Dude (Looks like a lady)
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Warnings/tags: 18+ MINORS DNI. Masturbation, Anal Sex, Slight humiliation, Crossdressing + feminization (kinda), No beta we die like men Pairing: Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes
Word Count: Roughly 8.5k a/n: THIS IS ALL ONE PART NOW! (I deleted the old separated version.) This came to me like a prophetic vision, and its a rush job at best. I'm quite proud of it though!! so I hope you enjoy it!!! I personally think the first bit is a little stiff, but if you stick it out, it loosens up- just like Daryl will ;DD Summary:
Daryl stares back up at Rick, who’s standing firmly between his knees. He feels exposed, like the burn of a rubber sole could twist into the meat of his bare thigh at any moment. His heart skips a beat with anticipation. He feels his skin heating up quickly, and suddenly that chilly breeze is welcomed.
Or the one where Daryl rips his pants and has to wear a skirt.
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The afternoon breeze sent a chill through their bodies. It was late fall, and despite the bright sun, they both knew that the warmth of daylight was about to be chased away. Rick shaded his eyes and looked up to the tree tops, eyeing the crows that gathered there. It’s just Rick and Daryl out here, on another supply run. The last few trips were barely successful, and for now, it was feeling like today was gonna be the same story.
The two men had been trekking since early this morning, and barely had a satchel’s worth to show for it. They decided to take a different road back, having traveled the main roadways hundreds of times, they knew it was picked clean. With Daryl on his bike and Rick on horse, it didn’t take long for them to run across what looked like a small discount store.
Hope strikes both of them; Daryl tilts his head back and lets the wind sweep the hair from his face and revs his engine to gas it. With a swift kick of his boot, Rick was close after him, taking off alongside the man with a grin pasted on his face. Coming to a slow roll as they approach the building, they see a chainlink fence circling the entire thing. Daryl parks his bike and hops off, walking up to it and tugging on the links a bit, checking its stability.
“Damn, it’s sturdy.” Daryl mutters, looking along the top and trailing along the sides, trying to spot a weak point. “I’ll check the back, then.” Rick hops off his horse, getting into a slight job as he circles the opposite side of the building. They walk the perimeter, running into each other on the side of the building. Rick huffs, puts a hand on his hips and wipes a hand down his mouth as he thinks. Of course, this was one of the few times they actually forgot the bolt cutters, and neither of them were too keen on fucking up their knives to saw a hole big enough to fit through. “We gotta hop it.” Daryl grumbles, looking at the tops of the tall fence alongside Rick. Rick hums in agreement, nodding with conviction.”Yep, alright. Watch my back.” With a grunt, Rick hooks his fingers in the links and gets a foothold on it, pulling himself up off the ground. “‘Course…” Daryl nods, turning his back to Rick and watching the treeline behind them closely. He would’ve preferred to start climbing in the front of the building near the road instead of doing it about twenty feet from a wooded area, but saying that now would be a moot point.
Daryl looks up as Rick makes it to the top and secures his hands on the pole. He throws his leg over, but hisses softly and wobbles. “Woah-” Rick shakes the fence a bit, and Daryl feels his heart skip a beat, completely ready to try and catch the man if he plummeted. “You good?” Daryl calls out, shading his hand over his eyes to see Rick more clearly. “Yeah- just be careful, the top snagged me.”
Daryl scoffed a bit at that, already knowing he’d have no problem clearing it. He's done it a million times now in his life, even before the world went to shit.
After that, Rick pretty gracefully slides his way down, letting gravity do most of the work and landing on his feet like it was nothing. Rick straightens his clothes a bit and Daryl watches him through the fence, ignoring the twinge of admiration that passes through his head. Daryl’s eyes with the top of the fence again and he starts just how Rick did, grunting as he hauls his way to the top. He isn’t as graceful as Rick, mostly because he was heavier than the man. Daryl had a bit more meat on his bones in their older age than Rick did- probably because he was eating three square meals a day now, and Rick barely took any moments to just sit and chill. Daryl would hedge money that even now Michonne and Judith were hounding him to finish breakfast before running off to keep people in line.
As Daryl makes his way to the top, he feels that little thrill of challenge run through him; He could totally show up Rick's graceful ass landing. He smirks down at Rick, his long hair shadowing his eyes. Daryl tries to stay light on his feet as he swings his leg over the top, but unfortunately for him, he severely misjudges how close the sharp edges were to the inseam of his jeans, and immediately snags his pants. He startles, and that in turn makes him lose his foot hold immediately. “Shit-” He curses out quickly, almost yelping as he tries to prevent landing his weight on anything sensitive, but he ends up slipping off the pole entirely.
‘RRIIIIPPPP’
Daryl hits the ground on the opposite side of the fence with the thud, and he wheezes harshly, the wind having been knocked out of him. The sun is bright as hell above him and he groans, pulling his knees up to his chest. He can see the silhouette of Rick crouching over him, he looked concerned, but he also looks like he was laughing at something. That's when it hit him; his pants felt considerably more breathable than they should.
When Daryl's ears stopped ringing he sat up with a groan, his hands planted firmly on the ground. He can finally make out what Rick is saying to him. “You good? ‘Tried to warn you man.” Rick's words seemed like he was concerned, but there’s a lit of humor in his tone, and a dumb smile on his face. Rick's eyes flick down to Daryl’s pants and just as quickly looks back up at his face; like he was making a point not to stare.
That’s when Daryl glances down.
Much to his horror, he was not looking at the seam of his jeans. He wasn’t even looking at his old, worn boxers. No, Daryl was looking right at his dick. His jeans had been ripped practically ankle to ankle, and his boxers suffered a similar fate. Daryl gasps a bit in surprise and his hands immediately fly down to cover himself. Rick is still chuckling, but he is straightened up and facing the other way with a hand on his face now. “It ain’t funny!” Daryl complains defensively, his cheeks burning hot with embarrassment. He grumbles and grunts as he pulls himself up to his feet, trying to determine if his pants are even remotely salvageable. They are not. He growls in frustration and yanks his vest off, and he holds it in front of his body to shield his junk. “That’s what you get for getting cocky-” Rick snickers, and Daryl shoulder checks him as he walks by towards the doors of the building. Rick isn’t far behind him.
Shockingly enough, the doors are unlocked. Rick shimmies ahead of Daryl, sparing him a little mercy to check the place out first, given the current pickle he’s in. Rick sweeps the room quickly; there are only a couple doors to account for, and the main floor wasn't very large, with only about four main aisles not including wall shelving. Daryl hung out at the entrance until Rick called out that the store was clear. His mind was absolutely rushing with humiliation and anger; he can’t believe he fumbled this badly, his hands are almost shaking with anger.
“All clear!” Rick calls out, and faster than lightning Daryl is speeding through the aisles hoping to find some damn pants. He’s shuffling through about a dozen ugly tourist trap ass t-shirts, half of which are filled with moth holes, before he realizes he’s shit out of luck. “Shit- Rick, care to help??” Daryl curses out, and he hears a very soft chuckle from a different aisle. He’s getting real sick of Rick's little giggles; he’s not too keen on being balls out when something could grab his ankle at any given moment. “Yeah, I’m lookin’ too, don’t you worry.” There was a smoothness to Rick’s voice that made Daryl's cheeks burn hotter, he only mutters curses to himself as he moves to the next aisle.
Both Rick and Daryl search for pants, but they both unfortunately come up empty handed. Daryl is getting increasingly frustrated, but as his hands brush up against a waist band on a clothing rack of hangers, he feels a ray of hope and relief wash over him.
His hope is promptly soured. As Daryl yanks the hanger off the rack and looks at the item of clothing, dread sinks into the deepest parts of his chest. In his hand he holds a long, shin length brown skirt. It’s rather flowy, and simple, with a subtle ruffle at the end of it. He’s still clutching his vest in front of him, and his cheeks are burning with humiliation. Is this really my only option?
Rick rounds the corner to meet back with Daryl and when his eyes land on the skirt, he has to school his face immediately. He brings a hand up to cover his mouth, and the other folds over his chest. Daryl’s sharp eyes meet with Ricks, hitting him with a chilling glare. Rick throws his hands up in defense, shrugging. “Hey, I didn’t say anything.” Daryl scoffs at that, and rips the skirt off the clips of the hanger. “Yeah, well, I heard your thoughts, dick.” Daryl mutters, clutching the skirt in his fist. Rick suppresses a little smile and puts his hands on his hips. “Hey, it's not a big deal- it's good enough to get us home, right? I’d rather be there before morning.”
Daryl looks down at the skirt, staring at it and hoping his glare would make it catch fire, but it was no use. He sneers and brings the offending item with him behind some shelves, out of Rick’s view. Daryl doesn't spare it much more thought as he unbuckles his holster and belt, letting what was left of his pants fall to his ankles. He reaches down and yanks the laces around his ankles loose and pushes his pants the rest of the way off. He shoves the laces in his pack, and then he shimmies out of his boxers. “God damnit.” He whispers to himself, putting his legs in the skirt one step at a time. He pulls it up, and the waistband fits him nicely. It doesn't feel like it’d get pulled down easily, but it also isn’t squeezing his waist. However, the skirt is disturbingly breezy, there was no ignoring the fact that he was completely commando under it. His glances at boxers on the ground, and he picked them up, examining them closely. With a couple strategic knots, he was able to partly close the hole in the crotch. His dick might still be out, but at least he’d feel a little less nude with his balls secure. He yanked them up under his skirt, hiking it in the process- which only served to further redden his cheeks.
Daryl straightens out the skirt and pulls his vest back on- at least he didn’t look completely ridiculous. He has on a home made sweater that comes down low on his hips, but it's snug on his arms, so wearing it with the vest doesn’t feel very bulky. He has to admit, it looks like he actually styled this outfit. That only makes him more mad, honestly. Daryl tugs his pack back up on his shoulders and emerges from behind the shelves, where Rick is waiting on him.
Rick had been shuffling through the shelves while Daryl was changing, and he managed to find some pretty good stuff. He finds canned goods, batteries that haven't expired yet, some tools, and first aid supplies. He’s shoving it all into his pack when Daryl walks into view.
Admittedly, Rick is a bit speechless as his eyes follow Daryl's silhouette top to bottom. He looks good, perhaps a little too good. Rick pushes that thought away rather quickly and grins, straightening back up on his feet and throwing his bag over his shoulder.
“Well aren’t you a pretty thing…” Rick drawls, batting his eyelashes at Daryl teasingly. Daryl very quickly turns a bright shade of pink. He grit his teeth and groans softly in embarrassment, shoving right past Rick towards the front doors. “Dude- Shut up.” He grumbles, his fist tightening on the strap of his pack. The second he exits the building, he’s once again greeted by the sight of the fence. Daryl just stares at it, mad. “Whats with the sour face, sweetheart?” Rick strides up behind him with that sickeningly sweet tone, his fingers grabbing at the edge of his skirt and fluffing it out a bit with a teasing snicker. Daryl’s got half the mind not to break his nose right now, but Rick holds up a big pair of bolt cutters in Daryl's line of sight. His mood flips quick enough that he probably could’ve kissed Rick on the lips right then and there. “Jesus Christ, you find those in there?” Daryl asks, sounding incredibly relieved. Rick just smiles proudly and nods.
With little effort, Rick cuts a line through the fence. Daryl adjusts his belt and holster on his hips, making sure they were secure even without belt loops. With a grunt, Rick bends back the corner of the fence and throws Daryl a cheeky grin. “Ladies first…” Rick says teasingly, in an oddly sultry voice. Daryl’s lips press together tightly and his fists ball up at his sides. He hates how Rick is looking him right in the eye, hates how stupid this all was, hates how Rick's biceps strain in his sleeves from holding the fence open for him. Daryl can’t even force out a rebuttal, He just huffs and crouches, wedging his way through the slim gap.
They both emerge on the other side and straighten themselves out. Daryl feels immensely silly as his hands flatten out over the top of his skirt, unbunching it in areas. The hunter is grumbling, of course; but Rick spares him the comment this time, opting to just smirk to himself over the humor of it all.
Though it’s not all that humorous, is it? Rick pulls himself up on his horse and watches how Daryl has to hike up his skirt high on his thighs and tuck it in certain ways to be able to sit on the bike comfortably. It drapes down the sides of his legs, and it’s as if Rick can’t pull his eyes away. Sure, he’s seen almost every part of Daryl’s body in different contexts at one point or another, but seeing his strong legs partially obscured by a long skirt, coupled with his big boots, baggy socks, and low riding sweater; he can’t help but imagine slipping a hand underneath that fabric and feeling that warmth for himself. Rick swallows thickly, licking his lips and forcing his eyes back onto the road. If they didn’t get a move on it, they’d be out far later than either of them wanted.
The two men travel down the stretch of road towards Alexandria for a few hours, the sun is hanging low in the sky now, barely cresting over the tops of the trees. Rick tilts his head back and sighs heavily, twisting his shoulders in slow circles to stretch. “Hey, Daryl-” Rick calls out, drawing his horse to a slow stroll. “Let’s pull off, I need to take a stretch." Daryl just nods and slows his roll, pulling off to the opposite side of the road and throwing out his kickstand. Rick walks off to stand by the ditch off the side of the road, undoing his belt to take a quick piss. He sighs heavily again, letting the feeling come back to his legs. What a weird run…
Daryl lit up a smoke and leaned against his bike, keeping an eye on the treeline with his back turned. He inhaled deeply, looking up at the birds in the trees, and tried to ignore how weird the breeze felt on his legs. His attention was snapped back to reality when he heard a twig snap, and that eerie wheeze that they all knew far too well. His eyes fell back to the treeline, and about seven or eight walkers, putrid in all their glory, were lumbering from the brush. Snarling, screeching, thrashing at the air. Daryl did a quick head count before yanking out his knives. “Rick!” He called out, right on time for the first walker to lunge at him.
It’s a bit of a brawl, but nothing the two of them can’t handle. Rick rushes over the moment he puts his dick away to assist. Blood splatters on their cheeks as they drive blades into skulls, throwing the dead to the ground and drawing them out further into the road. It’s the same old song and dance they faced almost everyday; They barely break a sweat. Daryl couches and quicksteps to dodge a swing at his face, the walker snarling and foaming inches from him. One wrong step, and-...
Daryl’s foot tangles up in the back of his skirt, and it tugs him off balance. He yelps as he tumbles backwards with a thud, making it the second time he’s landed on his ass today. Panic floods his system when the walker follows him down, trying to tear at his sweater. He feels threads giving way before suddenly the abomination goes limp. Rick’s driving a blade straight through its skull, with a rough grip in its hair. Rick yanks it off of him, and Daryl shuffles backwards out of the way.
Daryl’s panting roughly, leaning back on his palms with his knees arched. Rick was also out of breath, standing over him, looking at him. Staring at him. His skirt drapes over his knees delicately, the skin of his inner thighs, slightly reddened from riding his bike for so long, shows just barely. Daryl's hair is ruffled, cheeks pink from adrenaline, and frankly, he looks a little pathetic. Rick swallows hard, memorizing this image of Daryl without even realizing it.
Daryl stares back up at Rick, who’s standing firmly between his knees. He feels exposed, like the burn of a rubber sole could twist into the meat of his bare thigh at any moment. His heart skips a beat with anticipation. He feels his skin heating up quickly, and suddenly that chilly breeze is welcomed.
After an agonizing moment, Rick helps Daryl up. Daryl mutters a quiet “Thanks.” and they both dust off. The rest of the way home is silent between them, and thankfully, uneventful. Daryl feels like his world’s been tilted on its axis. What the hell was that?
By the time they make it home, the sun is long gone; instead replaced by a twinkling nightsky, void of the light pollution that smothered it before the world ended. The guards are already up and ready at the gate by the time they pull up thanks to the noise of Daryl’s bike. Daryl was half expecting comments or funny looks, but it seemed like it was dark enough that their guards didn’t notice anything wrong with his attire. He counted his lucky stars for that. Rick hops off his horse and Daryl kills his engine once they are past the gate. Rick comes up behind him and pats him on the shoulder with a grin. “Night, Daryl. Not half bad today…See you tomorrow?” He has this look in his eye that Daryl could almost call annoying. It was this twinkle he got whenever he was proud or hopeful. Daryl just offered a non-committal grunt, and nodded a bit while firmly avoiding eye contact. Rick departed from there, and Daryl could not get home fast enough.
Daryl pushes his bike into the garage of the house he was known for hanging out in, and locks just about every door between there and the upstairs bedroom where he slept. He throws down his pack in an arm chair in the corner, kicks off his boots, and in no time at all, his thumbs are hooked into the waistband of his skirt, desperate to get it off at this point. He redresses himself into some worn jeans and a tank top, and exhales heavily. He still felt hot, like he’s just been zapped with a few too many volts.
Daryl eyes the skirt on the floor and scoffs, running fingers through his hair as he lays down on the bed. His chest feels tight, and when he forces his eyes to close, all he can see is Rick. Silhouetted by the setting sun, standing between his legs and looking down at him with that look. Like he was trying not to smirk and step closer. Daryl's breath hitches at the thought, and he chews on his thumb. Rick’s boot brushes the underside of his thigh, and he’s smirking down at Daryl. “What’s wrong, princess? Need some rescuin’?” He’d say in that thick, low drawl. Daryl’s jeans feel tight, and his hand trembles slightly as he fiddles with the zipper. He tugs them down a little, and lets his hand slip over top of his boxers. His cock is hot and hard against his palm; he squeezes it slowly to relieve some pressure. He lets out a shaky breath, shoving his boxers and pulling himself the rest of the way out.
Rick’s using the toe of his boot to push Daryl’s skirt higher, before flipping it up entirely, exposing Daryl’s erection that pushed free from his ruin briefs. “Ohh…this makes more sense…What’s got you so hot, sweetheart?” Daryl’s panting roughly against his palm, his fist working up and down his shaft in measured strokes. He drags his thumb over his sensitive tip, smearing precum down his shaft and slicking between his fingers. “Rick…Fuck…” Daryl can’t help but growl into his hand, his strokes picking up in speed when he feels that familiar heat spread begin through his lower back embarrassingly quick. He tries to imagine what Rick's hands would feel like if they were to replace his own, clamped tightly over his mouth and working his cock until he’s shaking. Another broken moan escapes his throat as he titers on the edge, he could practically feel Rick’s fingers pressing into him and stretching him out right there on the pavement, and with a shudder, he spills over his fist, splattering his fingers and stomach with cum.
Daryl releases a shaky exhale, sluggishly wiping his hand off on the bed. His head thumps against the pillow and he stares at the ceiling, far too tired now to concern himself with the fact that he just jerked off to the idea of being treated like a bitch. That’s tomorrow's problem.
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Daryl’s nowhere to be found the next day. Rick’s ambiantly looked high and low, between his usual duties and people tugging him every which way. The council meeting this morning ran long, and it was agonizing. The entire time, Rick would look up expecting to lay eyes on Daryl, but he wasn’t there. He wouldn’t admit it, but his chest ached by the time one o’clock hit. There was a short run planned by some other members of the group to go into town, and honestly, Rick was looking forward to Daryl accompanying him. It was going to be a refresher from all the shit, empty handed runs from the last couple weeks. Sure, it’d likely be hell cutting through the clusters of dead out there, but that's never really phased either of them, and getting to pursue the music store or library would make it well worth it.
Rick stood with his arms crossed as his gaze fell into the tree tops, daydreaming about sifting through albums, bumping elbows with Daryl. He wasn’t much of a music guy but he knew Daryl was. He always looked so comfortable when skimming a setlist on the back of a CD, picky even, like he really cared about it. Michonne snapped him out of his daze, giving him an old look. “C’mon, time to go.” SHe said, patting him on the arm and tugging him along slightly. He glanced around one more time, hoping to spot Daryl before they headed out.
While out, Rick took his time with some others sifting through the music store. He picked out a few CD’s, one of which was a band Daryl mentioned liking a while back, Motörhead, and grabbed a R.E.M album for himself. He’s almost giddy to get it back to him, he’s worried that he pushed too far with the teasing yesterday, so hopefully this is a good enough peace offering for the hunter.
Back in Alexandria, or rather, in the land surrounding it, Daryl's been out hunting all day, since far before the birds started chirping. He scaled a tree, and got comfortable with his crossbow slung over his lap. He just watched the first few doe cross in, and then out of firing range below him. Partly because he knew there was bigger game in the area, and mostly because he didn’t want a reason to have to go home earlier than need be. He snoozed for a while, twisted some bark fibers into little rings and bracelets for even longer, and simply just stared at the leaves swaying above him before he even considered firing his first bolt. Of course, he didn’t miss, and it was a clean shot. He sighed and slid down the tree, gearing up to clean it.
He didn’t even understand why his heart was still thudding off rhythm in his chest. That asshole…Toying with him, acting like a player, grabbing at that fucking skirt like he owned him. Daryl’s hand slipped and he dropped his knife into the leaf litter at that last thought. He swallowed thickly, and gripped it tighter this time around. He needs to get a grip, he can only compare this fevering, overheated feeling to being poisoned, feeling it seep into every inch of him, pumping through every vein.
It’s dusk by the time he comes back home. Blood is soaked into his jeans and smeared up his arms from when he gutted the deer that he had slung over his shoulders. Quiet as a mouse, he dropped the meat off with the butcher before hightailing it back to his house. He showered, hoping the heavy tightness of his body would wash away with the dirt and grime. It wasn’t a bad feeling, he wasn’t disgusted; if anything, it was the opposite. He felt desperate, almost. That's what sickened him. Desperate to sink to his knees, desperate to feel those rough hands comb through his hair, desperate for that full feeling.
Needless to say, Daryl felt even more flushed by the time he stepped out of the bathroom, hair still damp, cool droplets running down his shoulders. As he stood at the foot of his bed, his eyes locked with the rumbled brown fabric he abandoned the night before. His adams apple bobbed, and his mind swam. What's the big deal about it, anyway? Whats so fuckin’ funny that Rick would act like that.
In a daze, Daryl reached down and plucked the skirt up off the floor, shaking it a couple times to waft away any dog hair that stuck to it. In his mind, he’s rolling over that feeling like a worry stone, the warmth that spread through him when Rick gazed down at him, he could almost imagine a scenario where instead of getting up, Daryl just grinned in return and reached up for him.
Towel hitting the floor, and shuffling of feet, he slid the skirt back on with shaky hands. He turned his body towards the floor length mirror parallel with his bedroom door, and he’s almost afraid to look. Doubt seeps into him. I must look like a fuckin idiot. That's why. That makes sense. His eyes drifted up to his form slowly, and he took in the sight. It didn’t look quite right. He snagged his sweater off the armchair and tugged it on, looking in the mirror again.
Heat sinks into his very being, slowly, cascading from the tops of his shoulders and down to his fingertips, making his arms tingle and feel numb. He’s so caught up staring at himself, imagining Rick behind him, his hands clutching his hips and tugging him backwards against his chest. Distantly, he feels like he's forgetting something, but he’s so lost in his own daze that he loses interest in that train of thought rather quickly. All he can think about, all he wants to think about, is Rick hiking up the back of his skirt, feeling his fingertips glide up the back of his thighs.
Rick’s pacing in his kitchen, thumbing over the CDs he picked out. They still had the plastic wrap on them, and for a moment, he even considered making a little bow to stick to the front of it. That's silly. He sighs heavily, running his hand down his face. Surly Daryl’s home by now, it’s been months since he truly ran off, after all. Rick pushed off the counter and headed out the door.
It’s quiet out on the streets, but he can see a lamp light glowing behind the curtain of Daryl's room. His heart skips, and his pace picks up. Once he reaches the front door, he’s too excited to knock; being on edge all day tends to make common courtesy weak. He pushes the door open and clicks it behind him gently, down the hall, he sees Daryl's bedroom door open a crack, and he can hear the shuffling of fabric. He’s smiling, pulling the CDs from his back pocket and kicking his boots off, for courtesy of course. While walking down the hall, his heart in his throat. Lord knows he can’t wrap his head around why, but as his hand reaches for the doorknob to push Daryl's door the rest of the way open, his arms feel weak.
Rick opens his mouth to announce himself, but the air is swiftly stolen from his lungs. Daryl whirled around, like a deer in the headlights.
He forgot to lock his doors.
Rick stares at him. His eyes track downwards from the way Daryl's bangs cling against his cheeks, to his shoulders, then chest; down across the slope of his hips, and finally to the ruffled edge of that long, old skirt. Rick's not sure what to make of it, not even as he watches Daryl’s fist curl tightly into the fabric. Daryl opens his mouth to speak. To defend himself, lie, blow up and shut Rick out of his life for the foreseeable future, anything; but nothing comes out. Once again that sickening twist of humiliation, shame, and frustration wells up inside of him, combating with that insatiable need and desire that threatens to suffocate him. There’s that look again. Daryl can practically feel his eyes caressing him, and when Rick takes a hesitant step into the room, oh so carefully shutting that door behind him, he expects the worst.
“What’re you doin’?” Rick asks, his voice low and raspy, like his vocal cords were broken. Daryl doesn’t respond, he only glares sharply, like an animal that's been cornered. Rick steps closer, and Daryl steps back. The dance continues until Daryl’s knees hit the back of the bed, and he’s forced to face this head on. There was no running from this, anyway. It’s not like the wild animal inside of him that wants to sleep in Rick’s shirt would let him, anyway. Rick’s inches from him now, so close that he can feel the heat of his chest seeping into his own.
“Nothin’...” Daryl finally responds, and Rick’s features soften a bit and he honest to god chuckles. Of course Daryl isn’t doing anything…should’a known better than to ask. “Y’know, I kinda like it on you…” Rick murmurs, and Daryl scoffs softly, his shoulders loosening a fraction. “No shit…” Daryl hums, his gaze falling between them. Rick’s hand reaches out a fraction, his thumb and pointer hesitantly capturing the side seam of the skirt, and feeling it between his fingers. The edge of the skirt tickles Daryl’s shins, and it triggers him to release a shaky exhale. The silence was unbearable, all he could hear was his own heartbeat in his ears.
Courage was something Daryl was good at. He taught himself that at a young age, how to well up all the energy he could muster into the center of his chest and use it to tough it out. Daryl's fists tighten up again at his sides, his lips tighten into a thin line, and he inhales sharply through his nose.
“You gon’ kiss me or what?” Daryl spits, his voice hushed and broken. Rick's breath hitches, and now both of his hands are smoothing down the sides of Daryl’s hips, tugging him closer. All he does is nods, any words he could’ve said stuck in his throat.
Rick closes the distance first, pausing a fraction from Daryl's lips to look him in the eyes, looking for disgust, anger, or regret. All he could see was a dusky warmth, a gentle haze that covered Daryl’s eyes, quietly begging for him to just bite the bullet. So he does.
Both of them feel on the verge of passing out from the electricity that courses through them the moment their lips connect. Daryl’s hands fly up and clasp around Rick’s shoulders tightly, holding him like he’d disappear if he didn’t. Rick responds in kind, tightening his grip on Daryl’s body as he shoves his lips more roughly against Daryl’s
What started as something slow and rather hesitant detonates like a gasket of repressed desire. Daryl’s fist curls into Rick’s hair, and Rick begins to push. His fingers start to crawl the fabric of the skirt upwards, bunching it higher and higher, until he can finally slip his hand across the outside of Daryl’s thigh. They both gasp, and Daryl bites Rick's lips hard enough to elicit a stuttered groan. Rick’s hand travels upwards until he realizes it's cradling the meat of Daryl’s waist.
There’s something in Rick's chest clawing its way out when he realizes Daryl wasn’t wearing anything under the skirt, and when he yanks his hips roughly against his own, he confirms that suspicion. Clear as day he can feel Daryl's cock against his thigh, growing thicker and hotter with only a thin layer of fabric separating them.
“Nothin under here, huh?” Rick growls, his face dipping into Daryl’s neck, his breath stuttering against it. Daryl feels like his head is gonna explode with the intensity that blood rushes to it, and now light headed, he can barely string together something coherent as Rick sucks at jugular. “N-not like I was plannin’ on leavin’ like this.” He grumbles, his hands pushing against Rick’s chest, fighting between the need to yank him closer and shove him off. It’s too much, and not nearly enough.
Rick chuckles, his tone dark and his hands needy, clasping tightly at the fabric bunched around Daryl’s waist. “Now there’s a thought…” His tone drawls, low and thick. His teeth nip sharply at Daryl’s jaw, causing him to gasp and dig his nails into the meat of Rick’s shoulders. Rick pushes his hips again, causing Daryl to tip back onto the bed with a huff. Rick is on him in seconds, slotting himself between Daryl’s legs. His hand slips up the heated flesh of Daryl’s thigh slowly, pushing that skirt higher and higher until it was barely concealing his erection, which was obscenely tenting the skirt.
“Walkin down the street in this ratty thing, everyone watchin’...bet they’d know I had somethin’ to do with it…” Rick’s got a grin on his face, his lips brushing over Daryl’s cheek bone. His stubble tickles, and Daryl chokes back a mortifying little whine. “Knock it off.” Daryl groans, cheeks burning red hot. Rick chuckles and captures Daryl’s wrists, his grip firm but shockingly gentle, and pushes them above his head, pinning them there with a single hand. “Not into that?” Rick asks, looking down at Daryl’s dazed, flushed face. Daryl just scoffs, looking Rick right in the eyes. “If anyone other than you walked through that door, they’d have an arrow in their head.” He said it with so much conviction that Rick can’t help the hearty laugh that punches out of him. “Okay, noted.” Rick murmurs, his lips returning to Daryl’s skin, right under his ear.
Rick’s hands skim slowly down Daryl's flank before slipping upwards again, under his sweater. Daryl’s skin was hot to the touch, and that first contact of bare skin had his wrists twisting a little in Rick's grip, and his knees raising around his hips needily. He’s getting desperate now, his cock ached where it laid heavily against his hip, and Rick was moving far too slow for his taste. His fists tightened in Rick’s grip, and he rolled his hips upwards, a needy noise slipping from his lips. “What’s this, fuckin’ highschool? Fuck me already.” Daryl growled low into Rick's ear, leaning in and nipping at it roughly. Rick hisses and yanks his head away from the offending teeth, and looks down at Daryl with a shocked expression. His words rattled him, and he doesn't think he’s ever been this hard in his life. Rick sits up and laughs, the sound echoing through the room almost eerily. “Oh, so we’re playing like that, then?” Rick asks, voice smooth as whiskey and that overconfident, lethally beautiful smile on his lips. Daryl feels goosebumps rise on his skin, and he arches his hips up against Rick, fishing for any amount of stimulation.
Rick groans lowly and his hands circle around Daryl’s hips, gripping them tight enough to bruise. He yanks Daryl’s groin flush against the bulge in his jeans, and the hunter is panting roughly now, keeping his hands in the position Rick left them. Rick rolls his hips, their cocks sliding together through the layers of fabric, and Daryl makes a weak, choked out noise that has Rick’s head spinning. “Fuck, look at you…” Rick groans, shoving his hands under Daryl’s skirt again and finally flipping it up, exposing his flushed, hard cock. He’s not as long as Rick, but he’s thick, and uncut. His tip is wet and there's a line of precum connecting it with the puddle left behind on his hip.
Rick wraps his hand around his shaft, fingers tightening around the base. Daryl’s thighs jerk, a stuttered moan punching from his chest. He feels relief wash over him, that steady pressure of Rick’s calloused hand stroking him off making him feel dizzy. Both of them are quite thankful that they had a house to themselves, or else Rick would have to shove something in that pretty mouth of his to keep him quiet. Rick’s hand drags up and down Daryl’s cock at a painfully slow pace, tightening around his tip with every upstroke. Dary’s practically whimpering now, his hips rocking upwards into his touch and trying to fuck Rick’s hand. Rick has a predatory gleam in his eyes, watching how this strong willed, iron clad man is turning into a messy, whiny puddle in his hands.
“You want me to fuck you then, thats it?” Rick groans, his free hand slipping under Daryl’s thigh and pushing, pushing until his knee was nearly brushing his chin. Daryl grunts at the stretch, wiggling his hips slightly as he adjusted to the firm grip Rick had on his body. The incessant stroking on his oversensitive cock didn’t help much in letting him relax in the hold, his hands flying down to grip tightly at the comforter below while another whimper escapes him. “C’mon, gotta hear you say it, sweetheart.” Rick taunts, smearing his thumb over Daryl’s slit, rubbing against that sweet spot on the underside of the head. “F-fuck, Christ- Rick…” Daryl’s head thumps against the bed, jagged breaths puffing out of him. He can barely string together a thought, let alone words. “You gonna make me beg, asshole?” Daryl spits out, his arm draping over his face, trying to snuff out the blush that bled all the way down to his chest. Rick just smirks and tightens his grip on Daryl’s cock, making his legs tremble slightly. “I might,” He grins, and Daryl just shoots him a dirty glare from under his arm. Rick chuckles a bit, and decides to grant the poor guy a little mercy this time.
Rick’s hand leaves Daryl’s cock, and he ignores the quiet, frustrated huff that causes. His fingers dip between the cleft of Daryl’s cheeks, and pull him open slowly. Rick groans as he slides his thumb over Dary’s hole, pressing a little to test its give. Daryl tenses up, but he lets out a slow, shaky breath. His arm finally leaves his eyes to fish underneath the pillows of his bed, after a few moments and a curious look from Rick, Daryl produces a small bottle of lube with the label nearly worn off. He throws it to Rick like he's mad, and covers his face again. It hits Rick’s chest, and he catches it quickly. Oh, Daryl is so embarrassed. He can feel the gears turning in Rick's head, and he's expecting some smart ass cheeky comment, but instead he feels Rick pressing his erection firmly against the back of his thigh, and exhaling sharply. The cap pops open, and before he can really register that, he feels the cool lube dripped right onto his hole. He gasps sharply from the temperature and Rick shushes him gently, his fingers meeting with him again and slowly spreading it, pressing and rubbing. Rick leans over Daryl’s body, feeling how soft his muscle felt against his finger tips. “You’ve thought of this.” Rick mutters, his breath hot against Daryl’s cheek. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, one that made Daryl’s heart jump into his throat. He can’t even defend himself, not when Rick slides a finger into him with a shocking lack of resistance. Daryl’s hand makes its way into Rick’s hair and holds it tightly, his mouth falling open in a silent moan. “Is that right, Daryl?” Rick groans, pushing his middle finger in deeper, before slipping in his ring in right beside it. “Have you fucked yourself while thinking of me? My cock?” Daryl is a mess, his legs are trembling and his face is shoved tightly into Rick’s shoulder now, muffling his broken, needy moans. Daryl raises both of his knees now as high as they can, silently begging Rick to go deeper, harder, anything. It doesn't take long for Rick to find his prostate, in fact, it’s like he zeroed in on it. He rubs his fingers over it relentlessly. His movements may be slow, but he never lets up on the pressure. Daryl’s cock is bobbing and twitching between them, leaving a mess of precum on the front of his skirt. Rick can’t handle the ache anymore, and his free hand starts to work on his belt buckle to free himself.
Rick is nearly torturing Daryl at this point, pushing in a third and a fourth before Daryl gives him a look like he’s going to claw him apart if he doesnt fuck him soon. “F-fucking- please, Rick, damnit!” He whines, biting his knuckle until it's white, tears prickling his eyes. He’s on the cusp of blowing his load already, and it's taking all the will power he can muster not to reach down and stroke himself off just to get that relief. Rick decides he’s done playing with him, especially considering he’s been loose enough for a few minutes now. “Now you’re beggin’?” Rick smirks, and pulls his fingers out slowly with a slick sound. Daryl looks like he’s gonna fall apart, his chest heaving and knees shaking. “Fuck yes I’m beggin’, I can’t-...can’t-...” Rick coos Daryl sweetly, wiping his hand on his jeans before hiking up Daryl’s legs behind his knees and positioning himself between them completely. “Don’t worry sunshine, I need ya too…” Rick groans, angling his tip against Daryl’s warmth. Daryl’s breath hitches as Rick begins to sink into him. The stretch still aches, despite all that prep. They both groan low, with Rick sinking into that tight, wet warmth and Daryl forcing himself to relax at the feeling of getting filled. By the time Rick bottoms out, with his hips pressed flush against Daryl’s ass, they are both panting shakily into each other's mouth. “C-Christ, Rick…” Daryl moans, his eyes shutting tightly as his body adjusts to his size. Rick is big, bigger than whatever item Daryl would shove up his ass to try and chase this exact feeling. His walls are already twitching around Rick, his cock threatening to spill over between them just from the feeling of being so full. Rick can’t lie and say his ego isn’t a little stroked from watching Daryl struggle to hold himself together when he hasn’t even moved yet. That being said, Rick presses his lips against Daryl’s jaw as his hips start to move. It’s slow at first, and every stroke has Daryl making some obscene noise, and Rick’s groans rumble into Daryl’s throat. He starts to pick up the pace, and Daryl's hands brace tightly on his shoulders. It’s not long before Rick’s movements turn rough, his grip on Daryl’s legs bruising, but the sweat between them makes it difficult to keep from slipping. Rick sits up and moves his hands to wrap around the tops of Daryl’s thighs, yanking him back against his cock hard enough to produce a yelp. Daryl’s head is tipped back in ecstasy, he feels that oh so familiar burn coiling tighter and tighter in his spine A soft breeze on his cock right now and he’d cum, and he’s sure Rick knows that, with how that bastard is smirking down at him, sweat dripping down his temples. “You gonna cum on my cock, slut?” Rick grits out, and the noise that little name gets out of Daryl makes Rick want to put it on a dog tag. “Fuck, you feel so good, so hot-” Rick pants, bringing his lips to Daryl’s ankle and biting at it, sucking it. He leaves behind an unconventional hickey, and he feels himself getting close too. “Fuck, fuck, fuck- Rick…I need, I gotta-” Daryl babbles, his moans raising in pitch and his body tightening to a breaking point. Rick's hand flies down between them and captures Daryl’s neglected cock, stroking it once, twice, before the tension finally snaps. Daryl’s knees flex tight against his chest and his back arches off the bed as his orgasm slams into him. Hot, thick cum spurts in jets across Daryl’s gut and chest, making a total mess of his clothes and Rick’s hand. Rick wasn’t far behind him, between watching Daryl fall apart and feeling his walls clamp around him like a vice, he was done in completely. He presses to the hilt, his hips stuttering roughly as his orgasm takes over. His own broken moans mixing with Daryl’s. He pumps him full, making shallow, aborted thrusts to push it deeper as they ride out their shared climax.
They pant roughly, their bodies sagging against the bed as the intensity begins to ebb. Daryl makes a soft, overstimulated gasp as Rick slowly pulls out, both of them in awe at the feeling and sight of cum dribbling out of Daryl’s fucked out hole. Rick can’t help but scoop it up with his fingers and push it back in, and Daryl groans and twitches, his hips jerking roughly. Thankfully, Rick once again took mercy on him and eased off. He flops down beside him on the bed, and Daryl slowly lowered his achy legs back down onto the bed with a stiff grunt. They are quiet for a moment, catching their breaths and slowly processing what they just did. Daryl is the first to turn his head and look at Rick, who looks back with a soft, warm look in his eyes. Daryl scoffs out a weak chuckle, and rubs his hand over his face, looking away again.
“Daryl…you’ve felt like that?...Since when?” Rick asks quietly, his voice a bit hushed. His eyes never leave Daryl’s profile. The hunter draws in a slow breath, his mind still lagging pretty slow. “Uh…” Daryl starts, his cheeks burning a tint of red all over again. He swallows thickly and shrugs a little, wetting his lips. “The prison, maybe…I dunno, haven’t kept track…” Daryl murmurs, finally turning to look at Rick again. Rick looks a bit surprised, but his expression turns into a thoughtful one. “Huh…Been a while then…” Rick hums, biting on his bottom lip. Daryl smirks a bit, and lets his eyes flutter close. “Yeah, yer fuckin’ clueless sometimes.” Daryl scoffs, but it's light hearted. Rick just clicks his tongue and pulls himself up a little, leaning slightly over Daryl. His hand cups Daryl’s cheek, and the hunter opens his eyes again, focusing them on Rick’s face. “Well…Wish I’d known sooner, I’da probably done somethin’ about it…” He hums, and he leans in, pressing a warm, slow kiss to Daryl’s lips. It was soft, lacking the heat that it had earlier. Instead, it felt sincere, like Rick was telling him just how much he cared without words. Daryl’s stomach flipped with butterflies, and he kissed back. At some point, they fall asleep like that, with a sticky mess drying between them and most of their clothes still on. It’s probably the best sleep either of them have had in years.
