Chapter Three

Shane woke up to low whimpering, and a trembling body curved into his chest. Daryl was in pain again; he had to be, from the anxious, muffled noises escaping his lips. Shane glanced over at the clock.

"Shit, it's only been a couple hours?"

The smaller boy sighed a little when he realized that Shane was awake now, but still attempted to bite back his pained noises. "Dunno what's wrong with me. Nurse said only three times, maybe four…"

Shane pulled at Daryl's shoulder until he was lying on his back, and grazed a hand over his clothed chest, "Hey man, don't worry. It's gonna be fine. I'll take care of ya, okay?"

Daryl had to fight the instinct to bite back I don't fuckin' need you to take care of me. But luckily, he was too distressed to garner up much hostility. Instead he swallowed another whine and mumbled, "Ain't supposda hurt this bad. Not this soon. Something's wrong…"

"Shh, don't go panicking, alright? We'll figure it out," Shane soothed him, and for the first time Daryl could remember, words alone managed to ease some of his pain. We, Shane promised; Daryl wasn't on his own in this, and for that he was unreasonably thankful. He had a high tolerance for pain, but this wasn't the kind he was accustomed to, and the dull throb was beginning to border on agonizing.

"You sure the nurse didn't say anything else? Nothin' that could help us?"

"Just how many times, and that if I didn't I'd have to go to the hospital, and somethin' 'bout prostates…"

"Prostate?" Shane interrupted, "What about it? Like prostate massage?"

"Dunno, think she said prostate 'stimulation.' Whatever that is…"

"Man, don't you pay attention in health class?" Shane asked with a genuine smile, but Daryl only frowned in return, shaking his head in the negative. "It's a gland, right? All men got one. Plays a hand in makin' you come."

"Okay…"

"And when you massage it, it feels really fuckin' good, and it'll milk every last drop out of ya. Lotta guys can get off just from that."

Shane sat up on his knees and situated himself between Daryl's naked legs. Wasting no time with permission, he took the boy's cock in hand and began to pump slowly, easing him into his arousal.

Daryl seemed to try to writhe away from the soft touches, making Shane smile.

"But how do you…uh…massage it? Ain't it…inside?"

The utter confusion on the poor boy's face nearly had Shane second-guessing his decision to push further. But Christ, if he could only show Daryl how good it was, he knew the archer would end up begging for more. Begging for him. He just needed to show him once.

So Shane wet two fingers in his mouth, Daryl carefully tracking his movements all the while, then slowly brought them to Daryl's puckered opening and swirled them in careful circles, providing the lightest of pressures.

Daryl reacted instantly, viciously, and exactly how Shane expected. The younger Dixon shot up off the bed, pulling his body away from Shane's with wide eyes and face crestfallen by the obvious betrayal.

"Hey, hey, I ain't gonna do somethin' ya say no too," Shane immediately cooed, raising his hands up in mock surrender, "But that's how you do a prostate massage. Like you said, it's inside."

Daryl bit steadily at his lip, shifting his weight in clear discomfort and pain. He wanted to believe the older boy; wanted to believe anything at this point that would ease the throbbing sting between his legs.

"Won't it hurt?" he asked eventually, in a voice softer than a whisper.

"Might burn a bit," Shane answered honestly, "But just for a second. I've done it myself. Feels good, Daryl; I promise. Lemme make you feel that good."

Still gnawing at his lower lip, Daryl gave him an exceptionally tentative nod, and a second later, Shane had resumed his careful stroking with both hands. Daryl watched him closely, his face a carefully guarded veil of indifference. But Shane didn't miss the way he flinched when he felt the first instance of true pressure at his untouched hole.

"Gotta try to relax," Shane instructed gently, "It only hurts when you're all wound up like this."

"Fuck you," Daryl bit out.

"I'm serious, Daryl. I won't hurt you," Shane growled, then leaned forward to slowly lick and nip upon Daryl's neck and collar bone. The archer moaned softly beneath him, forgetting himself for just a moment. And all at once, Shane was able to slip his finger inside.

The immediate sting prompted Daryl to whimper, and bury his face in Shane's shoulder. But the older boy took charge of the situation, moving his finger slowly in and out and feeling around for that one golden spot that would make Daryl come like a freight train.

Shane abandoned his mission to stroke the boy off, and instead used his free hand to prop himself over Daryl's body, providing the comfort of his warmth and biting at the boy's neck as he slowly caressed inside. A minute of careful prodding, and Shane's finger grazed over something walnut-sized and hard.

Daryl shouted out a brazen, startled moan, and Shane felt the boy's cock twitch between their abdomens, already leaking from the unfamiliar stimulation. And with that encouragement, Shane began to rub the gland slowly, delighting when Daryl sobbed into his shoulder.

"Oh god, oh god…"

"Yeah, you like that? It feel good, Daryl?"

"Fuck, oh Jesus fuck…"

"You sure you don't want me to stop?" Shane teased, slowing his movements. And Daryl's eyes shot open, more earnest and wanting than he'd ever seen them.

"Please, Shane. Please don't stop," he begged.

"Dunno, man. Y'ain't exactly singin' praises…"

And at that, Daryl flung himself forward into Shane's body without a thought to the consequences. He straddled the larger boy and ground their hard cocks together, groaning openly and begging with his body. The archer managed to push down the embarrassment at his own weakness, because what the fuck was that and why the fuck had he stopped. Shane's finger had slipped from him during the journey, and Daryl ground down instinctually, searching for that incredible friction.

"Please, Shane," Daryl groaned, both hands gripping Shane's shoulders hard enough to bruise. "Felt so good. Please don't stop."

Cock twitching incessantly, Shane quickly reached for his jeans and grabbed the small bottle of lube he'd placed in his back pocket on a whim. He slicked two fingers and teased them around Daryl's entrance, wanting to hear the boy beg for it again.

"Shane, Shane," the archer whimpered, and Shane wanted to pull that quivering lip into his mouth and suck on it 'til it was raw.

"Yeah, you want it don't you? You wanna ride my fingers, Daryl?"

When Daryl nodded rapidly in response, unable to form coherent words, Shane lost his last semblance of control. He slid two fingers inside the writhing boy, quickly locating his prostate and rubbing over the spot again and again.

Daryl became a picture of wanton bliss above him, rocking back against his fingers and keening loudly with every movement. His head was thrown back and his eyes clenched shut, unable to endure any additional stimulation from the world around him. His pulsing cock bobbed up and down with every thrust, leaking pre-cum between them in a steady, white stream.

"Fuck, Daryl, you're so fuckin' hot right now," Shane groaned. He gripped Daryl's neck with his spare hand, stroking the soft skin there tenderly and holding him steady as the boy rode him in shallow, jerky movements.

"Look at me," Shane abruptly ordered, and Daryl was in no position to protest. His eyes opened and locked onto the brawny brunette underneath him. Daryl couldn't seem to stop moaning. Every stroke over that place inside made him sob indecipherable words, until his mouth hung open constantly, pretty pink tongue darting out to wet his lips every now and again.

"Fuck, Daryl," Shane whispered, lazing his eyes over the taut body writhing around in his lap. "Fuck, I wanna kiss you. Let me kiss you," Shane half-begged and half-demanded, knowing full and well that this might be the crippling request that sent Daryl packing.

But Daryl continued to rock against the thick fingers inside of him, and whispered, "Dunno…dunno how."

"S'alright, I'll show you," Shane promised breathlessly, "Just lemme show you." And when Daryl's eyes flickered down to the older boy's lips, Shane pressed his mouth to his instantly, moaning at the contact. Daryl was hesitant at first, but with Shane's encouragement he began to respond, rolling his tongue into Shane's mouth and letting the older boy guide him.

They kissed like it was their last time, and Shane rubbed hard at Daryl's prostate, swallowing the boy's blissed-out cries.

"Please, please Shane," Daryl whimpered against his lips between kisses, "Please make me…I can't…oh, God…"

Shane wrapped his fist around Daryl's cock, and pumped him in time with his knowing fingers. Twice, maybe three times, and then Daryl was coming hard and with a loud cry, spurting thick, white come all over himself and Shane and grinding down into those fingers that had made it all happen.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," Daryl groaned, and was grateful to feel Shane's arms wrap around him when his body went limp and weak.

He let his forehead drop to Shane's shoulder and panted in the familiar musk of the older boy's skin, trying to hide his red cheeks. It had been strange, sure. Hurt a little, at first. And it had made him feel vulnerable, exposed. But it had also been good. Felt so fucking good, better than anything he could remember in his short, fucked up life.

To Daryl's relief, Shane didn't utter a word. The larger boy pet him gently, toyed with his unruly hair, and mouthed along his neck, and cheek. Shane figured Daryl would feel humiliated by what had just happened, and need time to process. And for that reason, he was surprised enough to gasp aloud when he felt Daryl tentatively grasp his aching member.

Daryl awkwardly ran his fingers up and down, then met Shane's eyes.

"What do I do?" he asked seriously, and Shane had to fight not to tackle him in another dominating kiss. Instead, he wrapped his hand around Daryl's and they began to stroke him in tandem.

"Fuck, that's good," Shane sighed, "That's so good, Daryl." He tightened his fist around Daryl's hand, and urged him to pick up the pace. And when Daryl seemed to get the hang of it, Shane let his hand drop back to the bed, and watched the boy he'd been fantasizing about for years slowly work his cock.

Daryl was biting at his lip in concentration, face determined. And when he ran a thumb over the sensitive head, and Shane groaned lewdly, the older boy thought he saw the faintest gleam of a smile.

"Yeah, that's it, Daryl. Just like that," Shane encouraged him. Hardly a minute in, and he was dangerously close to coming. But the fact that it was Daryl doing this to him was almost too much to bear.

"Fuck, yeah Daryl. That's so good. You're gonna make me come."

Daryl looked him right in the eye, and Shane thought he saw a twinkle there of something sinister and abandoned.

"Do it."

A fucking demand.

And Shane lost it. He came without warning, bucking up off the bed and groaning Daryl's name repeatedly, strewn in with a mix of curses and praise. Completely spent, Shane fell back onto the bedspread with Daryl still straddling his legs, and let out a deep sigh.

"Fuck."

TWDTWDTWDTWD

Shane couldn't help but smile in amusement at the way that small shred of confidence Daryl had displayed dissipated as soon as they pulled their clothes back on. He couldn't really hold it against him though, not when 24 hours before they'd been beating each other into the ground.

So Shane strolled through Daryl's shamble of a house like he owned it, and started rifling through the kitchen.

"Man I'm starving," he announced when he came up empty-handed. "Seriously, no food? Doesn't your dad ever go grocery shopping?"

Daryl stood in the doorway and stared down at the floor. He gave a slight shrug. "He ain't been home in a while."

Shane's expression softened, and he chastised himself for whining about something that clearly bothered the younger boy. "Alright well, why don't we go out and get some food then?"

"We'd be better off huntin'," Daryl countered.

Shane tilted his head a bit to gaze at the boy. "You do that a lot?"

"Mm," Daryl grunted, before heading back into the living room and returning with a crossbow slung over his shoulder.

"You sure you don't wanna just hit the drive through? You're still pretty beat up. Don't wanna make it worse," Shane said.

Daryl felt a squeezing sensation in his chest that he couldn't quite identify at Shane's sincere, worried tone. "M'fine," he scoffed.

"Well, alright then."

TWDTWDTWDTWD

If Shane hadn't known Daryl for as long as he had, he might not have recognized him out in the woods. He was a completely different person there; perfectly at ease with himself and his surroundings. Talkative, of all things, as he instructed Shane on various tracking techniques.

And even though Shane loved seeing Daryl like this- genuinely happy- it also made his blood burn with fear. If Daryl was this damn good at tracking, then there was a reason. It wasn't about sport. Daryl had made that much clear when empty cupboards prompted him to pick up his bow. How many times had Daryl trekked around these woods alone, just to put a meal on the table? How much time had he spent out here, rather than safe, warm, and at home?

Maybe it was to get away from his home, Shane suddenly considered. And when that thought frightened him more than anything, he curtailed his inner monologue and refocused his attention on the silent hunter.

Abruptly, Daryl stopped in his tracks and brought the bow up to eye-level. He was tracking something across the icy pond, something that Shane couldn't see. There was a sharp snap as the archer pulled the trigger, and then an owl fell from a tree hanging over the pond and hit the ice with a dull thud.

Daryl went to stomp out over the ice and retrieve it, but Shane's arms immediately shot out to stop him.

"Woah, man, that ain't fuckin' worth it," Shane said, "We don't know how thick that ice is."

"S'freezin' out here. Bet it's solid all the way through. I'll be fine," Daryl scoffed, and carefully tread out onto the ice. He left his bow behind, propped up against a tree by Shane's feet, and Shane couldn't help but think that that meant something.

But then Daryl fell through the ice, and Shane couldn't think at all.

The pond was deeper than either of them had realized, at least six feet at the center. Daryl's head sunk out from view, and Shane's heart dropped.

Shane was out on the ice before he'd considered the danger, going carefully to his knees by the hole Daryl had disappeared into and thrusting one hand into the ice-cold water. His only reassurance was the two hands scrambling for purchase against the thin ice around him. He grabbed Daryl by the collar of his jacket and pulled with all his weight behind it. And Daryl erupted from the water with a gasp, clawing at Shane desperately.

The ice was already cracking around them, so Shane wasted no time in hoisting Daryl up onto his shoulder and whisking him out to safety. He settled the archer down on the hard ground to get a proper look at him.

"Fuck! Fuck Daryl, what were you thinking?" he shouted, eyeing the boy's blue lips and trembling form. "Gotta get you somewhere warm. C'mon!"

And when Daryl didn't respond, just stared up at him blankly with hair iced over his forehead, Shane hauled him up on one shoulder, grabbed the crossbow with his free hand, and took off. They'd parked the car only a mile or so away, and Shane was damn thankful for that. He ran the way there in less than ten minutes, even with the shivering boy's weight holding him back.

Shane panicked the entire ride back. He shouted at Daryl to get his clothes off, to do something, but the boy just sat there dejectedly, shuddering in his damp clothing that was painted to his skin.

Refusing to waste any more time, Shane carried Daryl inside, settling him down on the couch and quickly working to start a fire. With it lit, he turned back to find Daryl in the exact same position, looking dazed and bluer by the second.

"For fuck's sake, Daryl, we've gotta get your clothes off!" Shane growled in frustration.

He went for the boots and socks first, then struggled to peel off the boy's damp jeans and boxers. The jacket was easy enough to remove, even without Daryl's help. But when Shane went to unbutton Daryl's shirt, then the archer finally came alive.

"D-don't!" Daryl coughed, trying with frozen hands to slap Shane's away.

"Ain't got time for your damn modesty, Dixon. You're gonna freeze to death!" Shane snarled, continuing to unbutton his shirt.

"D-don't, don't. P-p-please, Shane," Daryl whimpered, clenching his eyes shut and pushing at the older boy's hands weakly. But Shane was paying him no mind. He ripped the soaked fabric off of Daryl's body, and hauled him over to the fireplace, dropping him to the ground while he went off to find some towels.

It was only after he trotted back into the room, and got a good look at Daryl's hunched-over, trembling, naked form, that Shane realized why Daryl had put up such a fight.

Every ounce of panic and frustration evaporated from Shane's system, and he stood frozen in the doorway. Scars. Marks of all shapes and sizes, some from belts and others circular burns from cigarettes put out on adolescent skin. Some of them weren't even healed yet, doled out within the last few weeks, certainly.

Shane approached Daryl cautiously, crouched down to his level and wrapped a towel around him from behind.

Daryl flinched as if he'd been struck. "N-no. D-don't, Shane. Please."

Shane began to dry Daryl's hair, and the boy's trembling only seemed to worsen. "Hey, man, it's alright. Just gotta get you warm and dry before you get sick."

"D-don't, don't…" Daryl continued to mumble, and Shane wasn't too sure how coherently the shivering boy was thinking.

Once he was convinced that Daryl's hair was sufficiently dry, Shane crawled around to his front and began to run the towel over him limb by limb.

"Jesus, look at you. Told you not to go out there," Shane grumbled mostly to himself, but when he looked up, Daryl was gazing at him with wide, frightened eyes.

"M'sorry," he whispered, trying to pull his body away from Shane's stroking hands.

"Daryl, I ain't mad at you," Shane said in surprise, but Daryl's eyes remained trained on the floor. "Look at me," Shane demanded, and watery blue eyes shot up to meet his. "I'm not mad, Daryl. I'm scared. Watching you go down like that…it scared the shit out of me. I don't like seeing you hurt, or sick."

Shane reached up to cup Daryl's cheek, and the boy flinched away fearfully. "Hey, hey, I'm not gonna hurt you, man," Shane swore, stroking one hand down the side of Daryl's neck. "Please just fuckin' believe me on this. I won't hurt you, alright? I won't."

And when his words seemed to calm the trembling boy somewhat, Shane stood up and quickly skimmed out of his shirt and jeans, then situated himself down behind Daryl and wrapped a blanket around his body. He pulled Daryl across his lap, hugging their chests together and stroking his hands over the boy's marred back.

It didn't take a mind-reader to figure out why Daryl recoiled each time Shane's fingers grazed over a scar. But Shane simply held him tight and ignored Daryl's fussing until the boy eventually began to relax in his arms.

Slowly, Daryl was warming up. The color was returning to his cheeks, the feeling to his hands and feet, and he finally felt like he could think again. Tiredly, Daryl let his cheek rest against Shane's shoulder, pressing his cold nose to Shane's neck and making the boy jump.

"Jesus, figures you'd have a cold nose. Mangy mutt y'are," Shane teased. "At least you're warmin' up alright."

"S'better now," Daryl breathed, and then, with a great deal more difficulty, "Thank you."

It didn't escape Shane how foreign those words sounded coming from the hunter's mouth.

But rather than bring attention to it, Shane said, "Yeah, y'ain't shakin' much now at all. Just try not to give me any more heart attacks anytime soon."

There was a long silence before Daryl rasped in a voice that cracked in and out with indecision, "Didn't want you to see them."

"I know you didn't," Shane replied, because he wasn't sure what else he could say.

"I've never…never let anyone see 'em."

"Daryl, I never woulda said all that shit about your dad, not if I'd known-"

"S'fine, Shane."

"No it ain't. Jesus, it's the farthest fuckin' thing from fine," Shane growled, and his angry tone made Daryl tense up in his arms.

Shane took notice. "Hey, I ain't mad at you, man, don't want you thinkin' that," he said in a softer voice. "But if I see that asshole… Daryl, I can't promise I won't kill him."

"Ya wouldn't be the first to try," Daryl mumbled tiredly. Shane's hands moved smoothly over his back and into his hair, rubbing soft circles, and the archer found himself being lulled unwittingly into a foggy haze of exhaustion.

I'll be the last, Shane thought.

"S'right, just sleep, man. That's good," Shane drawled against his ear. "Don't worry 'bout a thing, alright? I'll take care of ya."