Last he checked, he was angry. Seething angry—ready to rip the head off of anything he touched. Last he checked, Glenn had popped off about his brother and he had tackled him to the ground, ready to beat the living shit out of him.
Last he checked, he was not where he is now: straddling the kid with his tongue in his mouth—angry and heated and ready to take it out on the kid's ass. A little too literally.
But now that he is here, he's not about to start complaining. Instead, he presses down, shoving Glenn's shoulders into the dirt and underbrush. He presses against the younger man's chest and rolls his hips—grinds against him.
"D-Daryl!" Glenn forces out, as if he can't tell if he should be surprised, scandalized, or just grateful.
"You best watch your mouth around me," Daryl growls against his skin, his teeth working their way down Glenn's collarbone. His fingers catch at the hem of Glenn's shirt and he yanks it up and over the man's head before Glenn has time to so much as blink. "Or I'll watch it for you."
"That a promise?" Glenn raises his head to ask, then smiles in a way that's more endearing than sexy, but Daryl finds himself turned on as hell all the same. He mouths his way down Glenn's exposed chest and the beginnings of the beard he hasn't had the time to shave drag and scratch in time with his bites.
Glenn doesn't feel like he's being worshiped, exactly. More like he's being sampled—like a meal.
Daryl's mouth moves from his stomach to the inside of his thigh, mouthing through the jeans—close, but not close enough. Glenn bucks up into it. Never in his life has he hated pants so much.
Daryl's mouth circles—paying careful and maddening attention to every sensitive spot he's got except the one that needs tending to—the one that is becoming increasingly more obvious at the front of his pants.
His head thrown back, he feels—rather than sees—Daryl's hands land on the button of his jeans and moans.
"Finally—"
Only to have Daryl use his stomach to lever himself to his feet. The redneck wipes his mouth and dusts himself off, keeping his eyes on the man still prone and aching on the ground.
"You say shit about my brother again and I won't be so nice," Daryl warns him, only the slightest hint of breathlessness to his voice. Without another word, he picks up his crossbow and turns to head back to the camp.
Glenn drops his head back against the ground with a thunk.
"Fuck."