Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1477156.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Walking_Dead_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Carl_Grimes/Rick_Grimes
  Additional Tags:
      Anal_Sex, Fingerfucking, mild_crossdressing, Father/Son_Incest,
      Codependency, Jealousy, Possessive_Behavior, Briefly_Mentioned_OFC,
      Established_Relationship, Prompt_Fill
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-04-17 Words: 6415
****** A Northeast Stream ******
by building_a_desert
Summary
     The older man’s gentle ministrations, so caring, so attentive,
     heightened every sensation, paved the way for feelings of
     possessiveness within the boy, feelings he knew were mirrored within
     Rick. Carl knew he would never be able to let his father go, could
     never share him, let anyone else take him away or come between them.
Notes
     WOAHHH I'm so sorry this took forever, guys. As usual, it's work,
     procrastination, and plain old trying to find the muse. But your
     comments help immensely and honestly help me to get the next fill
     done quicker, so don't be afraid to lemme know how AMAZING you found
     this fic hahaha. <3
     Written in response to the prompts:
      
     "Some redshirt starts flirting with Rick. Carl is a jealous little
     shit and acts out to get back Rick's attention."
     and
     "Carl finds some clean, girl, panties, puts them on, and Rick catches
     him checking himself out in them on a full body mirror. What does he
     do?"
     Unbeta'd, so any and all mistakes are my own.
See the end of the work for more notes
  
===============================================================================
 
 
                Carl’s narrowed eyes followed the ground in front of him,
thoughts drifting away from the monotonous pattern of left foot, right foot,
black boot, brown boot.It felt like the ordeal had lasted a week, but what was
left of his internal clock told him no more than an hour, maybe two, had
passed.
 
                He and his father had been travelling, as was the status quo
these days. They kept off the streets, travelled only in daylight, and
scavenged where they could. It has been almost a year since the prison, since
they had a group, and their relationship had understandably changed to
compensate.
 
                Carl had to adapt, to take up more of the burden. He couldn’t
hold onto a makeshift family long scattered to the winds, to resentment and
blame towards a man who was only human. He would only get himself killed,
create rifts where they needed solidarity.
 
                Cold nights used to be a reason for huddling close together;
now they were the excuse. Rick’s arms became a constant every time Carl closed
his eyes for sleep, strong biceps wrapped securely around the boy’s slimmer
form. They both sought comfort in each other, and gradually, bridges formed
from the remains of once impenetrable walls.
 
                It wasn’t that Rick became less “Dad” and more something else.
The relationship they had now was undefinable, something that included but
surpassed the love of a father and his child. It seemed inevitable after a
while, like there was no way to survive alongside just one other person without
the dynamic shifting. Coupled with the instinctive drive to keep one another
alive, it just made sense.
 
                And it was a smoother transition than some might think. The
dead of the night often crept into Carl’s thoughts, the same he was sure could
be said for Rick, and seeking comfort from each other was just about the
easiest thing to do.
 
                It wasn’t any different that night, maybe four months since the
prison, nestled close, inches between their faces, no space between their
bodies. But it felt like a long dance finally coming to an end when they met
each other’s identical gaze, and Carl couldn’t honestly say who initiated it,
but the resulting kiss was a milestone they couldn’t come back from.
 
                The boy often found himself seeking to sooth his father, bring
him back down from the frenzied manner he sometimes adopted when dealing with a
threat, be it living or dead. Carl had to be his tether back to reality, had to
guide the man back to himselfand even though it sounded selfish, he knew he was
the only reason Rick kept going. Without him, Rick would have given in by now,
stopped fighting, and he couldn’t let that happen. He had just as much
responsibility to his father as his father did to him.
 
                He tried and eventually learned how to help the older man find
peace, took the time to really tune in and be more attentive to his face, his
moods. Carl learned to read the only person in the world that mattered to him,
wanted more than anything than to be the one constant, dependable, good thing
in Rick’s life.
 
                He wanted to be a good son, a good survivor, but being
somewhere between 14 and 15, there was only so much he could do. He still
required a certain amount of protection; his body, stunted in growth from
malnutrition and sleepless nights, was more lean than muscled, and his height
still left something to be desired. Both of these were severe disadvantages,
something he was bitterly aware of.
 
                Carl could see it in the way his father looked at him, knew he
felt immense guilt over not providing for his offspring, his child, but Carl
always made light of it, always tried to appease, noting that there would
always be more food, that there was bound to be plenty left somewhere, they
just had to keep looking. No matter what, he kept the torch aloft for his
father.
 
                Fight or flight was a given, it was familiar, it was comforting
in its normalcy. Carl was by far accustomed to it at that point. But the
adrenaline in the middle of the night as a result of skilled hands stroking,
pleasuring, worshipping his body, was an entirely different story.
 
                He hadn’t had the chance, hadn’t been old enough to experience
anything before the fall of civilization, didn’t even know what sex was until
Hershel’s farm. “The Talk” had been prompted by Lori’s pregnancy, a
conversation that should be a laughable memory by now, if things were normal.
Now it only felt singed with grief, like most things these days.
 
                In many areas, the teen had surpassed expectations one might
have of someone his age. It was surprising, his ability to overcome, adapt,
survive.But his mind still rallied against itself, still tried to find even
footing in a world where one wrong move meant immediate devastation, the loss
of everything that mattered. His brain, still so damn impressionable, struggled
to differentiate between right and wrong and was ultimately dictated by a
sliding scale of emotions.
 
                Carl could rationalize how dependent he was on his father, was
perfectly able to think about the desperate way he clung to the man at night,
the only time he allowed his guard to be down. He felt so much at night with
Rick in order to compensate for the mask he had to wear during the day. But
with the release of bottled up feelings comes a harrowing whirlpool of
confusion, of not knowing how to put it all back together and hide it away
until the next night.
 
                The older man’s gentle ministrations, so caring, so attentive,
heightened every sensation, paved the way for feelings of possessiveness within
the boy, feelings he knew were mirrored within Rick. Carl knew he would never
be able to let his father go, could never share him, let anyone else take him
away or come between them. They had been through everything together, had kept
each other alive through it all. Anyone else would be too much, unwelcome. A
burden.
 
                The sound of his name shook Carl out of his reverie and,
glancing up, found his father gazing at him, that ever reliable look of concern
etched across his face. The boy glanced around and spotted the house they’d
been staying in for the better part of a week now. It wasn’t “home” by any
means, too unstable, too exposed. But with the nearby market and pharmacy,
taking up temporary residence was a simple enough conclusion.
 
                A hand grasped his shoulder, pulled him snug to Rick’s side,
and together they quickly made their way into the house. Though the hold wasn’t
restraining, it held a certain degree of intensity, like Rick needed to
maintain physical contact and Carl honestly wasn’t feeling any different at
that point. After making sure the rooms were clear, the arm slowly slid away
from his shoulders, parting entirely after a lingering caress to his back.
 
                “Why don’t you go get changed?” Rick muttered, and Carl kept
his line of sight hidden beneath the rim of his hat. Of course, his father
needed time, needed to think, didn’t want to be alone with his son. The
reminder that things maybe weren’t so black and white would obviously cause the
man to second guess everything, and Carl honestly didn’t know how to react with
anything other than this strange muted jealousy.
 
                But fingers cupped his chin, tilted his face to meet the gaze
of his father, and the boy was met with such reverence in those eyes that he
was momentarily struck dumb.
 
                “I’ll be in in a minute,” Rick whispered, thumb tracing down
his cheek, “Just wanna double check the windows and door, make sure we’re
secure.”
 
                Relaxing for a moment, Carl leaned into the touch, needing the
reassurance it provided. He blinked and the moment was lost.
 
                “Okay,” he said, feeling slightly out of place, uneasy, and
though he felt the desperation, the vulnerability inherent in being parted from
his father, the teen too sought solitude in that moment.
 
                Turning away and crossing the threshold of the bedroom, Carl
lit a small candle as per usual, and habitually undid the buttons on his shirt,
letting it fall open. He came to stand before the large armoire, large vanity
mirror taking up a majority of the wall behind it, and gave himself a moment to
gather his scattered thoughts.
 
                It was evening now, sun fast setting. Earlier they had both
ventured to the general store, their supplies running low. It was a normal
activity, nothing they hadn’t done before. The town was small, deserted it
seemed. But running into a few walkers was still normal, expected even. Running
into a group of them, large gatherings too, were all viable options these days.
 
                Everything had been fine; they didn’t use words, but signals,
soft whistles if necessary. There was no sign of danger, no telltale gurgling,
no approaching footsteps. The duo had just rounded the corner into the shop
when they heard the sound of a gun cock.
 
                Rick had acted immediately, grabbing his son and shoving the
boy bodily behind him, but no shots were fired, not yet. Carl had peeked around
his father’s arm, and remembered feeling the hair on the back of his neck rise.
 
                She was young, though older than Carl. Early, maybe mid
twenties, it didn’t matter anymore, but she had been alone, and for some time.
It showed. She wasn’t manic, mood seeming very stable. She was cocky though, no
other word for it, and had little manners to speak of. But there was a gleam in
her eyes Carl had seen before, was sure he’d see again.
 
                The situation had been uncomfortable, and that was an
understatement. She asked them who they were, where they were going, if they
had a camp nearby, all the expected questions. Rick spoke for them, both hands
keeping steady aim while his voice carried that authoritative tone others just
couldn’t help but respond to.
 
                Objectively, she was attractive. Tall, skinny, but obviously
fit to take care of herself. Long dark hair and a pretty face. Carl felt on
edge just being around her, but Rick, sensible Rick, kept the conversation
going. Even then, the man was still able to call back his old mannerisms as a
cop, appearing confident and appeasing.
 
                But just because she may be a victim, like everyone in this
world, didn’t mean the woman was vulnerable. She had survived by her own merit,
her own actions. She was just as desperate an animal as they were. She
introduced herself as Paulette.
 
                Carl had remained just behind his father, attached at the hip,
and not liking the look in the woman’s eyes. It was too obvious, to him anyway,
what she saw. A man, strong, capable, caring for his son. She yearned for a
family again, they all did, and he didn’t blame her for that. Surely she’d lost
her own.
 
                They’d all lost something, though, and Carl couldn’t let
himself empathize, not with the way she paid so much attention to his father,
levelled that confident, lascivious smile at him. Carl could feel himself
growing offended, felt the heat rising up his ears. Guns were lowered, threat
assuaged for now, and the unmistakable, one-sided flirting continued.
 
                She’d relayed her story, though they didn’t ask. Told of her
group, her family, how she’d been on her own for a time. How she’d been looking
for others. Her insinuations weren’t subtle, but they didn’t make it easy on
her, Carl offering only a blank stare while Rick offered his condolences,
explaining that they’d all been through hell. This only opened the doorway for
the inevitable, Paulette pointing out that three was better than two, that she
could be valuable in plenty of ways. She still seemed on edge, though, like one
wrong word would set her off. Her trigger finger was itchy, her handling of the
gun erratic. She was dangerous.
 
                A groaning filled the air, and everyone tensed, immediately
locating and taking aim at the lone walker stumbling down the nearest aisle.
Carl watched his father quickly go for his knife and unsheathe it, but before
the man took two steps, three shots rang out and the walker dropped, head now a
concave mess of gore. Turning, Carl opened his mouth in distaste as Paulette
had the gall to look proud of herself. Apparently, she felt justified with the
excuse of the town being deserted, that she had been in the area long enough to
know, that a few shots wouldn’t attract any real attention. This only irked
Carl more, internally raging over how someone so ignorant could survive so
long.
 
                She seemed so confident in their safety, in fact, that she
strolled out the front door, arms extended, and began explaining how she had a
keen knack for sensing walkers, that she knew when one was near, and knew
almost for a fact that there weren’t any within a fifty mile radius, when it
happened.
 
                Carl raised his gun, muscle memory momentarily taking over, but
froze just as quickly. Nearly a dozen walkers had swarmed the woman in less
than two seconds flat, taking her down in a hail of bullets. The boy felt a
long-forgotten wave of empathy, the helplessness of being attacked resonating
powerfully within him. He felt the need to help,to save her, but the feeling
was gone as quickly as it began.
 
                She’d brought it on herself.
 
                Carl’s thoughts were settled back on track when Rick grabbed
him roughly, hauled him out of the room and the store, and stabbed one or two
walkers in the head as they passed. They didn’t slow down until they reached
the cover of their temporary neighbourhood, and didn’t say a word until they
reached the house.
 
                He still felt uneasy, eyes staring holes in the floor. The
boy’s feet moved with their own momentum, swinging below him while boots raked
over the once clean carpet. The woman, Paulette, was still in his head, that
smile, her cries for help, those hungry eyes directed at his father. She wasn’t
important to them, wasn’t someone they had cared about. But the feelings she
evoked, the wave welling higher and higher within Carl’s throat, were all
testament to the impact she had left.
 
                Maybe the shock of finding another living human after so long
was the reason; he’d like for that to be true. But the boy couldn’t deny that
having his father’s attention diverted, even for a short time, shook him a
little too much. The world today dictated that people were just as valuable as
food or water. The ones you chose to travel, to survive with, they were what
mattered the most. They were holding onto a life with purpose, with
sentimentality, with which to share your lives. Codependency was a necessity.
 
                He wasn’t sure how Rick felt about the ordeal, not sure if they
would even discuss it. Nonverbal communication was fine, a skill that had
immense advantages, but sometimes the teen just wanted to talk, for hours, with
his father. But the words would never come, fragmented sentences trailing off
until emotions took control, until he gave up in frustration.
 
                Tonight, though, he itched for acknowledgement. He wanted to
know Rick’s thoughts, if the interest freely offered to him tonight had
affected him. He wanted to prove to his father what the man meant to him.
 
                Focusing on the matter at hand, which seemed to be looting
through what was left of a dead woman’s outfits, Carl dug through the shirts.
He tried finding something ambiguous enough to pass off as men’s clothes, a
flannel blouse, some straight-legged jeans, anything. In this world, it wasn’t
prudent to be picky over what clothing to wear, not anymore.
 
                Stopping, the boy blinked as a hint of red peeked out from the
folds of muted tones. He plucked the fabric out of the drawer and felt his
mouth open in momentary surprise. A breath of laughter fell from his lips, eyes
taking in the finely laced underwear.
 
                It was a very light, dainty material. A soft red, sheer lace
and delicate. It would have been transparent if not for the intersecting lines,
weaving intricate floral patterns. It would certainly illicit a response from
his father, Carl noted, his heartbeat racing. What response, he had no control
over, but he craved, needed Rick’s undivided attention tonight.
 
                Feeling a fierce sort of determination spreading throughout his
body, Carl made quick work of his boots and socks, unbuttoned and tugged his
pants down, followed by his own underwear. Catching sight of himself in the
mirror, the boy slowly slipped one foot through, then the other, and pulled the
red garment up until it fit snug around his hips.
 
                A shiver went up his spine, eyes scanning over his reflection.
His fingers fisted in his open shirt, pulling it upwards and letting it bunch
around his waist, hands resting on his hips and holding it there, leaving his
lower torso exposed.
 
                The teen’s long, finely haired legs travelled up high, and were
met by the lacey material hugging his upper thighs. He could make out the shape
of his length, slowly hardening in response to the stimulation of lace combined
with the dirty thoughts plaguing his mind. Carl turned to the side,
accentuating the curve of his spine as the lingerie clung to the swell of his
rear.
 
                He licked his lips, opened his mouth, his breath coming out
slightly faster now. He’d never realized how one article, one piece of fabric
could make him look so indecent. The teen wasn’t sure what to make of it, but
felt a thrill go through him, wanting to do this, wanting to prove he wanted
it.
 
                Wanting to see more, to analyze and feeling oddly pleased by
his own appearance, the boy tugged his shirt off, letting it fall to the floor.
The soft flutter of fabric, however, did nothing to drown out the sharp intake
of breath from the doorway.
 
                Startled, Carl turned and met the gaze of his father, who’s
eyes raked over the expanse of his son’s bare form. Rick licked his lips, an
echo of the boy’s earlier actions, and, without taking his eyes off of Carl,
closed and locked the bedroom door. He took a few long steps into the room
before coming to a stop before the diminutive figure before him.
 
                “What’s this?” he asked, voice a sandy mixture of gravel and
age. It was gentle, though, softened, especially by the large hands running up
and down Carl’s sides.
 
                This sent shivers through the boy, his thoughts going a million
miles an hour, but he maintained control for the most part, didn’t let himself
fall into the usual pattern of letting his father lead. This was his
opportunity to convince, both himself and Rick, that he wanted this, wouldn’t
ever stop wanting it.
 
                “Proof,” he answered, fingers curling in the older man’s shirt,
pulling him closer.
 
                “Proof of what?” A whisper, arms cradling him, lips drawing
near.
 
                “Of whatever you need it to be,” Carl mumbled, meeting him
halfway.
 
                His father’s beard scratched at his chin, his tongue laving
into his own mouth while seeking hands trailed up and down, gripping and
stroking wherever they could. He found himself releasing a small whimper, hips
jerking automatically when those warm palms encased his rear, tugging him
forward until his member fit snug against Rick’s thigh.
 
                Drawing back, the man used the hold he had as leverage to lift
Carl up, supporting him under his seat. Adjusting quickly, the boy wrapped his
legs around Rick’s waist, hooking at the ankles, and fisted his hands tighter
in his shirt. The older man walked the short distance to the bed and slowly
descended onto it, laying his child down with the utmost care.
 
                He remained hovering there for a moment, deep blue eyes
searching. Carl met the gaze head-on, though internally squirmed under the
scrutiny. He could mimic all the mannerisms he wanted, but there were some
things he still felt quailed by when it came to Rick and his sheer intensity.
 
                “You know you don’t have ta’ prove anything to me, right?” the
man whispered, fingers caressing Carl’s cheeks, brushing the hair that fanned
out over his face and pillow like a halo, “You know that this is good; it’s
right.” The earnest tone of his words sent another shiver through the teen’s
body, his limbs clinging tighter to the heavier form.
 
                “I know,” he replied, not knowing which part he was
acknowledging. His lips made their way up his father’s neck, tongue darting
out, “I know all that, you’ve said it before, but..” Carl let his teeth tug
gently on Rick’s earlobe, listening to the man’s breath catch while he
continued.
 
                “But what this means, how I feel,it’s more than just surviving
with you, going.. going day-by-day because we haveto. It’s the only thing I
have, you’reall I have. I want this, I want you, I don’t want anyone else and I
don’t want you to want anyone else.”
 
                The words came unbidden, tumbling out before he could stop
them. He felt suddenly sheepish, exposed, like they still didn’t convey what he
meant, like he wasn’t articulate enough, like maybe he just didn’t know enough
words, but his father just shushed him, comforted him.
 
                “Hey, hey, listen now,” Rick’s fingers continued their gentle
ministrations, his gaze fierce, “There’s no one in this world that could take
me away from you. You’re my son, you’re the only person that matters to me
anymore.” The fingers halted in their movements, bringing Carl’s full attention
to those piercing eyes. “Nothing, nothing else is a priority over you.”
 
                The words washed over the boy, leaving him feeling needy,
painfully vulnerable. He initiated the next kiss, lips parting to accept his
father’s tongue. He rocked upwards, thighs still spread wide across Rick’s
hips, feeling the familiar heady waves robbing him of his sensibilities.
 
                Rick let out a quiet groan, those familiar hands seeking to
comfort, to reassure. They regularly returned to the red lace adorning his
son’s hips, calloused fingers massaging the skin there, palming the small, hard
length, hidden but obviously outlined. Carl could feel the precum dampening the
fine fabric, knew his father could feel the response his body was having, and
he rocked harder as a quiet whine escaped.
 
                “You’re mine,” was whispered into his neck, bristles rough on
his skin, “You’re mine and I’m your’s and nothing will ever change that.”
 
                Feeling a cry welling up in his throat, Carl bit down on his
lip. They were never safe enough to freely let go, to scream and moan and
express themselves. They were always forced to make do in other ways, to touch,
explore, search every inch of their bodies until exhaustion forced them into
sleep, and he resented that fact. He resented the world they lived in, resented
that it had all gone so wrong but wasn’t sure if he’d even wantthe things he
did if things were normal. All he knew was the deep and longing wish for
someplace safe, someplace away from it all, where there was time to stop to
breatheand think.
 
                But they would make do; they always did.
 
                The teen’s fingers quickly hooked under the hem of Rick’s white
T-shirt, tugging impatiently. The man pulled away, pulled the offending garment
over his head, and resumed his work, ardently sucking and nibbling at his son’s
fair skin. Carl could only choke back a gasp, the contact sending electricity
up his spine. He loved when his father took the time to mark him, to leave a
physical reminder that the boy would be able to trace absently for days.
 
                Rick drew the panties down his son’s hips, just far enough to
release the boy’s throbbing member. Carl whimpered again, pearly drops of
precum rolling down his shaft as he fell under his father’s adoring, studying
gaze.
 
                “You didn’t have ta’ wear these,” the older man murmured,
looking pleased in a subdued sort of way, “But you did, for me. Didn’t you?” He
grasped Carl’s length and began gently pumping it, thumb sliding across the
head with each upstroke.
 
                “Seems you do so much for me these days,” he continued, though
Carl could do little more than tremble and arch his spine, overwhelmed, knowing
those eyes kept seeking out his face and doing everything he could to meet
them.
 
                “You – you do most of the work,” he gasped out, fingers carding
through Rick’s curls, clutching the back of his neck, anything to keep his
hands busy, “There’s still.. still things I can’t—” His breath hitched after
those hands – big, confident, warm – grasped him more fully, applying more
pressure.
 
                Carl all but wailed, burrowing his face in his father’s
shoulder to muffle his cries, when a few roaming fingers slipped around and
wandered down his perineum. One rubbed soothingly, comfortingly, around the rim
of his entrance.
 
                The boy could only thank god he still had the sense of mind to
be quiet, even when his voice felt beyond his control. Rick’s other hand began
rolling his balls, slowly, tenderly, and he was forced to exercise that sense
of mind again.
 
                “You keep me here,” the older man replied, voice slowly losing
its composure, “You keep me sane. Carl, you keep me alive.”
 
                The teen could only wordlessly open his mouth, trying to find
the thoughts, the words to even compare to what Rick had said. He wanted to say
so many things, had all these thoughts he wanted to translate. There was such a
sizeable gap there, a language barrier, but maybe he’d been going about it
wrong, using the wrong tools, overthinking it. Maybe it was so much more simple
than that.
 
                “Dad,”he whimpered, eyes squeezed tight, mouthing desperately
to the sweat-slicked skin of Rick’s neck. It was the only word worth anything
anymore, a plain sound made from a simple flick of the tongue, a palindrome. It
was the noise he could make if he was in trouble, in pain, frightened, even –
especially – lost in pleasure.
 
                “I’ve got you.” Three words with such weight to them, a million
different meanings.
 
                The fingers disappeared, and Carl drew back slightly to watch
Rick retrieve the small bottle stashed under the pillow. A moment later and the
boy tensed as a pressure was applied to his entrance, this time slick, more
intent. Rick retained some distance between their upper torsos, kneeling
between the teen’s legs, and Carl could feel that heavy gaze again. It scanned
over him like a searchlight, taking in each detail, every quiver and wince,
swept over his heaving chest and dipped down to stare, longingly, possessively,
at the boy’s swollen need, giftwrapped in red lace.
 
                Carl’s voice cracked on a cut off moan, the tight ring of
muscles giving way as Rick’s thick finger worked its way inside. It crooked
slightly, searching, and the boy could only spread his legs wider, trying to
accommodate, to make himself as available as possible for his father. His hands
grappled for purchase on the sheets, sliding around to grip at the pillow,
never settling anywhere for long, not knowing what to do, wanting to pull his
father down but knowing the man wanted to watch.
 
                A rhythm was established, Rick fingering his son, playing him
like a finely-tuned instrument while Carl could only writhe helplessly beneath
the onslaught. A second finger breached him, soon followed by a third coated in
more lube. The stimulation to his prostate combined with the man’s hand
alternating between his shaft and balls was too much, the boy could feel
himself losing any semblance of control, surrendering entirely to the man above
him.
 
                “I’m going to –” a gasp, a breaking voice, “—Dad, Dad
pleasedon’t stop, I can’t stop, I need this– need –”
 
                But Carl’s words, his sensibilities, his sanity, were abruptly
severed. He came with a cry, burying half of his face in the pillow to stifle
the noise. His body continued thrusting into one hand and onto the other. He
heard whispers, (“That’s it, sweetheart, just let it go.”)soft encouragements
(“I’ll take care of you, protect you.”) barely audible sentiments (“Daddy’s got
you, baby, daddy won’t let you go.”) but they were so hard to make out, so hard
to store away in his memory, and he was so weightless, so did that even matter?
 
                As his brain slowly gathered itself, the boy became aware of
his body’s trembling, his fingers beginning to ache from fisting in the sheets
for so long. Opening his eyes, Carl met Rick’s reverent gaze, so full of
affection and adoration and feelings he’d never even try and put a name to.
 
                “You okay?” A question that never went unasked.
 
                “Fine,” the teen replied, a lazy smile tugging at his lips,
“Great.” A few soft breaths of laughter escaped, his head cocking to one side,
mussing his hair further across the pillow. He felt a great sense of relief,
felt relaxed. The desperation had worn off slightly, leaving him fuzzy, but
content, and subsequently more confident.
 
                Carl slid his fingers up Rick’s arms, settling on his
shoulders, and used that as leverage to pull them closer, forcing the man to
support his weight on his elbows. He trailed his hands down his father’s chest,
drawing lazy circles in the thick hair and following the path it presented,
slowly, descending below his naval and stopping at his waistline. He traced the
belt buckle and pressed down on it, eyes flitting upwards to lock gazes with
Rick.
 
                “Take these off,” he intoned, smiling impishly.
 
                The older man gave a huff of laughter, a nod of his head, and
leaned back to strip himself of his pants. Before he could settle back on top
of his son however, the boy used one hand to push, imploringly, at Rick’s
shoulder.
 
                “Lay back,” he whispered, leaning up slightly, letting his body
speak for him, trusting it knew which signals to display.
 
                Carl felt pleased when his father acquiesced, rotating and
sitting back against the headboard. Slowly, and making sure to maintain eye
contact with that playful little smile dancing on his lips, he straddled the
man’s hips, perched right in front of that prominent erection. He could feel
the moist head against the small of his back and rocked back into it, watching
Rick’s face: eyebrows coming together, jaw clenched tight, signs that could
easily be mistaken for pain. The boy let out a breathy, surprised laugh when
his father’s hands grasped his hips tightly, holding them still.
 
                “I thought you liked them,” Carl teased, still managing to
wriggle back while his hands grasped onto Rick’s shoulders.
 
                “Liked what?” The man’s voice was strained, his arms tensing;
he was exercising so much control and not doing anything to hide it, and that
thought alone sent a jolt of pleasure through the boy.
 
                “What I’m wearing,Dad.” Like it was the most obvious thing in
the world.
 
                “Of course I do, you know I do,” the words were rushed, a low
timber.
 
                Carl smiled again, grinding back against his father’s cock
while the hands that were once trying to hold him stationary began aiding in
his movements. He kept seeking out the familiar blue gaze, not about to lose
the man in his thoughts, aware of the signs Rick exhibited when he began
doubting himself.
 
                “You’re right, though,” he said, feeling positively coquettish
as his hips gyrated in little circles, coaxing responses from this man, his
father, “I didn’t have to, but I’m wearing them. For you.”
 
                Carl felt his heart jump, smile widening, and let his breathing
speed up as the steady rocking motions increased. The lace, having ridden back
up to conceal his member, did absolutely nothing to hide his body’s
acknowledgement to the implications of their positions. He stared into Rick’s
eyes, his body reacting, but not his mind, not yet.
 
                “The way she looked at you,” he whispered, “I hated it, didn’t
want her near you.” The words came naturally, effortlessly, and Carl might
later marvel at how easy it suddenly was to be open and honest when it wasn’t
him grappling for self-control.
 
                “She was a stranger, she was dangerous,” he murmured, leaning
forward again. He was a hair’s breadth from Rick’s ear, listening to his
father’s breathing become more ragged. The man didn’t say anything, though,
simply supported his son’s body, cradling him, like he was precious, a treasure
to covet.
 
                The teen reached both hands back, one pulling the lingerie to
one side, revealing his prepared entrance. The fingers on his free hand firmly
grasped the sizeable shaft at its base. He let out another breath of laughter,
more nerves than anything, and positioned the leaking head against his opening.
Carl remained where he was, letting his lips tug on his father’s earlobe.
 
                “I know you didn’t trust her, didn’t want her with us, and I
know you, I know there’s no way you would have let her come. But,” Carl paused,
felt the fingers on his hips dig in, gripping him tighter, the anticipation
palpable.
 
                “I’m glad she’s dead,” he finished, sinking down onto that
thick shaft, the breath suddenly forced from his body. The boy didn’t let
himself stop, though, not until he felt the press of his father’s heavy balls
snug against his ass.
 
                “She was a threat and she wanted you.”
 
                Carl pulled back, meeting the gaze of his father and feeling
his lungs fail him for entirely different reasons.
 
                The man’s pupils were blown wide, leaving only a slim ring of
blue. They held his eyes captive, caused him to second guess what he had said,
but the sharp thrust that rocked his body quickly dispelled any doubt.
 
                “But she can’t have you,” he moaned, heartened, encouraged,
that damn desperation returning, “no one can have you because Ihave you and no
one else knows you like I do, knows the things you’ve done, done for me,and –”
 
                Words failed him when another thrust from below hit that
little, perfect, sensitive bundle of nerves and all of Carl’s thoughts
consisted of a jumbled mess of possessiveness and belonging and love.
 
                “That’s right,” came Rick’s voice, would be barely recognizable
to anyone else, but Carl knew, could always pick out the rich tones of soot and
safety, “There’s nobody like you, Carl, only you. Always been you.”
 
                Opening eyes he didn’t remember closing, the teen grinned, face
shining with sweat and indulgence. He clenched up slightly, watching as his
father responded, both in expression and the stuttering of his hips.
 
                “You’ll never have someone else?” he asked, voice suddenly
adopting a quiet, coy tone.
 
                “There is no one else.”
 
                “Never let anyone else have me?”
 
                “Never.” The grip on his hips and waist turned fierce, more
controlling, testament to Rick’s commitment. Carl laughed again, weakly,
sensing the change in the mood. The thought of someone touching Carl, someone
else, clearly had an effect on his father.
 
                He tried to continue riding the man, tried to use his knees to
lift himself and control the fall, but the repetitive motions soon exhausted
him. The boy needn’t have worried, however, as Rick quickly compensated and
took control. The thickly muscled legs beneath him shifted, locked at the
knees, and helped to support Carl’s body.
 
                Thrusts came harder now, Carl doing all he could to hold on,
arms wrapped around his father’s neck as the thick shaft inside of him dug
deeper and deeper. He knew the intensity of his thoughts, the urgency rising in
the pit of his stomach was mirrored in Rick. He could feel the older man’s
heartbeat pulsing through him, counter beat to the thrusts rocking his body.
Thoughts were spiraling out of control again, the brief moment of control now
lost as instincts took over.
 
                The head of Rick’s cock battered his prostate relentlessly, the
impact sending jolts of electricity up his length. Each movement caused his
breath to leave him accompanied by a whimper, his body feeling overstimulated
and overwhelmed and overpowered.
 
                “I love you,” he gasped, not knowing he said it out loud until
it was returned, repeated over and over and over into his skin, kisses raining
down on his neck and shoulders and scalp, anywhere they could reach.
 
                The orgasm that wracked through him was of an intensity he
hadn’t experienced before. Carl’s length went untouched, the stimulation to his
prostate being the sole cause for the semen roping onto his abdomen. It left
him exhausted, letting his weight rest entirely against his father.
 
                The man’s arms slid around his torso, holding him tight, and
thrust into him desperately. Rick was now a man seeking his own completion, and
Carl could only hold on as best he could, letting his father use his body,
knowing he needed this, the validation, the release.
 
                And when Rick came, Carl could feel it, and clenched up to
enhance the sensation, prolonging it for his father. The man’s essence was
pumped deep inside, planted by the thick cock depositing it there. The man’s
body shook through it, trembling violently, and the boy felt like he couldn’t
draw breath with how tightly he was held.
 
                A few minutes passed, and their bodies slowly relaxed. Rick’s
arms slackened their grip, but kept his son close. The sweat on their bodies
began to cool, and Carl felt himself begin to shiver.
 
                “C’mon,” his father’s gruff voice said, juxtaposed by the
delicate way he handled the teen. Very carefully, he helped to pull Carl off
his now softening erection and, drawing the covers back, slipped under them,
keeping the boy in his arms.
 
                Carl hummed softly, his brain thoroughly worked over and
leaving very little capacity for critical thinking. He nuzzled closer, hands
tracing over his father’s chest and arms, instinctively seeking to comfort.
 
                “There’s only you, Carl,” was whispered into his hair, large
hands rubbing soothing patterns over his back, “Only you.”
 
                He let a small smile play on his lips and breathed in deeply.
The sentiment welled up in the boy’s chest, sending a wave of contentment
through him.
 
                “Only me,” he repeated softly, finding and lacing his fingers
with Rick's, “and you.”
End Notes
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