Chapter Two
Once Rick and Shane had gotten Daryl into bed, they hadn't even backed all the way out of the room before the kid was out cold. Rick shut the door gently behind them, and led Shane by the wrist back to their own bedroom, down the hall.
"Do you think his Dad…" Rick began.
"Someone did," Shane confirmed, "You saw the way he was. Ya don't get like that from getting into fights every now and then."
"Plus, Will Dixon," Rick said, drawing out the word like it was a string of curses, "There ain't a guy more hated in the whole damn county. Wouldn't put it past him."
Shane sat down on the edge of the bed with a heavy sigh. "I can't—that look on his face, ya know? When we pulled over to get him."
"I know," Rick said, settling down beside him and pressing their shoulders together.
"He thought we were gonna hurt him," Shane growled, "And even—fuck, even when we'd convinced him that wasn't the case, that we really did just want to help, that look was still there. Like he didn't believe it. Like he couldn't understand why we'd bother."
Rick laid his hand over Shane's. "Hitting too close to home?"
Shane winced, but allowed his partner to weave their hands together.
"My Dad wasn't that bad," Shane murmured.
Rick's expression called bullshit, but instead he said, "Maybe. But think about how it would have been if he hadn't left. If you hadn't been able to come to my house, whenever things got bad."
Shane let out a shuddering lungful of air and hunched further into himself, propping his elbows on his knees and hanging his head towards the floor.
"He didn't hit me," Shane said pointedly, but his voice was small. "Never laid a hand on me, as a matter of fact."
Rick ran his palm up Shane's back, squeezed his shoulder gently. "Yeah, but he didn't need to, did he? And the way I see it, what happened to you and whatever happened to Daryl? Two sides of the same coin."
"Don't wanna think about that, man," Shane said with his eyes closed, "And we don't know what happened to him—not for sure."
"I think we do," Rick replied resolutely. "Maybe not the specifics, but…we know."
Shane scrubbed a hand over the back of his head, and then began to strip off his clothes economically. Rick followed suit, and when he got down to his boxers, he pressed into Shane and held him tightly by his waist.
Shane curled his entire body around Rick's, allowing himself to be comforted. It wasn't what he was used to, but it was something he'd learned to accept in the last few weeks. Rick wanted to be the person Shane leaned on, and despite the cocky air he so often exuded, Shane sometimes needed to do the leaning.
There was a moment from his childhood that abruptly reared its ugly head. He was nine, off from school for summer break. His Dad had him hauling brick under the noontime sun. It was the dead of August, typical sweltering Georgia heat, and his dad had announced that he was tired of having a son that sat around doing nothing all day.
He'd been outside since dawn, dragging buckets of brick from the backyard to the front while his dad sat up on the porch with a couple six packs on one side and a gun on the other. They lived pretty far off from anyone else in town. Not the poorest area, but certainly not the middle class mansion-like homes that Shane saw when he visited Rick. There was a time when they'd used this land to farm, but after his dad's accident a few years back, the soil had gone untouched. Shane's dad would sometimes tell him that one day the farm would be his. Mostly, he'd snarl that a wimpy little shit like him could never take care of a piece of land.
Shane's shirt was soaked through with sweat, heart pounding against his chest. Every time his movements faltered his father would fire a shot up into the sky. He always jumped—couldn't help it when the world was already starting to turn on its side, melt together like some abstract painting.
When the sun began to bake him from overhead, exhaustion finally hit Shane hard enough that he tread, carefully, up to the porch. His father's dark eyes followed him the entire way there.
"Dad?"
"The hell you doin' over here? Got work to do!"
Shane flinched, and tried to hide it by wiping some of the sweat off of his face.
"Can I—" his voice broke, and Shane's eyes stayed trained on the ground, "Can I get some water? I'll come right back out after, dad, I swear."
There was an elongated, gut-wrenching pause as his father leaned forward in his chair.
"You ain't done yet, kid."
"But—"
"I don't wanna hear it. How the hell am I supposed to harden you up if you can't even make it through one day's work? Now get back to it. And I don't wanna hear any more bullshit out of you."
Dejectedly, Shane forced himself to walk back over to the pile of bricks, and continue on.
When Rick arrived a few hours later, Shane's father was passed out on the porch, with his feet propped on the banister and a half-empty beer in his hand. He couldn't find Shane at first, and no one answered when Rick called out for him. So he began to circle the house, breaking into a sprint when he spotted dark hair poking up from the overgrown grass out back.
"Shane? Shane!" His friend didn't respond, and Rick fell to his knees beside him, rushing to push Shane onto his back. The area around his collar and the side of his face was red and blistered, and his body was such a searing heat, after lying out in the sun all day, that for a moment, Rick was sure he was dead. But then he pressed his ear to Shane's chest, and counted those strong, rapid heartbeats.
"It's okay," Rick told him, "You're gonna be okay." He hauled his friend through the grass and into the house, and deposited him in the only place that made sense—the bathtub. Rick made sure Shane's head was well supported before pumping up the cold water.
Shane woke up with a jolt, body going tense right up until the moment he recognized Rick beside him.
"Rick," he sighed, still seeming confused, "What happened?"
"You were outside," Rick said in a rush, "I think you passed out, Shane. You wouldn't wake up."
Shane nodded a little, trying to remember. "Oh."
"Are you gonna be okay, now?" Rick asked, wide-eyed.
Shane tried to smile reassuringly, but then the headache hit him hard, and his stomach lurched. "I—I dunno. Don't feel good, Rick."
"That's okay," Rick said, with a sort of omniscient determination only a child could have. "You're gonna be okay, Shane. Don't worry. I'll take care of you."
Now, Shane buried his face in Rick's neck.
"Was damn lucky to have you," Shane murmured. "Still am."
Rick smiled, then kissed Shane gently. And even though it took a moment, it wasn't long before Shane eagerly responded. He wrapped his arms around Rick's back and his hips bucked forward involuntarily. Rick groaned when he realized they were equally hard, and took the initiative to shove Shane back onto the bed, climbing up beside him and plastering their bodies together as they kissed.
"Nearly came in my shorts watchin' you today," Rick panted in the spaces before their lips met, "Throwing that guy up against the wall. Fuckin' owning him."
Shane grinned and flipped Rick onto his back, straddling his partner's body and murmuring, "That's what you want, huh? You want me to own you?"
He palmed Rick through his boxers and watched the older man arch up off the bed with a moan.
"Yes!" Rick gasped, squirming out of the thin fabric separating him from Shane, and helping his partner to do the same. "Want you, Shane. Want you to own me. Want you to take me."
Shane's movements faltered, smirk falling from his face as he understood just what Rick was implying.
"You want that?" Shane whispered with eyes wide as saucers.
"I've been wanting it," Rick said lowly, "Just had to work up the guts to tell you."
Rick blushed lightly and looked out to the corner of the room, avoiding Shane's intense gaze. But the younger man wouldn't have that, taking Rick's chin in his hand and forcing those baby blues back in his direction.
"You don't have to," Shane murmured, voice deadly serious.
So Rick said it again. "I want to." He lay back on the bed and threw his arm over his face, trying to hide. "Just…never done it before. Might not be all that good at it."
"That's not possible." Shane sucked a series of marks up Rick's chest until his partner finally revealed himself. And when he did, Shane said, "I'll make it good. I'll make it so fuckin' good Rick, I promise."
Rick hummed a little, then groaned when Shane began to lick and bite at his neck. "Don't need to sell me on it, Shane. I want it. Now fuckin' give it to me already."
The dark-haired man chuckled and pulled back. "Reducing Rick Grimes to profanity. Now that's a feat."
Shane pulled open the drawer to the bedside table, and held Rick's gaze as he drizzled lube over his fingers. He knelt at the edge of the bed and eased Rick's legs open one-handed, before slowly slipping a single digit inside.
Rick's eyes slammed shut and he let out a little grunt, panting at the unfamiliar sensation. He was so damn tight around Shane's finger that the latter wondered, briefly, if they could make this happen at all. But then he crooked his finger, searching out that bundle of nerves that would make it all worth it, and Rick's entire body jerked hard.
"Shane!"
The shout was too loud, and they both knew it. But Daryl was passed out down the hall anyways, and they both doubted he'd come investigate any strange noises, even if they were in the form of a guttural moan.
Shane pressed in a second finger and watched Rick's eyelashes flutter. He was writhing on the bed now, helpless against the gentle movements of Shane's fingers as they brushed against that spot over and over.
"Shane, god, Shane," Rick moaned, trying to buck up against the other man's hand.
"I know, sweetheart. Knew you'd fuckin' love this," Shane growled. He tried for a third, and when he was knuckle-deep, Rick's eyes shot open again.
"Fuck," he groaned, and that word out of Rick's mouth made Shane's cock twitch violently. "Shane, c'mon. Want you. Please."
"Okay," Shane breathed as he pulled out and spread lube over his own cock. Rick arched his back and began to roll to his front, but Shane stopped him with a hand to his chest. "No. I wanna see you."
He wrapped Rick's legs around his hips, and holding the other man's gaze, slowly entered him for the first time. Shane was careful about it; rocking in and out incrementally, never too much at once and never the least bit forceful. It was several minutes before they'd finally met skin-to-skin, Rick's body a searing vice around Shane's throbbing cock, both tensed and panting.
And Shane was willing to wait just as he was. Hell, he could have stayed still all night, if Rick had asked him too. But his partner had other plans, which he made more than clear when he swirled his hips for the first time.
"Rick!" Shane gasped, fingers clenching down hard over the muscular planes of Rick's thighs. His breaths were coming out in shuddering huffs, and Rick wasn't doing much better himself. Those hips swirled again and Shane let out a filthy moan, pupils blowing wide as he watched the man below him throw his head back, sweat dripping down his brow. If he was the least bit worried about his best friend being in pain, those worries were negated when Rick bucked against him again, cock twitching and shooting pre-come over his own stomach when the Shane's length slid across his prostate just right.
"Fuck, Rick…" Shane groaned. Pale blue eyes shot open, and Shane knew there was a beg on the tip of the other man's tongue.
TWDTWDTWDTWD
Daryl woke up in a bed far too comfortable to be his own, in a room that was too well heated, and a house that was far too clean. It took him a minute to remember where he was, and even then, his abrupt struggle to sit up left him wheezing in pain. The clock read 2:42 AM, but he couldn't remember what time it had been when Shane and Rick had found him on the street, let alone when they'd escorted him back to the guest room.
What Daryl did know, or at the very least, what became abundantly clear just moments after his waking, was what, exactly, had awoken him.
"Shane!"
Shit. Daryl craned his neck and turned his ear towards the back of the house, trying to discern whether the cry had been one for help, or something else entirely. There were muffled voices from several doors down. Shuffling, some thuds. Were they fighting each other? Was it some dumbass robber breaking into a cop's house?
Daryl was damned if he knew. But he did need to be on his guard. The fight could get out of hand. The robber could come for him next. Or worse, the two could turn on him. He'd believed them when they said they wouldn't hurt him. He'd wanted to believe them more than anything. But it was all too possible that it was him they were fighting about right now.
They could make him leave. His ribs ached at the thought.
Or, they could come for him next.
"Rick!"
Daryl jumped to his feet this time, finally awake and on edge. He had to do something. So Daryl cracked open his door and crept silently down the blackened hall. There was only one door alight, all the way at the end and a third of the way open, shedding a triangle of light onto the maroon carpet.
"Fuck, Rick…"
Now that he was closer, that sounded…less than angry, at least. Daryl stood just outside of the doorframe, still cast in shadows, and peered inside the bedroom.
He was lucky that in that moment, Rick bucked against Shane with a particularly forceful movement. Because nothing short of the warbling moan Shane let loose could have concealed Daryl's shocked gasp from the hallway.
It was everything he'd never allowed himself to think about. Everything he'd flat out denied, scoffed at in his brother's presence and worried to conceal back when he was still under his father's hateful watch. Daryl had told himself that he could just ignore it, that it couldn't be that good, anyways, and if he went about his life and focused on other things then he'd forget, somewhere down the line, that he'd ever wanted it at all.
He found himself hurting, an ache in his chest to realize that all those years of confusion had been misplaced. What he was seeing now—what Shane and Rick were doing—it didn't seem wrong at all. Nothing like the frenzied, inhuman rutting Merle had described the one time Daryl had gotten up the courage to ask. Everything about the way they moved together was slow and gentle. Loving—a concept that had never crossed Daryl's mind the times he'd thought about what two men together might look like.
But there it was. Shane was rocking into Rick slow as molasses, and looking at the man underneath him with punch-drunk, glazed-over eyes. The light-eyed cop was a picture of wanton bliss, clawing at Shane's hip to urge him closer, writhing up off the bed. And Shane kept whispering things to him, things Daryl could hear from his perch, just feet away from them. They were dirty things, loving things, and it was with a rush of heat to his cheeks that Daryl realized he was hard as a rock in the confines of his jeans.
"God, you look so good like this," Shane moaned, "Take it so good. So fuckin' good for me, Rick."
"Shane!" Rick gasped, "I can't—can't fuckin' hold out. I need—"
"Shhh," Shane soothed, leaning down to kiss Rick soundly. "I know you're close. Fuck, I am too. Feels like we're fuckin' teenagers again."
Rick groaned and swiveled up against him, trying and failing to gain some leverage.
Out of the corner of his eye, Shane saw movement from the hall. A body that couldn't help but slowly drift towards the light as it became immersed in the scene Rick and Shane created. But Shane didn't pause or falter. He kissed Rick again, slow this time. Teeth dragged down the edge of Rick's jaw to nip at his ear.
"He's watching us," Shane whispered, feeling delighted when a shiver ripped down Rick's spine.
But the older man still looked a little uncertain, purposefully keeping Shane's gaze. "We forgot to close the door," he whispered back, hardly loud enough for Shane to hear him.
"I know," Shane murmured, biting at the other side of his neck. "Can tell him to fuck off if you want," Shane thrust hard against Rick's prostate, and his partner threw his head back in a heady groan. "But I kinda like it. And I think you do too."
Rick licked his lips and panted, jaw twitching as he fought the urge to turn in Daryl's direction.
"Not yet," Shane scolded, nipping playfully at Rick's collar bone, "You'll scare him off."
He grabbed Rick by the shoulder and thrust into him more forcefully, watching Rick's cock jerk and twitch against his belly.
"Just say the word," Shane rasped, giving Rick an out, or an in.
Blue eyes locked into his. "Fuck me," Rick demanded, and Shane grinned hard.
He pounded into Rick faster, hauling his legs up higher for a better angle and gasping for breath when he saw his partner's balls pull up taught against his leaking cock.
"Fuck, Rick," Shane moaned, "You could come from this, huh?"
Rick nodded rapidly. "Don't stop. Fuck, don't stop Shane."
"I won't," Shane promised, pushing into Rick harder and faster, and sweating with the effort. "Wanna see you come on my cock, Rick. Want you to show me how much you love it. Show him."
Before the young man in the doorframe could understand just what Shane was implying, Rick was coming with a loud moan, untouched cock pulsing and shooting stripes of white all over his chest. Daryl had never seen anything like it. And just as he absently reached down to rub his hardness through his jeans, Rick's face rolled towards the door, eyes clenched shut against the onslaught of pleasure. When Rick's eyes opened again, body still quaking in bliss, they locked onto Daryl's like magnets.
Shane slammed into Rick once, twice more before releasing inside him with a resounding groan, and collapsing against Rick's sweaty chest. If only for a few seconds, Daryl remained frozen in place, trapped in Rick's gaze.
But when Shane turned towards him as well, spotting Daryl in the sliver of light, the archer was jolted from his daze. He took off like a bolt of lightning, thundering down the hallway with steps imperceptible to the human ear and crashing into the guest room in a rush.
