Chapter 6: Don't Let Me Drown
Daryl looms over Murphy, his lips rough and forceful against Murphy's own. There is a storm raging inside of him, one that he was never even aware he harbored, and now it's battering against him like a damn hurricane. He is being swept away by the raging waves inside of his heart, and he is taking Murphy down with him.
Daryl's hands find their way to Murphy's sides, fingers digging deep into skin as he pulls the man even closer, pulling them flush against each other. His nails scratch along Murphy's hips a little too roughly, bringing blood, but Murphy makes no move to get away, makes no sound of protest. Murphy actually seems to be enjoying this, soft little whimpers of pleasure resounding from his throat to Daryl's ears; hearing those sounds drives Daryl wild.
Daryl's tongue darts from between his lips and finds its way to Murphy's, barely having to touch Murphy's lips before Murphy parts them and invites him inside. Daryl's tongue quickly finds Murphy's and then he's sucking it into his mouth, breaking their kiss. Murphy moans, squirming in Daryl's grip, and Daryl can't help but smirk.
Murphy makes him feel things that no other person in the world can. Being able to make Murphy whimper and writhe around is incredible. To know that he is bringing someone such pleasure that they can't control their sounds or the way their body moves gives him a rush that he can never get enough of.
Maybe that's why he can't stop seeing Murphy, why he won't stop seeing Murphy. Because he can make Murphy do things that he can't make Rick do. Because Murphy gives back everything received in spades.
Things are different with Rick. Daryl loves Rick. He always has and he always will. But he's never heard these kinds of sounds coming out of Rick before, never made Rick's fists clench too-tightly against the bed sheets, never made Rick's entire body vibrate with need. He can't satisfy Rick the way he can satisfy Murphy, and that's not from lack of trying.
Daryl returns his mouth to Murphy's, letting their tongues dance idly as they kiss, lips molding together as if they are one being. Murphy doesn't refrain from sliding his hands up Daryl's back, but for once Daryl doesn't mind, doesn't feel self-conscious; he actually likes the way Murphy's fingers feel as they explore his skin, likes the way Murphy makes him tingle all over like he's made of free-flowing electricity.
Daryl moves his hands under Murphy's legs, lifting the man's thighs and parting them. They fucked maybe twenty minutes ago, if either of them were keeping count, but both of them are more than ready for round two. Murphy is so hot and bothered that he keeps pushing his ass closer to Daryl's crotch, presenting himself the best way he can in the positions they're in. And Daryl is more than willing to accept the offer.
Daryl lifts Murphy's hips slightly, just enough to get his ass where it needs to be, and then he pushes in. He meets minimal resistance, and then he is sliding inside again, and both men are moaning into each other's mouths.
Murphy wraps his arms around Daryl's lower back, laces his fingers together, and pulls the man forward until he can't go any further. Daryl stays still for a moment, just holding Murphy as they both adjust, their lips remaining connected. And then he begins to grind slowly into Murphy's heat, pulling out just to go right back in.
Daryl's intensity has ebbed for the moment, but it is still there under the surface, raging and building; both men can feel it through their kisses, through their touches, something charging through them and making their blood boil.
Daryl finally releases Murphy's mouth and leans back, his ass almost touching his calves, bringing Murphy with him. Daryl holds Murphy's hips firmly, pulling the man down every time he thrusts upward, hitting that special spot inside of Murphy each time.
Murphy is resting on his elbows, his feet not-quite-planted on the bed, watching Daryl work over him. Daryl's eyes have that same burning intensity in them, and it only seems to grow as Daryl's eyes lock onto Murphy's. Murphy is moaning and gasping in ragged little pants of breath, his cock jumping each time Daryl hits that perfect spot.
Murphy is drowning in the pleasure, drowning in Daryl, and he loves every second of it.
The raging storm inside of Daryl builds itself up once more, and suddenly he is flipping Murphy onto his stomach. Murphy attempts to get onto his knees, but Daryl places a hand on his back, pushes him down to the mattress. Daryl spreads Murphy's legs to his liking and then nestles between them, slithering down so low that his chest is practically on top of Murphy's.
And then he's inside Murphy once more, thrusting his hips with as much force as he possibly can, driving Murphy's body into the mattress again and again. He grunts every so often, growling out his pleasure instead of moaning it now, and fists Murphy's hair. He pulls Murphy's head up, somehow needing to hear the boy's cries of pleasure, and then sinks his teeth into Murphy's throat.
Daryl no longer cares who he belongs to, who Murphy belongs to. Because right now they belong to each other, and it's likely to stay that way for a long time to come. So he marks Murphy's throat, claiming his territory. He bites down hard into Murphy's flesh, like an animal, tasting blood on his tongue, and he swears Murphy's cries and get louder. And Daryl finally moans, the sound rumbling from somewhere deep in his throat and travelling upwards, into Murphy's bloodstream.
The hand in Murphy's hair tightens, the teeth at Murphy's throat bite down even harder, and the cock thrusting into Murphy's ass somehow manages to thrust in deeper. It is pain and pleasure mixed together in the perfect duet, and Murphy's muscles seemed to have all turned into jelly; all he can do is grip the sheets tightly in his fingers and moan and whimper. He attempts to push his ass backward to meet Daryl's thrusts, but there is no need for that, because Daryl is there, Daryl is always there.
And somehow, through the haze of ecstasy flooding his brain, Murphy feels tears rolling down his cheeks. He is crying, but he has no idea why. And right now it doesn't matter.
Daryl is close to the edge, and he pulls his mouth back from Murphy's throat, his jaw clenching together as he breaths out Murphy's name. He has spoken Rick's name during sex before, has cried it out against the man's skin even, but Murphy's name seems to roll right off his tongue in a way that Rick's can't. Murphy's name feels like home to Daryl's tongue. So he repeats it, over and over again, a whisper building into a shout until he is practically screaming it. He knows that anyone who happens to be in this part of the cell block right now, and most likely anyone in the surrounding area, will be able to hear him, but he can't care about that right now.
Nothing else matters but the heat around his cock and the man writhing underneath him, the man who is whimpering out his name in such a way that makes his heart beat faster and his blood flash-burn through his veins. He has just a split second to wonder if Murphy says Connor's name that way, too, but then Murphy's muscles clench around him and he is coming. He bites down on Murphy's shoulder, stifling the scream building in his throat.
Murphy isn't far behind, his toes curling against the mattress, his knuckles turning white from how hard he's gripping the sheets, his throat raw from how loud he's crying Daryl's name.
Daryl slumps down onto Murphy's back, his chest heaving as he gasps down breaths that barely reach his lungs. His hair flows around his shoulders, tickling Murphy's skin where it brushes against him.
Murphy lets his face fall against the mattress, panting around sheets and sweat, as his body calms. More tears flow from his eyes, two waterfalls that he cannot control. A sob catches in his throat, but he forces it back down, not wanting to alert Daryl to his odd behavior.
But Daryl hears the hitching of Murphy's breath, and gently eases out of him. He carefully turns the man onto his back, and that's when he sees the tears. Murphy's eyes are completely glazed over with the watery sheen, the blues standing out so beautifully that Daryl can't look away from them.
Daryl wants to ask what's wrong, but he's not good at words, so he simply reaches out and brushes Murphy's bangs back. It is a simple gesture, but it seems to help.
Murphy stares up at Daryl through his tears, and he feels like he's just been torn apart after being caught in a hurricane. He is the aftermath of such a disaster, broken and bleeding, drowning.
Something has changed between them. Something has snapped inside of Murphy while something else has come together inside of Daryl.
Both of them know that they can never stop this affair that they are having, because neither will have enough strength to be apart from the other. Both of them know that they can never go back to their former lovers' beds in good conscience, because not only would that hurt their former lover too much, but it would hurt them too much. They need to be together now, need to lay beside each other and hold each other, need the warmth gained from the other person's love.
Daryl sees Murphy's lips moving, but hears no sound. He is instantly flooded with worry, and he gives Murphy's shoulder a gentle shake. "What's wrong, Murphy?"
Murphy clears his throat, his eyes locking onto Daryl's once more. "I'm drowning, Daryl."
Daryl knows that statement is supposed to be confusing, but somehow he understands what Murphy is saying perfectly. Murphy is drowning in his own confusion, in his need, in his lust; Murphy is drowning in Daryl as he once drowned in Connor.
Daryl brushes Murphy's hair back and leans down, pressing their foreheads together. He's going to make sure he doesn't fuck up his relationship with Murphy as he fucked it up so many times with Rick. He's going to do things right this time.
"I ain't gonna let you drown, Murphy."
And then he presses his lips to Murphy's, his kiss gentle and giving, pulling Murphy up from the depths.