Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6287962.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      The_Walking_Dead_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Daryl_Dixon/Rick_Grimes, Daryl_Dixon/Merle_Dixon
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-03-19 Words: 2620
****** A precious little porcelain thing ******
by shittershutter
Summary
     Although he doesn’t want to drift on it, Daryl returns to the forest,
     into Carol’s arms many months ago when he doesn’t believe her when
     she tells him: “One day it just might be over.”
Notes
     The story includes a few flashbacks of underage Daryl/Merle which by
     definition include incest and sexual abuse. As a result of those
     there are also mentions of a severe psychological trauma and erectile
     dysfunction. So be warned about that.
     Rick comes to make it slightly better, though.
      
     It's also still unbetad and I'm sorry.
He goes deeper into the woods to howl for Merle when the moon’s full, when the
wind in the branches is strong enough to conceal the sound of him losing it.
He pushes his face against the moss, flush, no room for a sound to escape, and
weeps, howls and cries for the motherfucker until everything hurts until he’s
lost his voice and gained an explosive pain inside the skull.
When he raises his flushed face, Carol is there, against the trunk, watching
him. Of course, she is.
The moon’s bright enough to illuminate her face with complete understanding
plastered across it. It terrifies him — that phantom perspective of someone
understanding him. No one should be subjected to that amount of shit to shovel
through to gain the unique perspective into Daryl Dixon’s mind.
She wraps her hands around him, and he’s vibrating hard enough with the
aftershocks to make them both tremble.
He tells her about the shallow grave he buried Merle in — couldn’t just leave
him to be picked apart. Cleaned the blood from the wound, wiped it from around
the mouth. Cried some more, holding his brother against his chest, pretty much
like she’s holding him now. But even as he watched that sharp, angry face being
eaten by the damp cold ground, getting into the hollowed space around Merle’s
eyes first, then to his cheeks, between his lips, too, Daryl was no fool, he
knew Merle wasn’t really going anywhere.
Roles reversed, the memory throws him back in time, to the rusty mattress in
his room where Merle is hovering above him, kissing the flowing tears off his
face. He hurts him so much that first time. And it’s not like Daryl’s
unfamiliar with excruciating physical pain at that point, it’s not like Merle’s
muscles don’t buzz with restraint to show his virgin ass some mercy, but he
swears to himself that day he’s done with fucking once and for all.
Then, the moment Merle pulls out he wants him back, just to be called good,
just to be looked at like he’s a precious little porcelain thing.
His conviction remains true since — he’s done with fucking — unless it’s Merle
who’s doing it.
To Carol’s credit, her hand in his hair never stills.
It’s not a conscious decision he ever makes, it just settles in his brain, like
a verdict, that only Merle touches him in that way. In any way, for the matter.
It’s only Merle who can give him love and occasionally gonorrhea — he always
blames the later on Daryl but fully admits having the former. Daryl lives for
those rare admissions.
“I know it’s fucked up,” he breathes into her shoulder. It’s important to him
that she gets it. He’s not one of those Dr. Phil’s “at least I know he loves
me” people, now that’ll be pathetic.
Knowing doesn’t liberate him from the truth that he can’t even get it up for
anyone but his brother.
“I loved him so much, ” Daryl rasps. It tears him apart, the pain. The horror
of it, too. “Hated him all the same.”
Then the breathless hiccups follow. Through their cannonade, he can hear birds
waking up. Through the blur, he can see the sky just above the trees getting
lighter.
+++
When Rick Grimes comes into his personal space with his gentle eyes and even
gentler hands, everything goes down just like Daryl knew it would.
But the night when he got his snot all over Carol’s clothes comes in handy —
he’s got the ugly words out once, now he only has to repeat them.
There’s no easy way to go down the “it’s not you, it’s me” road, especially if
fucking your brother since the age of 15 is down the path, but the road’s never
been easy for Daryl Dixon.
Without all the sobbing he almost sounds chill about it to himself.
Rick does look like he was punched in the face for a moment or two, but to his
credit there are no pointless questions to follow, no disgust he expects but
doesn’t care about anymore — he just tightens his arm around Daryl again, like
nothing happened, and for a long moment it really feels like nothing did.
“I want to keep trying,” Rick says with that brutal honesty that always leaves
him defenseless. “Is it okay with you?”
Daryl just nods. They lie, struggling to fit into the small bed inside the
nameless night shelter house, and Rick is mouthing along Daryl’s bloody
knuckles, trying to unclench the tight grip the man has on himself.
He withdraws the hand from Daryl’s pants, and Daryl’s face burns as he feels
another’s man hard dick against his hip while he lies so close, right fucking
there, rigid and useless with his dead brother’s laughter roaring in his head.
+++
Rick seems to be down with dying from prostate cancer in the middle of the
apocalypse because there’s no way a male mammal can survive that long with the
balls as blue as his without any health risks.
Daryl threatens him with kicking his ass and other vague violence, but what
really works is a promise to tackle him down and suck him off in public. That
gets a certain dick down a certain throat long before lunchtime.
Rick’s smart about his plan with trying shit, though. Without pushing it, he
gets Daryl hooked on making out first — something Daryl couldn’t imagine being
the part of the act.
And it feels nice, mentally. He blushes and pants his way through, confused by
the softness of it. If Merle was ever tender with him, it’d be more like a
glitch in his system. He’d look at his hand stroking Daryl’s hair like it was
doing shit it wasn’t supposed to, like he’d have to look through the manual to
get that shit fixed, what the hell.
Then they get to the next stage, and Merle’s ranting inside Daryl’s head
intensifies tenfold. Sometimes, if he really tunes in and concentrates on the
man he’s with presently, right now, he’s able to shut his brother up. It feels
amazingly good. He can almost imagine himself being a regular person, too,
sharing an intimate moment with his partner behind the closed door of the
private bedroom.
It doesn’t last long because they get naked at some point, and he finds his way
back into that good old loop again. The one that makes him scared of getting
scared and have nothing happen again.
Stuck inside the ever-decaying dynamics of the new world, he loses the need to
be constantly inside his head, though. So he doesn’t notice when that loop
starts to get eroded at the edges, just like the landscape around.
He cleans his knives one night, a task that never fails to calm him down, and
lets his mind wander. He thinks about Rick’s hands when they touch his skin,
soothing and ticklish a little, like he’s a precious little porcelain thing,
all shiny and unscratched.
He looks down, and he’s hard, hard in his pants just like that.
He motions Rick to leave the group near the campfire and come closer, and
instead of spooking the moment with words he just takes the that same hand and
pushes it into his crotch.
The look on the other man’s face is priceless, the whites of his eyes comically
huge in the pale moonlight. With irresponsibility Rick Grimes never seemed to
display, before he grabs his hand and drags him through the bushes, away from
the prying eyes.
“What were you thinking about when…?”
“You,” Daryl shrugs and kisses him first.
It doesn’t last — Merle shows up, relinking all the old demonic thoughts inside
his brain, and as the wiring between those thoughts starts to sparkle, the damn
thing flags again. But he sucks Rick off still, and they grin like loons when
they return to the group.
There are not many things to feel hopeful about around them, but they’ve just
found a good one.
+++
The hope probably inspires Rick to go fully in the next time they get a proper
bed and a locking door.
Daryl still can feel the wave of panic and disgust rising, his muscles going
rigid so quickly, so readily, but Rick’s there to save him. He talks to him a
lot, never shuts up, in fact, calling his name, telling him how hot, how
beautiful he is, and it takes Daryl some time to realize it’s Rick’s way to
constantly remind him he’s not with Merle.
He’s on his back, too, which was never Merle’s way, not since their first few
times — Merle would put him on his fours like the bitch that he was.
He can stare at Rick above him as the man strokes his chest with one hand and
massages the skin behind his balls with the other.
Daryl’s half hard, and it’s Rick’s doing: the second he goes into the loop of
fearing the fear, Rick can sense it. He leans down and kisses him or talks to
him, or runs his hands along his body, distracting him, chasing the demons
away.
They go the furthest today. He’s slick with, like, proper stuff, the pharmacy
stuff Rick sold his soul to get, and it’s a big luxury in the new world — to
use a thing exactly for what it was made for.
The intrusion is not an unfamiliar feeling, the care it’s done with is. It’s
the kind of touch Daryl can’t mistake for Merle’s. And Rick looks up, too,
every other second, even though Daryl can’t reflect the gesture, he appreciates
it.
Daryl doesn’t close his eyes. The second he does, he knows what face he’ll see
there. He can’t look at Rick either, so he keeps his gaze just above Rick’s
shoulder which is good enough. The fluff of the man’s hair gets into the field
of vision, and it’s not Merle’s hair — so it does the trick.
He lets out an “Ah!” when the finger breaches him. Merle barks with laughter
between his temples at how pathetic his little bitch boy sounds, and Daryl
shakes his head angry, trying to get him out.
He can feel the concerned eyes on him and now he’s forced to look to put his
partner at ease. He squeezes the forearm of the hand that is working him open
and holds on tight.
Rick gets the second finger in, his other hand pulling gently at the hair above
Daryl’s dick, stroking his lower stomach. As he does, he hits something good
inside, the feeling almost forgotten — Merle did good things for him, but he
wouldn’t go out of his way too much.
Daryl responds with a hiss, his pelvis rises to meet the sensation. Rick smiles
then, finally, proudly, and proceeds to assault the spot inside the other man’s
body with precision and accuracy he’s respected for.
Daryl’s fingers around his hand turn into claws, and he stares — really stares
now — into the other’s man face which is so open and loving that it makes his
chest ache.
“You look kind of excited. It’s a good look on you.”
“Shuddup, Grimes.” His hips are fucking themselves now onto the fingers,
meeting each movement with their own. He doesn’t realize that he’s humming
along with motion.
Rick looks down — which is a brave move since staring down Daryl’s flaccid dick
if off limits — it tends to kill the mood and send Daryl down the shame and
horror spiral. Except the dick in question is not flaccid at all.
Rick smirks, it’s a honest-to-god dirty smirk, and before Daryl manages to
react, he leans down and presses his mouth to the length.
The dedication this presumably sort of straight man would spend on sucking on
Daryl’s limp dick has melted his heart more than once, but now he’s finally got
real something to work with.
He sighs blissfully and runs his lips along the length, root to head, leaving
traces of saliva everywhere, and he’s greedy about it, too, looking and
sounding like it’s all he ever wanted to shove into his mouth.
He swallows Daryl down, his other hand still fucking him, the same rhythm, the
one that was efficient, the one that worked, and Daryl moans now like he never
heard himself moan before.
And fucking Merle has nothing to say. His little bitch of a brother has his
hand in another man’s hair, fucking his mouth — all the jokes writing
themselves — and he’s silent for once.
Daryl doesn’t think about his brother when he comes.
He doesn’t think at all, focused on Rick’s eyes looking up at him, while his
mouth and his hand do all the dirty work, and he’d warn the man, but he doesn’t
even register the signs, doesn’t recognize them. And then his hips that are
still snapping against Rick’s hand don’t let him pull away.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay…” he can hear Rick’s rough voice as he
releases him. There’s a white spot on his chin. He wipes some off with the back
of his hand and swallows what he doesn’t. His hand is on Daryl’s shoulder,
squeezing.
“Baby, it’s okay, I wanted it. I’m not mad.” He repeats it again, slower.
Daryl lets out a shaky breath. He must look horrified to the other man. For a
moment or two, he is.
He stops, altogether. His pelvis slows down, although he can feel himself still
squeezing the fingers inside.
Merle would go down on him occasionally — no shame in eating the pussy you’re
fucking, right? — but there’s no way in hell Merle Dixon would allow another
man’s juice to get anywhere near his face, uh-uh.
Merle would probably break Daryl’s jaw if it ever happened, knock out a loose
tooth or two at least.
He’s tempted to reflect on their brotherly love some more, but then there’s a
mouth on his, hands around him, hard dick against his stomach.
“You just came your brains out,” Rick says proudly, grinning like a maniac.
Merle has nothing to say to that.
And Daryl smiles back, simple as that, and it surprises him how easy it is to
ignore the stinging at the corner of his eyes.
Then the magic moment is broken by Rick’s cock sliding along the length of his
hip.
“Do it,” Daryl whispers. It’s Rick’s turn to shake his head violently to bring
the concentration back. He moves, and Daryl feels the wave of panic again,
catching him by the shoulder.
“Just don’t turn me over.” he licks his lips nervously and spreads his legs
wider.
“Yeah.”
It stings, and with sadistic satisfaction, Daryl notes that Rick tries to go
slow, but he’s honestly unable to, his whole chivalry act be damned.
He wraps both legs against the man’s waist, arms around his shoulders, and
still dazed, blindsided by his sudden freedom he was just granted, he takes
everything he has to give him. It’s his turn now to whisper in Rick’s ear how
hot and how beautiful he is.
It’s over very quickly, and Daryl wrestles to keep the man inside him when he
comes, filling him.
They lie, one atop of the other, for what seems like hours, and although he
doesn’t want to drift on it, Daryl returns to the forest, into Carol’s arms
many months ago when he doesn’t believe her when she tells him: “One day it
just might be over.”
He pokes around his head for his brother, all the dark corners covered in
cobweb, mouse traps and shit, and Merle’s not there.
He’ll be back soon enough, bickering and bitching, but this new distance
between them is something Daryl can work with.
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