Author's Note: Just something short, sweet and kind of cliche, to help me get back into the swing of writing. Written for a prompt on the kink meme: Daryl/Glenn, first kiss. Reviews are always welcome and I hope this helps tide you lovely readers over until exams are done kicking my ass.
Blame it on the Alcohol.
If it had been any other day, any other situation, Glenn would have blamed the alcohol. After all, it wasn't the first time he'd kissed another guy while intoxicated; Christ, the one semester he'd spent at collage had practically been defined by frat parties and sexual flexibility. But he'd contributed each of those experiences to the alcohol, to the whiskey or beer sitting heavily in his stomach. Even with such an acceptable explanation (after all, everyone did it), he still received looks, these glances that had just a hint of wariness or even disgust hidden in them. It was those glances that always made him resort to his tired and true excuse, that made him shut his mouth against the truth.
But this time, there was absolutely no fooling himself. He knew that, even though he was more drunk than he had been in a long time, he was doing this because he wanted it.
He'd been aware of Daryl watching him for a few weeks, staring at him from across camp in the evening, when he thought he could hide under the cover of the night. Glenn knew though; he could feel the other man's eyes digging into him, even when he turned away. They'd just been looks but he'd gotten good at reading people over the years, at figuring out who they wanted him to be or what he'd have to lie about in order to be in their good books. He recognized it, that type of look, burrowing into his skin until he felt goosebumps spring up on his arms.
Mostly though, he recognized the look because it was the same one he'd been giving Daryl from the instant he'd arrived at camp with his brother.
And now, all those looks were finally coming together to this; to him leaning back against the table they'd been eating on only a few hours ago, his fingers skating over crumbs as he dug his nails into the surface, staring up into those damn blue eyes that had kind of ensnared him since day one. Daryl's arms were on either side of his body, effectively trapping him in place, ensuring that he couldn't go anywhere.
Not that he would have anyways. He broke the gaze for only a second, his cheeks flushed (Daryl had wanted to see how red his face could get) but Daryl moved one of his hands long enough to push his chin back up, forcing the eye contact again. Glenn could feel sweat gathering at the nape of his neck and he wanted to wipe it away but there were far more important issues to focus on; like, for example, the fact that Daryl was leaning even closer to him, pressing his forehead against his own.
"You done lookin' at me now?" he muttered, bumping Glenn's hat off with his head. All Glenn could do was swallow heavily and nod, pressing his damp palms harder against the table. Apparently that had been the right answer because with that, Daryl surged forward, pressing their lips and bodies together, the edge of the table digging into Glenn's lower back. The taste of whisky was thick in his mouth but he wanted more, pressing harder against Daryl's lips, coaxing, begging silently. Their teeth banged together harshly but he had no time to pull back; the instant he opened his mouth in just the slightest, Daryl's tongue pressed inside, coaxing at his own.
By the time he jumped up onto the table, his hands running over Daryl's warm, toned arms, Glenn knew that there was no blaming the alcohol this time. It may have given him the additional courage to actually man up and go through with the kiss but, as Daryl's fingers pressed into the back of his neck, he knew that this was all his decision and all his victory.