Chapter Text
Daryl’s always been good at fighting. It’s not something he ever really learnt to do, it’s more a case of something that became a part of his life. His father made sure he knew how to take a punch and over the years Merle had taught him how to throw one back. He knows all the good spots to hit, where to catch someone off guard and how to blindside them without giving the game away. It’s stopped being something he even has to think about, it’s just natural nowadays.
He’s used to keeping himself on guard at all times, he sleeps lightly, learning to hunt meant he knew how to keep quiet and how to be unseen whilst knowing where everyone else was. A lifetime of bruises and broken bones had given him good instincts and let him know exactly how to keep himself safe and be aware of his surroundings. Daryl knows people usually find him to be an easy target, especially considering that he was more than likely standing beside Merle. When compared to his big brother he knew people were always more likely to try and take out whoever wasn’t Merle.
It had helped him learn how to assess a situation and get himself prepared for the first punch. People underestimated him and didn’t expect him to be able to take them down or give as good as he got. Years of fighting with the much older and much bigger Merle meant he knew how to ignore the hard hits and focus on giving jabs of his own, ignoring the large bruises against his skin and kicking out to hit where it hurt. It wasn’t even that he was small for his age, he was just smaller than Merle and really when it came down to it that was all he had for comparison.
Merle was tough, if he wasn’t high or drunk he was usually doing something physical to keep himself in shape and though he had a beer belly, Merle still had enough muscle and weight behind him to be a threat. Their height isn’t that different, but Merle had core muscle, a bulk to him that Daryl had never been able to gain since there had been a lack of food and different circumstances when he’d hit his teenage years. Instead Daryl had grown up quite wiry, his arms had built up through use of the crossbow and hunting, and though he wasn’t unfit, he didn’t have anywhere near the weight his brother and father had.
Others had called him lean, it wasn’t like he gave a shit about his appearance, but lean wasn’t exactly something he wished to be called. Merle had built up a lot of his bulk in prison and the army, with nothing else to do he’d simply worked out, scrapped his way to the top of the pack and used his knowledge of fighting to show himself as a threat. His brother always showed all his cards right away, making sure everyone knew he was able and willing to fight at all times.
In contrast Daryl preferred having the element of surprise and though he may not be as broad as Merle, he could fight just as good as that fucker despite the lack of weight. His dad had called him scrawny, poked at his side and sneered at being able to feel his ribs but not bothered to bring any food home to rectify it. Daryl hadn’t appreciated being hungry almost all the time, but he supposed he was grateful for the hunting knowledge and skills he’d been forced to learn simply to survive.
Life wasn’t exactly easy but to Daryl it never had been, so when the dead started roaming the landscape and trying to bite at him he’d adapted as well as he could. Using his bow to take them down and finding food as well as he knew how. For once he was grateful for being able to run quick, to know how to keep a low profile and seem easy prey. The sense of false security made others trust him and he knew it was easier to slit a throat when your target walked up to you willingly. He adapted as well as he could, and despite their differences and fights, the group wasn’t so bad to be around.
Well most of them anyway.
Shane has been getting worse since they got to the farm and though he agrees with some of the things the other man is saying, it’s his attitude that needs an adjustment. It goes from being irritating to down right pissing him off and it doesn’t take long for the two of them to end up in yet another fight. He hadn’t even been looking for one this time, instead Shane had followed him when he was going to look for Sophia and it was once they were past the tree line and out of earshot and view of the group that the other man had started on him.
“Why’d you keep doing this man? You’re wasting time and resources, we all know she’s dead, someone’s just gotta come out and say it to the rest of them.” Rolling his eyes a little Daryl sneers at the other man, hating his attitude and the way he just assumes he’s right about every little thing.
“She ain’t dead.” Daryl spits, not bringing his crossbow to the front of him, but tightening his grip on the strap anyway, relaxing at the feel of his knife on his belt if he needed it. “She’s a smart little girl, she’d get herself somewhere safe and hole up there if she got lost.”
Shane growls, licking at his lips in the heat of the day and doing that weight shifting thing he does when he’s trying to stop from lashing out. Daryl knows the kind of man Shane is, he can see the way he tries to keep himself in line, but there’s something inside of him that’s been broken by the end of the world and unlike himself, he just wasn’t prepared to cope with all of this. “Listen man, I know it might be hard for your dumbass to comprehend, but I’m a fucking cop okay? I know how long missing people have got till you’re looking for a body and fuck Sophia might have had a day before there were fucking walkers everywhere.”
He hates the man’s attitude and can’t help himself from stepping closer, needing to be heard and not wanting to show any weakness. Shane was the kind of guy you didn’t turn your back to, idiot was more animal than human in some respects and body language was one of them. So Daryl steps closer, lets himself stand a little taller and meets Shane’s gaze dead on when he speaks. “I ain’t fucking stupid, I know what your little cop hand book says and I know you idiots play by the rules and stop trying so hard after that day has passed and wonder why you never find them alive. Well I’m looking and I’m gonna find her, fuck your rules, ain’t you noticed? World ended, rules don’t apply anymore.”
He goes to shove him back, to leave it at that and get on with his search but just as he figured, that wasn’t enough for Shane and the heated words had just made whatever monster was inside of him want to roar even louder. Fingers grab at his wrist when he goes to turn away and Daryl finds himself yanked back, stumbling into Shane and shoving him away fruitlessly.
“You’re gonna end up getting yourself killed you fucking idiot.” Shane snarls, his grip tightening to the point where Daryl knows he’s going to have bruises, but he doesn’t look down or flinch. Shane would pounce on such an action and he won’t back down if the man wants a fight. “What is it with you Dixons huh? I know you’re gonna end up stuck somewhere and Rick’ll convince everyone to go find your sorry ass and we’ll waste time and effort doing it, just like we did with your fucking brother.”
“Hey leave Merle out of this you fucking pig!” He snarls in reply, seeing the spark in Shane’s eyes and how he knew this wasn’t going to end without getting physical. It was just becoming clearer now, Shane needed a way to air his frustrations and apparently he thought beating the fuck out of Daryl would help matters. Swallowing back the memories, Daryl wonders just how much more Shane and his father have in common. “We all know if you had your way, everyone would be dead but you, your best friend’s wife and kid.”
The first punch is thrown then and really Daryl isn’t surprised that it’s over the mention of Lori and Carl. He was a tracker, he knew how to see things others didn’t and honestly you’d have to be blind to not realise the two were fucking and making their own cosy little family before Rick came along. Shane still has a hold of his other wrist so he uses his other hand to feel his jaw, to check everything was working before he continued this ‘discussion’.
Daryl is quick to tackle Shane to the floor, gaining the upper hand for enough time to fling his crossbow away, not wanting it to get damaged and besides, he didn’t exactly trust Shane at the moment. Pinning the other man down for a moment he takes advantage of him losing his breath and delivers a few blows to his face, catching him off guard before Shane’s grappling for him again. They kick and punch, neither of them aiming anywhere in particular and just wanting to hit the other.
It’s everything Daryl remembers about a brawl, there’s no pulled punches or dramatic ways of avoiding a hit like the movies would have you believe. It was dirty and harsh, emphasised with heavy breathing, curse words and fingers pinching into skin. He fights dirty, wasn’t like he was going to get arrested for this and when you fought you had to fight to win.
So he kicks at Shane’s chest when the other man tries to pin him down, curling his legs up and shoving to get free. When Shane is up and kicking at his side he’s trying to roll away and get to his own feet, not wanting to leave his back exposed for any longer than he has to. The other man grabs at him again, going to his shoulders and trying to catch an arm and incapacitate him. It’s something he knows well and using his smaller stature he ducks beneath the grip, moving to tackle Shane around the waist into the dirt.
It’s a lot like wrestling Merle, except not as fun and with no tapping out. Instead he’s not laughing and when he tries to get a grip around Shane’s neck it’s more difficult than he remembers. Thick fingers dig into his arm, yanking and pulling, nails scratching at him until it’s lose enough for Shane to yank him forward, tipping him over onto his back on the ground and quickly scrambling to keep him down. Daryl snarls and spits at his face, trying to get his legs free and dislodge where Shane was kneeling over him, wrestling his hands down whilst jabbing at his ribs. It’s frustrating to be pinned like this and he gives a few feeble attempts at biting Shane when his arm comes within range.
That gets a chuckle out of the other man and makes Daryl angrier, pushing harder to get loose and catching Shane off guard with a punch to the head. The cop is panting hard, wiping at his now bleeding lip and watching him with a glare. Digging his fingers in to Shane’s side he shoves and pushes, hoping to at least causing some bruising and enough pain to get one of his legs free for a kick.
Shane counters by grabbing at his hair, tangling his fingers in the short strands and yanking until he’s yelping against the ground, trying to free himself and reach up to claw at Shane’s face. The cop fucking laughs, pulling his hair like a little bitch and smirking down at him. His weight is akin to Merle’s keeping Daryl pinned and not even giving him a chance to get free, not when he didn’t have enough leverage to get a start.
When it feels like his hair is being pulled out by the roots he reaches up with both hands to stop it, scratching at Shane’s hand and grabbing at his wrist, refusing to vocalise the pain but needing it to stop anyway. Shane pushes down on him, using his extra bulk to keep him down and Daryl hates when the man presses his free hand to his chest.
Daryl knows Shane isn’t that big, they’re practically the same height but the fucking prick was broader than he was, his shoulders and neck were thicker and right now all that weight was pressing down on him until he was grunting at the pressure. Years of training on the police force had made the man strong enough to keep him down, to catch him off guard with a hit to his side every so often and not allow him to loosen his fingers. When the hand moves up to clamp over his neck, Daryl tries not to panic.
Shane’s fingers dig in either side of his neck, one over his pulse point and he’s sure the other man can feel how fast his heart is beating. Panting harshly he glares up to the other man, squirming beneath him, digging his heels into the ground to try and buck him off. It doesn’t work and soon enough Shane is adding more pressure to his neck, making him cough and gasp for air when he can. It’s harsh and he wonders for a few terrifying seconds if Shane is actually going to kill him and be rid of the problem that he was.
When the fingers move away, Daryl gasps for breath, scrabbling harder at the fingers on his hair and twisting as much as he could to get free. Shane didn’t seem to be expecting him to recover quite as quickly and he’s caught off guard. Daryl moves as fast as he could, hooking a leg free and shoving against Shane’s shoulder, kicking the man back enough to get two legs free and almost howling as the shifting tugs on his scalp even more. It fucking burns and he doesn’t want to have a shitty new haircut like Shane does to hide the bald patches where it’s been torn out.
Closing his eyes against the pain he simply scrabbles for purchase, kicking and lashing out, grunting at the pain and trying to get loose from the bigger man. Shane almost has him down again, his free arm heavy across his chest and a leg reaching up to press a knee at his hip. It digs in, rubbing against his hip bone and making him grit his teeth against the discomfort. Punching at Shane’s ribs he tries to get him off, wanting to use the man’s superior weight to get him off balance and make him tip but it was harder than he thought.
The kiss really catches him off guard.
Though it’s not really a kiss, more a smash of their faces together, Shane’s stubble scraping over his chin and teeth biting at his lips in a smear of blood. He snarls, trying to headbutt Shane off of him and when the other man pins down his wrist to the ground he can’t stop the next kiss. It’s harsh and brutal, dirty and full of anger. Daryl doesn’t know if he wants it to stop or continue, but he continues pushing and shoving at Shane anyway, even as his hips buck up with no intent to get free. Shane doesn’t comment on it, just tugs on his hair again and bites at his lips, making Daryl taste copper and wetness of their blood mixing against his tongue.
He’s hard but from the action of Shane’s hips pressing down against his own, he can tell the other man is too. It’s so fucking wrong, but he doesn’t care, he just wants to fucking win. Shane straddles him on the floor again but Daryl refuses to make it easy, snarling and swearing, using his free hand to shove at the other man’s chest. Dirt and sweat covers them both, he knows they fucking stink and there are going to be questions about their bruises but right now there’s no way it can end like this.
Shane grinds down against him and whatever move he’d been going to make next flies from his mind at the pressure on his cock. Daryl doesn’t moan like a whore, but when Shane’s hand moves down to dig his fingers in his hip, he doesn’t use his now free arm to shove him off. Instead he fists at Shane’s shirt, making sure to dig his nails in any skin he can and shove harder into their next kiss. It burns and really the roughness of his jeans on his underwear clad cock is making this almost painful, the ache of bruises isn’t new to him but the taste of blood on someone else’s tongue is and it’s all too good to try and justify. Rocking into the next push of Shane’s hips he growls into the other man’s mouth, moving to bite at his lip.
The fingers at his hip clench, obviously leaving bruises to match the others around his neck and Shane grunts above him, eyes tightly shut and hips rocking continuously. It’s intense, making Daryl yank at Shane’s shirt to bring him back down, not caring how messy their kisses were or how their teeth clash every so often. Shane moves to his neck, biting and sucking, leaving welts on his skin and Daryl knows there’s going to be questions but he rocks his hips into the next thrust anyway and pants at the feeling.
It’s been far too long and the suddenness of it all is getting to Daryl, making him pant in Shane’s mouth and move his free hand up to yank at the other man’s hair so he can breathe for a moment. Each buck and thrust brings him closer, Shane presses him down harder into the floor, resting his full weight on him and making it hard to breathe. Everything aches and hurts, he’s shoving himself up into each movement fully and with a stifled noise of pleasure he’s coming in his underwear, bucking against the other man with a flush and enjoying the crushing weight far too much.
Shane continues, barely even seeming to notice his lack of fight anymore and continuing to dig in his fingers, to bite at his neck and move to kiss him hard. Each movement is more violent than the last and when Shane gives a grunt as he orgasms, it’s with one hand almost crushing Daryl’s wrist in his grip. Everything is too fucking loud all at once and though he still can’t catch his breath, Daryl finds himself wanting to continue their fight and prove himself.
The other man is boneless on top of him, giving Daryl the chance to shove him off of him, rolling out and away to his feet in a move well practised. He doesn’t mention the way his legs are still trembling from the unexpected orgasm, instead he aims a kick at Shane’s side and hopes it’ll fucking bruise in the morning. “Fuck you.” He spits, breath still not back and flush still painting his cheeks. “I’m gonna go find her.”
He doesn’t know if Shane heard him, or if he was even listening, and honestly he didn’t fucking care at the moment. Snatching up his bow he heads further away from camp, ignoring the heartbeat still pumping in his ears and the damp patch at his crotch. Glancing at his arms he wishes he’d worn sleeves today so he’d have something to cover them with but as if was the new bruises were beginning to form bright as day on his skin. He knows there are more on his chest and sides, and it’ll be difficult to explain the swollen jaw and cut lip, but the marks on his wrist were the worst.
Placing his own fingers over the marks he growls at the length and thickness of them, mocking him from his own flesh about how his hands looked in comparison. Storming through the trees he tries to take his mind off of it all, ignore the state he’d been in and that he allowed such a thing to happen. It had all been normal body reactions to being close to another human being. It wasn’t anything to do with Shane or his body or the feeling of being pinned beneath his larger form and forced to bear the weight. He didn’t care about any of that and neither did his cock, it was all just instinctive reactions and he couldn’t be blamed for any of it.
Still, he places his fingers over the bruises and shivers at the thought of the larger man pinning him down once more.