First story posted from my new computer! Which hopefully means I will be writing a helluva lot more than I have been. Let me just say, this one looked a lot longer handwritten in my composition notebook.
Disclaimer: It's all Kirkman, Gimple, and Nicotero's, I'm just playing with them.
"Come here boy, I want to dance."
-Luke Bryan's Play It Again;
His boots thunked heavily against the bumper of the old pickup they had taken during the long winter. Every beat of the heel of Daryl's boot next to the expired Georgia license plate sent a shiver down Rick Grimes' spine. The older man stood from his spot on the other side of the fire and rounded their ragtag group, pausing to pluck the mason jar of 'shine from his son's hand, before sidling up next to the man who was perched on the closed tailgate of the Chevy. He took a long pull from the jar with a grimace before handing it over as he climbed up next to Daryl.
"Too old and drunk for this shit," he grumbled when he almost fell into the bed.
Daryl snorted as he placed the mason jar on the side of the bed before reaching out to steady him. "Not like I invited ya over here or nothin'."
Country music wafted into the night sky; it seemed to dwindle into the endless dark with the smoke from the small bonfire in the prison yard. Daryl had found the cassettes in the glove compartment and had promised Rick he would make sure the battery was charged before their run the next afternoon – he had surprisingly been the one to convince their fearless leader that they needed this, a chance to break up the endless shit storm their lives had become over the past year (he even willingly parted with the moonshine he had found on a run). Glenn and Maggie shared a bottle of wine that Maggie had squirreled away at some point as they danced clumsily around the yard. Carl sat next to Beth beside the fire, the boy stealing glances at the older teenager every chance he got. They both shared a chuckle when Carol, a sleepy Judith in one arm, attempted to dance with Hershel where he sat in an old lawn chair but the smile on her face as she twirled carefully under his arm made them bite back their teasing.
"You were right," Rick confessed quietly. "We needed this."
"Think your boy's puttin' the moves on Beth," Daryl told him, ignoring the praise.
He laughed. "She's not exactly shovin' him away neither. Good for them. They deserve the chance to be happy."
"What 'bout you? You deserve happiness too."
Rick shrugged. "Maybe. S' long as Carl and Judith are happy then that's all I need."
"You deserve happiness," he repeated.
"What about you? You deserve to be happy, Daryl. Hell, after this past year I think we all deserve a shower of happiness from the man upstairs."
He shook his head with a small grin on his face. "I'm happy, man. Got 'shine, got some decent music, and good company. Probably the happiest I've been since the world went ta shit." Maybe ever.
Rick looked at him hard for a long moment, studying his face, and there's an intensity in those blue eyes that makes the hunter's heart beat out of rhythm. And then Rick wordlessly slid off the tailgate and all Daryl could do was track him with his eyes as he rounded the bed to lean into the cab, turning up the old Randy Travis song as loud as he dare without drawing any unwelcome attention from the walkers beyond the fences. With a shake of his head, Daryl drained the last of the 'shine from the mason jar as Rick came back to him.
"C'mere," he ordered and the younger man obeyed immediately. Rick's hand settled on the curve of Daryl's hip as he pulled him flush against him, long fingers curled in the belt loops of his pants as they began to sway. "Dancin' makes me happy."
"Really," he managed on an exhale. Carefully, he slipped his arms around Rick's waist. "'Cause it seems to me like yer kinda terrible at it."
"Shut up," Rick growled. "I'm drunk. I dance better sober – I'll show ya some time."
"Might hold ya to that," he told him. "Hey Rick?"
He hummed his curiosity as he pressed a whisper of a kiss to the hunter's temple.
"You make me happy."
Long fingers let go of his belt loops and Daryl'd be a liar if he said he didn't whimper at the loss of contact but was appeased a moment later when two large hands slipped into the back pockets of his jeans. "You make me happy too."
Rick worked their feet in a weird little square caught somewhere between a waltz and a two step. Daryl hides his blush in the man's shoulder, fingers curling in the hem of Rick's shirt. With a surge of courage, he leaned up and pressed his lips to the peppery curls at the older man's ear. "Ya gonna kiss me or not, sheriff?"
Rick took half a step back and hooked a finger under Daryl's chin, tilting his face up as he slanted his mouth over his. As Daryl pushed into the kiss they were greeted by a round of catcalls from their makeshift family and he raised his hand to flip them the bird but Rick caught his hand, curled their fingers together and drew them to his chest.
"Happy now," the curly haired man mumbled against his lips.
Daryl caught the back of his neck and pulled him closer to kiss him again. "Gettin' there."