This is set a few seasons ago, back before Rick and Michonne became a thing. For me, I've always felt that these two are wonderful for each other, even if they are just friends.

Luckily for me, I have the power to make them more!

Hope you enjoy! Any mistakes are utterly mine. This is to be continued at a later date... I hope!

(Disclaimer: Utter teasing smut ahead.)

Rick and Daryl silently crept through the abandoned house their footsteps light, almost in perfect tandem with each other as they scanned the empty rooms. Their group had decided to stay back at the church with Father Gabriel, choosing to keep an eye on him with Tyreese in charge of Judith's care.

These two knew that the others were in good hands. They were so used to working with each other by now that words weren't even needed. Like a well oiled machine they cleared out the lurking Walkers, flushing them out and sweeping any supplies they found into their backpacks.

Standing side by side they both take a moment to look at each other, a small smile on the corners of their lips before Rick with a nod of his head indicates the front door. Job done and a complete success,the only thing on the Ex-Sheriff's mind were thoughts of his kids.

Daryl watches as Rick takes the lead as per the norm, heading towards the narrow entryway. Striking out fast like a python going in for the kill, his hand reaches out to grip onto the other man's forearm, tugging him back to face much beloved crossbow of his lying still and neglected on the counter beside him.

Rick barely has a moment to react before lips are crashing against his in an awkward clash of teeth, a melding of bodies as the hunter and the lawman step closer to close the gap.

The two of them had been skirting around this for months, neither one of them sure of what it meant. Rick had never looked at another man before, not like how he looked at Daryl. He had been a friend, a brother, a protector and now Rick found himself wondering what it meant to have Daryl as his lover.

Did that mean he wanted more? That he would publicly air this, that he was even comfortable with his feelings? No. He knew that Carl needed the security of his Dad after everything they had been through. Of Daryl being his unofficial weird, yet oddly protective Uncle.

But the two of them as a couple or whatever the equivalent of that would be with Daryl?

No, it wasn't something he felt the boy could handle, or maybe it was more himself that was still struggling to come to terms with how he felt. Either way, the decision lay in his hands and he knew that Daryl wouldn't push for more. This was something he wanted to keep between the two of them too.

As with everything they do, words weren't needed. Grabbing his weapon in one hand, Rick's hand in the other, Daryl makes for the stairs, kicking the front door shut and blocking it with a chair before they make for one of the empty rooms.

The backpacks drop to the ground with a heavy thud, fingers sink into overly long hair and tug none too gently as they collide for their second kiss. All of the awkwardness that had lingered between them before had now dissipated; instead all that remained was the raw longing and the insistent need for their hands to trail down each other's bodies.

There was so many things that hung in the air, all the unspoken words that lingered like hanging cobwebs, waiting to ensnare them in a trap when they least expected it. The leather vested warrior pulls back enough to tug the belt free from Rick's jeans, tugging him closer as he holds onto the unforgiving material and strokes a wandering hand down the back of the Sheriff's undone shirt.

Rick barely suppresses a shiver of arousal as his piercing cerulean eyes darken, his hands returning behind his back as he feels the loop of the belt wrap around the narrowing of his wrists. The material tightens, leaving little room for Rick to be able to shift the position his hands were forced into. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows feeling a little weary of this sudden move.

Daryl had always let it be known to the others how he hated to be touched, a scar that remained from his childhood. In some way this surrendering of control on Rick's half freed the man, took the pressure off on a situation that already required him to put himself in a vulnerable position.

Having been so well adjusted to a position of power, of having the others turn to him as a sign of leadership through all the hard decisions, it was a refreshing change to let someone dictate how things were going to go down. At which this reaction was welcomed by Daryl, as the unspoken command for Rick to relinquish the rights to his own body somehow proved his unwavering trust. In Rick's eyes, Daryl and Michonne were the ones he could always depend on to keep their family safe, to always think what was best for the group and not for themselves.

Shifting on his haunches slightly, Rick notes how the leather bites into his wrists making him swallow the soft groan threatening to escape his lips as Daryl's calloused hands unbutton his shirt. With almost a torturous pace, he explores the various scars that litter beneath the rich tapestry of hair on Rick's chest. Time had lightened the dark hairs; in fact there was more than the odd grey hair in the mix, not that is bothered the archer in the slightest.

Daryl's lips ghost over the pulse point at the junction of Rick's neck, the vein throbbed beneath the surface, speeding up with obvious arousal. The fine whiskers that shadowed Daryl's top lip caused a delightful sensation against the heated flesh of the Rick's. Rick could barely control his own reaction as he bucks into Daryl's palm as he cups him through the thick material of his jeans, agonised groan echoes out in the abandoned room.

"Daryl, why now of all times?" Rick asks in a desperate groan, knowing that if he didn't ask now, that there was no chance he'd find out at a later date.

Daryl positively growls against his flesh, hands fisting at the sides of Rick's tented trousers, tugging them lower with such ferocity that Rick almost topples off the side of the bed.

"Do you know how hard it is to get you alone? How hard it is for me to ignore this between us?"

Offering no further explanation Daryl wraps a hand around the exposed erection of the man bound before him. His eyes shy away from Rick's for a moment, his hair dancing in his eyes and the sunlight streaming through the parted curtains, highlighting the heated blush on his cheeks.

The old bedding had a musty smell, something that hit Rick instantly as his cheek pressed against the patchwork fabric. With his hands awkwardly bound beneath him, his back arched into the air, he notes that the thousands of dust particles that escaped the quilt danced in the brightly lit room.

This observation was shortly ended as Daryl glides his fingers along the silken flesh of Rick's cock, his teeth nipping at the rosy buds on his chest. It felt like a raging inferno was coiling in Rick's gut, his wrists started to burn as well as he struggled against the belt holding him in place. He wanted to run his hands through Daryl's hair, tug him closer, or hell even guide his mouth lower to the part of him that selfishly demanded all the attention.

With his head tilting back and lips parted open in a silent moan, he chokes out, "You can't be getting any pleasure from this. W-would you let me at least touch-"

The rest of his words were drowned out by the gurgling noise that escaped his parted lips as Daryl pushed down onto his 's hands relentlessly pinning him down on his back, and in turn his hands that were already growing numb by this point. Next came the exquisite warmth of a mouth engulf the head of his length with a playful tongue flicking against the sensitive opening.

It was hard by this point to tell who was making more noise out of the two of them. Biting down on his bottom lip Rick tries to muffle the noises escaping him, his hands fist into the bedding beneath him. His muscles in his torso twitch as he forces himself not to rock his hips forward and slam himself at the back of the man's throat. He never did that to Lori and knowing so little of what the other man liked before him, there was no way he wouldn't treat Daryl any differently, with the same respect that he deserved.

This was new territory for Rick, and he wasn't entirely too sure if this was new for the marksman. One thing that was painfully certain was the confidence in which exuded from Daryl Dixon, almost as if the belt unleashed a new man; a born leader, someone that didn't hesitate to take what he wanted.

Pulling up with a gasp of air, Daryl holds onto the base of Rick's enthusiastic erection, a slight smirk on the corner of his lips. His eyes dark with desire matching Rick's.

"If you think you're ready to handle me Rick, why didn't you just say?"

By this point Rick was struggling to stop himself from thrusting up into Daryl's palm. He needed something, anything, just the slightest hint of movement or delightful friction. It was all pent up inside him and the cocky air surrounding Mister Dixon was a major turn on.

"I-I didn't-." There was a pause filled with a deep pant, a slight shift of Daryl's hand on his length and an audible inhale could be heard. "I want you, fuck... Do I want you."

It was almost too much, too soon. In Rick's mind he knew that this wouldn't last long if Daryl continued to tease him like that. Part of him wanted all the time in the world, to allow this to drag on. The sweet agony of the foreplay stretching out for hours until neither of them could stand it any longer. But realistically Rick knew that they had people that counted on them, that cared for them. A moment would be all that was granted for the pair and they would have to make it count.

As if reading his mind, Daryl released his firm grasp on Rick's shaft. His body rocks forward, hair still wild and strewn across his face, eyes darting rapidly across Rick's face as though searching for something.

"Do you? I couldn't tell..."

The teasing tone was unusual from Daryl, so much so it made Rick squirm with eagerness. This side of him was something to relish in, to not squander. It wasn't quiet dirty talk, but it was as good as it was going to get for now.

Rick nods his head, teeth bite down onto his bottom lip to restrain himself from saying something that could ruin the moment. How was this going to go? Did Daryl even want more, or was this all just a wind up that would leave him pent up and frustrated as the hunter pulls away.

Daryl's fingers are calloused, adding to the sweet torment as the blunted nails drag through Rick's chest hair. He straddles the man's thighs, pinning Rick down to the mattress, helpless and left wanting for more. A leather clad rear meets Rick's exposed length, the weight and the heat through the clothing making Rick buck up to meet him.

"More... Shit... Don't leave me like this. You know you want more!"

So much for not talking. But damn if it wasn't all getting to him, making him lose his bloody mind. Straining against the leather, Rick's lips were inches from Daryl's. So close that they could both feel each other's breath, see the excitement and hesitation in the blown pupils.

How could he feel so aroused and not yet even be fully naked with his new lover? And how did Daryl remain so cool and collected when Rick was such a wanton, writhing mess?

Leaning up quickly with his shoulders protesting loudly, body in absolute agony, Rick crashes his mouth against Daryl's. Fingers cup the back of his head, taking away the pressure so he can tilt his head, finding the perfect fit. Daryl doesn't even wait for permission; in fact his kiss was as dominating as his behaviour with the belt.

His tongue invaded Rick's mouth pushing past his teeth, tasting the sweet kiss of Rick Grimes, forcing him to bend to his will. Not that Rick would have protested in the slightest.

Daryl was in control and that was exactly how Rick wanted it to be.

Pulling away abruptly, Rick's lips looked kiss swollen, parted as if still expecting another kiss. His eyes were hazy, arms well and truly numb from the position they were forced into. Daryl climbs off him, rolling him over so that he was face first into the musty bedding again.

Blinded to whatever the marksman was up to, Rick had to rely on his trust as his trousers were tugged the rest of the way down the length of his long slender legs. He'd never felt so exposed, not even with Lori. Perhaps because he had always been the instigator; the dominant alpha male just like she expected him to be, like everyone expected him to be.

Rick's ears strained as he listened to signs of the other man's intentions. Clothes drop to the ground, a slight rustling in one of the backpacks as though looking for something important. Rick tries and fails to see what his lover is doing, but he was well and truly out of eye sight.

Eventually he gives up, finding his muscles in his neck were starting to protest as well. He groans, shifts his hips and then stills his movement as a spark of blinding white pleasure at the friction causes him to lose his breath.

Then the bed dips, a hand grips onto the back of his neck, a thick heavy weight across Rick's rear and a deep purring voice sending shivers up and down his spine.

"Do you trust me not to hurt you?"

These words were said against the shell of his ear, the whiskers on Daryl's top lip caressing the outer flesh of his ear. Fingers slick with some kind of lubrication brush along the crease of Rick's backside, making him push back, seeking what was to come.

"Yes. I trust you."

To tell you the truth, Rick would have said anything in that moment. He wanted more then what Daryl was currently giving him. He desired the painful stretch, the invading digits that would prepare him for the main event. Instead he had to content himself with the slow circling around the tight ring of muscles that was his opening, his hips pushing back as far as he could in turn exposing more of himself.

"Stay down," Daryl growled, his free hand gripping onto the back of his neck, pinning him in place as his middle finger penetrated him finally.

Rick bites down on his bottom lip, muscles in his torso tightening as he realised that this felt so much better than he ever imagined it would. It didn't take him long to adjust to the foreign presence of Daryl's finger inside of him. Instead, he found his own fist flexing on the small of his back, almost as if his hand wanted to guide the slow pace to something more.

Something faster.

Daryl squeezes the side of his neck lightly, letting him know exactly who was in charge, and at who's pace they would go. Rick already knew who had control of his leash, but it still felt good to test the length of the hypothetical chain every so often. His head turns to the side in Daryl's tight grip, causing the hunter to snarl louder, using this opportunity to slip a further finger inside Rick's tight opening.

Rick's mouth parts open in a desperate moan, whorish cry that startles even him. He didn't know he could even create such passionate sounds out of his own mouth, let alone hear it echoed back through the deserted house.

His eyelashes fluttering as his eyes struggle to stay parted, straining to get a good hard look at his bitter-sweet sexual tormentor.

It was too much.

It wasn't enough.

And then Daryl curls the fingers planted deep inside of him, touching places that no one had dared go before, hitting a spot within him that makes him keen his next moan, his hands almost wrenching free from the belt as he arches his back.

"Ugggh! F-fuck! Stop!"

Rick was unravelling rapidly, losing the battle with his body so spectacularly that it was almost laughable. The damp spot on the blanket beneath him betrayed him, as well as the way his toes curled, face flushed with his hair plastered to the side of his sweat drenched neck.

And just as fast as it started Daryl stops. Hot breath raining down against the back of Rick's neck, his fingers slipping free out of his lovers' well prepared entrance. He takes a moment to admire his work, to take in the sight that was Rick panting for more, his rear in the air waiting for Daryl to claim him.

Taking his position behind him, Daryl grabs onto Rick's hips none too gently, claiming him in another way as he lines up the head of his length against Rick. A cold dribble of more lubrication slips between them, and the hunter uses his own shaft as a way of spreading it around the ring of muscles, hips rocking ever so slightly as he watches himself disappear only to pull back out.

It was torture, driving Rick to the point of insanity. He couldn't breathe, waiting for the moment when the other man would drive forward and impale himself fully. It was like waiting for the wind to rip the air out of your lungs, the eye of the storm before you felt the full turbulence.

"I wish you could see what you look like right now Rick. Fuck." Daryl presses a kiss between the man's shoulder blades, his voice strained.

Rick found it took an extraordinary amount of control to be able to prevent him from giving into the demands of his body, to battle the inner voice that told him to bite the bullet and for him to push back with all his might.

If he did that, what would be his punishment? Would Daryl be a merciful lover and let him wrestle this moment of power? Or would he yank the chain again and fuck him into submission?

Even worst: Rick didn't know which one he wanted more.

"Fuck me... Give it to me, don't hold back Daryl."

Rick somehow knew that the moment the words left his mouth he would come to regret that choice of phrase.