Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1417728.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Walking_Dead_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Carl_Grimes/Rick_Grimes
  Character:
      Carl_Grimes, Rick_Grimes
  Additional Tags:
      Anal_Sex, Fingering, Dirty_Talk, Domestic, Established_Relationship,
      Father/Son_Incest, Prompt_Fill
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-04-05 Words: 4168
****** Written in the Leaves ******
by building_a_desert
Summary
     He’d been intimate with Rick for several months, had breached more
     boundaries with the older man than with anyone else, and yet, for
     him, making conscious observations about activities in the bedroom,
     let alone initiating any of them, were things he hadn’t grown any
     more confident in.
Notes
     Requested from a lovely little anon:
     "i have a prompt if you are interested in writing it! carl stealing
     and wearing one of ricks shirts, rick loves it and fucks him while
     carl's still wearing it"
     Took about twelve hours on-and-off because I really really suck at
     doing one thing. Hopefully you like it, wherever you are~ <3
     Unbeta'd, so any mistakes are my own.
See the end of the work for more notes
===============================================================================
            
 
                 There really wasn’t anything particularly questionable to Carl
about using one of his father’s shirts. The state of things, the world that is,
resulted in clothing stained by the unimaginable, and laundry was a luxury.
That’s why, when Carl realized he’d run out of clean clothes (a petty problem
that actually felt good to have, felt normal) it made sense to borrow from the
older man.
 
                Fresh out of the shower and shifting through Rick’s dresser,
the teen eyed the limited variety of cotton shirts, fingers running over fabric
with an air of reverence. Settling on a worn black button up, Carl let his
towel drop to the floor, and, after tugging on a pair of white boxer briefs,
slipped his dad’s shirt over his shoulders. He took the time to do a few
buttons up as the familiar musk embedded within the material settled over him.
Having the man’s shirt on felt vaguely reminiscent of being enveloped in his
arms, though Carl knew he definitely preferred the real thing.
 
                Glancing around the dimly lit room at the rapidly setting sun,
the boy tended to his nightly ritual of securing and covering all windows,
leaving no gap exposed. He lit two tea lights, one on the floor beside the door
left ajar, the other on their bedside table.
 
                Rick, having spent most of the day with his son out tending to
their meager garden, was currently in the kitchen harvesting the meat from a
turkey he’d managed to catch the day prior. Carl knew the man enjoyed his
solitude during the preparation process, something he respectfully gave. A
hunter and his prey have a certain intimacy Carl saw no need to intrude upon.
 
                It wasn’t hard giving each other privacy, despite the
exceptionally small size of farm house they stumbled upon. More akin to a
cottage than anything, it was cozy with brick and mortar walls. Insulation
wasn’t the best during the summer months, and winter called for a remarkable
amount of skin-on-skin contact at night (something that still managed to send a
little thrill through the boy.) But the fertile ground, isolated location,
functioning well anda manual waterheating system tended to sealed the deal.
 
                The boy knew his father worked at his own pace, most likely
having lit a candle of his own after ensuring the security of the rest of the
house; there was no telling how long it would take the man to finish, though
more than likely Carl will have fallen asleep by then.
 
                Resigned to an early night’s rest, the teen turned and caught
sight of his reflection within the bedroom’s full-length mirror. He paused a
moment; dressed in just his underwear and Rick’s shirt created an image Carl
hadn’t been prepared for. The sleeves fell long and heavy past his hands,
leaving only the tips of his fingers to peek out. He’d left the top few buttons
open, which he now realized gave an almost indecent view of his collarbone and
upper chest. He felt suddenly much more aware, recognizing the implication such
a scene suggested. He’d been intimate with Rick for several months, had
breached more boundaries with the older man than with anyone else, and yet, for
him, making conscious observations about activities in the bedroom, let alone
initiatingany of them, were things he hadn’t grown any more confident in.
 
                Turning away from himself and feeling a little hot under the
collar, Carl crawled into the double bed, pulling just the sheet over his body.
The boy could make out his father’s scent, stronger now, with his head resting
on Rick’s pillow. He wriggled slightly, trying to move into a comfortable
position and finding no relief. Absently, his fingers drifted across his
stomach, tracing idle lines while his mind wandered.
 
                There was something salacious about wearing someone else’s
clothing, the boy noted, something personal and intimate and painfully trusting
of both parties. And there wasn’t, nor could there ever be, someone Carl
trusted more than his own father.
 
                He felt a familiar stirring in his lower abdomen, thoughts
drifting to the ways Rick had strayed off the path of morality to protect his
son, had sacrificed so much just for him, always for him..only for him. The
intensity of the love Carl and his father shared was unrivaled by anything he’d
ever known, a notion that only ignited more sensitivity throughout his young
body.
 
                But the magnitude of their feelings met its catalyst in the
form of their coupling. When Rick took charge, whispered sweet words of
encouragement into his ear, Carl was lost to the world and knew only his
father. Having had no experience before the end of the world to intimately
explore his body, and no privacy to try after, Carl often felt lost, swept away
with the older man. As if sensing this uncertainty, this need for an anchor,
his father would often entwine their fingers, pin them to the bed and kiss the
boy senseless.
 
                Length hardening beneath his underwear, Carl’s slipped the
constricting garment down his thighs far enough to free himself. Taking himself
in hand, he threw his free arm over his mouth, biting slightly on the material
covering his forearm, working to only heighten the scent of his father. He
automatically inhaled deeper, his body straining instinctively to seek more of
that scent.
                When Rick stroked the boy, it was with a sure hand, firm but
never painful. Carl’s movements were uncertain, uncoordinated, but he knew what
felt good. More thoughts came unbidden, blooming into fantasies inspired by
memories.
 
                The teen rocked into his own movements, trying to imagine a
larger hand wrapped hot and strong around his dick, could almost convince
himself he lay naked with his father’s clothed form pressed to him. He yearned
for dirty words spoken directly into his ear, for a heavy, hard body holding
him down with the utmost care and patience.
 
                Carl wanted his father to prove he belonged to the man. Wanted
to be taken, claimed, made a mess of. Movements increasing, the boy felt a
whimper spill from his mouth, trying to muffle himself, not wanting to draw
attention, not knowing how to ask, not wanting to be a bother –
 
                “Oh, sweetheart.”
 
                Carl’s eyes flew open, hand withdrawing as if burned.
 
                “D-dad,” he half-gasped, sitting up and hastily pulling his
underwear back up, “I, I was—”
 
                But what did he even say? Why was he ashamed? Should he have
not done this without Rick? But a glance at the man’s face showed not
disappointment, not anger, not – Carl’s heart skipped a beat – disgust, but
something he could only describe as adoration.
 
                Before he got the chance to further attempt an explanation,
Rick crossed the room in a few long strides. Taking a seat beside the boy, he
raised one hand to the silky hair of his child, carding through the locks; the
other strayed lower, dipping under his shirt before advancing up the length of
his son’s spine, trailing back down in a lazy pattern.
 
                “Just how long,” he murmured, accent thick and heavy, “did I
let you suffer in here by yourself?”
 
                Carl let out a shaky laugh, hands habitually grasping onto the
man’s shirt, as if his body couldn’t stand to not be touching the others. His
eyes hesitantly met the somewhat teasing, but deeply intent gaze of his father.
 
                “It wasn’t that long,” he replied, weighing each word like a
potential landmine, “I just wasn’t sure if you were coming to bed anytime soon
and kind of just..” he trailed off, breaking eye contact as well.
 
                “Hey.” Rick’s voice commanded a slightly more authoritative
tone, a tone Carl was raised to respond to, something he did without
hesitation. His father’s face however, was kind, imploring.
 
                “Don’t you ever be ashamed around me. Not about this. Not about
us.” He looked so earnest, so honest, fingertips tracing the boy’s cheekbone.
 
                Carl felt his breath catch as the hand on his back descended
quickly, cupping his slightly wilted erection through his underwear. The teen’s
body reacted in kind, accidentally letting out a cry of surprise mixed with
pleasure.
 
                Leaning forward, Rick lips captured his son’s, swallowing all
the needy, breathy moans as his tongue toyed with Carl’s, easily leading the
kiss. Carl felt his hair gripped tighter, not controlling, but guiding,
providing a pillar of support.
 
                Instinctively, he relaxed, feeling more pliant as his father
took care of him. They parted for breath, Carl’s lips tingling from the man’s
beard, feeling much more sensitive. Both of his father’s large, capable hands
moved to briefly grasp his hips before pushing him further up the bed and onto
his back. Rick settled between Carl’s legs and hovered above the teen, resting
his weight on one hand next to the mess of brown hair on the pillow. His other
hand traced a line down a smooth cheek, following the jawline, and trailing
down a collarbone right down to the sternum.
 
                Carl’s eyes watched Rick’s face the whole time, taking in the
sweeping gaze of a cop, taking note of the way those sharp blue eyes dilated at
the center, how his father’s own lips, looking a little swollen themselves,
quirked upwards.
 
                “This looks familiar,” he drawled, deft fingers undoing the
topmost button on Carl’s shirt, caressing his skin in random patterns, “What
made you put it on?”
 
                “Needed a shirt,” Carl replied, a little cheekily, sensing the
angle Rick was taking, but not making it easy on him.
 
                “Didn’t need one,” Rick murmured, leaning down to lay soft
kisses along his boy’s throat, “You were just goin’ to bed, slept naked
before.” The kisses became heavier, less gentle presses of lips and more
sucking, a hint of teeth at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Rick
continued travelling downwards, placing a slow, deep kiss to each bit of skin
exposed until the shirt, Rick’s shirt, lay parted on either side of his son’s
torso. Carl’s breaths came faster, absently rocking into the lap of his father
and moaning at the rigid hardness he found there.
 
                “I didn’t – didn’t mean anything by it,” he gasped, meant to
continue, but was only able to moan as those sturdy hands grabbed his hips
again and held him in place as Rick rubbed his own clothed erection against his
son’s.
 
                “Oh it means somethin’,” Rick’s voice was throaty, impatiently
stripping the boy of his boxer briefs until he was bare from the waist down.
Leaning forward again, he resumed his ardent treatment of the teen’s delicate
neck, mouthing roughly while he reached between their bodies, stroking Carl’s
length.
 
                Turning his face to hide in the pillow, Carl tried to muffle
his cry as he felt those thick fingers encompass him to the point that only the
head peeked out, weeping precum. His father pumped him at a steady rate,
playing him like a finely tuned instrument when his thumb swiped over the tip.
Jerking forward, the boy could only grasp tightly to Rick’s biceps, feeling the
tightly corded muscles underneath his clothing.
 
                “Dad,” he said quietly, voice unsteady, while his hands tugged
at the hem of his father’s shirt, urging him to undress, “please.”
 
                “Not yet, darlin’,” Rick replied, breath hot bursts against his
ear, “This one’s for you.”
 
                The boy thrust up into the firm fist, eyes squeezed shut as his
body writhed beneath the heavier weight of his father. He wasn’t sure how much
longer he could hold on, he had already been so close when Rick came in; at
this point he was doing all he could not to lose complete control, but he had
been losing that battle the whole time too.
 
                “I can’t – I can’t –” Carl’s voice rose in pitch, positively
keening, trying so hard to maintain a safe level of sound. The pumping
increased in speed, the teen doing all he could just to keep up.
 
                “You can,” Rick whispered, and his son was gone, legs bracing
around the man’s body. White ropes shot from Carl’s length, coating the
alabaster skin of his torso and staining the black cotton of his shirt.
 
                Panting, feeling lost, untethered and panicking slightly, Carl
reached up blindly and tugged his father down, licking into his mouth, needing
the small act of familiar stability. This way he could come down safely,
slowly. No rush, no fear of falling without a safety net. Rick responded by
wrapping one arm around his boy’s torso, the other cupping the back of his
head.
 
                They remained entwined for a few minutes, needing to disperse
some small amount of tension, and simply exist with each other for a moment.
Giving one last, lingering kiss, Carl pulled away, meeting the fierce glint in
his father’s gaze.
 
                “Now you,” he said, voice coming out softer than intended,
though he felt marginally more in control of himself, “I want you.”
 
                Slowly, he led Rick’s hand down, past his slowly reawakening
member, behind his balls, before releasing the larger hand. He felt the man
trail his own fingers over Carl’s perineum before coming to a stop at his
entrance. The dexterous fingertips circled the tight ring of muscles, causing
the young teen to gasp, tensing up as blood once again flowed through his
hardening cock. Carl’s arms slipped around Rick’s neck, needing as much skin
contact as possible. Rick’s breath came hot and heavy on his neck, lips and
teeth leaving marks along the skin there.
 
                “What part of me d’ya want?” The older man’s voice came out
husky, breathless, betraying his very obvious need for release. Despite this,
and the somewhat teasing air he still tried to produce, Rick meant the question
seriously, would do whatever Carl asked him to and no more.
 
                The boy pushed back against the fingers at his entrance,
heedless of their dry texture, just needing something of his father’s inside of
him. They denied him, of course, Rick having always taken preparing his son
incredibly seriously. Groaning, Carl shook his head, unsure of how to answer
with words, wanting to rely on bodylanguage.
 
                “Your f-fingers, or tongue or your –” Carl blurted out whatever
he could before catching himself, the last word refusing to come out. “Just
anything, all of you, please.” He knew how desperate he must have looked,
pleading for his father to wreck him, to do whatever the man wanted, but that
frenzied needwas something he knew they both shared.
 
                A strained chuckle followed by the press of lips to his temple.
“Whatever you need, Carl.”
 
                Rick pulled away from the boy, sitting up and resting his
weight on his knees. Carl watched, keeping eye contact as his father quickly
stripped off his own shirt, revealing the toned canvas of his torso. In the dim
light it was always hard to make out any details, but Carl knew of the scars
littering the man’s skin, had traced his fingers along them countless times,
had each one memorized down to the time, place, and reason. They only served to
prove to him how much his father had come back from, would continue to come
back from, for him.
 
                “Do you mind turnin’ around for me?” asked Rick, fingers
framing one side of Carl’s face, “Not for long, just to get you ready.” His
expression was painfully open, genuinely asking if it would make the boy
uncomfortable. At the first small flutter of apprehension welling up in his
chest, Carl acted quickly to stomp it back out; there was no place for fear
with his father. He knew there was no place safer than the man’s arms, his bed.
 
                Not quite trusting his voice, the teen nodded, then rolled onto
his front, conscious of the one-man audience directly behind him. Carl rested
his chin on the bed, hands fisted in the sheets while his knees propped himself
up; it was a perverse display that, judging by the sharp intake of breath and
muttered curse, was well received.
 
                Carl watched out of the corner of his eye as Rick pulled the
bedside drawer open to retrieve a simple tube. It took only a few moments
before he felt the distinctly wet pressure of a single finger at his opening.
He relaxed as best he could, remembering how the very same man taught him
through hushed words and gentle, guiding touches. He still couldn’t contain the
soft whining exhale that escaped, burying his face in the pillow, feeling the
buildup starting again.
 
                “You have any idea what you look like, sweetheart? What you’re
doin’ to me?”
 
                The pet name made him whimper, feeling particularly vulnerable
when that single digit began its gradual easing out before driving home again.
The boy shook his head, knowing he’d be informed either way.
 
                “Look at you, on your knees.” Carl felt Rick drape himself over
his back, bracing his weight on one arm while the other suddenly worked from a
different angle, one finger becoming two and suddenly that much deeper.
 
                “Wrapped in my shirt,” the words were muttered harshly into his
ear, followed by borderline desperate kisses along the back of his neck, “Can
you feel my fingers, Carl? Is this enough?” A sharp suck to an already-forming
bruise, fingers began entering quicker, pace increasing.
 
                "Yes!” the boy cried, not sure what he was agreeing to, just
needing whatever his father would give him, whatever he could give him, “I
don’t – I need more, something, something deeper or – or –”
 
                A third finger began sinking in now, spreading him further and
allowing Rick’s middle finger to crook just so until the teen saw stars, that
tiny bundle of nerves finally receiving the stimulation he craved.
 
                “Hhnn, right there,” he gasped out, rocking back, “Ohgodplease
again.”
 
                 Carl couldn’t keep track of how long his father took preparing
him, only that he felt thoroughly stretched by the time he was gently rolled
back over. His eyes, he knew, were heavily glazed, though he couldn’t bring
himself to care. He silently locked gazes with Rick, taking note that, at some
point, the man had stripped himself of his pants as well, leaving him entirely
bare.
 
                “You okay?” Rick asked, caressing his son’s cheek, touch so
gentle Carl would think he was holding something delicate as glass. He felt his
chest swell, suddenly so thankful to have this man as his father, to be so
deeply bound to him in an irreversible way.
 
               Swallowing, he nodded again, feeling the first wave of
desperation licking at his heels. “I’m fine,” he replied, trailing his fingers
down Rick’s arms and back up again, maintaining eye contact, “I just – I need
you right now.”
 
                Waiting a beat, Rick searched his son’s face, before giving a
nod of his own. Whatever he saw, clearly it passed the test because next thing
Carl knew, one of his thighs was grasped gently but firmly and spread slowly to
one side. The teen watched his father administer lube to his swollen cock,
taking his time, making sure to evenly coat his every inch. The boy felt his
mouth water at the sight, feeling suddenly twice as frantic.
 
                “Dad,” he pleaded, breath coming out in small pants.
 
                Without a word, Rick grasped himself by the base and positioned
himself at his boy’s entrance. Even still, he waited a beat, his expression
silently asking permission one last time. Carl’s face must have portrayed just
how badly he was craved this, needed it, because without further preamble, the
thick head of Rick’s cock breached his son’s opening.
 
                Simultaneous vocalization sounded throughout the room, a groan
and a cry. Rick always forced himself to stop halfway, always stopped to check
Carl’s face, how tense he was, if he needed to pull out. Carl, wanting only one
thing at that point, used his free leg as leverage to pull his father in
closer. The thick, hot length slid deeper inside his body, causing the boy to
moan breathily. Rick, caught off guard, couldn’t control the involuntary thrust
of his hips, forcing himself in as deeply as possible before grasping for
control again.
 
                “Carl,” he whispered sharply, hands wandering, seeking to
soothe. They settled on the boy’s wrists, gentle, not restraining, but
supporting. “Are you alright?”
 
                Groaning, this time in a mixture of exasperation and arousal,
Carl rocked forward, trying to force Rick’s cock deeper still. “I’m fine, I’m
fine,” he reassured, feeling dazed, searching for the right words, “Please,
dad, just fuck me.”
 
                Apparently this was the permission Rick was waiting for because
within a moment, the man’s entire demeanour seemed to changed. While still
attentive, possibly even more so, the intensity suddenly amplified. The fingers
securing his arms to the bed tightened marginally right before the first heavy
thrust jolted his body upwards. A thrill went through him when he realized he
remained mostly in place thanks to Rick’s restraining hands, something he
derived entirely too much comfort from. Each subsequent movement only served to
solidify the notion that he was being utterly taken care of, that he need only
give control up to his father for things to feel this good.
 
                Tiny puffs of air against his neck regularly sent shivers down
his spine. Carl couldn’t seem to keep his mouth closed, couldn’t breathe
without gasping, but with each snap of Rick’s hips, little fucked-out noises
were forced from his lips. He tried to quiet his own voice, but it seemed his
father was doing everything in his power to achieve the opposite effect.
 
                Carl tightened his thighs around the older man, urging him on,
needing to display his willingness to participate, that he wanted this just as
badly as his father did. Rick only let out a stuttered groan, hands releasing
the boy’s wrists and instead bracing one under the small of Carl’s back, the
other grasping the teen’s aching, neglected member.
 
                The additional burst of pleasure caused Carl to tighten up,
inner muscles rhythmically squeezing Rick’s cock as his young body became
conflicted, wanting to thrust upwards and rock back at the same time. His
breaths came as whimpers now, thoughts only on the man above him, inside him.
His existence relied entirely upon his father, on the cock currently pounding
into him. The thought only further enticed him, made him feel more, need more.
His arms tugged his father down again, kissing him with an intensity reserved
for moments like these.
 
                “Please, please, please,” he chanted against Rick’s lips,
uncertain of his mind’s bridge between word and thought. The heat continued to
pool in his stomach, rising in crescendo. He could feel the man’s heartbeat,
could feel the head battering his prostate, the words mouthed into his skin.
The thought of the pleasure his father must have been feeling, of his
restraint, holding back for the sake of his son, all did unspeakable things to
his mind. But it was the thought of Rick’s semen, churning in the balls
slapping obscenely against him, releasing inside him that did him in.
 
                All he could think of was how right it seemed, orgasm washing
over him, every muscle tensing, breath coming out in drawn out whines and
gasps. Carl became limp, letting his father’s hands grip his body tightly,
driven mad with desire at that point.
 
                If he hadn’t just found release, the boy was sure he would have
when he felt Rick’s entire body tense, could hear the strained groan making an
effort to escape, but most importantly, could feel the pulsing of his father’s
cum filling him up, marking him from the inside out. He intentionally tightened
up, pulling a grunt from the man as well as a few more involuntary thrusts,
instincts telling Rick to plant his seed deeper, a truth that Carl knew he’d be
dwelling on later.
 
                There was a comfortable silence, filled only by their slowing
heartbeats and the soft sounds of lips meeting lips. Rick pulled back first,
though the arms Carl slipped around his neck kept the man from pulling away
entirely, leaving his softening cock inside his boy.
 
                Carl’s eyes fluttered open when Rick shifted again and, giving
just a nod of his head, braced himself when he felt the familiar, comfortable
fullness disappear. Rick rolled onto his side, though quickly pulled Carl into
his arms and a blanket over top the both of them. The teen felt a little too
raw yet to do much, and let himself be cradled. The after effects of physical
closeness often left him a little shell-shocked, vulnerable even.
 
                “I love you so much,” was whispered into his hair, a sentiment
he returned, and tried to say so, though his body’s energy was all but
depleted. Carl’s mumbled response received a soft chuckle and a tug closer to
Rick’s chest. The thumping right below his ear served as something like a
lullaby, he noted sleepily. Tailor-made for him.
 
                “C’mon now,” said his father’s low voice, a careful, incredibly
gentle hand running through his hair, “Let’s get some sleep. I’ll be right
here, for you, the minute you wake up.”
End Notes
     humdrum-star.tumblr.com~ Aaaalways accepting prompts folks <3
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!