Before the world was taken over by the dead, before life hit its turning point, Arron had ambition. He was going to go into research… gaming research, but research none the less. Neither of his parents approved of his career choice (his mom being a lawyer and his dad in business administration). In hind sight, Arron should have listened to them.

Black Company. That was where Arron had ended his days as a normal human being in a normal civilization of other normal humans. A, God damn, Black Company that worked him to the bone. A company that never appreciated his hard work but had endless supply of negative comments about his work, despite the fact that his games were the games of the century. Arron had permanent dark circles under his eyes from spending a majority of his life up late drinking energy drinks, pissing out those energy drinks, and researching down to the blueprint plans on every little thing he created, because if he missed even the slightest of details… well, he wouldn't be able to afford the rent or food for the next half a year.

Some may ask, why? Why did he stay? He would answer, because he loved it. Arron worked well under pressure. It was in that moment of tired, no exhausted, desperation that the best ideas came to him. The best games came from codes that just flowed from the fingers, across the keys, tap, tap, tap, in quick succession that it almost sounded like harmony to Arron's ear (much to Daryl and Merle's irritation).

Because of this company, because of its ways, Arron knew more than a normal humans fair share of how things worked. He could take anything apart, whether it was a coffee maker, a kid's toy, DvD player, TV, guns… and put it back into working order. He had blueprints of whole buildings stored away in his mind, agriculture and plants, all broken down to the last vain on a leaf, the last nail that left the nail gun. The history of the human race and the psychology, sociology of the human race and animals. His mind was a fortress of information that even the Dixons didn't understand.

So what if Arron gave up the basic human decent to keep his information stored? Who cared if Arron was socially adapted or if he sometimes forgot to add a simple word like 'please' to his demand or tilt his tone just enough for the demands to sound like a question. Arron was focused on only one thing, especially now that the world has ended, and that is: keeping his memory bank full of much needed information and not junk.

Arron supposed he worked like a computer. Spend your whole life working on one, it just becomes natural. He didn't think of things in simple terms like others did. It wasn't just washing your hair. It was: first, pump the soap into your hands. Second, rub the soap across your palm to get the maximum amount of lather. Then, run the soap through your hair, making sure to cover the entire scalp. For Arron, there was now wash, rinse and repeat, which explained a lot about Arron.

Arron did a lot of repetitive motions, had a lot of set routines that could not be disturbed, or his whole day would end with errors.

Now, that isn't to say Arron can't adapt, he was human after all. It just took him longer than most to do so if there wasn't a proper reason for him to do so. Arron had reasoning and common since skills. It came with being a designer ("If you can't make it make sense then discard the idea," as they like to yell at him from time to time).

For Arron life before Zombies was hell, its little wonder that life with Zombies was like taking a vacation for him.

"Wait, you mean I get 3 hours of sleep before my turn at watch duties? Every night? And I can go back to sleep after?! Sweet! Night!" Arron chirped as he practically skipped to his tent.

Rick stood there watching the strange tall man giddy back as he (i)skipped(/i) away after getting his work details for the night, his brain just not computing what he was seeing.

Yes, there was very little stress for Arron now that Zombies ruled the world. But, there were still those nights…

Arron stared up at the tents ceiling, fingers twitching nonstop. If only he had a keyboard. They would be racing across as his heart pounded in his chest. He could hear the faint tap, tap, tap, of his finger tips on the tents floor. The sound was wrong. So irritatingly wrong to his ears, but he couldn't stop it. It was a habit at this point in his life.

Tap, tap, tap…

His hands shook in an effort to stop the twitches.

Tap, tap, tap…

Maps, ideas, history, experience… it all floated into his minds eyes. Things he could write, things he could make. His other hand, the right index joined the tapping, this time on his thigh.

Tap, tap, tap…

Then, his eye started twitching in irritation. He was annoying himself!

Stop, stop.

But the tapping continued along with the new virtual world he was being forced to create. Stop… he felt helpless as he watched it play out in front of his minds eyes. A whole new world was being created and he couldn't even write it down….

Tap, tap, tap…

Then, a warm hand covered his own on the tent floor, and everything fell to the ground, shattered. Arron jerked physically hearing something akin to glass breaking in his ears as the world dropped. Arron blinked, looked down at the familiar calloused hand over his, now, still hand. Then, his eyes slid up the long ripples of muscle and bone that made up the arm it was attached to.

Daryl's beautiful blue eyes stared back at him, worry and anxiety shining through. The man knew Arron. He already knew Arron was having an episode. There wasn't a need to ask.

"I brought dinner," Daryl was saying softly, pretending he didn't just pull Arron back into reality. The man held the plate, probably borrowed from the Greene's, further into Arron's vision, as if to provide evidence.

Arron didn't even spare the plate a glance, already knowing the moment Daryl heard the tapping, the man went looking for an excuse to pull him out of his thoughts. Daryl was many things, a carrier he was

not. Daryl didn't care if Arron went without food for a night, knowing Arron couldn't stand sleeping on a full stomach, too use to skipping meals, even before the dead started eating the living.

Arron reached out, with his right hand, fingers brushing Daryl's greasy face, not carrying about the dirt smudged on the edge of the man's perfectly kissable lips as he traced the outline. Arron didn't say anything, mind already sweeping up the mess that was his latest idea under the rug. He needed a minute, needed to anchor his mind on the here and now.

Daryl didn't say anything, just watched Arron's glazed eyes as he set down the plate of food to the side of the bed roll he found Arron half slumped on. When Arron blinked, eyes focusing suddenly on his face, his lips Daryl knew, the man leaned in and captured them in a heated kiss that sent shivers down Daryl spine. Daryl's ass clenched involuntary as Arron maneuvered his other hand around his waist to grab at it. Daryl moaned into the kiss, shuffling closer to press his body against Arron's front, naturally shifting to saddle the man.

This is why Daryl didn't mind the episodes Arron had occasionally. Arron's mind was in too much of a mess to control his body. Was it wrong for Daryl to take advantage of Arron's chaotic mind? Maybe. But, then, Daryl didn't care if it was, and neither did Arron when all things were said and done.

Daryl gritted his hips into Arron's own, rubbing his rapidly growing cock into Arron's clothed one, swallowing Arron's groan. Hands were set upon his body, touching, rubbing, and pulling at clothes before Daryl could register it all. Clothes slid over bodies onto the tent floor. Shirts, first. A wet mouth latched onto Daryl's right nipple, tongue flicking the nub, causing it to harden. Daryl moaned, hand flying up to intertwine in dark strands of hair, pulling Arron close enough, fast enough to feel teeth bite into sensitive skin.

Arron pulled back, licking his tongue over his front teeth, trying to sooth the dull ache that came from that move. "So impatient," Arron's voice came out deep and husky as he looked down at his boy.

Daryl whined up at him, eyes dark with lust. "Pa, please~"

Arron pulled at Daryl's pants, making quick work of the button, then the zipper. Daryl's dick practically slid itself out of the newly formed hole, no longer restrained behind pieces of cloth. "What's this?" Arron said, staring down at the hard on Daryl was supporting. "So eager for me to fuck you, you made it easier on me?" Arron wrapped his hand around Daryl's length, pulling , almost gently at it, savoring the feeling of precum as he did.

Daryl moaned, already imagining all the things Arron could and would do to him. His body bowed back, arching into Arron's hand as the man twisted his wrist as he pulled up. "Pa," Daryl moaned. He wanted, needed more than just a hand job. "Papa, please~" he whined as he tried to buckle into that warm hand around him.

Arron's eyes darkened as he watched Daryl's actions. He was coming to love how responsive Daryl was to him. The man seemed to be trying to make up for lost time, always in a state of quick desperation. Always willing to be fucked, even when he said he wasn't. "Such a slutty boy, you are," Arron found himself saying, more voicing his own thoughts then actually talking to Daryl. Arron pulled his hand away from the man's dick, ignoring the whimper of loss as he did so. "Turn over," he ordered, sitting back to give the boy room. He watched as Daryl did as he was told, not pausing to think about it. Daryl needed

the direction as much as he hid it behind the hard exterior. The man got off on it. Gripping the jeans at the hips, sliding thumbs into the waist band, Arron pushed the jeans Daryl wore down to his knees, guiding the man's legs, without speaking, up, bending the knees almost to Daryl chest, pressing the man's head down into the make shift pillow as he did so. Daryl didn't fight it, just followed the slight pressure leading him into position with a wanton moan already knowing what Arron wanted and completely willing to follow the silent instructions. Arron pulled back, admiring the view for a minute, but it was missing something. Lustful eyes trailed over the kneeling man with his ass in the air, waiting for Arron. Daryl's hole twitched, as if feeling his stare, and Daryl buckled, trying to get friction back to his lower parts and entranced Arron.

Arron reached out and laid a hard smack to Daryl's ass, causing Daryl to moan and jerk with the smack. "Now, now," Arron breathed out harshly, "I'm not done yet. Be a patient little boy and let me work." Arron caressed the reddening skin, trailing a fingertip over the twitching hole. Twitching, wet hole… "My, you are a whole aren't you," Arron said, watching with fascination as Daryl's hole attempted to swallow his finger at the slightest touch. Daryl's dick jumped at his words, sexual frustration causing it to twitch.

"Yes," Daryl practically hissed out, pressing back against the light probing of his asshole. He could practically feel the burn of his prostrate being pounded into. "For you, Papa. Only you."

Arron slowly pressed into Daryl very slowly, teasingly. "Where did you find the lube?" he asked in mild curiosity. It definitely want on Arron's list of necessaries, though he suppose it should be now.

"Last run," Daryl moaned, bringing his hands up alongside his head, pushing back into Arron's skilled fingers. "for Papa. For when I'm a good boy."

"For when you are a slut," Arron corrected idly, sliding his fingers in and out of Daryl's hole slowly despite Daryl's rocking hips.

"Yes~" Daryl moaned as he felt finger tips brush against his prostrate. He shifted his hips, hoping the next thrust in would hit it spot on. "YES," he threw his head back in pleasure, not caring what he sounded or looked like as he rocked desperate for the friction. "More. Please, Papa, more," he begged.

Arron grunted, pulling his fingers out of Daryl's hole mid thrust. Daryl whimpered at the loss as he pushed back to follow them.

"Papa!" the man cried out, a desperate moan of loss escaping his swollen lips.

Arron smacked Daryl's ass again, a little harder than the last, at the demanding tone in Daryl's voice. "Just a minute, pet," Arron grunted, ignoring Daryl's pain mixed moan, not in the mood to be rushed. Arron reached down, into the sweat pants he had designated as his sleep pants, wrapping fingers around his own hard cock to pull himself free from the hem , giving himself a few jerks as he did so. Arron groaned. Fuck, he was so hard. Only Daryl seemed to be able to do this to him, making him so horny he was willing to fuck anyone, anywhere just so he could receive pressure in his balls (which, before he started having sex with Daryl, he did. Lots of times).

Arron crawled up behind Darryl's rocking frame, running his hand down the ridged back, over scared skin, into the lengthy hair at the man's neck. He gripped the hair tightly, pulling as he plunged his dick into the man. Arron ignored the pained moan that escaped Daryl's throat, knowing the man wasn't really in pain, as he pulled out a little and plunged back into the man. "Bet you were thinking of this the whole time you were finger fucking yourself after finally getting your hands on that bottle of lube," Arron leaned over Daryl to whisper in the man's ear.

"Yes," Daryl whimpered out, buckling back to meet Arron's thrusts.

"Is it everything you were hoping it be?" Arron growled, pulling the hair a little more harshly. Arron's other hand gripped the man's hips, not exactly bruising, but still tight enough to feel that slight pinch of pain. Daryl's pain tolerance was unsurprisingly high from the years of abuse, and unfortunately with high pain tolerance comes the lack of feeling for the gentler touches. Arron knew this from experience. Even if Arron could be gentle with Daryl, he wouldn't, because the man didn't know what gentle was, couldn't perceive it.

Daryl moaned, back arching tightly. "More," he begged, "Give me more, Papa." Daryl loved the way Arron's voice dropped to a low husky growl during sex. The tone combined with the tight grip made him feel possessed, like no one could take him from Arron, and no one could make Arron give him back. Surprisingly enough, he was okay with that, even turned on by the knowledge of Arron's possession.

Arron pulled Daryl's hips back into his roughly, and then reached around to grab the boy's penis, jerking it in time to his thrusts.

Daryl bit into the pillow with hopes of muffins his screams of pleasure. It wouldn't due to draw attention from the others in there group. His body jerked to the rhythm that Arron had set, pushing back into the man's dick as hard as the man was thrusting into him, the only sounds in the tent that was their home was his muffled screams, skin slapping skin and the dirty whispers Arron was saying in his ear.

"Please, papa," Daryl was begging in no time, desperation coloring his tone, "Can I cum?" he asked, knowing Arron liked the idea of controlling every aspect of him. It drove the man insane. "Please, Please," he cried, pressing back only to be passed forward with a particularly violent thrust to his prostrate, causing him to fall face first, body arching in pleasure as he screamed. "Papa," he could feel the real tears falling down his face, his voice watery with need. "Papa, please," he begged even as his body jerked in that rocking motion.

"Not yet," Arron growled out in his ear. "Hold on, a little longer, pet."

The pace was bordering on brutal for Daryl who was trying his best to keep up with the man and hold off cumming from the constant beating his prostrate was taking. His whimpering increased, vision going black around the edges, "please, please, please…" it was his mantra. He was too far gone to really realize what he was saying anymore, just following Arron's lead as the man cut off the base of his punishment to keep the slut from coming.

"That's it slut," Arron whispered darkly, lust lacing every syllables. "Hold out for your Papa. Be a good boy for me." Arron took pride in reducing Daryl to just a puddle of desperate need. He savored every plea like a kid on Halloween. Arron pulled out minutely flipping the boy around, pushing back into Daryl's body, hands reached up capturing Daryl's wrist in his as he flicked a harden nipple. Daryl's back arched off the pallet that served as their bed, eyes rolling back as Arron pressed into that sweet bundle of nerves in his ass. Arron leaned down capturing Daryl's swollen lips into another bruising kiss that was sure to have others questioning them again. He didn't care. Daryl was his to do what he pleased with.

Always was, just now Arron wanted to fuck the man senseless, to the point that all the other man thought about was his dick and his only.

"Ah, God, Papa." Daryl was a moaning mess. His eyes rolling upward, glazed over with unadulterated pleasure. Arron's has touching him in places no one had, even when he had sex with them, and he was enjoying it. Even when those hands reached down to finger his already stuffed hole, he found himself moaning like a bitch in heat. It hurt, yes, but it felt so, so good. "Please," he cried again and again, saliva starting to pull up into his mouth. He, eventually, lost the will to beg and just fell limp as Arron pushed another rough finger into his hole, fingerings him around the man's own dick. The sweet curling of those digits pressing down as the man pulled out, giving him a near constant shock of pleasure. It wasn't a perfect experience, but Arron was coordinated enough, from years of gaming that called for hand eye coordination, to be able to pull it off. Eventually, Daryl would feel the man stiffen for release, pulling his fingers back to grab Daryl's cock.

"Now, baby," Arron half groaned, half growled out at him.

Daryl came with a silent scream, head tilted back, drool running down his cheek as he tried to push sound that wasn't coming out from open lips.

Arron groaned as the walls around him tightened and swallowed his dick whole, his own penis pulsing with release. Daryl's ass milked him for all he had to offer, and, Arron knew, Daryl wasn't going to be able to walk straight for a few days or stop the leaking from his anus. The evil, possessive part of Arron chuckled with glee at the thought.