was minimal before he heard the screech of metal and scraping of wood and the gates opened. 

He saw Maggie and his pace quickened as he moved over to her, taking her in his arms with a sigh of relief. “You’re okay?” he asked, eyeing her critically. She was pale, and slight. The hat on her head looked like one Glenn had probably worn. 

There was worry and sorrow on her face and in her eyes, but also a desperate look to reassure him: “I’m okay.” 

He searched her face for the truth of it. That Maggie wasn’t just putting on a brave face. But all he saw was earnestness.

“The baby’s okay,” she continued. “All of us.”

Rick nodded, only then feeling relief. “You were right,” Rick said, heart heavy, unable to fully let go of her just yet. “Right from the start.” He glanced back at his companions—Michonne, Tara, Carl, and, with her hip cocked, Rosita. “You told us to get ready to fight. I didn’t listen, and I couldn’t.” I got people killed. I got people hurt. I got people taken. He dipped his head before once again meeting her eyes. “I can now.”

She smiled weakly, nodding.

His attention flits off her when he sees movement from the trailers in his peripheral. An impish-looking Jesus, even more hairy than usual, wanders out. He stops, crosses his arms, and a shit-eating grin blossoms on his face. “What’s he so happy about?” Rick asks, only slightly unnerved. That man was only ever that happy when he’d been waging chaos on people.

Maggie followed his line of sight. “Oh!” she exclaimed, then looked at him, a similar smile to Jesus’ creeping over her face. “We’ve got a surprise for you.”

“How’d he look?” Rick asked Jesus nervously as they walked to Barington House. He forced himself to walk at a sedate pace, despite his urge to run to Daryl.

“Besides a little more exhausted, dirty, and skinny than usual?” Jesus asked.

“Well, yeah.”

Jesus stopped walking, turned towards Rick, and lowered his voice so they couldn’t be overheard. “Look, I didn’t mention this to anyone else, but I know you are his best friend, and I think you should be prepared.”

At the solemn look of entreaty on Jesus’s face, Rick’s stomach dropped. “Prepared for...?” 

“It’s not good, Rick. Something bad happened to him there. I know he’s normally quiet, reserved, introverted, but he’s also always observing, always standing proud, outward-facing.”

Rick clenched his jaw, preparing himself for what might come next. “And now?”

“Now he only looks at the ground. And he’s closed in on himself.”

“So, what... he’s catatonic or something?”

Jesus shook his head. “No. He’s definitely in there. But... someone broke him. And I think you’re the only one that might be able to help put him together again.”

Rick sighed, taking heavy breaths as his mind whirred. “You sound like you know what you’re talking about. You a shrink before all this began?”

“Unless you count 20 straight years of going to therapy an honorary degree, then no.” 

Rick shrugged, like yes indeed he might count that as some kind of unofficial degree. 

“But... I’ve been broken, and I’ve helped put someone back together.”

Rick wanted to offer sympathy and ask more about it, but in his experience victims didn’t want that kind of attention, especially when they were only sharing in support of someone else. “So, what do you suggest?”

Jesus shuffled his feet, lips pressed together. “That’s not the worst of it, Rick.”

Rick’s heart started to race. He looked the other man in the eye. “Tell me.”

“I brought him to Dr. Carson when we first got here. Had some minor cuts, he’s littered with bruises. His shoulder was tended to well enough to keep him alive, but not much beyond that. Carson said it was a miracle it wasn’t infected.”

Rick squeezed his eyes shut as they started to water. He bit the inside of his cheek.

“His back—”

“He let you see his back?” Rick interrupted.

Jesus nodded. “So I take it you know he already has extensive scarring there.”

“He’s never willingly let anyone see it, as far as I know. I saw by accident once, but...”

“Well, I can’t speak as to that, but it looks like he took a few more lashes.”

“Jesus Christ...” Rick bit off. Of all the things, to bring back the punishments of his youth.

“There were also some newer scars—” Jesus hesitated. “Dr. Carson said it looked like someone had been putting cigarettes out on his hands and arms for a while now. Since before he was captured, even.”

“What?” Rick asked, frowning. Daryl was the only one of them he knew even smoked, and it wasn’t like he couldn’t defend himself. How could they have gotten there unless... 

Jesus was nodding, seeing Rick come to the same conclusion the doctor had. “Dr. Carson thinks they were self-inflicted,” he said with concern in his voice, and compassion on his face, to Rick’s surprised look of realization.

Rick’s eyes filled with tears. How had he not known Daryl was hurting so badly? So badly he had to hurt himself to stem the overflow? Was he not paying enough attention? Had he been blind? Were there signs he’d missed? Or was it just another way he’d failed him. The man he claimed as brother. As best friend. As maybe something more. Rick’s watery eyes widened as he tried to keep the tears in them—to not let them fall. Not blinking for as long as he could stand it, but eventually he failed at that too.

“I’m afraid... there’s more.”

Great. Of course there was.

Jesus’s voice went even quieter, practically a whisper: “Rick, when Carson tried to have him take his pants off to finish the exam, Daryl—for lack of knowledge of the proper medical term—freaked the fuck out. I left the room to see if that would help, but it only got worse. Dr. Carson said it might just be modesty, or...”

Rick held his breath. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it.

“Or he may have been sexually assaulted."

Fuck! It felt like he’d punched all the air out of his lungs. Rick let out a sorrowful moan, and Jesus put a hand on his shoulder.

“There were some old blood stains on his pants, but—”

Whatever else Jesus said, Rick couldn’t hear it. His eyes unfocused, his heart raged. He could feel his chest heaving, his teeth grinding together. Daryl had let them see his back, but wouldn’t take his pants off?

Rick was having trouble processing this. Or, rather, his brain didn’t want to.

Daryl had let them see his back, but wouldn’t take his pants off?

Daryl had let them see his back, but wouldn’t take his pants off?!

Daryl had let them see his back, but wouldn’t take his pants off?!?!

Daryl never let anyone see his back. How badly could he have been hurt below the belt that he refused to take off his pants?

Jesus must have seen the storm brewing in Rick’s head, because when Rick’s mind cleared just enough to look at Jesus again, he simply said, “Third floor. Left. Last door on the right.”

Rick pivoted and practically ran, using every ounce of self-control he possessed to move slowly enough so as not to panic everyone around him. He took the stairs in Barington House two at a time. He made himself stop and take a deep breath. He’d been trained for situations like this as a sheriff’s deputy. He knew what he was supposed to do. He knew what he was supposed to say. He knew how he was supposed to act. Rick thought Daryl might need the cop right now as much as, or more than, he needed his best friend. 

Rick could do both, right? 

He wondered.

His department, at the direction of the Sheriff, had started using a behemoth of an acronym to remember the steps for dealing with victims:

STROQ-VTS (stroke-veets or just ‘stroke’ for short).

STROQ-VTS: First, safety. Ensure victim’s safety, including getting them immediate medical attention if needed. Secure the scene. 

Hilltop was about as secure as it was going to get right now. He wasn’t sure exactly how many people knew Daryl was here, but hopefully Jesus had limited it to as few as possible. 

Now he just needed Daryl to allow him to check the lower half of his body for any damage that needed immediate care.

Would Daryl trust him enough to let him do that? When he didn’t even trust the doctor? If something like he feared—rape, he reminded himself, it was important to be clear when speaking with victims—had happened, would he be too ashamed? Would Daryl trust him with the most personal parts of his body?

Before he could talk himself out of it with snowballing anxieties, he rapped his knuckle on the door.

No response.

He knocked again. “Daryl?”

When he received no response, he went in and glanced around.

No Daryl. 

The bedroom was dark, but there was still enough light seeping in through the blinds and curtain sheers that he wouldn’t miss an entire person. 

Clean clothes were laid out on the still-made bed. “Daryl?” Rick checked the bathroom, but a robe, a big fluffy towel, and various toiletries were still set out like they were awaiting a guest’s arrival. 

He checked under the bed, cause you never knew, but he came up empty. Had Daryl bolted? 

But that didn’t make sense, because this was the safest (and really only) place for him right now.

Had he gotten the room wrong?

Rick stepped into the hall looking around. Third floor, left, last door on the right. Yep, that was here.

He peered inside one last time.

That was when he noticed the gray sweatpants and sweatshirt discarded outside what could only be the closet. 

He swallowed audibly. Fancy place like this would have a walk-in closet. Good a place to hide as any. 

He had the sinking feeling this was going to be rough.

Rick stepped inside fully, and closed the door behind him before clicking the lock shut.

He made his way over to the closet door and knocked. “Daryl? It’s me. It’s Rick.” He once again received no response. “I’m gonna come in.”

Rick’s heart started racing as he turned the handle, his heart sank when he did indeed find him here, and his heart shattered completely when the dim lights of the room revealed the figure inside—tucked into the far, right corner, his back against the far wall, left flank leaned against the right wall, curled in on himself, and completely naked.

And here he’d been so worried Daryl wouldn’t take down his pants to let Rick look him over! If his heart wasn’t actively being torn in half, he might have laughed. Instead, Rick’s eyes filled with tears, chest squeezing in pain, trying to breathe evenly and keep his voice calm. “Hey, buddy,” he said. “Can I come in?”

Rick didn’t bother waiting to not receive an answer. He stepped inside and froze in place while he took in Daryl’s naked form. Thin, yes, but still broad-chested, well muscled. His arms were crossed over his chest, his forehead pressed against the wall, but his legs were straight, and he could see his soft cock resting on a bed of coarse, curly black hair. How long had he imagined this? Seeing Daryl laid out bare before him? His heart sped up, his groin grew warm, his head pleasantly fuzzy.

It’s just an autonomic response to his nudity. You are not eyefucking your best friend right before you have to ask him if he was raped.

He noticed then the cuts—some with neat stitches—and the dirt and dried blood, and the bruises. A plethora of colors, showing despite his dirt-and blood-streaked skin. He would like to say that he sobered up then, cooled off, and that his soft-but-twitching cock had gone silent. 

But, none of those things happened.

Rick glanced around, trying to find something to ground him.

He knew from being a cop that often victims of trauma unconsciously recreated the events, seeking a resolution without knowing they are doing so. It was driven by the subconscious need to understand or master the original event. It was also a subconscious effort to return to their last state of relative safety. 

This was compulsive reenactment, or, as Freud called it, repetition compulsion. It led to cycles of revictimization, like battered women who stayed with their partners, or ended up in another abusive relationship after leaving one. 

For victims of prolonged solitary confinement, it often looked like, well... this. 

He didn’t need to ask what the conditions were in which Daryl was kept. 

Just from this, he knew Daryl was kept in a small cell—no larger than a walk-in closet.

In the dark.

Completely naked.

Rage got the better of him, as he pictured peeling Negan’s skin off his dick inch by inch and making him eat it.

But he tamped it down. 

Because Daryl needed him now.

Would Rick even be enough?

He took several deep breaths, then forced his jaw to unclench. He dragged the covers off the bed and pulled them along with him as he entered the closet. 

The other man did not look at him, face still turned into the side wall, as Rick entered. 

“Heya,” he said, pulling the soft blanket out of the heap of bedding. “I’m just gonna bring this—” he walked towards Daryl, trying to keep up a running commentary so Daryl would know where he was and what he was doing at all times, “—and put it here—” He draped the blanket over Daryl, “then tuck it around you like this,” he tucked it between him and the wall as best he could, “and bring it around,” he put it around his right side and tucked it behind his back. 

Rick took it as a good sign Daryl had let him touch him, but Daryl made no response.

Rick turned and went to the pile of bedding again, this time grabbing the comforter. The fabric was a light baby blue, and so very soft, and he ran his hand over the simple floral-pattern pintuck ruches before he turned around...

...and found that Daryl had thrown off the blanket, and returned to curling in on himself, eyes facing towards the side wall.

“Okay. Fair. That’s fair.” Guess he didn’t have a blanket in there either. Rick realized he may have even been punished for using one. Either way, forcing one on him would be akin to forcing him out of the closet—literally speaking, that is—before he was ready. 

Rick ached with the desire to wrap Daryl in his arms, to run his hands over his cool skin, to beg him to tell him everything that happened, to kiss his lips, to hold his cock and balls in his hands just to assure himself, and Daryl, that Daryl was safe. Was here.

But he couldn’t do any of that. 

Could he?

Daryl’s position wedged in the corner limited the space he could sit, so he untied the laces on his boots and took them off, unceremoniously chucking them out the closet door into the bedroom one at a time.

After that he took off his duty belt and set it more gently just outside the closet.

Right.

Now what the fuck did he do? 

Rick the best friend could think of fuck on, so Rick the cop fell back on his training:

STROQ-VTS: Second, build trust. Assure victim they are safe. Explain what you did to ensure this (e.g. ‘he’s under arrest at the police station so he can’t hurt you’ or ‘he’s secured in a police car so he can’t harass you right now.’)

Rick liked to think he and Daryl had built a considerable amount of trust over the years that he could fall back on now, but it was better safe than sorry. He ought to at least gently test the level of trust Daryl was willing to extend to him right now.

Rick approached him slowly, “Heya, can I sit down with you?”

Daryl made the slightest of moves, pulled his right leg in as if to make more room. 

Rick took that as permission, and he sat right at Daryl’s side facing the back wall, right leg bent under his left, sitting close enough so that his hip was just shy of touching Daryl’s leg.

Rick tried to get as comfortable as possible without the need to take off his heavy denim jeans (thought... when in Rome?) while subtly looking over Daryl now that he was closer. If Rick hadn’t been doing so, looking for the slightest indication he was pushing Daryl too hard or sitting next to Daryl too close, he might have missed it, but as it was, he noticed Daryl move his right leg out, just the right amount to make up the distance Rick had carefully left between them. 

Daryl had touched him.

And Daryl had let him come close.

Albeit not in that order, and minor actions, but it was major progress. It suggested a huge amount of trust still existed between them, and Rick felt relieved. “You’re safe, Daryl. Hilltop is safe.”

Daryl made no reaction, but Rick hadn’t really expected one.

“There’s a do not disturb sign on the door, and I locked it after I came in.”

Daryl’s head turned toward his voice ever so slightly. He wasn’t looking at Rick by any means, but again... progress.

“It’s just you and me,” Rick said softly, which granted him a minute degree of untensing of Daryl’s muscles. 

Rick didn’t see anything that might indicate a recent sexual assault, such as blood on the inside of his thighs, but without being able to see the rest of him, he couldn’t know. 

He watched Daryl, and anxious questions flitted through his mind. Would Daryl deny anything bad had happened, and put on a brave face for Rick? That was all par for the course with Daryl. 

He could handle that.

What if he broke down in sobs? What if he wasn’t even present in his body? Or babbled nonsense?

Okay, not ideal but it was a jumping off point.

But what if he cursed Rick for not coming for him? Blame him for all of the abuse he suffered?

That would fucking break him.

He desperately wanted to touch Daryl. Touch had been their love language. Nothing but the smallest touches one might expect between brothers, or the very best of friends. But they were everything to Rick, and Daryl seemed to enjoy them just as much.

STROQ-VTS: third, build rapport. 

Rick decided to test Daryl’s comfort level just a bit. It would either make Daryl feel safer, or elicit the telltale response of a rape victim. He put his hand on Daryl’s knee, and when Daryl didn’t jump or pull away, Rick leaned into it.

Daryl’s eyes drifted shut in at least some simulacrum of comfort, pressing his leg harder against Rick, unconsciously leaning towards him, and they sat like that for a while.

He needed to just ask the question he’d come here to ask.

“Look at me, babe,” Rick whispered.

Daryl’s head turned instantly. His eyes betrayed a hint of surprise.

“Daryl,” Rick said, then slowly moved his hand to the side of Daryl’s face, fingers disappearing in his hairline, thumb tip under his chin to keep his head steady. His other hand went to the side of his neck, and moved around, eventually settling gently over his throat. 

Rick’s face was as serious as Daryl had ever seen it, his curly brown hair was, as always, still inexplicably wet with sweat. His jaw was clenched, face grim and serious. Rick’s sad eyes darted back and forth between each of Daryl’s, and Daryl braced himself.

“Did he rape you?” Rick asked.

Daryl blinked a few times, caught off guard by the question, before shaking his head.

“Did anyone else—?”

Another shake of his head.

Rick’s erudite gaze did a protracted search of Daryl’s open face, desperate to find truth in his words.

When he found it in his steady posture and curious look, Rick let out a shaky breath, eyes pricking with tears. His entire body relaxed fractionally, and he nodded unconsciously.

He tried and likely failed to suppress his relief.

Well, he supposed that rapport was successfully built. What was next? 

STROQ-VTS. Options. Inform victim of their rights not already covered, including the right to have their statement taken immediately, and offer to take their statement, or the rest of their statement. 

He didn’t think this step was necessary, given he was very clearly asking Daryl what happened already, and it wasn’t like he’d file a report at the end of the day. It wasn’t like he could arrest Negan and put him in jail. Or bring him to court before a jury of his peers.

Still, clinging to this stupid acronym from his past life made him feel the tiniest modicum of control in a heart-wrenching situation. May as well keep going...  

STROQ-VTS. Questions. The big 5W+H. Ask the questions. Span the full spectrum of who-what-where-when-why-how in taking the statement. Offer a pen and pad of paper to the victim in case writing it is easier than speaking it aloud, or in case they wish to do both at some point.

He already knew the who, so...

Rick had to look at something besides Daryl—had to stare at the nice, neutral and boring wall behind him, had to not look at his broken and bleeding friend—just to be able to steel his nerves and harden his heart enough to get the question out:

“What did they—” but his voice broke, which was apparently the breaking point for Daryl, too. 

Daryl’s eyes squeezed shut, and he scrunched his face in the way that indicated tears and memories and trauma were stuck in there and were about to come crashing out. Rick didn’t hesitate to pull him in against his chest, and let his—friend...? brother...? the light of his life?—sob into it.

He felt his shirt grow damp with tears, but another feeling...

He was warm.

For the first time in a long time, he realized.

Was it possible that warmth from Daryl was different from the warmth from other sources?

Sir Isaac Newton would say no. But his heart said yes.*

Rick pressed his lips against Daryl’s temple and started rocking them. As Daryl curled his entire body completely around him , Rick slid his hand over the hunter’s hip, thumb stroking his skin before sliding to his lower back, his other hand on the back of his head, acutely aware of his state of undress and the bare crotch now pressing against his lower back.

“Shh,” he hushed. “It’s okay.”

He couldn’t find a place to settle his hands; nowhere felt adequate to hold all of him in. To keep all of him safe. So, he kept his hands roving over every square inch of his body he could reach, save for his scrotum or his ass, exposed as they both were by the fetal position the lower half of his body had maintained once he’s curled around Rick’s body.

It wasn’t a lack of desire on Rick’s part, that was for certain. His body’s senses were heightened, and the longer Daryl clung to him and cried in his arms, the harder Rick got. He hadn’t let himself imagine this far. Hadn’t let himself think of Daryl in terms of a real possibility that he’d be holding his best friend, nude as the day he was born, against his own body.

The other half of his focus was on suppressing his barely contained rage at what had happened to Daryl, and wrestling with his fear and worry for the hunter.

They sat for at least a half hour, possibly longer, Rick letting Daryl cry, clinging to him, before his tears stopped. Rick didn’t let go, though, or stop touching him, or stop rocking them. Soon enough, Daryl was sobbing again. “I know, baby,” Rick whispered. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Daryl quieted down faster this time. A considerable amount of time passed before Rick’s patience paid off, and he heard Daryl speak: “I need—.” But Daryl cut himself off abruptly. 

Rick carefully stroked his hair, waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, Rick said, in his most gentle, understanding, whisper-soft voice: “Whatever you need, Daryl. I’m here,” Rick hiccuped, and, before he thought too much about it, added, “I’m yours.”

Daryl whimpered, unsure how to ask for what he needed. Instead, he showed him, sticking his fingers in between the closed buttons on Rick’s shirt to touch his bare skin with a few of his fingertips. To further iterate his point, he brought his other hand to clumsily try to pop open his buttons.

Luckily, Rick took the hint. He started unbuttoning from the top and Daryl moved away to let him reach the rest. Rick noticed Daryl still wasn’t looking at him, so the meaning of this touch was unclear, though far from unwelcome.

Was Daryl just touch starved, and needed to touch his skin? Or did he want greater intimacy with Rick?

Well, of course Daryl was touch starved. 

He’d made a family of Rick and the others. It wasn’t just the fact that people were touching him in friendly and familiar ways on the regular now—a squeezed shoulder here, a shoulder bump there, a friendly hug, or even a forehead press from Carol or Maggie, a kiss on the cheek from Judith. No, it was even more so the fact that he didn’t seem to find these touches repelling anymore. That he didn’t shy away like they were overly intrusive. And that Daryl seemed to miss them when he was gone hunting for a few days. It was like he made up for the days he was gone the minute he got back, often indulging in long, warm hugs with his family—and especially Rick.

No, it wasn’t just Rick’s imagination. Even some of the others had asked him about it.

So, of course Daryl was touch-starved, but did he want something more with Rick? Was now the best time to be telling him that he did too?

Daryl helped push Rick’s shirt off his shoulders before his forehead dropped down to rest on one. His left hand went back around Rick, exploring the newly exposed skin of his back. The other moved, fingers spread, from Rick’s throat, over his collar bones, and down his chest. 

Rick was frozen in place, too afraid that if he moved, Daryl would stop, and too afraid that if he moved, Daryl wouldn’t stop. And then Rick wouldn’t stop. And his friend—no, his Daryl—was in such a vulnerable state. It was a relief that he hadn’t been sexually assaulted, but what else might they have done? Beatings? Torture? Starvation?

The thoughts unfortunately did nothing to cool the fire between his legs, where his dick grew harder than he’d ever felt it, and he was barely in touch with his rational mind.

Once again, he reached out to his training in a desperate attempt to maintain some semblance of being anything but a horny bastard who wanted to fuck into the naked man, hear his moans as he licked into his entrance and opened him up with his fingers, feel his narrow channel suck in his hard cock every time he drove it in, scent their mingling—!

Fuck!

Where was he again?

STROQ-VTS: Validation. Use “I” statements to validate victim and their experiences. ‘I can only imagine... I’ve had others who... I’m sorry this happened to you/you are feeling this way, etc.’ Make sure victim knows they are being believed and taken seriously. Tell them they’re allowed to feel their feelings!

He made himself recite all of this, dragging his attention back to his rational, wise mind. It did nothing to help his body’s state of acute arousal, but it did help settle his mind.

“I’m so sorry—.”

But Daryl sliding his hand down to rest on his stomach cut off that sentence.

Shit.

His breaths came more quickly now. If Rick had had enough attention to pay to Daryl (and not his raging hard-on and his own disgusting mind), he’d have realized Daryl was breathing just as heavily, emitting little whimpers and moans.

This definitely wasn’t covered by the acronym!

This definitely wasn’t in his training.

Actually... it kinda was.

Specifically in the “Don’t do this” pile.

But that was for normal situations and interactions with the generic populace. They very specifically do not cover what might happen between an officer and someone they are close to. 

In fact, the overarching idea is to ensure the victim gets what they need (and not necessarily what they think they need).

But what did Daryl need?

Do I even have a right to an opinion on the matter?

There was sometimes a very fine line between not hurting someone and taking away their agency.

“Daryl—”

Voice strong and clear, but speaking quietly, Daryl said: “I swear to god if you are going to spout some bullshit at me about not being in my right mind or not knowing what I want and that I can’t consent, like I’m a fucking child, I will punch you in your pretty face.

Rick swallowed hard, guilty look on him. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured him. 

He did have one condition, though. If they were going to do this. And do it right now. 

“Look at me,” Rick insisted.

Daryl’s eyes fully met his for the first time since he’d arrived. 

And god if Rick didn’t fall a little bit more in love with Daryl right then. There were the clear, calm eyes, blue like the cerulean sea, that he knew and loved. That wasn’t a victim, that was a survivor.

Renewed desire surged in Rick’s ballsac, silently urging him to put him on all fours and take him here and now. He let out a breath with the effort of resisting the temptation.

Rick’s hand roved down Daryl’s back, over his hip, across his ass cheeks, gently squeezing one at a time before moving on. All the while they maintained eye contact. Rick studied his face, and Daryl made a valiant effort to keep his eyes open, letting Rick see what Daryl looked like the first time he grunted softly at the pleasure, a slow, lazy blink, then moaned, keeping his eyes open and meeting Rick’s gaze afterward only with an effort.

Then Rick’s hand spread out, cupping his ass, moving down, down... 

Rick’s fingers brushed along Daryl’s tight balls with a light touch.

Daryl’s head fell back, an unbridled moan on his lips, and he held onto Rick’s shoulders for dear life while Rick’s warm hand probed his scrotum, then took it in hand, squeezed gently like a hug, and massaged it.

Daryl, barely hanging on with the help of Rick’s non-occupied hand on his back holding him up, grunted and whimpered and squirmed and moaned. Rick was absolutely enthralled by the man writhing in his lap, mouth open as he breathed out the most delicious noises. 

He moved his probing fingers in between Daryl’s legs, which were still pressed against his lower back. When he touched the underside of Daryl’s cock, his mouth opened wider, his face scrunched, and he let out a whine: “Rick...”

“Is this what you needed?”

“Fuck!” Daryl’s answering voice was not the low, even tone Rick had come to expect, but the higher, chaotic voice of his younger self, when Rick had first met him. “Rick...” Daryl breathed with tinny desperation. “Yes... Please!”

“I’m gonna validate the fuck out of you,” Rick whispered.

“What?” 

Rick moved his arms around Daryl, pulling him toward himself. He looked into his eyes, searching for what he did not know. Fear? There was no fear. Confusion? Definitely not confused. Repulsion? Most definitely not repulsed. 

What he did find was love, and trust, and desire, and they moved toward the other at the same time until their lips met. 

Rick’s body took this as unabashed permission to let go, his dick twitching and pulsing and swelling with increased blood flow, his heart racing to keep up. 

Daryl whimpered into his mouth.

“Come with me,” Rick said, breathing ragged as he clumsily got both himself and Daryl to a standing position. “Can we take this to the bed?” Rick asked.

Daryl nodded, taking Rick’s hand as he walked them out. “Mmm... Wanna see you,” Daryl said.

When they reached the bed, Rick pulled Daryl into a solid kiss, before undoing his belt and button and zipper. He pushed his jeans down along with his boxers, leaving himself bare to Daryl’s hungry eyes. 

They each devoured the site of the other, both fully erect, drops of pre-cum wetting their tips. Rick took the opportunity to look over Daryl thoroughly, walking around him as his hand fell flat on his stomach, slid along his hip, to his ass cheek. 

Rick dropped to his knees behind Daryl.

“What—?” 

But Daryl’s question was abruptly cut off when Rick took an ass cheek in each of his hands and pulled them apart until he could see Daryl’s entrance. Rick stared at this most intimate part of Daryl, the place instinct was telling him to push his cock into. Over and over and over. To make it his. To make Daryl his. “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Rick said, and blew air on it gently.

Daryl jerked. “God, Rick... Please...”

Rick guided Daryl over to the bed from behind, not letting go of his ass, not letting his cheeks back together. He didn’t want to lose sight of this. He none too gently pushed Daryl over so his chest was flat on the bed before getting back to his knees. “Spread your legs,” Rick directed, and Daryl did so with such haste it made Rick smile. 

Now there was a sight for sore eyes. He could see more of Daryl now, his ballsac heavy and blocking the view of Daryl’s gorgeous cock. But he had a close-up view of his taint, and he licked Daryl’s balls, up his perineum, tongue spearing between his cheeks until it touched the furled skin. He made one hesitant kitten lick.

Daryl’s asshole clenched and as he moaned, and whining begs of, “Please,” cascaded from his mouth, smooshed against the bed as it was. Daryl’s hands moved, pushing Rick’s away as he held his own ass cheeks open, spreading them even further than Rick had done, in his desperation.

Rick kept his tongue wet and lapping at Daryl’s hole before putting his hands’ newfound freedom to use, tracing a finger up the back of his thighs before grabbing Daryl’s cock with his left hand and balls with his right, massaging and swirling, taking his tongue down to lick at them, hum with them in his mouth one at a time while he sucked, down from the base of his dick to the tip, what he could reach, that is.

His attention returned to Daryl’s asshole, palpating it with the pad of one thumb, massaging it in circles, and pressing until it parted the slightest bit before plunging his tongue into its depths. His own arousal spiked now, his thighs shaking, dick twitching as he thought of putting it inside Daryl.

Daryl moaned and begged nonsensically, only able to concentrate on the warm bliss occupying his pelvis, pulsing hotter and hotter every time. “Rick, please...” he begged once, coherently, when he couldn’t take it anymore. He needed Rick inside him.

“This what you want, baby?” Rick asked, then pushed his tongue into him again, wiggling it around, and Daryl tensed, back curled slightly, sticking his ass higher in the air. Rick chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He stood up, shoving Daryl fully onto the bed, his ass still stuck in the air, before climbing onto the bed along his left side. He gently pushed Daryl over so he was on his side facing him too.

Daryl’s wrecked look of confusion made pleasure pulse in him, and Rick moved so they were pressed against each other. Staring into Daryl’s eyes, he put a hand on the side of his head, and kissed him.

It occurred to him belatedly he’d kissed Daryl’s ass more than Daryl himself, and he started to make up for it, hot lips passionate, tongue probing, hands roving over his body. 

Daryl was hesitant at first, simply reacting to what Rick was doing, but the moment Rick felt the tip of Daryl’s tongue pass his lips, they both lost all control, making out with fervor, rolling all over the bed in the quest to climb into each other, bring their closeness to a whole new level.

Daryl pressed his pelvis into Rick’s and they both moaned. “Want to look at you,” Daryl said. 

Right.

Rick went to the closet to grab the soft, fuzzy, dark-brown blanket from the closet and pulled it on the bed so it was within reach. He then arranged himself on the bed so his head was on a pillow, and he was lying splayed out, legs wide for Daryl’s perusal, before beckoning Daryl towards him. His face didn’t waver from Daryl’s, taking in every nuance of his expression as Daryl sat between his leg and looked him over, sweeping his hands over him following in the wake of where his gaze had been. He fought the urge to cover himself, simply letting Daryl look at him.

And look he did, eyes flaring when he took in his cock, face darkening. He looked him up and down slowly, as if to take in every detail, commit it to memory, but his eyes settled once again on his dick. He reached out, a shyness that made Rick proud to share this with Daryl on his face, to touch and hold his cock and balls. He abruptly moved his head down, and Rick almost thought to stop him—he wouldn’t last long if Daryl wrapped his lips around him—but didn’t have the chance before Daryl had simply rested his temple on his pubic bone and curled into a ball. 

Daryl scented him, even pushed his nose into his balls, breath ragged with overwhelmed tears.

“Hey,” Rick said softly, soothingly, as his hand pet Daryl’s hair. He hushed him gently while maintaining the contact. 

Daryl took in a deep breath, and let a shuddering breath out, before he seemed to calm some. “Thought I’d never see you again,” Daryl confessed, his fingers digging in where they gripped Rick’s hip. “Thought I’d never get to tell you...”

Rick waited patiently, brushing the hair out of his eyes as much as their positions would allow. He prompted, “Tell me what, baby?” softly.

Daryl looked up to meet his eyes, then crawled up his body until he laid half on him, head resting on his shoulder, still maintaining eye contact. “I’m in love with you, Rick.” A smile lit up Rick’s face with an immediacy that assuaged some of Daryl’s fears. “Think I... think I have been awhile.”

Rick simply kissed him chastely before saying, “Me too,” and letting his eyes and his hands roam. “Wanted you so long.” Rick cupped Daryl’s crotch. “Wanted this.”

Daryl relaxed at that last, finding peace in Rick’s assurances, and whimpered, pressing himself into Rick’s hand. “Please,” he begged as Rick played with his junk with one hand, and slid his middle finger in between his cheeks with the other, tip coming to press in slow circles over his entrance. Daryl moaned loudly.

“You ever done this before, honey?” Rick asked.

Darl shook his head.

“Not with anyone?”

Another shake.

“Even a woman?” Rick asked on a hunch.

Daryl shook his head, averting his eyes downward.

Holy shit. Rick had never understood the appeal of being with a virgin until right that moment, and the thought of his own ugly cock plundering the depths of Daryl’s virgin ass, his balls releasing to deposit their load within him. Rick put his hand on Daryl’s throat, forcing the hunter to look at him as he moved it up. “Nothing to be shamed about,” Rick said, then with a wicked grin, added: “Won’t be much longer.”

Their lips met in a frenzy as Rick frantically checked the drawer in the bedside table for anything that could be used as lube. He was elated when what he found was actual lube! Single-use packets! Lots of them!

This was better than a hotel.

Rick wasted no time in ripping one open, pulling Daryl so his leg draped over him, knee bent, with Rick on his side. He squeezed some of the 5g packet into his hand, putting it on the side table before capturing Daryl’s eyes. “This what you want?” he asked. 

Daryl just wined, already overwhelmed by how Rick’s hands and lips and body had made him feel. “Rick.... please... yes.”

That was all Rick needed to hear. “This’ll be cold, sorry,” he warned Daryl before he rubbed at his hole with the tip of his index finger, lube slicking his way, until he applied enough pressure to breach the tight muscles, which spasmed as Daryl took a sharp breath. “Hurt?”

Daryl shook his head. “Fuck... feels so good,” he said and highlighted his point by pressing himself further down against the intrusion as best he could while wrapped tightly in Rick’s limbs.

“Good...” Rick soothed as he made a study of Daryl’s face. He pushed his finger in the rest of the way as Daryl’s mouth fell open with a loud moan and his ass clenched. “Good boy.” 

Daryl whimpered, eyebrows knitting together.

Rick moved his finger out, and in, repeating the action as Daryl squirmed and practically humped him. He added his middle finger to the other this time, once again breaching him carefully, letting Daryl relax around him before moving in all the way. He massaged his walls, not yet seeking his prostate, as he fucked daryl with his two fingers, then added another with as much care as he did the others. 

Daryl kept putting on a show for Rick, his face contorting and pinching and bunching up expressively, his moans and grunts and whimpers a symphony to his ears. His legs tightened and loosened around him. Daryl squeezed the fingers inside him. And Rick could feel Daryl’s cock grow hard and long and full, twitching and leaking against Rick’s stomach.

Rick didn’t look away for one moment. He slowed his fingers when Daryl looked like he might actually come from this, added his pinky finger, pressing in slowly but firmly, bit by bit, not wanting Daryl to feel any pain. Rick wasn’t huge or anything. He made a good enough showing, but the truth was he wasn’t sure he’d be able to control himself. That he would be able to stop himself from fucking Daryl into the bed the second his own hard cock felt the wet heat only found in Daryl’s body.

It had been so, so long. Not just since he’d had sex, but had sex with someone he wanted this much. He loved this much. 

Since he’d made love to the love of his life. “I love you,” Rick whispered. “I love this,” Rick said, hand wandering along his leg to his ankle, then fit his hand in everywhere he could before stroking a finger along the back of his thigh.

Daryl was too far gone to do more than whimper and beg.

Rick removed his fingers and moved out from under Daryl, pressing the man down on his chest, ass popped in the air, and taking his place behind him, between his legs. “Spread ‘em,” Rick said, a hand putting pressure against his inner thigh, and Daryl spread his knees apart about as far as was possible, pushing his ass up until his pelvis showed Rick a nice view of Daryl’s cock and balls. “Good boy,” he said, and Daryl whimpered, his hole clenching and unclenching, pushing outward. He plucked the lube packet from the side table and squeezed out a generous dollop. 

Five grams was really a lot of lube, it turned out, which was just as well, as he slicked himself up generously. He was so horny it felt so good, and he had to move slower to warm up the lube without coming.

Daryl looked back over his shoulder to see what the delay was. “Rick...”

“Shh, I know, baby... I’m almost ready for you.”

Daryl turned to smoosh his face against the pillow with a grumpy whine.

Rick pressed his tip against Daryl’s entrance, pausing before he pushed himself in to the hilt in one movement.

Daryl screamed his pleasure into the pillow.

Rick moaned his pleasure to the room at-large, hoping the walls were thick for both of their sakes. “You okay baby?” Rick asked, rubbing the excess lube on his thigh before gently rubbing Daryl’s lower back.

Daryl shouted something unintelligible into the pillow.

“Couldn’t hear you. What was that?”

Daryl looked over his shoulder once again, and shouted: “Yes! Move!”

Rick needed no further encouragement. They both grunted and moaned as he pulled out nearly completely before slamming in hard, his balls slapping against Daryl’s before pulling out again and doing the same. Over and over. Fast enough and hard enough that the skin of his sac nearly began to sting with the repeated impact.

Shit, Daryl could probably feel that too.

With Herculean effort, Rick stopped his movements, taking a few fast, deep breaths before he reached around to take Daryl’s still-hard cock in his hand and give it a few strokes. His other hand caressed his pale cheeks one at a time. “You’re perfect.”

Daryl met his eyes just briefly, his gaze as appraising as it was flush—with embarrassment, perhaps? 

He knew Daryl didn’t do compliments.

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that right now, when too much of this was new?

Oh well.

He’d just have to make Daryl forget all about it.

Rick pulled out of him, to Daryl’s mournful yowl. 

“C’mere,” Rick said, stretching Daryl’s legs out and getting to one side of them so he could flip him over. Rick spread his legs out slowly, taking time to look and touch. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Daryl. I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.” To Rick’s horror, Daryl’s eyes watered with tears. He pushed forward to press a kiss on his lips. “Shh. You’re okay.”

Daryl didn’t let him go, looking right into his eyes before he opened his mouth to say, “I love you too.”

Rick smiled in delighted surprise. That wasn’t something he thought Daryl would be saying more than like once... ever. He sat back on his heels, hard cock brushing Daryl’s as he went, before propping Daryl’s ass up on a pillow. He was hoping he could hit his prostate in this position, but that remained to be seen. He couldn’t help but feel shy himself as he got them both into position, grabbing the lube packet one last time, squeezing it out onto his hand. “Cold,” he reminded Daryl before wrapping his lubed hand around Daryl’s cock.

Daryl hissed at the cold, but was soon expressing just how happy he was to have Rick’s hand on him.

Rick quickly smeared the excess lube on his own cock before pressing it again into Daryl. Rick was buried balls deep inside him the next moment, one hand wrapped around his dick. Rick swore that watching Daryl’s face like this—uninhibited, unashamed, and in flaming delight—would quickly become more addictive than any drug.

He jerked him a few times, causing Daryl to arch, and moved. He started slow at first, wanting to see the progression of pleasure play out over Daryl’s face.

Daryl’s face did not disappoint.

He was amazingly expressive like this. Rick had to remind himself this was Daryl’s first time. Perhaps that added to the reckless abandon with which Daryl moaned and squirmed and whined, mouth opening, eyes crinkling when he squeezed them shut.

Daryl’s entire lower body was shaking when Rick broke, unable to do anything but thrust into him like a mindless animal, harder and faster and over again, trying to get deeper. He did have the wherewithal to move his hand that was on Daryl, bringing him to orgasm first as his feet kicked out into the air and he screamed Rick’s name.

“Fuck, Daryl,” Rick breathed moments before coming himself, warmth spilling into Daryl as Daryl shook, face still frozen as he rode out his own orgasm. 

“Yes,” Daryl said. “More... inside me...”

Rick was still coming as his body jerked, spilling out into Daryl. “Mine.” 

He didn’t think he’d said that aloud, but Rick’s eyes sprung open when he heard Daryl agree, “yours.”

Fuck, his Daryl.

He wanted to take him again right then and there, but he wasn’t 19 anymore.

“Stay,” Daryl asked, his voice husky and cracking.

“Never leaving you again, my love.”

“I mean stay inside of me. At least a little longer.”

“Oh,” Rick said. “Of course. Long as I can.” He, with effort not to hurt him, passed Daryl’s left leg over Rick’s head, pulling a blanket up with him as he bent around Daryl, like Daryl was sitting in his lap, but they were both on their sides. 

They both moved trying to find the best way so that Rick’s only slightly softened cock was as far inside Daryl as possible. Rick experimentally pushed one of his knees between Daryl’s legs, pushing up into him. This was the best position, he decided, and pulled the blanket over them both.

It was dark in the room, and he was so warm and sated snuggled with Daryl under the soft fuzzy blanket.

He squeezed Daryl tightly against his chest, dropping kisses on his back.

Daryl was humming contentedly.

Eventually Rick grew soft and slid out of Daryl, along with a wave of hot cum mixed with lube.  Rick put his hand over Daryl’s entrance, playing at the wetness with his fingers before wiping it over his own neglected balls, reaching down further to his own hole, until Daryl ran dry.

Daryl turned over to his other side, facing Rick, and looked him in the eyes, and Rick smiled. They held each other, pressed together, limbs tangled and breathing the other in as they fell asleep in peace.

* This might be the corniest thing I have ever written, but I just could not resist. Hope you lol'd at me b/c I sure did. :)