Slash paring of Daryl and Glenn from TWD. NSFW. I do not own TWD, Daryl, Glenn in any way, shape or form.

Somehow, he doesn't know how it got to this… But whatever God was up there, looking down at them, he'd granted Daryl what he'd wanted most. The courage to do this, to reach out and grasp what he'd wanted to be his since he first laid eyes on it.

Whether it was luck, sadness or even courage, Daryl Dixon didn't know how it got to this. He'd survived with Rick and the group, lived, hunted, killed, searched for his brother-who still couldn't be found, other things occupying his mind…

But soon Daryl couldn't get Glenn's face out of his mind, couldn't get the way his back was shaped-he'd seen it while they bathed in a creek, the muscles moving sinfully under the skin, the soft, light skin looking ready and willing to be bruised and crushed. He couldn't get the way his hips swung as he walked, to some unsung tragedy… Whatever he'd gone through, radiated through his entire body… His personality.

He couldn't get those squinting eyes, that fucking baseball cap, or even-most of all- how his fingers seemed so nimble sliding, using any weapon.

He doesn't know how it got to this. Nights of constant frustration of everything falling down, losing his brother, losing his family, but gaining things better. Pent up rage racked his body at night, guilt consumed his mind, a fervor he couldn't get out of.

Something, as previously stated, brought him here to this moment. This moment where he was standing there in front of Glenn, forest all around them, with that stupid half-grin on his face, his eyes searching and his dirty fingers reaching out.

Closing the gap between the two of them, Glenn's eyes fearful, his adams apple bobbing in his throat and his hands shaking down at his sides was too good a sight to pass up; to not reach out and grasp, to taste.

"Ya even got anything in there chink?" Daryl demanded, lustily, his warm hand making contact with the crotch of the Asian's dark washed jeans, with dirt ground into the knees, grass stains along the bottom and looking a bit torn in the back.

There he was palming Glenn in his vile hand. He knew he didn't have a right, didn't deserve this, the small gasp that Glenn emitted. How he didn't fight back. Guilt pounded his brain, he tried to reason with it, tried to justify what he was doing… There was no justification . He was just a fucking pig who wanted its food… But the way that he just shivered and bit his lip, afraid to look up and see the big bad wolf looking up at him goateed the Dixon brother more.

Glenn's face instantly flushed, the red licking up his neck and settling, dusting over his cheeks. His tongue slowly lapped out and licked nervously at his lips. His hands still twitched and the baseball cap hid his eyes from view. He hadn't moved, hadn't said anything; he was speechless.

That fucking tongue though. It was like Glenn was trying to jive him, trying to get Daryl's self discipline to snap. Almost as if he was leading him down the pit to hell and Daryl couldn't do anything but enjoy the ride.

Soft moans emitted from the tiny chest as Daryl's fingers got more intense with his own arousal rising. His tongue darted out to lick his now parched lips; parched from wanting to taste, to bite, to destroy.

God, he was swelling against his pants and Daryl could feel it. His own dick responded, clawing at his zipper to get out. He let out his own satisfied sigh at the feel of the promise in Glenn's pants fighting to get free, to be pounded, to be ravished.

"Oh ya like that, do you?" His mind was slow to form words and even though all Glenn was doing was standing there, his mind was fogged with pleasure; thoughts of what he was going to do to when he got Glenn backed up against the rough bark of that tree.

Glenn couldn't stop him, couldn't do anything with Daryl fucking right there, those cold eyes staring down at him, daring to speak out, his breath huffing out at his neck. Daryl was right fucking there in front of him, his hand gyrating against the swelling length in his pants, his hips moving in time. He couldn't stop it, couldn't stop the pleasure coursing through him.

Glenn was scared. He was petrified with Daryl just staring down at him that crooked grin, those glassy, fogged eyes and that grimy looking face. His body was shaking, slightly- whether from the pleasure or from the fear, he wasn't sure of.

He sickened himself. Responding to this, letting this happen, but every time there was a lapse in pleasure, he would look up, lock eyes with Daryl and lose all his nerve, searching those deep, agonizing eyes and suddenly the pleasure would come back so much worse.

So much harder for him to handle.

Glenn took his bottom lip in his teeth, chewing down on it. If he moaned and whimpered, Daryl would know he had won. Would know that Glenn liked this. And out of all the things this kid has seen and been through, this was by far the worst, because if he gave into this pleasure… He gave into everything he stood against, his honor would be shattered and he wouldn't be the same man that he'd started out as. He'd be broken and devastate much like the man lingering above him.

Ripped from his thought, a pounding of white, hot pleasure coursed through him, making the receptors to his brain holding up his weight, falter. With the pleasure, Glenn crumpled only to have a warm, rough knee rubbing into his crotch as the bark of the tree bit into his back roughly. His back stung, mixing with the pleasure of the knee support him, adding a constant pressure and Daryl's fucking hand insistent on his crotch, insistent on making him turn into jell-o.

Unable to contain himself, his face flushed and his mouth gaping open, his head thunked back against the bark as whimpers of pleasure were ripped from his lips.

"Don't lie to me, Chink. I can tell ya like it. Just listen to ya sing," his voice was right there, pressing into Glenn's pulse, his neck flinching and conflicting as he gasped and thrashed slightly. The rough feeling of his stubble scratched and irritated Glenn's neck, but every emotion in him and every scrap of decency he had, he didn't have the will, the strength now with pleasure becoming the only thing he knew, to push Daryl away, so he did the only thing he could.

"No," he whispered, his mouth feeling foreign, his words tumbling-tired- from his lips. "I do-… don't… get off of… m-me, Daryl." His name came out as a gasp as the man ravaged his neck, biting deeply into it, marking his territory.

Now Daryl knew he was lying, could tell it from his face, tell him from his body language, because he felt the twinge; Glenn's arousal moving against the jeans straining them, the whispered sighs, moans and whimpers. He could tell Glenn was full of horse shit. Could tell as he licked a path up to his ear that Glenn wasn't opposed to what he was doing.

Glenn wasn't going to stop him.

It was sick and twisted and so fucking like Daryl to just stand here, dry humping Glenn, but remorse was far from his mind. All he could think about was those slanting deep brown eyes, those red, plump lips and the sounds that fell from them.