Chapter Nineteen
Daryl Dixon had always hated his birthday. When he was growing up, other kids would turn a year older and celebrate with presents and parties. For them, that day would be all about love and happiness and soaking up attention like needy little sponges. But to Daryl, aging was hardly an achievement, not when survival for other kids just meant sleeping in houses big enough to fit his old trailer six times over, and eating home-cooked meals every night.
When Daryl turned nine, his father had whipped him with his belt until he passed out in a pool of his own blood. And when he'd finally woken up, and tried to make a run for it, the fucker had chased him through the woods for damn near an hour, fueled by a combination of fury, adrenaline, and Bud Light. It was only by hoisting himself up into a tree, tense and dangling from the branches until the early hours of the morning, that Daryl had managed to evade him.
One more year alive had never been much to celebrate, even back when it had meant one year closer to leaving his dad and never looking back. Seventeen, after all, was just a number. And Daryl had no intention of making some big fuss over an event that had always wrought more bad than good. When that time of year rolled around again, spring bleeding into summer, he figured silence was the best policy.
But of course, Mrs. Grimes would not stand for that. Not in the least.
Rick's mother was the type of woman to plot out birthdays months in advance. She'd mark them on her calendar, start buying supplies in the weeks prior, and decorate so thoroughly and with such remarkable frill that there were likely entire forests decimated by her fault alone. The day she and Sheriff Grimes signed the papers to become Daryl's guardian, she'd gone home and written the words "Daryl turns 17" on her calendar, with an exclamation point at the end, and some squiggly lines around it for emphasis.
As the big day approached, though Daryl's mouth remained firmly shut on the matter, she enlisted the help of everyone around him to make magic happen. It took an hour-long argument with her husband before she conceded than an enormous party with all the neighbors probably would make Daryl more uncomfortable than not, and that a bouncy-house simply wasn't acceptable entertainment for a teenager, even if he'd been denied that simple pleasure as a child.
In the end, they kept things uncomplicated: a surprise dinner with just the family, Shane of course included, and a healthy number of presents. Rick and Shane were tasked with distracting Daryl in the afternoon prior, so they brought him out to watch some new slasher flick, and kept their mouths shut.
Both snickering and stifling their grins, Shane and Rick hung back just a few steps when they arrived home, and allowed Daryl to be the first to swing open the front door.
"SURPRISE!"
Daryl quite nearly jumped out of skin. Rick's parents were standing in the middle of what appeared to be a confetti explosion, in a place that had once been their living room, but apparently had been infiltrated by a rabid pack of hillbilly-kindergarteners. The walls were covered with streamers, the floor amass with rolls of fake grass, and a banner hung over the entrance to the dining room that read HAPPY BIRTHDAY DARYL in large, emerald letters.
Mrs. Grimes had seemingly concocted a 'nature' theme for the evening, as giant paper trees were taped to the stairway, and fake leaves decorated the furniture. Daryl stopped. He stared. He may very well have considered turning tail and booking it to the nearest plot of genuine foliage to avoid this heady mess.
But then Shane jabbed him none too gently in the center of his back, and he stumbled through the doorway, blushing wildly.
Rick's mother charged forward and hugged him fiercely, before stepping aside to allow her husband to do the same.
"Were you surprised?" she questioned with an enormous smile, and he couldn't help but grin back.
"Yeah," he said, still taking it all in, "Pretty…pretty damn surprised."
Mrs. Grimes beamed, then spun on her heel and immediately delved into a tirade about what was on the menu for the evening, and just how many stores she'd had to sift through to find tree decals that weren't for Christmas.
Shane whispered in his ear, "Just smile and look happy, man," and pinched his butt for good measure.
But Daryl didn't have to fake it. Shell-shocked as he was, and wary of having everyone's attention on him for the evening, he couldn't remember a time he'd been happier. Taken aback, but happy nonetheless.
Dinner was more than Daryl could ever remember having eaten in one sitting: salads, casseroles, chicken Parmigianino and three types of pastas. He was sure Mrs. Grimes was trying to kill him. And when after dinner, she came out with a cake that towered past her eyebrows, Daryl choked on his drink.
It was big, and black, with a ridiculous paper tree popping off the summit and shedding tissue paper like a case of bad dandruff. What appeared to be an entire box of candles had been stuffed into the cake in a circle at the top, creating a ring of fire. Three steps to the table, and the tiny tree went up in flames.
Sheriff Grimes hopped up out of his chair and smacked the tree to the table, dumping his glass of water on it and giving his wife a stern look.
"What?" she asked with a shrug, then turned to Daryl, "Alright, sweetheart. Blow out the candles!"
Sensing there was no way out of it, Daryl did as she asked. He didn't bother to wish for anything, like he'd seen kids do in the movies. He had everything he could think to want; and wishes didn't come true anyways.
After Mrs. Grimes shoved a third piece of cake in front of him, Daryl finally made some low noises about how tired he was, hoping to bring the night to a close.
Instead, Mrs. Grimes jumped to her feet and clasped her hands together in glee. "Oh honey, we haven't even gotten to the best part!"
Daryl cocked an eyebrow at her and waited, not knowing what to expect.
Excitedly, she herded him back into the living room and over to the corner behind the couch. She strained to grab some things behind it, and when she turned around, her arms were filled with neatly wrapped presents.
And Daryl may have been pleasantly amused before. Surprised, but willing to play along for Mrs. Grimes' sake. But when it finally registered to him that the decorations and the dinner weren't presents in themselves, Daryl wasn't sure how to react. He frowned at the gifts in her hands.
"You…you didn't have to do all this," Daryl said quietly, "Didn't need…didn't need y'all to make a fuss."
Mrs. Grimes was completely unfazed. She smiled widely at him, "Well, Daryl. This is how we celebrate birthdays in the Grimes family, so you'll just have to get used to it." She winked at him, and shoved a small envelope into his hands. "This one is from Mr. Grimes and me."
Daryl sat down on the couch slowly and peeled open the envelope with the utmost care. Inside was a birthday card. On the front was a dog sitting in front of a yellow house with red shutters on the windows and a white picket fence framing the yard. It said, "Welcome Home."
Cracking it open, a folded up piece of paper fell out. Daryl unfolded it and read the logo at the top: Fidelity Savings. His eyes scanned down the page. It looked like a bank statement, but the numbers grew as they descended rather than diminished. A number in bold sat at the bottom right corner of the page, $46,730.00. Still confused, Daryl read the note in Mrs. Grimes neat, deliberate handwriting.
Daryl, I know you haven't been part of the family long, but we love you like a son, and we want you to have whatever future you can dream up for yourself. When we signed the papers and became your guardians, Mr. Grimes and I started you a college fund. Use it to study photography or architecture, or to start a new business. Use it for whatever you want, because when you graduate high school, it's yours. Please remember that you will always have a home with us. No matter how long it's been, and no matter what's happened since, we will always be your family.
-Mrs. Grimes
Daryl stared down at the note, then looked up at Mrs. Grimes, who was still beaming wildly.
"I know it might be…a bit much," she said when Daryl sustained his silence, "But you're an incredibly bright young man, and we have so much faith in you, and we just—we want you to have a future. Any future you want, sweetheart."
Daryl looked down at the note again, cradled it in his hands as if it was glass.
"Never thought I could go to college…" he whispered, "No one in my family has. Didn't have the money. Most of 'em didn't even graduate."
"Well, you're part of our family now, too. And if you want to go to college…the money is yours. For whatever you want to use it for. So long as you graduate next year, of course."
The younger Dixon came shakily to his feet, and for the first time since he'd met her, initiated a hug with Mrs. Grimes. "Thank you," he muttered into her neck, but she heard him loud and clear.
He finally broke away, and shot Sheriff Grimes a grateful nod.
Rick approached him next, handing him a poorly wrapped parcel and rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "So it uh…ain't much, but…" he mumbled, and waited for Daryl to open it.
When Daryl peeled back the tape, out fell two very large paint brushes, a glossy print of aMetallica album, and a wad of cash held together by a rubber band.
Daryl looked up at him, face carefully neutral. "Uh…Rick, it's…"
"It's for you room!" Rick exclaimed, suddenly realizing just how mismatched his gifts must appear. "You've been livin' in it, but you ain't made it yours yet. So, my present's to help you decorate it, however you want. We can paint it, get some posters, even some different furniture…"
Finally, Daryl's lips broke into a smile. "Oh," he laughed, "Yeah. That'd be—that'd be really cool, man. Fuck. Thought you were payin' me off, for a second."
Rick flushed and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Sorry," he muttered, "A note probably would have helped with that, huh?"
"Probably," Daryl laughed, "Thank you, man."
"Welcome," Rick murmured back.
At long last, Shane meandered over from the other side of the room. He handed Daryl a large box, and when the younger boy ripped away the paper, he saw that Shane had gotten him a whole new set of bolts.
"Thanks, Shane," Daryl whispered, "Didn't need to do this."
Shane smirked, "That's only half the present. Other part I'll give you later."
Rick scoffed. "Gross, man."
"Hey! I didn't mean it that way!" Shane laughed.
Daryl took another look around. There were more boxes, wrapped and topped with bows, sitting on the couch and waiting for him. He eyed them warily, then turned to Mrs. Grimes.
"It alright if I open the rest of 'em tomorrow?" Daryl asked, "S'just… a lot."
"Of course, dear," she answered easily, "It's nothing crazy, just new clothes and books and CD's. I know I may have gone a bit overboard—but you'll have to get used to that. It's part of the territory."
Daryl smiled back at her shyly. "Think I can handle that."
He sighed in relief when the rest of the family slowly funneled upstairs at the end of the night, leaving him and Shane to relax in peace. They retired to his room, and Shane made a show of closing the door.
"I wanna give you somethin'," Shane said, picking his jacket up off of the desk and reaching into the pocket.
"A blow job?" Daryl immediately countered, feeling cocky.
Shane grinned at him. "One thing at a time, cowboy. First, this—" He held a small box out for Daryl to take, and the archer opened it slowly, eyes darting between the object and Shane's face.
It was a necklace. Simple and gold, with a small medallion that read 22.
"Figured you ain't gonna wanna wear my letterman jacket," Shane explained, "But that number's important to me, and so are you. Thought if I knew you were wearin' this…it'd be like you were mine, all the time."
Daryl nodded and looked up at Shane. "I am yours."
The older boy smiled wider and pressed their bodies together. "Don't gotta wear it, if you don't wanna."
"I wanna," Daryl replied easily, and allowed Shane to wrap the chain around his neck and do the clasp. He fingered the cool metal, then smiled at the boy in front of him. "Glad you didn't give this to me in front of the rest of 'em. Might have been awkward."
"S'not the only thing I'm gonna give you," Shane said with a wolfish grin. He pulled open the top drawer to Daryl's desk, and revealed his other presents. The younger boy peered hesitantly inside, letting out a long breath through his nose.
Shane had certainly been busy. There was a mishmash of toys sitting in the drawer, but hardly the kind you'd give to a child. The only one Daryl could readily identify were the handcuffs, and even then, the soft velvet cushioning each cuff wasn't at all what he was used to. He picked them up and ran his fingers over the cool metal.
"These for me?" he asked, and Shane grinned at him, eyes going dark.
"They could be," Shane said, "Or they could be for me, too."
Daryl's eyes widened. "You'd let me do that?"
"I'd let you do anything you wanted. I trust you," Shane murmured back, "And anyways, it's your birthday, ain't it?"
A slow smirk spread across Daryl's face. "You got the keys?"
Shane plucked them out of the drawer and held him out to the younger man. "Right here."
Daryl took them from Shane and placed them on top of the dresser, for them both to see. He walked slowly around Shane, the other boy's eyes never leaving him, and settled on the end of the bed.
"Guess you oughta strip, then," Daryl said, hardly able to feign nonchalance with how excited he already was.
Shane eyed him curiously, lips curled in a perpetual smile. "Just me?"
Daryl leaned back on one elbow and rubbed leisurely at his own growing bulge. "Just you. Like ya said…I like to watch."
Shane's eyes went wide as saucers, and he ripped his shirt over his head in a rush. He went for his belt next, meaning to jerk down his fly and be done with it, but Daryl tutted at him and he froze.
"Nuh-uh," the younger man drawled, low and feral, "Slower."
And fuck, Shane had always known Daryl had this in him. He'd seen it in vibrant bursts in the months they'd spent together. The want, the drive, that animal instinct that made you want to fuck and fuck now. But seeing him in action, finally coming into his own, was a whole different beast.
Shane's hands were shaking when he lowered his fly, and let his jeans slowly crumple to the floor. Daryl's eyes pinned him in place, dark as the night sky.
"Those too," Daryl demanded, nodding towards Shane's boxer-briefs and licking his lips compulsively. "Want all of you," he murmured, an echo of words Shane had said to him a dozen times before.
The jock held his gaze as he drew his boxers down to his ankles, kicked them to the side and resisted the urge to stroke his stiff length.
"Now what?" Shane asked, a little breathless. And Daryl rose to his feet swift and smooth like a panther, circling Shane and watching him closely. He picked the cuffs up off of the desk and twirled them around his finger.
"Go stand in front of the bed," Daryl purred, and he was hot on Shane's tail as the older boy came to a stop at the foot of the bed. Daryl grazed a hand up Shane's back, squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.
"You sure?" Daryl asked him, and there was the boy he'd fallen for, uncertain even when Shane was offering himself up on a silver platter.
Shane looked back at him over his shoulder. "C'mon Daryl, show me what you got."
Still biting at his lower lip, Daryl ghosted his fingers down the backs of Shane's arms and took both of his wrists in hand, clicking the cuffs into place. He watched Shane test them, tugging gently before letting out a long sigh and letting his shoulders slump.
"Get on the bed for me," Daryl whispered into his ear, and gently guided Shane to his knees, cheek pressed into the sheets and ass on display for anyone who'd walk into the room.
Daryl reached a hand around to Shane's front and slowly stroked his erection.
"Like you like this," Daryl murmured, rubbing his free hand over the cleft of Shane's ass. He slipped a finger between two firm globes and rubbed at the puckered entrance. "Back when this all started, you said you'd touched yourself here before. Said that's how you knew it'd feel good."
Shane moaned and tried to rock into Daryl's hand. "Yeah..."
Daryl kissed the small of his back. "You want me to make you feel good like that?"
A shiver raced down Shane's spine, and he pushed back against Daryl's body. It was all the answer Daryl needed, and he shoved two fingers into Shane's mouth, getting them slick with spit. He didn't waste any time before slowly slipping one inside, and then another. Crooking them hard and massaging the bundle of nerves that always left him a complete wreck.
When Shane moaned into the sheets, cock leaking rapidly, Daryl knew he was doing a good job. He pressed over that spot and stroked Shane's flushed member in perfect tandem, keeping his rhythm slow, so he could stop to enjoy every hitch in Shane's breath, and every shuddering groan.
"You're always takin' care of me," Daryl murmured, words flowing almost without his knowledge, "Love that you do. Ain't never had that before. But it don't mean I can't take care of you, every once in a while. I like takin' care of you, Shane. Seein' you like this."
Shane moaned Daryl's name and his fingers twitched where they were bound.
"Daryl, Daryl please..."
Another kiss was pressed to Shane's shoulder, and Daryl's hot breath against his skin made Shane jerk and groan.
"You ever let anyone else do this?" Daryl asked him, a little breathless himself. "Touch you like this? Tie you up? Any of them girls?"
Shane let out a shadow of a whimper, and his legs began to shake.
"No. Just you. Just you, Daryl. I—god."
Daryl moved his hands a little faster, listened to Shane's breathing as it went shallow and harsh.
"You could come from this, huh?" Daryl murmured, voice thick like honey but with a spark of awe. "You want me to make you come, Shane?"
"Yes!" Shane gasped, so close to losing it, just needing something—
And then Daryl's hands disappeared from his body, and Shane let out a long, disgruntled moan. He rolled onto his back and sat himself up, glaring at Daryl a little but mostly just salivating when he saw that Daryl was now bare as the day he was born and stroking himself slowly.
"Think you oughta get me off first," Daryl said, "Since I'm the birthday boy and all."
Shane nodded and licked his lips, "Yeah. How you want me?"
Daryl smirked and motioned Shane forwards. "On your knees."
Keeping Daryl's eye, Shane sunk down to the ground and mouthed lazily at Daryl's cock, watching those bright blue orbs bleed into a deep navy.
"C'mon," Daryl whispered, petting the side of Shane's face with one hand while he held himself steady with the other. "Suck it for me."
Still looking up at him with big brown eyes, Shane didn't disappoint. He sucked Daryl's cock into his mouth slow as molasses, tongue providing just the right amount of pressure. And Shane let Daryl guide him, push his head forward until his nose was buried in the younger boy's pubes.
"Fuck, Shane..." Daryl whimpered. He tightened his fist in Shane's hair and began to fuck into the jock's mouth outright, swirling his hips as if he were born to do it. And Shane was looking up at him like he couldn't get enough of it, like there was nowhere else he'd rather be.
Daryl let out a shaky breath. "Fuckin' love watchin' you like this," he said, rubbing his thumb gently over Shane's cheek.
There'd never been a time in his life when Daryl would have thought a blowjob could feel like something important, something powerful and earth shattering, but Shane's eyes told a different story. Daryl was losing control already, every other breath coming out in a moan as he rocked into Shane's silky mouth and held tight to the other boy's hair.
"Love you, Shane," Daryl murmured, because he could and because it was true. And Shane moaned around his length, the vibrations making Daryl gasp. "Gonna come," he moaned, "Fuck, Shane. Gonna come for you."
And when Shane's eyes went soft and hard all at once, shouting his affection and his hunger, Daryl's body quaked and he came hard.
"Oh god, Shane—fuck, Jesus, fuck—"
Even as he pulled the jock back, the older boy pressed gentle kisses to his oversensitive cock, watching Daryl fixedly. He took a moment to catch his breath, then pulled Shane to his feet. Daryl looked down at Shane's cock, still red and throbbing.
"You must be dyin' for it, now," Daryl drawled, lips twitching upwards.
Shane nodded rapidly and pushed their bodies together, pressing their mouths into a messy kiss. "Need you, Daryl. C'mon."
Daryl carded his hands through Shane's hair, then turned on his heel to retrieve the keys.
"Lie down for me," Daryl said once the cuffs had clanked to the floor. And Shane did as he said, lying back on the bed and spreading his legs lewdly, while still trying to claw Daryl towards him.
"I know," Daryl murmured, "Don't you worry. Imma take care of ya."
He pressed a kiss to Shane's hip, nosed the soft hair on the inside of his thigh.
"Daryl, c'mon, c'mon," Shane begged, "Need you. Fuckin' need you."
"Know you do," Daryl said softly, and when Shane looked down at him, his eyes were that piercing blue again. Then he lapped the flat of his tongue against balls already hanging taut, and Shane threw his head back in a moan.
Daryl pulled one of Shane's balls into his mouth gently, rolled the orb on his tongue and sucked just hard enough to get Shane arching off the bed with a shout. And when he began to pay Shane's other ball the same attention, the jock couldn't help the words that came spewing out of his mouth.
"Daryl, Daryl please, just lemme come," Shane moaned, "Fuck, fuck Daryl. Please. Please. Do whatever you want. Do whatever you want, baby. Just—please, fuck, please."
And when Daryl finally took pity on him, mouth sinking down on the twitching length that was aching for relief, Shane came without warning, pouring himself into Daryl's throat before the younger man had managed a single stroke. Shane's body bowed off the bed with the intensity of it, arms flying up above his head as he moaned Daryl's name into his bicep, trying to stifle the noise.
After a beat, Daryl sat back on his heels and wiped his mouth with his palm, smirking hard. They both pulled on some shorts, mainly out of habit, and sat kissing on the bed. Slow this time, finally sated. Shane slid his fingers over the scars on Daryl's back, and grinned into the kiss when the younger boy didn't even flinch.
But then there were some shouts from the foyer, and the front door slammed. And before either Shane or Daryl could move a muscle, or even register just whose voice they were hearing, the door swung open with a thud.
Merle Dixon stepped heavily into the frame, with a parcel wrapped in newspaper tucked under one arm and a six-pack in the other. He took one look at Daryl's back, and froze.