Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6467158.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      The_Walking_Dead_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Daryl_Dixon/Merle_Dixon
  Character:
      Daryl_Dixon, Merle_Dixon
  Additional Tags:
      Alcohol_Abuse/Alcoholism, References_to_Drugs, Geographical_Isolation,
      Underage_Drinking, Self-Esteem_Issues, Community:_twd_kinkmeme, old_fic,
      Incest, Sibling_Incest, Age_Difference, Anal_Sex, Unsafe_Sex, First_Time
  Series:
      Part 3 of Prompts_&_Kinkmeme_Fills
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-04-05 Words: 1678
****** Concrete Feet ******
by sanidine
Summary
     The summer that Daryl is fifteen, the cicadas swarm from the ground
     in a never-ending tide.
     (Originally posted to twd_kinkmeme on 1-19-2012)
Notes
     My Shame.
     I don't remember for sure, but I think I got the title from 'Heavy in
     your Arms' by Florence and the Machine. I called this dubcon when I
     first wrote it because the sex isn't violent, but considering the
     circumstances it really is rapey.
See the end of the work for more notes
The summer that Daryl is fifteen, the cicadas swarm from the ground in a never-
ending tide. They carpet the forest floor and the roof of the trailer, clinging
to the trees and leaving their transparent husks on the undersides of leaves.
Daryl wakes one morning to the near-deafening sound of a billion tiny buzzsaws
cutting through tin, and Merle tells him that it’s the seventeen-year brood
after he’s stumbled into the kitchen, tired and confused. Their electricity got
turned off the week before, so Merle just sits on the couch staring at the
blank TV screen, drinking even though it’s only 9 a.m.

The summer that Daryl is fifteen is the worst summer of his life. The hunting
is shit and the fishing’s not much better, and even though Daryl isn’t fool
enough to blame it on a bunch of bugs he figures that their ceaseless droning
ain’t exactly helping the situation. It gets to the point where he can’t even
stand to be in the woods, but woods is just about all there is around them so
he’s stuck either hanging around the trailer or hiking into town since Merle
refuses to let him have the keys to the truck. Merle’s “between jobs,” which
really only means that he’s in between suppliers since Dan Hopper’s lab
exploded not even a month before, and the trailer, which is usually a frequent
stopping point for the county’s meth heads, is empty save for him and Merle.
It’s hot and it’s humid and it’s boring and Merle is drunk almost all the time,
but instead of winding up on Daryl like usual, Merle just looks at him with
something unsettling in his eyes that Daryl isn’t sure he wants to understand.

To Daryl’s annoyance, the cicadas practically never shut up, buzzing even at
night and crawling up onto him and his mattress when the heat forces him to
sleep outside on the porch. The days pass in a never-ending monotonous haze,
glacier slow but murderously hot, as if time itself were somehow being
distorted and confused. So the day that it happens doesn’t seem any different,
in no way remarkable other than Daryl wrestles his shitty old ten-speed out
from under the porch and goes to visit Mrs. Hill, the old widow who lives a
half mile away and is their closest neighbor. She lets Daryl do chores for her
in exchange for food, and while it irks Daryl that she’s so aware of his
situation, Merle seems to have forgotten the necessity of eating. Daryl
justifies it by telling himself that it’s not a handout, that he had to work
for it, and taking secret relief in seeing another human being for the first
time that week.

Merle tells him that Dixons don’t need anybody but themselves and their blood
kin, but sometimes Daryl wishes he had friends.

He pedals down the gravel road back to the trailer, sweating and having to work
at it since the tires are old and nearly flat. It probably would have just been
easier to walk, but Daryl is stubborn. He waits until he reaches their bullet-
hole ridden mailbox to hop off and walk the bike the rest of the way down the
dusty driveway. Molted cicada husks crunch under his worn sneakers and the
tires of his bike, and Daryl is so distracted by watching his own shoelaces
that he almost doesn’t the silence until it is deafening. The seemingly
ceaseless drone of the cicadas had stopped entirely, paused as if every bug in
the forest were drawing breath at once, and the quiet felt heavy and alien
after so much constant noise. Daryl looks up, not startled but close to it, and
sees Merle watching him from the porch where he stands half out of the screen
door, partially obscured by the afternoon shadows, face unreadable. The moment
of silence holds as Merle stares at him, and Daryl begins to fidget,
uncomfortable for reasons he can’t explain. But then the buzzing explodes
around them again and Merle turns, letting the screen door slam behind him as
he disappears back into the trailer.
Daryl doesn’t know where Merle got the money or even the motivation, but the
first thing he notices once he reenters the trailer is that their power is back
on. The bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling glow in the deepening dusk, and
Merle has their old rabbit-eared TV turned to, of all things, Antiques
Roadshow. Daryl tries to disappear into his room – attempting to stay quiet and
out of Merle’s way is second nature to him – but Merle won’t let him, insisting
that Daryl grab a couple of beers from the fridge and join him. The reason for
the channel selection soon becomes apparent - Antiques Roadshow is running a
special on Civil War items – but what Daryl doesn’t quite get is why Merle
suddenly desires his presence after weeks of ignoring him completely. But he
doesn’t complain. He sits on the ratty couch with his brother and drinks beer,
grabbing more for them during the commercial breaks, until it is dark outside
and Daryl has quite the buzz on, staring at the pile of empties at his feet. He
doesn’t realize how close they’re sitting until Merle wraps a heavy arm around
his shoulders and Daryl slumps against him. Merle chuckles deep in his chest,
and Daryl feels warm in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol or the
summer heat.

Daryl knows that he fucks up a lot, that he isn’t good for much other than
getting in the way, but he’s always tried hard to warrant Merle’s approval.
Daryl loves his brother, and even though he knows it’s childish he can’t help
but want Merle to like him too, to smile at him and spend time with him. So he
doesn’t protest when Merle ‘s hands roam down his sides and pull him, roughly,
to straddle his brother’s lap.

His head spins at the sudden change, drunker than he thought, and he must have
tried to say something because Merle is shushing him, running rough, calloused
fingers under Daryl’s grimy t-shirt and over the tender skin of his ribs,
tripping on old scars. The sensation is electric – much to Daryl’s shame, he’s
never had anyone touch him like that. Then time skips through the haze of
alcohol, and Daryl doesn’t know how he got naked but he is, knees still spread
wide around his Merle’s hips. The TV is off and it’s quiet save for the cicadas
buzzing outside and the sound of his own ragged breathing.

This wasn’t how he had imagined this happening, during a hundred sessions with
his own hand and only the memory of Delia Thompson’s low cut tops and cleavage
(or how Joseph Carson’s hand had felt, the one time he had clapped Daryl on the
back during PE) for jerk off fodder. He’d thought that his first time would be
in the back of a truck or under the bleachers or in some girl’s room with
posters of horses on the wall, but he’d never thought it would happen to him
like this. Daryl’s only vaguely aware of Merle’s slick fingers tracing his
entrance, even as he tries to squirm away, distracted by the thought that he
had been stupid. Of course no one else would want him. Merle was the only one
who really cared for him, gave him even the smallest bit of concern.

Daryl’s distraction was shattered when Merle’s finger actually breached him,
pushing inside that tight ring of muscle and burning. He cried out once, high
and hurt, and again when Merle’s teeth fastened onto the thin skin of his
collar bone. It was all too much, overwhelming him, and it wasn’t until Merle
had two fingers in him that he realized it didn’t hurt that bad any more, that
it was actually starting to feel good. This time, when Daryl cried out, it was
less pained and more needy, and he was shocked at the sound of his own voice as
he whimpered his brother’s name.
Waves of humiliation crashed through Daryl, but Merle didn’t seem to notice his
younger brother’s arousal until he had withdrawn his fingers and begun to work
his thick cock into Daryl.

“You like it.” Merle mutters in his ear, hands tight on Daryl’s hips while he
screwed into him. “Should have known.”

Daryl blushes red, hot with shame, but whimpering and trembling at how good it
feels to have Merle rocking inside of him. He knows it’s wrong, that he’s
disgusting for letting his brother fuck him, take his virginity, and that he’s
even more filthy for liking it, but he can’t help it. He’s hard, so hard, and
his skin is on fire with the sensation, still part pain but even more pleasure.
It feels too good. And then Merle is running his hand up Daryl’s ribs, nails
scratching paths of red hot fire, and he tweaks one of Daryl’s nipples and it’s
finally too much.

Daryl shudders as he comes, cock untouched, clinging to Merle’s shoulders as
the sensations overwhelm him. Merle slams his hips down a final time,
completely inside of him, and Daryl clenches down around his dick, whimpering.
He feels Merle pulse inside of him and realizes that he’s coming too, inside of
him, that Daryl was good enough to make his brother come. Daryl isn’t sure if
the thought makes him sick or satisfied, and he doesn’t have much time to
consider his feelings on the matter before Merle is pushing him off, lurching
up off the couch and making a beeline for the bathroom.

Curled around himself on the couch’s scratchy surface, Daryl listens to Merle
vomit into the toilet and feels his brother’s come start to drip out of him.
It’s dark in the trailer and Daryl can’t see much, but he can feel the way he’s
shaking as the sick reality of what just happened settles onto him. Outside,
the din of the cicadas continues, unconcerned.
End Notes
     Original Prompt:
     Daryl/Merle - first time together
     maybe it's also Daryl's first time in general?
     tumblr
      
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