Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1602704.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Walking_Dead_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Carl_Grimes/Rick_Grimes
  Character:
      Carl_Grimes, Rick_Grimes, Hershel_Greene, Carol_Peletier, Michonne_
      (Walking_Dead), Daryl_Dixon
  Additional Tags:
      Anal_Sex, Rimming, Spanking, Daddy_Kink, Footsie, Father/Son_Incest,
      Established_Relationship, Prompt_Fill
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-05-12 Words: 8817
****** Balanced on a Thread ******
by building_a_desert
Summary
     It was selfish, he wasn't denying it. But it was what he needed, what
     they both needed. So much had to be left unspoken, either due to
     necessity of silence or from the unsatisfying reconstruction of
     thoughts through words. Being permitted this tiny handful of privacy
     made their connection intimate on an entirely different level.
Notes
     SO GUESS WHO'S THE WORST AUTHOR EVER. only not really, but i still
     kinda suck for not updating for so long. My job sucks and I have a
     social life outside the internet (though I do adore all of you) so
     writing sometimes isn't on the forefront of my brain. But this fic is
     inspired by a conversation I had with a fellow Grimecest shipper on
     tumblr, where she threw out the adorable/totally risque scenario of
     Carl playing footsie with Rick while others are near. Then I went a
     little overboard and added in a few extra kinks ._. BUUUT i hope the
     length sort of makes up for the long wait.
     I'd also like to thank the lovely Sophie, or 5sos-looks-soo-perfect
     on tumblr, for beta'ing this fic! She helped me with my shitty habit
     of run-on sentences and PAINFULLY REDUNDANT USE OF COMMAS. Srsly
     lady, you're amazing, so keep up the good work with your own writing.
     If any of you are fans of 5 SOS and like slashin them boys together,
     give her fics a read~ I don't know anything about the band, but all
     the kids seem to love it these days.
     So enjoy, folks! Also, comments are kind of the life blood of my
     writing. I'd looove to know what you think~ ;3
See the end of the work for more notes
===============================================================================
 
                Carl often watched Rick. Even when his mind wandered, caught up
in his own subconscious, he couldn’t help the way his eyes instinctively came
back to rest on the constant figure that was his father. All sharp angles, a
sturdy frame, and two piercing blue eyes situated high like twin lighthouse
beams. Rick Grimes was a sight the boy consistently found comfort in.
 
                He sat around the main table with several of the council
members. Not everyone was present, mostly because this wasn’t so much a meeting
as an impromptu discussion. Their recent joining with the citizens of Woodbury
was often the reason for the core members to keep tabs on everything, and to
congregate for a small window of time whenever the need arose. They ran on a
system of checks and balances.
 
                 Now it wasn’t as if Carl spent every waking moment with his
father, like they couldn’t do anything without each other. There were hours in
his day invested solely in keeping watch from one of the towers, nothing but
his thoughts to keep him company. And while his thoughts often drifted back
towards the older man (thoughts that a son shouldn’t have about his father and
thoughts that definitely shouldn’t be returned), Carl was more than capable of
being on his own.
 
                But every time they were in a room together, it seemed like
their attention was immediately, almost involuntarily, redirected. Like magnets
coming within a certain distance, their opposite charges sought each other out,
locking onto their respective counterpart. It was during these times that
everyone else sort of ceased to exist, even if just for a moment.
 
                It was selfish, he wasn’t denying it. But it was what he
needed, what they both needed. So much had to be left unspoken, either due to
necessity of silence or from the unsatisfying reconstruction of thoughts
through words. Being permitted this tiny handful of privacy made their
connection intimate on an entirely different level.
 
                Carl would take a physical mental assessment of his father,
gauging his mood, his demeanour, slipping effortlessly into place, as if Carl
was the anchor the man might need. In return, he would feel those eyes raking
over his body, paternal concern laced with a deeper longing so obvious that the
boy wondered how everyone didn’t know by now. Carl would carefully divert his
gaze most days, finding it easier to pretend he wasn’t paying attention while
knowing full well his father’s thoughts were drifting towards him in the same
way.
 
                It was a pattern that didn’t break. Carl felt that they were
dependent on each other, felt an obligation to his father that surpassed every
other responsibility he had. Judith, he knew, being the only exception. But
where others have stepped in to care for the infant, no one could have possibly
hopedto offer what Carl provided Rick. No one could fill the role he did, not
anymore.
 
                The gaping chasm that remained in Lori’s wake left the boy and
his father upended, their world getting just that much dimmer, and it only felt
natural when they began growing closer. It didn’t happen instantaneously, both
needing to grieve separately, needing their space. But it was the little things
that gradually added up over time. Sitting together at meals was easy, as
conversation wasn’t strictly necessary. They began spending the afternoon
together, Judith acting as somewhat of a buffer, often with Carl cradling her
in his arms while Rick looked on.
 
                After a while the man stopped keeping his distance quite so
extensively. He began standing closer, draping one arm around Carl’s shoulders
while he gently cooed and ran his fingers along the baby’s face. More than once
the boy found his eyes locked with his father’s and an old, uncomfortably
familiar hammering in his heart would begin. But these moments never lasted
more than a few seconds before one of them would shy away, the air taking on a
very distinct change. They never spoke about these instances though, both of
them being fairly good at avoiding the elephant in the room.
 
                It became something of a nightly routine that Carl would visit
his father before bed; the reasons were varied. From the very real concern that
Rick wouldn’t be there- would be lost somewhere inside the prison or lost
inside his own mind in anger, guilt, grief- or else the impulsive need to see
the man, Carl didn’t try and differentiate between the two.
 
                But whatever it started as, it all resulted in the same thing.
Carl would often sit with Rick, would get swept away in the late night
conversations, even move to lie on the bed alongside the man. The two felt so
at ease with occupying the same space that it didn’t feel strange or new or
alien, just right.
 
                Their dialogue ranged from a diverse number of subjects. They
didn’t just sift through the smatterings of heartache and loss, but discussed
each other’s fears, their dreams, long dead or just blooming, it didn’t matter.
For the first time in his life, Carl felt he could interact with his father on
a cognitive level, like he wasn’t just a child grappling for any adult to
explain what was going on. Now things had shifted, giving him more of the
burden to bear, something he hadn’t realized he’d been so ready to take on.
 
                “Not a day goes by that I stop wishin’ we didn’t have to be
here,” Rick had whispered one evening. They hadn’t said many words up until
that point, mostly just taking up solace in one another’s company. The two had
laid side by side then, a clear space between their bodies. To Carl, it marked
a boundary they hadn’t yet crossed.
 
                Resting on his back gave Carl the opportunity to lay his hat
over his stomach. More specifically, it gave him the opportunity for his
fingers to dance along the surface, play with loose strings, run around the
rim, anything to keep his hands busy.
 
                He mulled over the words and waited for an elaboration that
never came. He understood the deeper meaning, it was obvious. No one wanted to
be in danger anymore, in a constant state of fear and their own struggle for
survival. It was hell every day, even protected by concrete walls and barbed
wire. And Carl knew, for all the security it provided, Rick resented the
prison.
 
                His father’s words tended to be thought out, saying exactly
what he felt, succinct as he could make it. But they also tended to have a
duality to them. And that night, Rick’s mood had been somber from the moment
his son had entered the cell. The boy could only imagine how long his father
had dwelled with nothing but his own negativity for company.
 
                “So, stop wishing for anything.” Carl’s voice had come out just
above a whisper, not intending to sound confrontational. He turned onto his
side, subsequently bringing himself closer and catching Rick’s gaze. He
remembered pausing here, consciously leaving his expression open, wanting his
father to know he wasn’t throwing words back in his face. There wasn’t anything
wrong with what Rick had said, what he hoped for. But it was circular logic
and, in the end, just a hindrance.
 
                “Wishes make us powerless,” he continued. “We can wish for
food, but we’ll still be hungry. All we can do now is… react,” Carl sighed
softly, shrugging one shoulder, “To whatever situation we’re in.” He stopped
again, and let a small smile cross his face.
 
                “But, Dad, our situation, here, at the prison? It’s okay.” Carl
remembered reaching forward, by habit at this point, and gently grasping his
father’s sleeve. For stability or for support, he wasn’t sure.
 
                “Just.. think about how you react to it.”
 
                As nights wore on, it was all too easy for Carl to drift off in
the comforting presence of his father. They’d often wake up pressed together,
the boy having curled up into Rick’s chest while the man’s strong arms wrapped
protectively around his son. Even – especially – in sleep, they sought comfort
from one another.
 
                This continued, in no specific pattern. Sometimes they slept in
their respective beds; sometimes they only talked for minutes before needing to
part ways. Any emotions Carl experienced these days were muddled, like murky
water he didn’t feel brave enough traversing. He knew lines were blurring, that
the things people did for each other, with each other, were different now,
everything was. Lingering touches and looks that never seemed to end made way
for confusion and doubt, but Carl continued to be a moth drawn in by the flame
of his father.
 
                One night, the boy found himself awakened by hands – hands that
had held him so gently just before sleep – now running up and down his chest
and torso. Kisses mouthed at his neck, beard tickling and scratching the
delicate skin there. His instinctive reaction was to fight, to struggle, but
Carl could make out the little whispers, small words breathed into his ear,
entirely contradictory to the rough handling of his body. Quiet, urgent pleas
and what sounded like cries of denial, but the voice was wrong, heavy and
slurred, and Carl’s sleep addled brain wasn’t sure how to process the
situation.
 
                He had tried to turn and face his father, to ask him what he
was doing, what waswrong, when Rick’s trembling arms tightened around his body,
keeping his back pressed tightly to the man’s front. But as he looked he had
glimpsed the tightly closed eyes, and it was with that factor that it dawned on
him.
 
                The words whispered into his ear were heavy with sleep, the
embrace he found himself caught in held an element of neediness the man seldom
exhibited during his waking hours. A mantra was murmured into his skin, and he
couldn’t contain the shiver that escaped at the gesture, especially when he
could hear the sound of his own name.
 
                Feeling like a veritable teddy bear, Carl slowly trailed his
fingers up and down the arms encircling his body, slowing their movements with
gentle caresses that worked to slacken tensed muscle. The soft touch offered
what little comfort he could to his father, a man caught in the terrors of his
own mind.
 
                “I’m safe.” he whispered back, unsure if any of his words would
carry over, if they would even help. “I’m here, Dad. I’m not going anywhere.”
 
                But everything came full circle when Carl’s own subconscious
let him know how disquieted it, too, had become.
 
                If he was being honest, he couldn’t remember the majority of
his dreams these days. He assumed they consisted of memories, his own anxieties
and doubts, as he seldom felt well rested, even with a full eight or nine
hours. 
 
                In that one night in particular, all Carl could remember was
jolt of panic, like missing a step going downstairs in the dark. It only took a
moment before he could register the sound of his name being whispered, the
feeling of fingers gently cradling his face while a forehead pressed to his
own. And the teen would have blamed the adrenaline, the fear still clouding his
mind, for what he did next, but he’d be lying if he said they were the only
reasons.
 
                His lips had connected with his father’s before he knew it,
hands desperately clutching to the man’s shirt, using it as leverage. The hands
that carded through his hair stilled, and Carl felt crushing dismay when Rick’s
body tensed. He remembered fearing his father would pull away in that moment,
would reject him from his bed, his cell.
 
                He remembered, within those few short milliseconds, imagining
the tortuous discussion, what it meant and why it happened, where Carl would be
forced to feign callousness, indifference, even force himself to laugh if he
needed to, even if it would have killed him inside, just anything to make
things right again –
 
                But that line of thought had been cut the instant the lips
beneath his began responding. Carl could recall inhaling shakily through his
nose, caught entirely off guard, while the first sparks of hope surged through
his chest. Any doubt, any regret was quickly stamped out as those arms moved to
enclose him, pulling him in as Rick quickly – and gently,so gently – took
control of the kiss.
 
                Everything was different now. It was true. The world had lost
all governing bodies within a short two years. But that night solidified the
polar shift they underwent; it was the catalyst that ensured they could never
go back to the way things were.
 
                The council meetings were important, obviously. Carl knew that
they were vital to everyone’s survival and that these meetings needed to
happen. He knew the safety of the prison relied on healthy communication, knew
that this wasn’t the place to behave like a child. He was, however, feeling a
little less than forgiving after this morning’s activities. Or lack thereof.
 
                He’d been awoken by a trail of kisses leading up his chest and
neck, finally claiming his lips the moment his eyes fluttered open. Carl felt
the chuckle that rumbled through Rick’s chest as his own body responded, so
finely tuned to the older man’s touch that he was hard in a moment’s notice.
 
                He had tried to pull the man closer, to prolong the contact and
hopefully continue down the quickly spiraling and familiar path. Rick had
acquiesced, a positively amused smile crossing his lips, and those hands began
giving long sweeps down his son’s body, palming the boy’s eager erection, while
Carl could do little more than let himself get swept away in the spontaneous
and demanding sensations.
 
                But the moment the boy pulled back to breathe, Rick maintained
the distance, letting his smile slacken into something more much more fond, and
mumbled a quiet, “Goin’ on a run with Daryl today. You be good now,” before he
was up and out of the cell, vanishing like a fleeting dream.
 
                The ordeal had left the teen nonplussed and frustrated, to say
the very least.
 
                Which brought Carl back to the present. He was seated directly
across from Rick, though he had refrained from acknowledging the man much. His
own presence wasn’t commented on, something that was a testament to how far
he’d come; it was nice no longer be treated as a child. He was expected to
understand their plans and he had responsibilities within the group. Maybe it
was because of this that he felt a small twinge of guilt, but Carl schooled his
features into something resembling rapt attention, and glanced around at the
others.
 
                Daryl stood off to one side, lips twisted and arms crossed,
signs indicative of Indicating his captured focus. Michonne braced her arms on
the edge of the table next to Carol, who was scanning over maps and labelling
any tapped out resources. They had already ransacked most of the stores that
weren’t taken by the dead, and the surrounding neighbourhoods were few and far
between. Hershel, seated opposite Carol and beside Rick, was explaining the
state of their dwindling medical supplies.
 
                “The problem,” the man elaborated, “isn’t that there’s nowhere
nearby to get what we need, but that everywhere within a fifty mile radius is
probably cleared out or, more likely, overrun.”
 
                Daryl fiddled with one of his arrows, looking contemplative.
“We saw a Dentist’s. ‘Round ten miles south of here?” He gave a nod towards
Rick. “Drove past it today. It looked local, someone’s old house. Figure some
family musta’ run it.”
 
                Carl spoke up, looking skeptical. “But did it look deserted?
Getting a search party out there wouldn’t be hard, but it’d help if we were
sure the place wasn’t filled with Walkers. Or other people,” he added, casting
his own glance towards Rick. His father voiced his agreement.
 
                “So we send out a small group, three, no more than four,
people. Scout the place out from a distance, and from there we’ll judge whether
it’s worth approaching.”
 
                Michonne and Daryl chimed in to volunteer, and the conversation
continued from there. Carl, now satisfied that everyone’s attention was
preoccupied, slowly turned his gaze onto his father. The man looked focused,
elbows resting on the table with his hands folded together, index fingers
extended to press against his lips. His brows furrowed, clearly deep in
concentration.
 
                The boy felt a little flutter in his chest, followed by the
slow pooling of heat somewhere lower. Having Rick in such close proximity, even
with an audience, induced a biochemical response in his brain. He could make
out the musky scent that clung to the older man, could see the brilliant mind
at work just below the surface. Carl was – at the expense of sounding dramatic
– enamoured by Rick and, unfortunately, still hadn’t quite mastered shutting
off the part of his brain that reacted so stronglyto him.
 
                But he wanted to tease the man, make him squirm and feel hot
and bothered by something miniscule, something that would never evoke the same
response if administered by anyone but Carl. While the teen, more often than
not, initiated things in private, Rick never did have any qualms about touching
his son in front of people.
 
                All of them could be easily dismissed as paternal affection. A
ruffling of the boy’s hair didn’t turn any heads, but if anyone cared to look
close enough they’d notice the tender way Rick’s finger would trace the rim of
Carl’s ear, hand sliding away only to tighten marginally on the back of the
teen’s neck. Sometimes the older man would throw an arm around Carl’s
shoulders, pulling his son close to his side before pressing a kiss to his
temple.
 
                It spoke volumes that Rick was so hesitant to move too quickly,
apply too much pressure, or be too rough when no one was looking. Because when
it came down to it, Carl called most of the shots. Some might say his father
was taking advantage of him, that their relationship had to be the result of
coercion, of a young boy with a disorganized flurry of emotion deeply confused
and alone.
 
                But the older man was deeplyafraid of hurting his son. There
wasn’t a night spent together that Rick didn’t hesitate every few minutes. Not
a night that Rick didn’t backtrack and make sure for the umpteenth time that
yes, Carl was okay. The boy meant everything to him, and he kept a strict vigil
for signs of discomfort.
 
                But the events of this morning were still fresh, and Carl
wasn’t about to forget the way he’d been led on, harmless and downright playful
as it was. And with the rest of the council talking amongst themselves, problem
solved for the moment at least, the boy thought it fair to do a little leading
on of his own.
 
                With a little wriggling of his toes and the help of his other
foot, the boy easily slid off one loosely-tied boot. He rested his chin in one
palm, elbow on the table, and made himself look interested in the discussion,
before he slowly extended his leg and ran his toes along the inside of Rick’s
calf. He felt the muscles tense immediately, could see in his peripheral vision
the quick glance the man gave him, but he gave no indication other than the
corners of his lips curling ever so slightly.
 
                The teen continued, unhindered thus far, gently digging his
toes into the stiff tissue of the man’s leg as he moved in an upwards motion.
The boy knew exactly what kind of reaction he was evoking, and, despite the
others’ presence – or maybe because of it – he felt a similar, heady sort of
intoxication.
 
                Carl could sense the change in the air, felt the delicate
bubble forming around Rick and himself, a nonverbal exchange unknown to anyone
but them. It was precarious and guaranteed no privacy, the only physical
barrier shielding them from view being the tabletop. Somewhere, he noted the
conversation had shifted to their current water supply, but it was background
noise. The tension he held with the older man was palpable,but only to them.
 
                Chancing a glance, the boy looked towards his father and had to
work to withhold the smile that wanted to break through. Rick maintained an
attentive demeanour, but the look he gave Carl conveyed something deeper,
something intense, dwelling just under the surface. The warning read loud and
clear, but the teen was riding on a rush of excitement of the risk he was
toying with, and in that moment chose not to heed it.
 
                Making sure to firmly lock eyes, Carl continued the ascent up
Rick’s leg, but the man shifted and the contact was broken. Still, that look
remained steadfast in his eyes, and in return, Carl offered only a slight
upward tilt of his eyebrow, a subtle challenge.
 
                There was no need to rush this, though. He let Rick settle
again and, pretending to have given up, turned his attention back towards the
rest of the council.
 
                “And then there’s the matter of food,” Carol was commenting.
“We haven’t had a lot of rain, so the crops haven’t been producing as much. And
with so many more people, we should prioritize how much water is used, and for
what.” She gave a little shake of her head, looking bemused. “Some are a little
too liberal about showering.”
 
                Daryl nodded, running a hand through his hair. “They had it
good in Woodbury. S’pose it makes sense they’d feel a little more entitled.”
 
                “They might have been spoiled, but they’re not stupid,” Carl
asserted, thoughts drifting towards Patrick and the younger children.  He
shrugged, “They know we don’t have unlimited resources. If we just explain how
it is, there shouldn’t be a problem.”
 
                “So we set up some ground rules,” Michonne intoned simply.
 
                “We’ve lived together this long. We just need to keep
communicating,” Hershel concurred, and the look he gave Rick prompted everyone
else to turn, waiting for their leader’s input.
 
                Carl didn’t need a moment’s hesitation before using this
opportunity to his advantage. As Rick began to speak, the boy breached the
distance between them under the table, swiftly tracing the inseam along the
man’s jeans, leading higher until his toes swiped gently across Rick’s inner
thigh. He fought back a grin and made the effort to look reasonably innocent,
awaiting his father’s response just like the others.
 
                The man’s voice caught, something he covered surprisingly well
with a discreet cough, and answered, “We’ll have an assembly, this evening,
after everyone’s had their fill.” The look he sent Carl’s way was burning,
reaffirming the boy that yes, Rick’s words oftenhad a double meaning.
 
                The thought sent a wave through Carl, and he pressed his
advantage, heedless of the droning voices around them. The teen wanted his
father to keep looking at him, intense and bordering on dangerous. He wanted
more as his toes inched closer to the man’s groin, not quite touching, just
barely gracing the outline of Rick’s barely repressed need. Carl let the
smallest smile tug at his lips, eager to have his father at the precipice of
control. To force the man’s hand into losing that control, into putting his son
in his place, into –
 
                “I think we’re all in agreement then. Your thoughts, Rick?”
 
                Hershel’s voice broke through and it was easy enough for Carl
to look indifferent, apparently content with the conclusion of the meeting. Yet
again, he gave his father that expectant look, waiting for the man to respond,
though he had no idea what the man was supposed to be respondingto.
 
                Rick just nodded, gaze skirting away from his son and towards
the rest of the group, “I don’t see a problem with it,” he confirmed, though a
moment later those heavy lidded eyes were fixed back on Carl, sending a jolt of
excitement through the boy. Words paled in comparison to message conveyed in
that acute expression.
 
 
===============================================================================
 
 
 
                The moment Carl’s back hit the wall, his lips were captured in
a fierce kiss. His body responded instinctively, wantonly, arching into Rick’s
form while his hands grasped fistfuls of the man’s shirt. After the others had
gone their separate ways he had been hauled, as surreptitiously as possible,
deep into the administrative section of the prison. The warden’s office was
their commonplace. Unconventional, maybe, but it was a sanctuary where the fear
of discovery wasn’t quite so prominent.
 
                He moaned, trying to pull Rick closer, but the man instantly
denied him this, actually pulling away instead. Carl tilted his head back and
gazed up at the piercing expression leveled at him with another flare of
emotion.
 
                Rick’s voice came out low. It skirted a very narrow line
between furious and arousal, possibly even a blend of the two, “Care to explain
what that was back there?”
 
                Carl swallowed, but let that smile finally emerge, his
heartbeat quickening. “Just thought I’d make things even.”
 
                “Even?”
 
                “From this morning.”
 
                Rick’s eyebrow twitched, though he refrained from giving
anything else away. In an almost textbook display of dominance, the man rested
his forearms on the wall, letting his fingers splay (long, thick, wide) on
either side of his son’s head. Carl shivered at that. He didn’t care that his
own body language responded in kind, face falling to one side to reveal more of
his neck and shoulders. He refused to break the eye contact, however, wanting
to avidly file away every look, every micro expression, his father made.
 
                “You think what you did made us even?” Rick’s face would have
remained impregnable if not for that underlying current of frustration. His
lips were pursed slightly; a bead of sweat pearling at his temple, and the boy
certainly wasn’t naïve to the need pushing insistently against his father’s
fly. 
 
                Carl shrugged, licking his lips, “Made us something.” His heart
was hammering, but he maintained the façade of confidence.
 
                He leaned up, balancing on his toes to close the distance
between their lips again, only for one of the hands beside his head to entangle
within his hair. Gently but firmly, Rick refused Carl a kiss, and leaned down
instead. His lips rested a hair’s breadth from his ear.
 
                “It made us a lot of things, boy, not one of them even.”
 
                Carl felt himself being lifted and although he was handled with
care – his father was deliberate in every movement with him – he was quickly
maneuvered to lay over the spacious desk just a few footsteps away. The boy
felt the breath get knocked out of him; he knew this was less from impact
though, and more from the sight of Rick looming over him.
 
                The position was similar to their last, though Carl felt a
considerable disadvantage that wasn’t present when the wall was a factor. Now
his legs were splayed wide while his father settled between them. Chorded arms
caged him in. This, coupled with the sudden and somewhat jarringvulnerability
that came with his hat toppling off, the boy could only let his breathing speed
up to mirror his heartbeat.
 
                He let out a breathy moan as the man descended, lips roughly
working on his neck, a hand pulling the collar of his shirt to one side for
better access. Carl’s jeans felt too constricting, stretched tight over his
need as he rocked helplessly against Rick. The answering hardness he found
there made his breath catch. There was so much satisfaction in him being the
reason for his father’s arousal. Carl never wanted anyone else to be on Rick’s
mind when they were together. He wanted to be the sole cause for any wandering
thoughts when they were apart.
 
                Carl found himself grinding shamelessly against the older man,
seeking as much contact as possible, but Rick pulled away after sucking a
sizeable mark onto his son’s shoulder. The boy could feel the tender spot even
now, but he was more preoccupied with tugging his father back down, the
sensations washing over his body.
 
                “Dad,” he breathed, locking eyes with the man for only a moment
before those hands slipped under the hem of his shirt and stripped it off,
quickly followed by his shoes, jeans, and underwear. In a few short moments
Carl was laid bare for his father.
 
                “You wanna tease?” Rick muttered, voice low. “You wanna behave
like a child?”
 
                The boy couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. His
hands clutched at the man’s arms, either to entice him closer, or break through
the fog clouding his mind, Carl wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he needed to
maintain physical contact, feeling all the more indecent while Rick remained
fully clothed.
 
                “That depends,” he replied, not caring that his voice gave a
little shake, one hand snaking down the length of his father’s body to grasp
the man’s heavy cock through his trousers. He gave it a few long, slow pumps,
“Are you gonna treat me like one?”
 
                The words had barely left his mouth before Carl found himself
being bodily turned. Big, warm palms supported him in all the right places so
as to cause him no discomfort. The boy quickly propped himself up on his elbows
while he was all but forced to stand on his toes, as the height of the desk
rivaled the length of his legs. This resulted in an unintentional (but
verywilling) display.
 
                The slow inhale behind him made Carl laugh breathlessly. He
turned his head to meet the penetrating gaze of his father. The man’s eyes
caught his, though not before raking over the expanse of his back and, though
the boy couldn’t be sure, settling on his tight opening, so freely offered to
Rick.
 
                Apparently, his amusement wasn’t appreciated, because Carl felt
hands seize his hips and pull him back with surprising speed. He could feel
Rick’s length through his pants, hot and hard and demanding, as it ran along
his hole.
 
                "Dad," he gasped again, the implication of that simple motion
forcing his brain to freeze on that one frame. His own member was leaking
precum onto the oak desktop. It throbbed as it was forced forward and created a
painfully delicious friction. He fell limp and conceded to the older man,
shifting his face so he could speak properly.
 
                 “Just let me,” he began, not really caring about forming full
sentences, one arm reaching for the drawer on the side of the desk. They’d come
here often enough to be prepared at this point, and Carl was well accustomed to
the lube stashed safely away from prying eyes.
 
                But Rick had other ideas. The older man's hands once again
gripped his hips, though he pried himself away from the boy.  Carl wasn’t able
to squirm enough (while still clinging to any shred of dignity) to bring them
back into contact.
 
                “Not yet,” the boy heard his father’s voice, firm and final,
but was given no other warning before one hand came down hard on his bottom.
 
                Carl let out a surprised cry at the action, his hips stuttering
forward, but not out of pain—not at all. He was left momentarily speechless.
Rick had never physically disciplined the boy before, not in the name of
corporal punishment and certainly not intimately. But this was new; this was
different, and definitely not undesirable.
 
                “Uhnn,” he bit out, arching into another smack, “I – Dad!” The
hand came down several more times, never applying too much pressure to inflict
real pain, never meaning to cause damage. It was a show of dominance and the
boy was feeling far too receptive of it.
 
                “Just look at you,” Rick’s rough voice grated out behind him.
Carl opened his mouth to reply, something about how he obviously couldn’t, when
the hand supporting his waist twined its way around his leaking erection.  It
effectively turned any intelligible response into a drawn out moan.
 
                “You thought you’d get off with that display back there? Huh?”
Fingers stroked and caressed his length, harsh breaths in his ear, “Scott
free?”
 
                Carl’s legs strained with the combined effort of supporting
their own weight as well as the rocking motion of his hips. But he didn’t care
about the stress his body was feeling, didn’t register the discomfort as
uncomfortable. Instead it was an element that enhanced every sensation.
 
                “No,” he whimpered, hands scrabbling for purchase across the
slick surface of the desk, “No I – I knew you’d – ” but Carl hissed as his
father smoothed trailed a hand over the tender skin of his bottom, the touch
itself gentle, though the message his brain received made him arch into it.
 
                “Knew I’d what?”
 
                The boy groaned, eyes squeezing shut as the hand around him
tightened. It was followed by a single finger tracing along his perineum and
rubbing tiny circles against his opening.
 
                “I knew you’d do something,” he gasped, pushing back. He wanted
to be filled up and taken by the older man. He needed to feel controlled,
needed to feel free of his responsibilities and his ego. He couldn’t do these
things without the gentle guidance of his father.
 
                The sensation of his cheeks being spread sent a thrill through
him, just knowing Rick was pleased with the sight. All he could manage was a
sort of choked off cry, however, when the unmistakable, yet unaccustomed,
feeling of his father’s tongue swept over his entrance. Carl’s fingers
tightened over the edges of the desk. His eyes opened wide at the unfamiliar
sensation, not knowing quite how to react.
 
                Rick's tongue (and god, did it feel obscene) lapped at his
entrance again. Carl burrowed his face in the crook of one arm, doing
everything to muffle his cries of suddenly unsure pleasure. He was at the mercy
of the foreign sensations rolling down his spine and making themselves at home
in his brain.
 
                The tip traced the rim of the boy's hole, teasing, before
dipping into the center and sinking shallowly inside of him, retracting, and
pushing back in. Carl could only moan again, sinking his teeth into the meat of
his arm as Rick’s beard scraped his already-sensitive skin. He felt more precum
dripping from the head of his cock, and could do little more than tremble and
gyrate within his father’s grasp.
 
                "Da-ad," he cried, "I – please – " To be reduced to an
inarticulate mess so easily should bother the boy, but the only thing he felt
bothered by was the gentle, teasing pace. The sensation itself was different
but so damn intimate that he couldn’t care less. So long as it was his father
doing it, not much else mattered.
 
                Once again, Rick’s hand migrated to Carl's front where his
member throbbed, neglected. The teen let out a sob as the man’s large fingers
engulfed him and begun to stroke in a rhythm complimenting the slick slide and
thrusts of his tongue. The boy could feel the fire within him rising higher and
higher.
 
                A breathy shout escaped his lips. He rocked forward into the
steady grip and backwards into the tongue laving over his opening,
instinctively unsure of which direction to move his body. Rick could always do
this; always whittle the boy down to the bare bones until nothing was left but
raw unadulterated need. He just needed his father to keep going, to keep allof
his attention fixed on his son.
 
                “Please Dad, I’m ready – I want you,” he gasped, words tumbling
out so fast his thoughts had trouble keeping up. “C’mon, I just – ”
 
                Quick as lightning, the man was stretched over his back,
pinning the boy to the desk with ease. His groin was pressed snug to Carl’s
bottom again, "You’re the one that wanted to tease,” Rick intoned quietly, “Now
you wanna be impatient?”
 
                The way his father ran his hands all along the teen’s naked
body, with such a desperate touch, with such reverence, combined with the very
evident arousal nudging against him, made him let out an incredulous laugh.
 
                “I’m being impatient,” he replied, with a teasing little smile
followed by a roll of his hips. The man didn’t say a word however, apart from a
cut off grunt as Carl continued to try and coax more reactions from him,
relishing in the temptation he presented his father with. He watched as Rick
leaned forward to – finally –extract the lube from the desk drawer.
 
                Only a few seconds passed before he felt the cool slide of
Rick's index finger massaging the rim of his opening. Carl breathed out slowly,
and the digit burrowed deeper, fitting snugly inside him. He inhaled shakily.
Being opened up by his father always made him feel a little less in control,
and he needed to remember to bite down on his lip in order to contain an
embarrassing noise. But he couldn’t quite manage to hold onto his senses when,
after only a moment's pause, his father adjusted the angle by the smallest
measure, and rubbed against his prostate with enough force to land just shy of
painful.
 
                "Oh my god – Dad,” Carl cried, moving in unison with the push
and pull motion, wanting more, wanting bigger and deeper and harder. There was
nothing that could compare to crossing every boundary with his father, nothing
that made him feel more alive than fulfilling every role possible for the man
he relied on most in the world. The second and third slick-coated fingers were
quickly added, causing the boy's breathing to come out in gasps. He rolled his
hips backwards onto Rick’s hand.
 
                "That’sit,” the man murmured, and Carl felt his breath leave
him along with his father’s fingers. He consciously made the effort to relax;
it was something he’d practiced enough in preparation of these moments with
Rick. To his surprise though, the arms he expected to further prop him up
instead returned him to his earlier position, draped over the desk on his back.
 
                The boy watched as Rick hastily undid his pants and pulled them
down just far enough to release his swollen need. Carl licked his lips at the
sight. His gaze was transfixed, taking a moment to appreciate how the man
applied lube along his thick shaft, and he eagerly reached forward to help.
 
                After gently sliding Rick’s hands out of the way, the teen made
sure to maintain eye contact. He tugged in a downward motion, lightly,
teasingly, aiming to rile the man up. Carl’s small palms worked the shaft,
ending at the head with a slight twisting motion. This, much to the teen’s
delight, resulted in his father jerking forward, an unchecked grunt escaping
his lips.
 
                Rick leaned down, balancing on one arm over the boy, while the
other grasped his erection. His eyes searched his son’s, verifying for himself
that he wasn’t going against the boy’s wishes, that he wasn’t forcing anything
on Carl. If he didn’t find it so endearing, the teen was sure he’d put up more
of a fuss. But the fact remained that it was him, always him, on the forefront
of his father’s mind. It made the action that much more meaningful.
 
                "You ready?" the older man asked. Carl settled for a kiss that
felt as desperate leaving him as it did being returned, and it served as an
excellent distraction when the head of Rick's cock nudged against his opening.
The boy drew back for air, willfully relaxing himself and granting entrance to
Rick, knowing full well the low exhale that deeply resembled a growl was due to
him.
 
                Carl’s arms coiled around his father’s shoulders, fingers of
one hand twisting in the man’s curls, while its twin irreparably wrinkled the
fabric of Rick’s shirt. He whimpered. His voice box was clearly beyond his
control at that point, and he could do little more than tighten his legs around
the older man’s waist in some struggle for balance.
 
                He still hadn’t gotten used to it, the initial, slow,burn of
being penetrated. Or perhaps it was the almost spiritual level of ecstasy
inherent in having his father inside of him, but the end result always remained
the same. Carl squeezed his eyes shut, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip as
he latched onto any semblance of self-control.
 
                But it seemed Rick’s carefully reined-in restraint was
unraveling just as fast. Carl keened as his father bottomed out, heavy balls
resting snug against him. He could feel the small tremors racking through the
man’s body. His father’s muscles were straining from the tension of refusing
millions of years of musculature instinct in favour of ensuring that he wasn’t
causing his son pain.
 
                He was always thankful for it. Even though it wasn’t something
he’d openly discuss, sheer physical mass had to be taken into account. It
dictated, namely, that Carl was admittedly smaller than Rick, and he certainly
felt every inch of the man as it pulsed inside him, stretching him to a degree
that he would find uncomfortable, were it anyone else.
 
                But the simple fact remained that the boy was willing, happy
even, to suffer this passing moment of discomfort in order to fully experience
everything the man he loved had to offer. Rick- considerate, attentive,
protective Rick- fulfilled just about every role in his life that Carl could
ever ask for.
 
                Once he felt a little less desperate, a little further from the
edge, the teen pulled his face back from the home it had found between his
father’s neck and shoulder. He knew his cheeks were flushed and had no way of
slowing down the pounding of his heart. But he didn’t want to be passive. Carl
gave a little wriggle of his hips, used his inner muscles to tighten around the
wide girth of Rick’s cock, and laughed breathlessly at the involuntary thrust
he received in return.
 
                “C’mon,” he half-moaned, feeling somewhere in the middle of
extremely satisfied and desperately in need, “you knowI can take it.”
 
                The hands, braced on either side of him, shifted to slide under
his shoulders. They grasped delicate bones with a gentle, though controlling
touch. Carl let himself get pulled closer, even aiding in it by grasping more
fistfuls of Rick’s shirt. In that moment he realized he’d forgotten how
comforting it was to be held so completely in his father’s arms.
 
                “I know you can,” was whispered into his hair. The simple
acknowledgement contained such gratitude that Carl felt his breath catch
slightly. His fingers tightened their grip. A surge of emotion was twisting
through his stomach and up his spine, causing his mind to race with a flurry of
excitement. The older man occupied a place in his mind so deep-seated that he
wasn’t sure there was anything that could uproot it. Rick was his reason for
surviving; his entire purpose in life was intrinsically linked to the man above
him and inside him.
 
                Before any thoughts could seep through his mouth however, Carl
felt the slow drag of his father retreating. The tight ring of his entrance
hugged the head of the man’s length upon its withdrawal. This resulted in a
high-pitched whine, but it was abruptly cut short by the quick snap of Rick’s
hips. The boy felt his body jolted by the movement, but was held fast as the
fingers restraining him clutched a little harder, a little closer,and that
thought alone made his arousal throb.
 
                A steady rhythm was established. Rick used the leverage he had
to draw Carl’s body closer on every stroke, and the teen could only let himself
be maneuvered. He relished in the ease of how his father could control his
body, driven into with such ardent ferocity with nothing but Rick as a pillar.
It left him feeling adrift and anchored all at once, something that he
internally indulged in.
 
                “Dad,” he moaned, “I – ah!”A heavy thrust to his prostate, a
deep rumbling from the resulting chuckle.
 
                “This what you want?” Rick’s voice sounded strained and amused
all at once, “You want it hard? Huh?” He punctuated his words with several
inward thrusts, and Carl could do nothing but rub helplessly against his
father’s stomach. “You want it rough?”
 
                “Yes,” he cried. He couldn’t express, not in words, how badly
he needed this. How badly he neededthe sheer physicality of their feelings to
manifest with this degree of intensity. Because no matter how often they were
together, there was stilltoo much held back.
 
                But now, it seemed they had shed their anxieties, discarded
preconceived fears and trepidations concerning the other. Carl felt
inexplicably freer. With his father’s capable arms supporting him, cradling
him, it was monumentally easier to let go of his inhibitions.
 
                “Tell me exactly what you want,” Rick whispered harshly.
 
                “I want you,” the boy bleated out honestly. His voice broke as
his eyebrows knitted together. The head of his father’s length struck his
prostate several times in quick succession, before applying a few moments of
insistent pressure.
 
                Quiet grunts were muffled in the crook of Carl's neck. Hot air
puffed against his already overheated body while lips pressed wet kisses to
every inch of skin they could find. The teen inwardly tightened his muscles,
wanting to feel every ridge and vein on the erection driving deeper and deeper
into his very core, and felt more than heard the resulting moan from Rick. He
wasn’t able to contain the sense of delight that it was him, despite in a
position of extreme vulnerability, who reined at least that much power over his
father.
 
                Rick had released one shoulder to grasp onto Carl's erection,
something the boy honestly hadn't been that concerned with. One large palm
stroked him quickly, almost perfectly in sync with the man’s own thrusts.
Clearly his father wasn’t going to last long but, as always, found the presence
of mind to dedicate solely to his son's pleasure.
 
                "Uhn – Dad," the teen called out, hips jerking back and forth.
His legs tightened around the man’s waist again, pulling him impossibly closer,
impossibly deeper, while Rick's breath came out as gasps. His father’s urgency
issued forth in deep moans and his tightening grip, both foretelling a quickly
approaching climax.
 
                Feeling the same pressing need in his own groin, balls tight
while his shaft dripped precum, Carl could hear his voice rise in volume. He
let his words coax his father on, mindless things like harder, faster,and
more.But it wasn’t until he breathed out “Daddy” that his completion was upon
him.
 
                The boy saw white, hips rocking of their own accord, heedless
of any and all words coming out of his mouth. Deep murmuring accompanied his
cries. Again though, he caught only small snippets, Rick's voice so low he had
to strain to hear it over the man’s frenzied thrusts.
 
                "C’mon, sweetheart, that’sit,” his father didn’t even seem
aware of the words, “Perfect, my perfectboy, Daddy’s got you.”
 
                 The sentences laced together, Rick's arms wrapped tight around
Carl’s torso now, holding the teen so tightly he was fairly sure he’d be
bruised later. For now, his brain was in a comfortable haze. He could do little
more than continue to meet the heavy thrusts rocking his body over and over and
over and over until the familiar internal throbbing began. It was soon followed
by the sensation of his father’s essence flowing inside of him, marking him,
branding him. Making him Rick's and Rick his until they might as well have been
the same person for at least a few blinding, hour-long seconds.
 
                The warmth of the older man’s bigger body engulfing his own,
keeping him immobile, was really too comforting for words. Carl’s arms held
Rick tight against him and he let out a sigh when those strong arms refuse to
release him, holding him just as tight.
 
                There wasn’t any place for words, not just yet. Lips trailed
down his neck to the junction leading down his shoulder. They were gentle and
unhurried, the simplest and least exerting form of affection his father could
manage. Rick captured his lips again, kissing him slowly, as if afraid he'd
been too rough, afraid he'd screwed up somehow. Pulling back, Carl realized
he'd never get tired of being this close to the man. Face to face, this was
where they could be completely open and bare for each other to see, but more
importantly accept.
 
                Rick stroked the boy’s cheek and brushed sweat soaked bangs
away from his forehead. Opening his eyes, Carl watched as his father’s gaze
settled on him, drinking in the no doubt debauched sight he presented.
 
                Being as gentle as possible, the older man leant back and,
gripping himself at the base, eased himself out of Carl’s body. The boy himself
let out a small sound of discomfort, never quite growing used to that feeling
either. He watched Rick tuck himself back into his pants and made to sit up
before his vision was obscured as Rick’s arms enveloped him once again. Carl
found his face buried in the damp, sweat-soaked fabric of his father’s shirt
and instinctively wrapped his own limbs back around the man.
 
                "Did I hurt you?" was murmured next to his ear, one hand cupped
around the back of his head.
 
                Carl couldn’t help the laugh that shook his frame, though it
came out weaker than he intended. "No, Dad,” his tone was light, lacking any of
the usual gravity the teen felt he usually carried with him, "No, you didn't.
Anyway, I’m pretty sure I asked for it."
 
                He tilted his head up to kiss Rick, slow, less like the tango
and more like a waltz. Pulling back, he raised a finger and traced it over the
man's cheek, across his nose, and up to his forehead. He smiled softly, a sated
sort of weariness pulling at his bones.
 
                “But we should probably get back,” he said, “its almost time
for dinner; they’ll start wondering where we are.”
 
                But his father continued to peer at him, the man forever
searching for what wasn’t there and blind to what was. “You’d let me know? If
it was too much?”
 
                Carl gave a small roll of his eyes and, instead of gracing Rick
with a verbal response, settled on another kiss. It seemed, at least between
the two of them, most things were best communicated without the use of words.
He coaxed the older man’s tongue into his mouth, engaging his father in a
silent dance where neither led the other with any real certainty.
 
                After separating, the boy felt a shiver travel up his spine.
The prior exertion had left a sheen of sweat, now having cooled, along his
skin. Rick seemed to take notice of his discomfort, because the man immediately
stepped away to fetch Carl’s clothing. The teen felt mildly embarrassed, but
did nothing to stop (and in fact aided in) his father redressing him.
 
                “I’ll always tell you what I think,” he muttered, watching
Rick’s fingers deftly buttoning up his shirt. “We can’t have secrets about
this. So if I don’t like something,” Carl’s eyes flickered up to his father’s,
raising his eyebrows, “I’m gonna let you know, Dad.”
 
                Rick let out a single breath of laughter. The action was due
more to relief than humour, but the boy smiled in return just the same. A
large, warm hand stroked his hair again, and he allowed himself a moment to
lean into the touch before moving to slip off the desk.
 
                The instant his feet touched the ground, however, Carl couldn't
hold back a pained grunt. His spine protested loudly to the sudden movement,
and he was left with the very real dilemma of moving with any semblance of
normalcy. He staggered under the tender sensations wracking his body. The teen
felt undeniably raw.
 
               Fortunately he didn’t have to suffer the humiliation of falling
to his knees, as Rick was at his side in a mere moment, supporting him. The
older man looked concerned, on the verge of saying something when Carl
interrupted with another pointed look.
 
                “We’ll just be more careful next time,” he shrugged, “Or not.
You’re pretty fun to tease.”
 
                Rick’s concern was replaced, at least in part, by a look of
amusement. “Next time I’ll have you over my knee,” he muttered, releasing the
boy once he was sure he could stand on his own.
 
                Carl froze, before genuine laughter fell from his lips. His
fingers did up his pants, eyes catching and holding his father’s. He slipped
his hand into the older man’s, gripped it tight, and dipped his head gratefully
when the comfortable weight of his hat was returned to his head. He took a few
steps towards the exit, walking hand-in-hand with Rick.
 
                “I’m gonna hold you to that.”
End Notes
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