Chapter Text
Daryl takes a deep breath, straightens his shirt, licks his lips, rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck, and counts to six before pushing open the door to Rick’s house--the family’s house--in Alexandria. The only people inside are Rick and Judith, and Daryl has timed this so that he knows Judy will be upstairs taking her afternoon nap and therefore out of the way. Everybody else is off doing other things--Daryl made sure of that too--and he figures he’s got about half an hour before anybody comes back. Aaron had said that it would probably only take about ten minutes, fifteen tops, but with how on edge Rick has been lately it might take a lot less than that. So half an hour should be fine.
You got this, Dixon, Daryl thinks to himself, nodding firmly along with his mental statement and letting out a little grunt of self-encouragement. He locks the door behind himself and goes to find Rick, who’s standing in the living room running his fingers across the spines of books on the shelf there.
Daryl could take a moment to admire the man, the way the forest-green t-shirt he’s wearing stretches over his shoulder blades just so, the slim hips with the nicely curved ass, the way Rick’s arm muscles flex as he moves his hand over the books. He could do that, but he doesn’t. There’s no time for that, and admiring Rick makes this something it’s not.
Well. Something it can’t be. Something Daryl hasn’t really bothered to think that much about because it’s not like it’s ever going to happen. Not with Rick being… the way he is. Straight. Oblivious. Fuckin’ shallow, apparently, with the way Daryl’s noticed Rick staring at that blonde chick and pining after her even though he’s only talked to her maybe twice.
But then again, that’s why Daryl’s here. To put a stop to that nonsense.
Daryl coughs pointedly, and Rick turns around and smiles at him. “Daryl, hey.”
Daryl just grunts in response, then drops his leather jacket off his shoulders and lets it fall to the floor. He strides across the room using the biggest steps he can summon and grabs Rick’s arm, then drags him over to the couch and shoves the other man down on it.
“Daryl, what--”
Daryl drops to his knees in front of Rick and nudges the other man’s legs apart, knee-walking forward so that he’s between them. He doesn’t meet Rick’s eyes, just starts working on the man’s belt, sliding the leather out of the buckle and then giving the whole thing a firm yank, whipping it out of Rick’s belt loops and letting go of it in mid-swing so that it flies across the room. Dimly, he hears the buckle hit the opposite wall with a dull thud, but he’s too busy rubbing Rick’s balls through his pants with the palm of one hand while using the other one to unfasten the man’s khakis to really give a shit.
Rick lets out a hiss of--pleasure? Probably pleasure. Hopefully pleasure--through his teeth as Daryl pulls him out. Rick’s cock isn’t hard yet but it’s stirring, filling, starting to strain in Daryl’s hand, and Rick’s breath is fast and Daryl can practically feel his racing pulse in the vein running up the underside of the man’s shaft.
“Daryl…” Rick says again, but this time he trails off instead of cutting his words off sharply.
“Just relax,” Daryl mumbles, and he lowers his head and sucks Rick in.
//
Earlier That Day - 6:00 a.m.
Daryl’s already awake when Rick leaves the house, dressed in his constable uniform with a frown on his face. Rick's clean-shaven skin shines in the early morning sunlight and Daryl hates it, misses the facial hair that he'd gotten so used to seeing out on the road. Maybe not so much the full-on beard--although it had made the man look like some kind of ancient pagan forest god, which had been really very confusing for Daryl--but at least the stubble, the rough face that Rick had had at the prison. Rick looks smaller now, domesticated somehow, and Daryl wants him back wild, primal.
But not violent, not unpredictable. Definitely not unstable and distracted like he had been ever since his haircut, ever since her. And Daryl doesn't really care that much about sex himself--oh, he's had it, enjoyed it, even misses it sometimes, but not with the level of tension that some others in the group seem to have--but he can understand the need for release as well as the next man. It happens. The trick is to take care of it in a sensible way. Which is to say, to get off with one's own hand or with a willing partner. Not by stalking some hairstylist when she's already tried to let Rick down easy.
And here Rick is, standing on the porch and staring sort of creepily in the direction of Jessie’s house, a full tent in his uniform slacks that makes Daryl want to punch something.
“Mornin’, Constable,” Daryl says, and Rick jumps like a Walker has charged out of the bushes.
“Holy shit, Daryl, I didn’t see you there.” Rick lifts a hand to his chest like he’s trying to physically make his heartbeat slow down.
Daryl grunts, looking down at the painted wood of the porch. “Been here all night,” he says, then motions in the general direction of Rick’s other python. “You gonna take care of that before you leave?”
Rick looks down at himself and flushes. Yet another reason why he should have kept the beard, Daryl thinks, but he’s not Rick’s little housewife and so he doesn’t exactly have a say in that. After a second, Rick frowns and stares back out in the direction of Jessie’s house. “It’ll go down on its own,” he mumbles. “Usual methods haven’t been working lately.”
The bastard licks his lips and lets out a hard breath. “Gotta get to work,” he says, and he leaves Daryl sitting on the porch wondering why the hell he’d thought it was a good idea to suggest that their fearless leader might need to rub one out.
//
8:30 a.m.
Daryl’s been following Rick around surreptitiously since the constable started his shift, and he’s not liking what he’s seeing. Rick is on edge, aggressive, and Daryl has seen the man’s hand twitch for his gun just a little too quickly more than once. And that’s not just being suspicious or over-cautious or whatever Rick is calling it. No, it’s an overabundance of some shitty testosterone/adrenaline cocktail running through Rick’s veins. All energy and nowhere to put it. Merle got like this sometimes, in the old world and in this one, and Daryl knows how to recognize it.
Daryl also knows that when Merle got like this, that was usually when he’d bring home a hooker or a bar floozy. And that the next morning, everything was right as rain. So that means only one thing: he’s got to get Rick laid. And not with the hairdresser. Too many problems with that one: too soft, too weak, too married. Not family enough, not yet. And Daryl could overlook most of that if he thought she wanted Rick too, but the burning looks Rick kept shooting her were either mostly or entirely one-sided. Daryl knows what that looks like, and that’s what’s going on here.
But Daryl’s been a pretty decent wingman in the past, helping Merle pick up chicks when his brother got a little too lonely, and surely game is like riding a bike. Daryl might still have it, even though it’s been a while since he’s practiced it. He can find a girl for Rick to fuck. He’s just got to do it quick, before shit goes down that isn’t good for the group.
Daryl nods to himself and goes off to find Carol.
//
10:15 a.m.
Carol blinks at Daryl, letting the spoon she’s using to stir batter fall into the bowl. “What?”
“Need you to fuck Rick,” Daryl says. He reaches out a finger to swipe some batter and Carol slaps his hand.
“You need me to…” Carol repeats, trailing off and looking very confused indeed.
“Fuck. Rick.” Daryl crosses his arms over his chest and glares at her.
“What do you mean?” she asks him, her brow knitted as she meets his gaze with pursed lips.
Daryl rolls his eyes and huffs. “Mean I need you to fuck Rick. Ain’t sure how to say it any clearer’n that.”
She stares at him for a few more seconds. “Why?”
“‘Cause he’s gonna need to fuck somebody ‘fore long and if it ain’t you it might be that blonde chick,” Daryl says, hating that he has to explain himself. “An’ we all know ain’t no good comin’ out of that.”
Carol crosses her arms, mirroring Daryl’s stance, and gives him a stern look. “He’s just trying to help. We need to get her out of that house before that man really hurts her. You know that.”
“Yeah, I know that,” Daryl says, shifting his feet and staring at the floor. “An’ I got no problem with helpin’ her. But right now Rick’s thinkin’ with his dick an’ not his head and that’s gonna cause more shit than it fixes.”
“And so you think the answer is for me to sleep with Rick,” Carol says, raising an eyebrow. Daryl grunts and nods, and Carol shakes her head. “No.”
“Not even a little…” Daryl blushes and makes a hand motion at his mouth.
“No,” Carol says. “And just for that, you don’t get any cookies.”
“Fine,” Daryl says, turning on his heel and stomping out to find Michonne.
//
11:30 a.m.
“Ask me that again and I will gut you,” Michonne says, her eyes sliding to the katana above the fireplace.
Daryl frowns. “Thought you had the hots for him.”
“Thought you had the hots for him,” Michonne counters.
Daryl blinks rapidly at that. “Nah.”
She rolls her eyes hard and points at the door.
“What about just sucking him off, then?” Daryl asks, telling himself that once he finds somebody to get Rick off, the man owes him for making him talk about this shit to people.
“Get out,” Michonne says, and Daryl does.
//
1:15 p.m.
Glenn leans against the wall and eyes Daryl suspiciously while Maggie perches on the porch swing. “What do you need, Daryl?” Glenn asks.
Daryl rubs the back of his neck and stares at the ground. “Need…” He trails off, then looks up at Maggie. “Need you to fuck Rick,” he tells her, then flicks his eyes up at Glenn. “Thought you might need, you know, permission.”
Glenn blinks at him, his mouth falling open. Maggie stands up. “You want me to do what?”
“Jesus, am I fucking stuttering?” Daryl rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “I need you to fuck Rick. Hell, both of you can do it together, I don’t care. Man just needs to unload an’ somebody’s gotta do it before he does something stupid.”
“I’m not sleeping with Rick,” Glenn says. “And Maggie’s not, either.”
Maggie glares at Glenn. “Don’t speak for me. We talked about this.”
They stare at each other for several tense seconds, then Glenn huffs out a breath and nods.
If Daryl had been a cat, his ears would have perked up. “So you’ll do it?”
“No,” Maggie says, a tiny smile hovering at the corners of her mouth. “Just didn’t want Glenn makin’ my decisions for me, that’s all.”
Daryl scowls. “Well, who else is there? Tara’s gay an’ Rosita’s with Abraham. Guess there’s Eugene but he don’t strike me as the type to give it his best shot, you know? And I ain’t askin’ Sasha with how upset she’s been lately.”
“Michonne might,” Maggie points out.
Daryl sighs heavily, shifting on his feet. “Already asked. She said no too. And Carol.”
“Father Gabriel,” Glenn says, and Daryl’s scowl deepens even more.
“Need somebody to fuck him,” Daryl mutters. “Not pray at him.”
Maggie smiles and puts a hand on Daryl’s shoulder. He lets it lie there for a second before shrugging it off. “Sorry, Daryl,” Maggie says. “Just can’t do it.”
Daryl lets out the longest, heaviest sigh he thinks he’s ever let go and stands up straighter. “Fine. You pussies won’t do it, fine. I’ll just fucking do it myself.” And he turns and strides off with great purpose toward Aaron’s house, leaving Glenn and Maggie staring behind him on the porch.
//
2:05 p.m.
Daryl shoves Aaron up against the wall of his living room, his big-ass buck knife pressed to the man’s neck. “If you laugh, I’ll slit your throat,” he growls. He knows full well that he wouldn’t actually do that, would never hurt a nice guy like Aaron, but Aaron doesn’t know that, and this seems like the time to throw out some threats for the good of the order.
“Whoa, whoa,” Aaron says, spreading his arms out to his sides and swallowing hard against the knife blade. “Don’t need the knife, Daryl. Just tell me what’s going on.”
Daryl pulls the knife back a little, leaving it near Aaron’s throat but not pressing the blade against his skin anymore. “Tell me you ain’t gonna laugh,” he demands.
“Scout’s honor,” Aaron says, and Daryl grunts and lets him go. Aaron reaches up and rubs his throat, watching Daryl warily. “What… do you need?”
Daryl blushes and then tries to hide it by wiping his hand across his face. “Need to know how to give good head,” he mumbles after a moment.
Aaron wrinkles his forehead. “Sorry, couldn’t hear you.”
Daryl sighs and walks around in a tight circle. “Need to know how to give a BJ,” he says, speaking a little more clearly now but not any louder.
Aaron, for his part, looks terrified to ask again, but he clears his throat. “Still couldn’t hear you…”
“I NEED TO KNOW HOW TO SUCK A DICK,” Daryl barks out, and Aaron’s mouth falls open. “Not yours. Somebody else’s. Rick’s.” He points the knife at Aaron again, waves it menacingly. “So tell me how to do it and then let’s never talk about this again.”
Aaron blinks at him. “You want to give Rick a blowjob,” he says, deadpan.
“I don’t want to,” Daryl says, ignoring the tiny little voice in the back of his mind that’s not so sure of that. “But I got to, an’ it’s gotta be a really fuckin’ good one. ‘S important. He’s gotta love it.”
“...but why?”
“That’s none’a your damn business,” Daryl growls. “Just tell me how to do it right.”
“Okay,” Aaron says after a really long pause in which Daryl shuffles his feet like a nervous foal. “I mean, there’s not a lot to say? Just... you’re a guy. You know what feels good. So, you know... do that.”
Daryl frowns and speaks really quietly again, mumbling the words through his deep shame. “Don’t know.”
Aaron sucks in a hard breath through his nose. “Um, I couldn’t... hear...”
“Fuck me with a pinecone, man, you fuckin’ hard of hearing or something? Christ.” Daryl shoves his knife back into its home on his belt and starts pacing. “Nobody ever blew me before, okay? So I don’t know what feels good. I can guess, but guessin’ ain't good enough. Not for Rick.”
Aaron blinks, his already-red cheeks going even redder. “You’re a virgin,” he says, and it's not a question.
Daryl stops in his pacing to administer a death glare. “Ain’t a virgin, jackass. Just... this is new territory.”
Aaron lifts both hands and buries his face in them. “Goddammit,” he says, his voice muffled by his palms pressed against his mouth. “I’m a gay mentor now.”
“This ain’t about me bein’ gay or not gay or whatever,” Daryl says. “’S about Rick. So just tell me what to do.”
Aaron leaves his face in his hands for another few seconds, then takes a deep breath and starts explaining, all red cheeks and awkward hand motions, and Daryl listens intently as he paces a circle in the carpet of Aaron’s living room.
And then, finally, when Aaron looks like he can’t possibly survive any more questions, Daryl nods. “Okay. I can do this. I got this.”
“You got it,” Aaron agrees, looking extremely relieved.
“Thanks,” Daryl says, and Aaron nods and gives him a shaky clap on the shoulder of encouragement.
“Go get ‘em, buddy,” Aaron says. “Get your man.”
//
Present Time
Rick’s cock is soft against Daryl’s lips but Daryl tells himself that that’s okay. He hadn’t exactly given the man a lot of warning to start getting it up, and besides, Rick’s making up for lost time very quickly, his dick hardening so fast that Daryl can practically hear all the blood rushing from one of Rick’s heads down to the other. Daryl slides his lips down over the shaft and then swipes his tongue back and forth in a zigzag pattern over the underside as he bobs his head, and then looks up through his eyelashes at Rick, who’s staring down at him with a dumbfounded expression.
“Daryl,” Rick says again, his voice raspy and breathless. "What--"
Daryl hums in frustration and glares up at him, then runs his tongue over the slit at the tip of Rick’s cock and that’s when Rick gives in, sucking in a hard breath and slamming his head down onto the back of the couch so that he can stare at the ceiling. His hands slide into Daryl’s hair, holding on but not guiding his movements in any way, and he stares up at the ceiling and lets out the breath he’d taken in a long, shuddering sigh.
“God, Daryl,” Rick breathes as Daryl moves his head, licking up and down Rick’s cock with the same single-minded determination he uses for everything he does. “Fuck, it’s been a long time.” The constable squeezes his eyes shut and swallows hard, squirming under Daryl’s tongue.
Daryl grunts and grips the base of Rick’s now-fully-erect dick in one hand while he slides his other hand down to cup Rick’s balls lightly. He breathes through his nose and takes in as much of Rick as he can--which isn’t nearly enough, isn’t nearly as much as he wants to have in his mouth, but gagging himself wouldn’t be sexy and so he just concentrates on using plenty of tongue, on keeping his teeth back and his mouth tight and wet around Rick.
Judging by the way Rick’s thighs are trembling on either side of Daryl and by the way the man’s hips keep stuttering upward almost like he can’t control it, Daryl figures he must be doing a pretty good job. Daryl pulls his mouth off for a moment, running his tongue under the ridge that separates the head from the shaft, and Rick shudders hard.
“Good?” Daryl says, his voice miles deep and rougher than he’d expected it would be, but then again he’s never sucked cock before and so who knows what he should have expected.
Rick lets out an incredulous laugh, his eyes flying open as he stares at the ceiling for a moment before looking down at Daryl, who’s already taken him back in, stroking what he can’t fit in his mouth and swirling his tongue wickedly around what he can. “Yeah, good,” he says, then jolts and moans when Daryl pulls off again and teases the slit with the tip of his tongue again. “Jesus Christ, Daryl, I’m not gonna last…”
Daryl looks up at him, kissing the tip with swollen lips and fixing their eyes together. Dirty talk, he thinks, and he lets half of his mouth curve up into what he hopes is a sexy smile as he says, “Come on, then. Down my throat.”
Rick’s breath hitches and he uses his hands in Daryl’s hair to push the archer’s head back down over his shaft. Daryl moans and takes him in, kneading Rick’s tightening balls lightly while he relaxes his throat and tries to let Rick slide just that extra little bit in, and then Rick’s hips are arching against him and Rick is cursing loudly as Daryl feels pulses of heat flood his mouth.
And god, it tastes so fucking good. Aaron hadn’t mentioned that, had just said it was going to be a little salty, a little umami, and Daryl had just nodded because he wasn’t going to admit that he had no idea what the fuck umami meant but if it’s anything like this, Daryl decides that it might just be his favorite thing. He swallows it down and pulls off of Rick’s cock, then leans forward again as he sees the last drops leaking from the tip and he licks them up, savors the taste on his tongue.
Daryl thinks back to a girlfriend he’d had in high school, a girl who refused to do this for him because she didn’t like the flavor of come. Nobody liked it, she’d said, and Daryl hadn’t thought much of it at the time since she’d been willing to do other things so it didn’t matter. But now, with the taste of Rick on his tongue, he remembers that girl for the first time in twenty years and it occurs to him that she was as full of shit as a fertilizer truck because Jesus, he could do this all day, could drink Rick like a fucking milkshake and never be thirsty again.
Except that’s not what this is. This is stress relief, nothing else. It’s for Rick and not for Daryl and that’s fine. That’s as it should be.
“Better?” Daryl asks Rick, the flavor washing over his mouth again as his tongue moves.
Rick stares down at him, pupils blown open like Daryl had planted grenades in his eyes, and nods slowly. “Fuck,” he whispers, then suddenly goes boneless and sags into the couch, draping his forearm over his eyes. “Holy hell, give me a minute and I’ll--”
Daryl stands up quickly, giving Rick an encouraging, manly clap on the thigh. “Good. Gonna go work on my bike for a while, but I’ll see you at dinner. Carol’s makin’ some kinda potato casserole thing.” He crosses the room and picks his jacket up from the floor, shrugs it back onto his shoulders.
He doesn’t look back at Rick, at the way the man is sprawled on the couch with his cock out, Daryl’s spit still glistening on his skin. He doesn’t pay attention to the way Rick’s mouth is hanging open, his eyes glazed, his fingers dug in to the couch cushions. He doesn’t notice any of that, because if he notices any of it then he might kiss Rick, might share this flavor with him and never stop.
So he doesn’t notice.
Instead he turns around and leaves the house, passing Carol on the street on her way back to Rick’s house. She raises an eyebrow at him, and he smirks and murmurs, “Took care of it,” before heading back for the garage.