Disclaimer: I don't own The Walking Dead. Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: For imorca because she tagged me on tumblr and literally just said: "Milton x Jesus, tho" and here we are because I am an entire trash can, apparently. Set in an AU where Milton escaped Woodsbury with Andrea in season three instead of staying, but lost Andrea before they could get to the prison and ended up on his own in the wild. Everything basically follows canon, but Milton is on his own until around the time when Team Family discovers Alexandria where in fix his comes across Jesus.
Disclaimer:Grief/loss/healing, depression, adult language, canon appropriate violence, blood and gore, sexual content, slow burn, anal sex, anal fingering, prostate milking.
Scintilla
Chapter Eleven
"You haven't- I know you haven't."
Paul still had the vestiges of a black eye when he showed up outside his door after dinner a few days after they'd dragged themselves back home. Leaning against the frame with a six pack of beer and a shit-eating expression until he sighed - long suffering but secretly pleased - and let him in.
"You can't know that," he rasped back, unsteady and half-wrecked already. Doing disturbingly little to back his point as Paul smiled at him - sloe eyed and greedy. Running his hands through his hair and pushing it back as blunt nails scratched across his scalp in a pleasant frisson of sensation.
He discovered that Paul still had the imprint of another man's a fist across his ribs when he let himself get pinned up against the wall by his bed a couple hours after that. An active party to every moment as he ducked into the kiss - lunging and insistent. Hiking up Paul's shirt so he could map out unfamiliar ground with his hands.
"But I do," Paul insisted. Letting him get used to the upper hand and the unfamiliar rhythms that came when the body underneath you was hard and muscular instead of soft and giving before he pushed off the wall and pitched them down onto the mattress. Winning an undeclared war that seemed to involve who could get tangled in their shirt the fastest as the man all but ripped off his dark green shirt. Leaving him chilled and alone for a fraction of a beat before he joined him. Long hair tickling down his chest as he caught the man by the frayed ends and kissed him again.
Because he could.
Because he was allowed.
Because Paul wanted-
Paul still had all the bruises and somehow that only made it better – more. Filling him with a nervous sort of excitement that made his lips and hands greedy. Helping him forget that this wasn't something he was used to. Pushing aside the past – the nerves, insecurity and caution – in favour of just letting it happen. Letting himself feel.
"You're beautiful," Paul murmured. Blunt teeth grazing down his throat as moist-warm hands tangled with the button of his jeans. Tugging them down with the deafening rasp of a straining zipper. "You know that right?"
He didn't know what that had to do with anything. But hell if it didn't make him arch as Paul cupped him through the thin of damp cotton. Bringing him out slowly - like they could still stop at any time - as his cock twitched into the warm-damp of his hand. Hips bucking up when Paul indulged him with a long, lingering stroke from shaft to crown.
Oh.
Oh-
It had been a long time. Admittedly, it had been a long time before everything had ended as well - at least by most people's standards. But then again he'd never been as hungry for it as the status quo. He'd always been selective - careful. But now? This felt different. More. Perhaps better than it'd ever been as his body and brain re-calibrated itself to meet the demands of a new factor. New dimensions. New protocols and expectations. Meanwhile, another part, a very human part, was cognizant that it'd been so long he'd almost forgotten what it felt like to have another hand around his-
"It wasn't an eventually I had- I had ever really thought of," he admitted breathlessly. Hips trying desperately to rise as Paul kept him flat against the mattress. Nuzzling into his groin and biting gently at the inner of his thighs. Making the muscles jump and twitch just underneath the skin. "It was- it was never in my plan."
"Plan?" Paul echoed, amused. Licking a messy stripe up his shaft as the man's own hard-on dug insistently into his calf.
"How I believed my life would go," he panted, stubbornly trying to get it out. If only to show he wasn't as affected as he appeared. That he wasn't that far gone despite already having a terrible feeling he was going embarrass them both by ending things far too early. "How-"
He broke off, fully aware he was being teased as Paul hummed into his skin. Fingers skating over the ridges of healing-pink scars and star-littered freckles and moles. Seeming to appreciate every inch.
"Not everything in life is planned," Paul countered, tapping pointedly on his thigh until he spread them a couple inches wider. Feeling exposed and over warm until Paul pressed himself between and hiked his legs up around his hips. Encouraging him to hold them there as he reached for his coat and took out a small silver tube.
"No," he agreed, swallowing thickly.
"Some of the best things are spontaneous," Paul added. Tone cheeky like he was smiling as he slicked his fingers in a series of quick, practiced motions. Barely giving him time to breathe before he leaned down and traced the thin line of his perineum. After which, any thought of keeping his eyes open quickly became a feat beyond all possibility.
"Yes."
The first brush of Paul's fingers against his hole made him feel unsteady. Like he was rapidly uncoiling. Rendering him momentarily incapable of deciding if he liked it or not- if he wanted to continue until Paul's finger curled. Pressing against his entrance with a bit more in the way of pressure and- suddenly he was expelling air in an explosive rush. Body intimidated, startled, but somehow- still coy as he squirmed against the mattress.
Oh.
Well, that was certainly-
"Yes," he repeated. Not realizing he'd already said it – or if it'd even been meant for that at all - as Paul chuckled above him. Squeezing more lube into his palm before leaning down, watching him closely as he moved restlessly. Wanting nothing more for that strange feeling to keep building.
The first finger was strange, even when it crooked. Making him frown and shift until Paul murmured "greedy" into his skin in a fond way and added another. Scissoring out and hooking until his index finger brushed across his prostrate and everything went white.
Embarrassingly, that was all it took.
For a long moment, overwhelming pleasure was all there was. Blanketing, blinding and absolutely catastrophic before Paul eased off. Humming nonsense into his hair and allowing the rest of the world to come rumbling back as the lingering haze of his orgasm departed in an unhappily familiar way.
Anxiety rippled through him as his cock leaked into empty air. Fighting the sensation of being vulnerable. That this was too much. Threatening to hollow him out and ruin everything as he struggled against it even as his body and brain demanded more. Like the intensity of the sensation had completely skipped his usual refractory period and was already ramping back up into hardness.
But it was overwhelming – conflicting.
It was changed etched in the extreme.
Irregular overstimulation.
Almost-
But then Paul was there. Eyes pupil-dark and understanding as he dropped over him. Weighing him down until all he could feel was him. Centering him with the familiar as his body jolted every time the man's fingers brushed across that small little gland inside him.
"Com'on," Paul coaxed, seeming to sense whatever it was he was feeling as he trailed open-mouthed kisses down the edge of his sweat-soaked hair. "I have you. Trust me, okay? I'm not going anywhere."
And yes- yes- he could do that.
He would.
Because this was Paul.
And somehow, as impossible as it sounded, Paul wanted to be his.
"I lied," he said later. Looking up at the ceiling as his feet hung off the mattress – swinging idly as sweat cooled across his skin and the pleasant after-ache in his muscles slowly eased. "Earlier? When I first came here? You did save me."
Paul shifted behind him, long hair threatening to tickle down the vulnerable span of his ribs for the two dozenth time as the man flashed gentle teeth in the dark. Smiling warmly before he rolled on top of him and kissed him easily. Turning it filthy like that kind of intimacy was easy for him, before he stopped over analysing and just let himself have it. Responding in kind as he gathered up the man's long hair and twisted it up into a makeshift knot on the top of his head. Holding itself in place precariously despite the dark brown tendrils that hung down. Framing Paul's face in a way that made his cock try and twitch from the exhausted cradle of his sticky thighs.
"Sounds like we're about equal then," Paul hummed, smile wide and genuine as he sank back down on top of him. Covering him over as his breathing hazed back to deep and he pressed a tired yawn into his skin.
'No we aren't,' he thought silently. Letting his eyes drift closed as Paul's steady breathing eventually pulled him down too. Issuing out in shared rhythms and animal comforts as the peaceful nighttime sounds almost made him forget what was waiting for them outside the gates. The same ones he'd walked through all those months ago when he'd been too stubborn to admit that in everyway you could possibly save a person – from walkers, the world, even themselves - Paul had saved him.
Not even close.
"Milton?"
It was months later when it happened. Months after that night outside the burning house and the ones they'd spent together ever since. Months where Paul's room gradually became theirs and he learned how to negotiate the give and take of that relationship. Understanding what it meant and how to navigate through that new level of intimacy. To have Paul in a way no one else was allowed to share. To learn him from the inside out and make him bleed sounds. Good sounds like breathy whines and honest pants. It was months into that new chapter when a familiar voice sounded out. Feminine and stripped red-raw with surprise as he emerged from the side door that led into the basement of the manor. Coming face to face with a near standoff.
Michonne.
Short as their acquaintance had been, he would have known her voice anywhere.
Paul had been gone on a supply run for the past three days. He'd been two days overdue and now it seemed as though he was looking at the reason why. They'd argued about it before he left. He'd been in a critical stage with his experiment, attempting to prolong the shelf-life of the gasoline they had in storage, while Gregory wanted Paul out looking for basic supplies. Toothpaste and feminine hygiene products that were getting critically low.
He'd wanted him to wait. Just for a day or two, so he'd be able to join him. Arguing that the delay would make little different when one considered the benefit of having two people out there looking instead of one. But Paul had been antsy and Gregory had been worse. He'd allowed Paul to leave while he'd been too irritated to bother with goodbyes. Subsequently, he'd been on edge for days. Angry at himself more than anything as Gregory strutted around like the self-important rooster he was. Well assured in his place of power and authority as he made a point to visit his lab to gloat at least twice since Paul had left.
"What the hell is he doing here?!"
He could see her taking him in. The others, some he recognized – Rick and Daryl - some he didn't, did the same. Noting the change. The bent glasses and light brown stubble. The casual clothes and overgrown hair. A far cry from- what was it the archer has called him? The Butler?
Paul shifted, coming to stand beside him in an unmistakable show of solidarity. Brushing elbows as he let the part of him that'd been tense all this time slowly relax. Not even so much as flicking an eyebrow when Daryl raised his crossbow. Lips down turned and angry.
He understood, but he didn't flinch. Not even when the air currents changed and he was looking down the stream-lined black of the arrow and the brightly colored flights that flared at the end. He hadn't been that Milton Mamet in a long time and the way the man's face changed as the moment lengthened, told him it hadn't escaped notice.
"Lower your weapon," Paul ordered, quiet but firm as he wedged himself between them. One hand steady on his chest. Like he was making a show out of keeping them separate. But soft enough in spirit for him to know it was more for him than anything. Steady assurance. Positive weight. The kind of touch that whispered- trust me, trust me- it's alright. "Whatever your problem with Milton is, it's over. Effective immediately. That's nonnegotiable. He's one of us and he's saved this place more times than I can count. Myself included. If you have a problem with that, the deals off. Simple as that."
Rick and Maggie were behind Daryl, speaking quietly as the crossbow wavered.
But in a strange fit of something- some emotion he wasn't sure could even be real, he found himself taking a step forward. Then another. And another. Until the point of the arrow was creating a violent dimple in the soft of his throat. Until he could feel the breathless shush of the crowd. The tension building. The soft whisper of Paul's hair brushing across his long sleeves. One hand already firm around his shoulder as Paul quietly hissed his name.
"Daryl," Rick murmured quietly. Stance loose-legged but unquestionably animal as his eyes darted around the growing circle of people trickling in from the manor and the housing trailers. Expressions fearful. Angry. Worried. Supportive. Quickly turning the tide in terms of sheer numbers alone as Gregory cleared his throat meaningfully from the wings.
He looked up then, chin mid-height and steady. Refusing to back down as the archer's eyes squinted themselves into slits. Ready to die. Ready to live. Ready to do anything other than lie to himself. To cower away and hide behind that white flag he'd used as camouflage all his life. Because the difference was that now he knew his worth. He'd earned it. He knew what he was capable of now. And most of all, he knew himself. Which is more than he could say for the person he'd been when they'd last met.
He'd grown up.
Grown hard.
Just grown.
"Back. Down," Paul repeated. Voice empty of it's usual placating tones and now unapologetically iron-edged. Neither of them failing to notice the shift as Maggie stepped up. Talking to Rick quietly before hushing away again. Seemingly the deciding voice on the matter as Rick, Michonne and Daryl took a careful step back.
His molars ground together in silent agony as he forced his body to heel. Wanting to lash out. To beg for forgiveness. To burn and yell and tear. Running through the entire gamut of possible emotions but refusing to let even an inch show on his face as the crossbow slowly lowered and Andrea's ghost flickered into being behind the tense line of Michonne's shoulders. Smiling at him softly, in that bold little way she had, before disappearing between one blink and the next.
He didn't say a word when the moment was finally over. He didn't think he could. Uncertain of what to do with the bitter disappointment building inside his chest as Paul eased in front of him protectively. Turning the conversation to other matters as Michonne's eyes followed him.
But he couldn't handle it.
Not that weight.
Not those eyes.
So, instead of sticking around he turned on his heel and melted into the sidelines of the crowd. Carving a path for himself the same moment Ethan came charging into camp without his brother, mania burning in the back of his eyes.
A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – There will be one more chapter, stay turned. I am excited to see what you guys think when it is time to wrap things up.
