The motel was rundown and kind of gross, but it was as good a place as any to figure out how to deal with this.
"Still can't believe we're married," Rick muttered.
Daryl tried not to flinch at that and just grunted, jerking his head in a sort-of nod.
"Daryl— Hey, man, you doin' all right? You seem a little—"
"'M fine." Daryl swallowed and lifted his thumb to his mouth before forcing himself to stop. His nails were already ragged and too far bitten down to justify chewing them down any further.
Rick kept glancing at him as he parked the car. "You sure?"
"I said I'm fine, Rick." Daryl glanced back at him and, the moment Rick had stopped the car—before he'd even put it in park—he jumped out of the car, glad he hadn't worn his seatbelt.
"I wish you wouldn't do that," Rick muttered under his breath.
Daryl rolled his eyes. Rick was too pure for this world, that was for sure.
Too damn pure to be ruined by a faggot like Daryl Dixon.
He fought the urge to lift his thumb back to his mouth and instead turned and started pulling their suitcases out. They'd already missed their flight—which was why they were driving and staying at a cheap motel—and woken up married. The last thing that Daryl needed was to accidentally pull off his fingernail.
A hand landed, soft and warm, on his shoulder, but too close to the scars littering his back and Daryl jerked. "Get off me!"
"Hey!" Rick held up his hands and took a step back. "I was just going to offer to help you unload the car, that's all."
Daryl eyed him—he stayed passive and calm, and he kept his hands out to the sides, although he lowered them from above his head.
"Listen, Daryl," Rick said, and Daryl hated that tone of voice. Not because it was something bad, but because it was so soft and sweet and everything that Daryl couldn't ever have. "I know this is— Well, it's a weird situation, but—"
"Don't worry about it," Daryl muttered.
"But," Rick continued, and Daryl rolled his eyes before reaching back into the car and grabbing one of Rick's nice suitcases, "you're going to have to get used to being around me for a while."
Daryl grunted.
It was true. They'd missed their original flight, which happened to be the last flight before everything got snowed in when the blizzard hit—and those damn airport pussies were too chickenshit to ever just nut up and fly when there was even a chance of snow, much less a blizzard.
And Daryl had already spent more than enough money just getting out here for Shane and Merle's bachelor party, which… ugh.
Thank fuck Rick was here.
But what wasn't so great was that they were married.
Daryl pulled out his own duffel bag and closed the car door, leaning against it to unzip and double-check the contents of his bag.
"I didn't forget your crossbow," Rick said, more than a little annoyed.
"You've never liked—"
"No, I've never liked you draggin' that thing around with you everywhere you go, but I wouldn't just leave it at a hotel. 'Specially not a hotel like that."
Daryl looked up to see Rick standing with his arms crossed and his brow knit—his feet spread apart to the point that he looked almost confrontational just standing there.
Daryl huffed and pulled a few of the rumpled, wadded clothes in his bag to the side. His crossbow was there. "And the bolts?"
Rick threw up his hands. "They're in there, Daryl. I'm gonna go get a room, all right? You stay here, watch our bags." He started off towards the main office.
"Nobody'll take anythin'."
Rick turned, walking backwards. "Yeah, that's why you bring the crossbow, right? Not just good in a zombie apocalypse."
Daryl rolled his eyes and zipped his duffel bag up. He swung it over his shoulder and adjusted the strap that was wearing through the padding too fast for his liking until it was comfortable enough that he didn't want to tear his skin off.
He kept a hand on top of the bag and the other on the car's frame, leaning enough that he couldn't just absentmindedly start gnawing on his nails again.
What had Shane said to get? Bitter Apple spray, wasn't it?
The shit you put on table legs when you got puppies?
He didn't know why Merle was so in love with Shane, honest to crap. It made less than no sense. Actually, the only thing that made sense about it was that they were both assholes. But Shane had been to anger management, and Merle had been to prison, so maybe they just had different ways of—
"Room 114," Rick called out, jogging over.
"Nothing on the second floor?"
Rick shot him an irritated look as he picked up his bags. "No. Not unless I wanted to pay an extra forty bucks for the night."
And— Well, Daryl couldn't really argue with that, could he?
He grunted and rolled his eyes as Rick fought to pick up his third bag. "Give me that."
"I've got it," Rick said.
"Rick."
Rick looked at him and finally sighed, acquiescing. "Take the damn thing, then." Rick made a face. "That came out wrong."
Daryl flicked a brow up, trying to bite back his smile. "No kiddin'."
"I think it's just a few doors down from here," Rick said, nodding to the right, deeper into the L-shaped motel.
"I got first shower," Daryl said.
"Go for it."
Daryl glanced at him, frowning. "Are you—"
Rick slipped past him, somehow not even bumping into him despite how much luggage he was carrying.
Daryl stared after him as he fitted the motel key into the room's lock and kicked open the door, the door getting stuck on either stiff carpet or rusty hinges.
"You comin' or what."
Daryl followed after him.
Rick closed the door behind him and tossed the key down on the little table in the room's brief entry hall. "You got first—"
"No, you first," Daryl said, turning to lock the door and wincing at the crunch of his boots on the almost menacingly stiff carpet.
Rick stopped dragging his luggage across the carpet and glanced back at him. "You sure?"
Daryl nodded, shrugging. "Go for it, man."
Rick hesitated, but then he nodded. "Thanks." And with that, he turned and headed into the bathroom.
Inside the carpet-covered room itself were two beds—queen size, surprisingly—long, thin curtains covered windows with ragged blinds, one nightstand with a lamp between the two beds, and a little round table, maybe three feet in diameter, with two rickety-looking chairs around it.
Fancy.
Daryl tossed his duffel bag onto the bed closest to the door and then thought better of it, moving the bag onto the floor. In places like this, bed bugs were a real possibility, even if they weren't a real likelihood.
(Too much piss and semen, not enough people to feed on.)
But a cursory inspection proved that his bed was clean, and so was Rick's. The carpet was far from it, but then he just wouldn't roll around on it for too long.
The hotel from last night had been nice—much nicer. Plush carpeting, king-sized mattresses, and flat-screen TVs, and the only trade-off had been that everybody'd been two to a suite. But the suites were huge, and they had separate rooms anyway—just one keycard for the door.
The hotel from last night had also costed way more than this place. Then again, most places were more expensive than this motel.
Or what he assumed the motel costed. It couldn't be that much, though.
Daryl stripped the duvet off the bed and shook the pillows out from their cases to check for anything inside of the fabric—he'd been burned before. Not for a while, but if he didn't check and—
"It's all yours," Rick said, and Daryl turned and his knuckles turned white around the pillow as he swallowed heavily.
He nodded weakly as Rick, bare-chested, still dripping with water from his shower, curls sopping wet and slicked back with water framing his face.
"Keepin' the beard?"
Rick rolled his eyes, but he smiled. "Thinkin' about it, yeah."
Daryl swallowed, dry throat clicking. He nodded again. "Still hot water?"
Rick shrugged and he bent over to dig through his suitcase, and Daryl's heart thudded painfully in his chest, his throat closing up. "Should be."
Daryl grabbed his entire duffel bag and brought the whole mess of it with him into the bathroom. If he'd stayed out there a minute longer—
Well, it would've been more than a little clear that Rick's new husband wasn't so opposed to being husband and husband.
And that—
Rick was obviously at least tolerant of gays, since his best friend was getting married to a man and he'd gone to the bachelor party, but—
It was one thing to tolerate gays and it was another to be married to one.
Daryl bit his thumbnail harder and winced, jerking it from his mouth. Damn it—he thought he'd had a handle on this.
Maybe he should get some of that puppy spray.
###
Daryl toweled off and got dressed fully in the bathroom, triple-checking in the mirror that his shirt wasn't too see-through before he opened the door, releasing a rush of steam, and stepped through.
Rick was lying in the bed closest to the door, a book propped on his stomach and his head crooked against the headboard in a way that looked distinctly awful.
Daryl winced on his behalf before his brain caught up with him. "Why're you in my bed?"
Rick looked up at him. "You didn't claim a bed, Daryl."
"That's my bed."
Rick stared. "I'm already in it."
Daryl gritted his teeth. "You're in my bed, Rick."
"The other bed's perfectly fine."
"Then you take it."
Rick sat up, tossing his book to the side without even marking his place—which was a really bad sign. "Daryl," he said, voice warning, "this is my bed."
Daryl stared him down for a moment before walking over to the entry hall, dropping his duffel bag, and returning to the other bed.
"What are you doing, Daryl?" He sounded tired, but that didn't discourage Daryl for a moment.
He picked up a couple pillows and the duvet and carried them over to the entry hall.
"Jesus, Daryl, would you—"
"Night, Rick."
Daryl hit the wall switch for the lamp—and why the hell did a motel have a light switch for the lamp—and curled up in the hall, adjusting the pillow underneath his head.
It was quiet.
"Daryl," Rick said.
"'M asleep."
He was very much awake.
"For— Daryl." The sheets rustled, and then two soft footsteps on the stiff, crunchy carpet.
"Y'need to learn to tiptoe, Rick. Could wake somebody up one of these days."
"Good that you aren't really asleep th—"
Daryl grunted as Rick fell onto him, tripping over something and landing on him hard. "The fuck, man?"
Rick squawked. "I tripped, Daryl!"
Daryl curled up a lip, wrinkling his nose. Trying to pretend that he was completely disgusted instead of completely elated. "Go back to bed, Rick."
Rick huffed, and he shifted like he was going to get up before just settling down next to Daryl.
A long moment.
"What're you doin', Rick?"
"Nothing."
"Rick, I—"
"The bed's free," Rick said.
He was calling Daryl's bluff, wasn't he?
Daryl gritted his teeth. "You made a good argument," he tried.
Rick reached out and slapped blindly at the wall.
"It's about four feet higher," Daryl said.
He could almost hear the eye roll.
Let it never be said that Rick Grimes wasn't a complete and utter drama king.
"Thank you for that, Daryl."
Daryl rolled his eyes right back. "Go to bed, Rick."
"I think you should take your own advice."
Daryl huffed. "Rick—"
"I think we have two solutions to this," Rick said, and Daryl sighed. "Solution one—we both sleep here, on the floor, on this carpet."
Daryl wrinkled his nose as he shivered involuntarily. Admittedly, he'd kind of forgotten that he was lying on the carpet, but—
"Solution two," Rick continued, "we both sleep in the bed by the door."
Daryl stopped breathing. "What?" he whispered.
"It's cold, there's a blizzard coming, neither of us'll sleep behind the other person… take your pick. They're all legitimate."
They were all—
Excuses.
Daryl blinked in the darkness. "Rick?" he said, after a long few minutes.
Rick hummed.
"Go to bed."
Rick groaned, right in his ear, and despite it all, Daryl's cock stiffened.
His eyes widened.
"Daryl," Rick whined, petulant and—and not needy, not needy at all, Jesus fucking—
"I'll—"
"Are you—" Rick broke off. "Daryl, are you—"
Daryl jerked to his feet, abandoning Rick, the pillows, and the duvet. "I'm just gonna—"
The lamp turned on and Daryl's eyes widened. Everything in him screamed to not cover his crotch, to not draw more attention to it, but that seemed somehow infinitely worse.
He clasped his hands in front of himself. Daryl cleared his throat as some unreadable look crossed over Rick's face. "Excuse me," Daryl said, glancing behind himself and starting to back up towards the bathroom.
"Wait," Rick said, taking a few fast strides forward and grabbing Daryl's arm. "Daryl."
Daryl swallowed. "I'm sorry," he whispered. He shook his head. "Rick, if you can just give me a moment, I'll—"
Rick's grip tightened on him for a moment. "If you want to do that," he said slowly—like he was talking to a wounded animal, "I won't stop you. But… Daryl, I— If there's any way that that's because of me…." Rick swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing almost violently.
Daryl waited for the inevitable rejection—the moment that he dropped the bomb that he knew that Daryl was a fag and that he couldn't even be in the same motel room as him because—
"I'd like to have sex with you." Oddly formal. Oddly—
Daryl choked on thin air, eyes going wider than they ever had before. "You— I— What? Rick, you're—"
"I want to fuck you," Rick said, stepping closer, eyes infinitely more intense when they were just a few inches away from Daryl's own. "Or, in terms of logistics," he said, and Daryl's stomach twisted, "I want you to fuck me."
Unfortunately, due to FFN's restrictions on MA stories, I am not able to post the second chapter here. However, this story is available in its entirety on my Archive of Our Own profile under the same username, waitingforjudas. Thank you for reading.
