My story DN+AB is supposed to be M rated slash eventually, but I've never written anything sexy in my life. So I decided to practice and then thought, hey! I'll post them as one-shots and see what happens. Which means this will turn into a series with a gradual increase in rating.

This can take place on the quarry or the farm, it's up to you.

"Glenn!"

A relieved grin stretched across his battered face and he limped faster to greet Daryl, before finding himself smushed against a living (not undead, definitely not undead) chest. Leather clad arms wrapped firmly around him and after two horrible days he finally — finally — allowed himself to relax.

"Hi," he tried to say, though it came out more like, "Ffph."

He was released just as quickly, though Daryl didn't move away. The bulging backpack dropped heavily to the ground as it was pushed off his shoulders and hands lingered where the straps had been, fisting into his shirt. The man peered intently into one eye, then the other. Glenn was too tired to bother with anything beyond eye level and distantly watched an Adams apple rolling under skin.

He was never going on a solo supply run for the rest of his life. Or at the very least, the next two weeks.

"Y'okay?"

Glenn attempted a nod and kept staring at the throat with unfocused eyes, exhausted and rendered mute as Daryl's hands began absently kneading his shoulders. He knew the guy would be worried about him, but hadn't expected a hugfest when (if) he made it back to camp.

Not that he was complaining.

Daryl inched closer and dipped his head in poorly hidden concern, trying to catch his eyes. "Glenn?" he asked again, sharper.

He was so close. Glenn's body hummed. Fuck it. He let his forehead fall straight forward into the dip of Daryl's clavicle, too tired and sore to care if it was weird. By chance, a venturing thumb simultaneously dug deeper into his aching deltoid and he was relieved that Daryl's shirt muffled his appreciative groan.

The older man froze, chest expanding rapidly and pressing against Glenn's before stilling. Glenn forced himself to swallow an involuntary whine as the impromptu massage stopped. Or at least he made a valiant effort. He tilted his head for air and rolled his shoulders the tiniest prompting bit.

Daryl stirred again, which was a relief, even if the only muscle moving was his diaphragm. Glenn couldn't tell if it sounded louder because the man was actually breathing louder or because his ear was now a few inches from his mouth. It didn't matter. Daryl exhaled slowly and Glenn forgot he had been thinking about anything at all. The breath was warm and damp and every skin cell in and around his ear tingled its approval.

He rolled his shoulders again in a silent request, up and forward before relaxing back down. That actually felt kind of nice. He did it again.

Daryl inhaled rapidly a second time — Glenn didn't need to see or hear it, he could feel it — and his hands started kneading again. They wandered a bit further, one exploring up his neck and the other feeling down his arm. He sighed.

If he had been thinking straight he probably would have been shocked, even embarrassed. But he wasn't. He was exhausted and relieved, so glad to be back, so glad to see Daryl and... Well.

Daryl's hands pressed into his lower back (back? when had that happened), drawing him closer, outlining lumbar vertebrae with calloused fingertips through threadbare fabric. It was Glenn's turn to inhale sharply as he felt a nose tentatively burrow into the hair behind his ear and breathe in deeply.

Oh. Oh.

He turned his head ever so slightly and regarded the patch of skin directly in front of him, cautiously moving closer, sniffing softly. Daryl shifted and dry lips accidentally brushed against tanned skin. There was another soft groan, this one deeper than the first and muffled by jet black hair.

"IS THE LAD ALRIGHT?"

Dale's voice echoed towards them. He must have been on watch, spotted them through his binoculars.

Daryl shoved Glenn away so violently that he flew back a good ten feet and landed right on his ass. His head smacked into the ground, but it was soft grass and painless. He was so astonished that his brain refused to make even a perfunctory attempt at rationalizing the situation. Instead he sat up, looked at Daryl blankly, and let the moment wash over him.

At least, that had been the plan. If Daryl hadn't leaped to help him ten seconds after pushing him away.

He was pulled up off the ground with one swift tug and found himself being manhandled the rest of the way back. Daryl had looped Glenn's left arm tightly around his neck and looped his own arm even tighter around Glenn's waist. He carried the backpack in his free arm, apparently as ballast since Glenn's feet barely touched the ground.

"Fuckin shit! You okay, kid?"

Glenn felt a scowl coming on. "I'm fine. Just tired and sore. I went through a lot of shit the past couple days you know. What the hell was that all about?"

The other man had the decency to look guilty, about which part Glenn wasn't sure. "Won' happen again," he muttered under his breath, avoiding eye contact.

"It's okay. But next time, don't shove me when you get spooked."

Daryl's eyes snapped to his face, eyes searching, tongue slipping out unconsciously to wet chapped lips.

Glenn pretended he wasn't blushing and wiggled his eyebrows.