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banshee-cheekbones · 8 years

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title: this must be it (welcome to the new year) [ao3: here]

main pairing: Daryl Dixon / Glenn Rhee

rating: T (for alcohol consumption)

word count: ~2500 words

written as: a present for @psmith73!

It’s still five hours before midnight, but Glenn is pretty sure that Maggie is well on her way to being drunk.

“Glenn! You made it!” she shouts from the front door of her house. There’s a glass of what’s probably whiskey in one hand and she waves with the other, wrist loose in a way that practically screams tipsiness. “Did Daryl come?”

“Yeah, I'm here,” Daryl says, sliding from the passenger seat. Somehow, despite the fact that they’re parked out on the street (the driveway is already filled to bursting), Maggie still manages to hear him.

(Glenn can’t say he’s surprised. Her hearing is astounding at the best of times and somehow, it gets even better when she’s drunk. If superpowers were real, Maggie would probably have them.)

“Don’t act like you’re not excited!” she yells. “Now get in here!” With that, she turns and slams the door, making the crooked wreath hanging on it bounce.

“You know, you didn’t have to come,” Glenn says, reaching into the backseat and grabbing the small box that contains the Christmas presents for their friends; they always exchange gifts on New Year's, since everyone is usually too busy on the 25th to meet up. After only a second, he realizes that Daryl might take that the wrong way and he clears his throat as he straightens back up. “I mean, if you were too tired from work or-”

“Glenn, I wanted to come,” Daryl says. “If I didn’t wanna, you couldn’t have dragged me.” The corner of his mouth twitches up into a small smile and just like that, relief rushes through Glenn’s body.

“Alright,” he sighs, kicking the car door closed. “But one of us should stay sober, if we want to go home tonight.”

“No guarantees,” Daryl says, taking the box from Glenn and striding up the driveway, boots leaving indents in the inch or so of snow that has managed to stay clinging to the ground for the last few weeks. Glenn follows in his tracks; he’s wearing an old pair of sneakers and even with following in Daryl's footsteps, by the time they make it to the front door, his socks feel a little damp.

As soon as they step inside, it feels like they’ve slammed into a wall of heat. Glenn starts tearing at his layers, depositing his sweater and beanie on top of a loose pile of clothes sitting inside the hall closet. Once they’ve both shed their shoes, they slide into the living room, which is packed full of people, standing room only. Glenn immediately finds a spot tucked into the corner by the artificial Christmas tree, which has stacks of cheerfully wrapped gifts shoved underneath it. He’s just barely gotten himself situated against the wall when he finds himself pulled sideways into a tight hug.

“I’m so happy you two could make it,” Sasha, Maggie’s wife, says as she pulls away. Her hair is hanging in thick curls around her face and her skin looks like it’s glowing. Glenn is pretty sure the glow has less to do with the heat of the room and more to do with the beach ball sized bump stretching the front of Sasha’s sweater.

“How’s she doing in there?” Daryl asks, making his way from the other side of the Christmas tree with two glasses of whiskey. When Glenn looks from the whiskey back to Daryl and raises an eyebrow, Daryl shrugs and says, "Maggie insisted."

“It feels like she’s trying to kick her way out most days,” Sasha says, placing one hand on her stomach. “Maggie’s carrying the next one.”

“There ain’t going to be a next one,” Maggie retorts, appearing at Sasha’s shoulder. “Not anytime soon, at least.” When she leans in to kiss Sasha’s cheek, she’s positively beaming. Glenn barely has enough time to take a sip of his drink before Maggie grabs him by the elbow and tugs him away.

“C’mon, Michonne and Lori want to talk to you,” she says, easily weaving her way through the people crowding the living room. “I think they’re going to try and talk you into babysitting the kids some night.”

“Well, they won’t have to try that hard,” Glenn replies. He glances back over his shoulder and waves to Daryl, who is still over by the tree. Daryl smirks slightly and just barely lifts his hand in return before he turns back to Sasha.

Sure enough, that’s what Michonne and Lori want to ask him. Glenn immediately accepts; Carl and Judith are both well behaved and he knows how hard it can be for Michonne, Lori and Rick to find a night that will work for all three of them to spend some alone time. When the conversation turns to anything Sasha and Maggie might need for the upcoming birth, Glenn slips away. He barely makes it out of the room before he runs into Rick, who is talking to Sasha’s brother Tyreese and his wife Karen.

“Want another drink?” Rick asks, holding up a flask. Glenn shrugs and holds out his empty whiskey glass. One more drink won’t make him too tipsy and besides, he’s sure that Maggie and Sasha have already planned for some of them to stay the night if necessary.

One more drink ends up turning into two. And then three. By the time he stumbles back into the living room so that they can all watch the ball drop, he’s lost count and he knows even without looking in a mirror that his face is flushed red with blood.

Daryl seems to be in the same boat. He’s sitting on one of the sofas, loosely clutching a half-full glass in his fingers and when he looks over at Glenn, he visibly perks up.

“Glenn!” he hollers, jumping to his feet and wobbling slightly, whiskey coming dangerously close to sloshing out of the glass. “C’mere!”

“Hey!” Glenn says louder than he intends, carefully stepping around both Aaron and Eric, who are sitting on the floor. As soon as he crosses the room, Daryl wraps his arm around Glenn’s waist and falls back onto the couch. Some of his drink slops onto Glenn’s thigh and he groans, sponging at the fabric with the sleeve of his shirt.

“My jeans,” he sighs, gesturing at the wet spot and trying to get himself comfortable on Daryl’s lap without kicking Michonne, who is sitting on the other side.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” Daryl mutters, craning forward and putting his drink down on the coffee table. He settles back and pulls Glenn flush against him, face pressed against Glenn’s shoulder. Glenn can feel his face getting warmer and warmer and this time, it has nothing to do with how much he’s drank or the temperature of the room.

“Daryl, what are you doing?” he asks, twisting to face Daryl more. “You’re drunk.”

“You’re drunk,” Daryl retorts and, well, he isn’t wrong, Glenn has to admit. He squeezes Glenn even tighter and when he next speaks, his words are muffled against Glenn’s shoulder.

“I can let you go, if you want.”

“It’s fine,” Glenn says with a shrug, trying to be casual even though it feels like every person in the room is looking at him.

(A quick glance around is enough to confirm that they’re not; everyone else is either tangled up in each other or staring at the television, watching the timer in the corner of the screen count down to zero.)

Truth be told, he kind of loves the open affection. Even after five years together, Daryl is usually so restrained around others, even when it’s just their friends. Glenn knows he has his reasons and really, he’s fine with it; he knows Daryl loves him, he doesn’t need constant reassurance. But still, he’s not going to deny that it feels pretty fucking great to have Daryl’s arms wrapped around him, to feel his large, warm hands curved around his waist.

“Maggie said we can sleep on the pull-out couch in the spare room. Or the floor,” Daryl says, sneaking his thumb underneath the hem of Glenn’s shirt. “I ain’t fit to drive.”

“Me neither,” Glenn replies, looping his arms around Daryl’s neck, finally finding a spot that doesn’t make Daryl’s knees dig into the back of his thighs. “The couch will work, I think.” Really, he’s not looking forward to it; the couch is a relic from the seventies with a sagging mattress, squeaky springs and a talent for leaving a godawful kink in his neck.

Still, if he uses Daryl’s chest as a pillow, maybe he’ll wake up without too many aches and pains.

The room gets louder and when Glenn glances over at the television, the clock in the corner of the screen reads fifteen seconds left. The camera flashes over Times Square, showing the thousands of people sandwiched together under the dark, snowflake dripping sky, and while Glenn is sure it’s an experience like no other, he can’t help but be glad that he’s inside, surrounded by his friends and the man he cares for.

“I love you Daryl,” he murmurs, twisting to press his lips against Daryl’s temple.

“Love you too,” Daryl replies before leaning up and plastering a loud, firm kiss against Glenn’s cheek. Glenn’s eyes automatically close and his face flushes even warmer as Daryl presses more kisses against his cheek and his jaw.

When the ball finally drops and both the television and the living room erupt with cheering and the clinking of glasses, Glenn’s eyes are still closed and he’s really thinking about dragging Daryl back out to their car, just so they can make good use of the backseat.

In the end, they don’t make it any further than the couch in the spare bedroom.

Glenn knows that it's uncomfortable, but he’s enveloped in such a warm haze of intoxication that it feels like he's laying on a cloud. The light in the room is off, but the glow from the hallway is creeping underneath the door. Occasionally, someone passes by and Glenn listens to their footsteps and soft murmurs until they fade away. Eventually, someone turns off the light and after that, the only thing Glenn can hear is Daryl breathing beside him, some of his exhales verging dangerously close to being snores. Tyreese and Karen are asleep in the bed on the other side of the room, but they haven't stirred for ages.

Eventually, after wriggling around a few times and filling the room with the sound of squeaking springs, Glenn manages to find the perfect position, head cushioned on Daryl’s bicep, arm flung loosely over Daryl’s trim waist.

After that, there’s no point in trying to stay awake. The battle is lost and frankly, he doesn’t mind.

When Glenn finally wakes up, he immediately curses the existence of alcohol.

He’s definitely hung over. The light coming through the sheer curtains seems to stab into his eyes, even after he closes them again. It feels like his head has been filled with heavy, shifting rocks and when he yawns, he realizes that the inside of his mouth is dry as a bone.

At least his stomach isn’t churning. That’s one good thing.

Slowly, he sits up. Tyreese and Karen are gone and the spare bed has been made tight enough to bounce a quarter off of. Daryl is still asleep; his head is buried underneath one of the pillows and when Glenn gently nudges him, he makes a weird, grunting sound but otherwise doesn’t move. Glenn decides to leave him be and heads off to the bathroom; Maggie has an entire drawer of spare toothbrushes and in addition to being dry as a desert, Glenn’s mouth tastes like something died in it.

After he brushes his teeth and splashes his face with some cold water, he decides to follow the smell of bacon to the kitchen. As he cuts through the living room, he spies his phone sitting on the coffee table, notification light blinking blue. He grabs it as he walks by and when he turns on the screen, he has to blink a few times to make sure he’s reading it right.

Sasha Williams, Lori Grimes, Beth Greene and fifteen others like your profile picture.

Glenn blinks a few more times. As far as he knows, the last time he changed his profile picture was in October, when him and Daryl had gone to a costume party dressed (rather convincingly) as zombies. He clicks on the notification and when the new picture pops up on screen, he doesn’t know whether to groan or laugh.

At some point last night, someone (he suspects Maggie) had used his phone to take a picture of Daryl kissing him on the cheek. Glenn’s eyes are squeezed shut and Daryl’s fingers are cradling his jaw, pressing into the flesh underneath his cheekbone. It’s not exactly a flattering picture; it’s pretty clear from the flush of his skin that he’s drunk and, not for the first time, he’s glad that he doesn’t have any of his bosses on Facebook.

Still, he can’t help but grin a little.

Besides, it serves him right for not putting a password on his phone.

Maggie and Sasha are sitting at the kitchen table when he enters, picking food off each other’s plates. Maggie has two mugs of coffee sitting in front of her and when he pulls out a chair, she pushes one across the table towards him.

“I was starting to wonder if you were ever gonna wake up,” she says, taking a sip of her own coffee.

“You’re the best,” Glenn mumbles, immediately taking a gulp. When he sits it back on the table, he leans forward and raises his phone, which is still displaying the picture.

“Was that you?” he asks.

“Yup,” Maggie says with a shrug. “You two are cute. But you can delete it, if you want, of course.”

“Delete what?” The voice, little more than a rasp, comes from the doorway as Daryl stumbles in, pushing his hair away from his eyes.

“Maggie took a picture of us,” Glenn replies, handing Daryl his phone. Daryl shoves his hair away again, stares at the picture for a few moments and mutters huh before passing the phone back.

“Cute,” he says, grabbing a plate off the counter and grabbing some bacon from the pan on the stove. “We should print that. Put it on the wall with the others.”

When they get home, Glenn does just that. The finished result is a little grainy (he’s had his printer since college and it wheezes whenever it spits out a page), but once the ink has dried, Daryl grabs it, having spent the last ten minutes rummaging through one of their boxes for an empty picture frame.

“Look at that,” he says once he’s finished mounting the picture on the wall. “Looks great.” The rest of the pictures on the wall in their bedroom are just as ridiculous; the costume party picture is there, as well as one of them at Maggie and Sasha’s wedding, with Glenn wearing a denim suit jacket because Maggie had dared him to.

“One of these days, we should probably take a serious picture,” Glenn sighs, straightening the newest frame slightly. “Even if just to send to my mom.”

“Maybe,” Daryl shrugs. “I still like these ones though.”

“Yeah,” Glenn murmurs, squeezing Daryl’s hand tightly and turning back to look at all the photos and memories. “Me too.”

#darlenn #darylglenn #twd fanfiction #glaryl #mine #mine: fic #alcohol cw #so this is basically fluff without plot #new year's eve fluff at that #long post

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ramenrains · 10 years

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Thirty Minutes or Less: The Delivery Boy Chronicles of Glenn Rhee (Part 4 - THE FINALE)

final part of the series. rated m! :D about 6k

It’s been three days since Glenn’s gotten back from Macon and this is the first he’s heard from either of the Dixons since he was on the road. Daryl never answered his last text, and to be honest, it worries him. But then again, he hasn’t pressed the issue. Doesn’t want Daryl to clarify what he sort of already knows. That Daryl is second guessing what they did the other night.

The pizza delivery order is surprising enough on it’s own but the special request makes his heart jump. And not necessarily in a good way. He worries the whole way there, an old Bob Seger cassette in his shitty car radio. Hums along to ‘Against the Wind’ even when it crackles out. Taps his thumbs against the steering wheel off beat. He makes all the other deliveries on his list first, even though the Dixons aren’t necessarily the last on his list. Fridays are always busy, and he knows (hopes) the brothers will understand him running a little late.

Most of his deliveries are in a nice part of town, and more importantly they’re mostly regulars, which puts Glenn at ease. He knows what to expect from these people. The likelihood of getting thrown under the bus, shorted or put in a bad mood are slim to none. If anything, he’ll be all smiles by the time he gets to the Dixon’s. And he’s got the feeling he’s going to need all the happiness and resolve he can muster.

Dale tips well and his wife always comments on how handsome Glenn is growing up to be (even though the elderly couple doesn’t know him in the slightest). Jim always smells like metal from working in the GMC factory, but he also always thanks Glenn for the pizzas like Glenn’s giving him a house free of charge, though with a nurse wife who works the midshift and three kids, Glenn can’t really blame him. Jacqui disperses the pizzas she gets with her middle-aged church group - cleverly named ‘Foxes and Hounds’ - and always calls Glenn sweetie as she hands him a fiver and tells him to keep the change. Rick’s become a regular customer and his son, Carl, seems to idolize Glenn, always engaging him in conversations about comic books and old zombie movies. Andrea and Amy always argue good-naturedly over whether or not their dad likes anchovies when they order for their family, so Glenn’s taken to just putting a box of anchovies in with the pizza and they both regard him as a genius and tip him well.

It’s good to see all of these people before heading to Daryl’s. Though eccentric, they’re his best customers. All of them treat him like a friend, if not plain out like family, and their levels of trust and kindness lend him a bit of confidence. Even as he looks at Merle’s name on the order again and strongly anticipates an ass kicking, he knows it’s not the end of the world. He knows there are other people that still care, even if they only know him because he brings them dinner.

This order is probably merely an excuse to get him to the Dixon house, he reasons. They never just order a single pizza. And ‘ask me out’ is a pretty ambiguous request, as far as Merle’s go anyway.

He wonders if Merle is going to kill him, or tell him to ‘stop turning his brother into a fag’ or something. And sure enough, Merle’s leaning against his old pickup, smoking a cigarette (or a joint, Glenn can’t tell from the distance he’s at) when Glenn pulls up. He almost gulps comically as Merle glances his way, his face passive though his mouth is drawn in a thin line and his brows are furrowed.

Merle shoves himself off the side of his truck and heads towards Glenn. Flicks a twenty dollar bill through the window. “I’m taking off, just take the pizza to Daryl, alright? I don’t need to be here for this shit.”

Glenn’s heart races as the elder Dixon leans over him imposingly, “W-what shit?”

Seeming to pity him, Merle leans back and even opens the car door to let him out, “I’ll be gone for a couple hours, so ya’ll will have time to talk or whatever. Just do me a solid and don’t fuck this up. I don’t actually want to kick your ass that much, and I’d hate for that to change on account of my brother.”

Even though he’s still not quite sure what Merle’s talking about, he just nods and says, “I won’t, man. Don’t worry.”

This answer seems to satisfy Merle, who just nods before lighting another cigarette and heading back to his truck. He flips Glenn off as he drives away for good measure and somehow the gesture puts him at ease, enough for him to half-heartedly return it.

After a moment of deliberation, Glenn takes off his uniform, tossing his hat and his button up shirt in the back seat, leaving him with just a black undershirt and severely mussed hair. He hopes it makes him seem… what? More imposing? Relatable? Attractive? Maybe a combination of the three. Maybe he wants to seem so hot yet cool that Daryl doesn’t have the guts to tell him he’s not interested or that what happened between them was a mistake or that he doesn’t want him to keep coming around. Part of Glenn doesn’t think any of that’s true, but another part of him has to wonder why Daryl hasn’t contacted him at all in almost a week.

He makes his way up the newly paved walkway, box of pizza in hand. Somehow, he doesn’t care about making tips or busting his ass tonight, even though T-Dog probably has a whole slew of orders waiting for him back at the store. It’s tempting to just text the elder man and tell him he got sick or something, and after a moment of hesitation, he takes his phone out and tells his boss something came up and he might want to call another driver in. T-Dog’s more than understanding, although he makes a comment about Glenn stopping by his ‘girlfriend’s’ house to slip her the sausage special that only succeeds in making him about ten times more nervous. He knows this is probably not going to be another awkward interaction on the porch. He knows he’s standing on the cusp of something, and though he hopes it’s something good, he really can’t be sure.

When Glenn knocks on the door, it only takes a second or two for Daryl’s familiar footsteps to follow. “Didja forget something, assho--”

Daryl seems to realize that Glenn is, in fact, not his brother. Glenn realizes that Daryl probably wasn’t expecting him, if the way he freezes and his cheeks light up are any indication. He gives Daryl the most sincere smile he can manage for the circumstances before all but shoving the pizza box into his hands.

“It’s already paid for,” he says, gesturing behind him, “Merle. He said we should talk. I agree. Is it cool if I come in?”

Nodding, Daryl steps out of the way, his cheeks still red and his jaw twitching, “D’you wanna eat some pizza first?” he asks, his voice sounding weak and vulnerable, “I mean, I don’t think I can eat this by myself.”

Glenn considers it. And the prospect of whiling away the time Merle has given them to finally sort out what’s going on between them by watching TV and eating pizza in silence is actually really tempting, but he knows they can’t keep on like this. The frustration and tension are only appealing for so long, after all. After a deep, even breath, he says, “I think you and I both know Merle didn’t order that because he thought you were hungry.”

It takes a second for Daryl to acknowledge this, his eyes jumpy and his expression apprehensive, “Then I’ll just take it and put it up. Please… Sit down.”

Glenn does, in the same spot he sat in when he came over after work that one time. The time Daryl said he thought about kissing him. He tries not to think about that and tries not to fidget, patiently waiting for Daryl to come back from the kitchen.

When he does, he sits on the arm of Merle’s armchair, his arms crossed and his face tense, looking at the wall behind Glenn’s head as he speaks,“I’m sorry. I mean, what I said was way out of line and I’m sure you probably don’t even have my number saved, but honestly in the beginning it was Merle, he said---”

Holding up a hand, Glenn halts him, “I have your number saved. I knew who I was talking to. And I’m not entirely sure what kind of person you think I am, but I’m definitely not the type to do what we did with just anyone. Can you imagine the fuss it could cause? Someone might beat me up for it. Spread word around town and make people hate and mistrust me. I did that with you because it was you.”

“How is that possible?” Daryl says, softly, “Why wouldn’t you do that with someone… I don’t know… better?”

He can almost laugh at that, but he doesn’t. It’s actually kind of sad how little Daryl thinks of himself, and Glenn can imagine it getting a little frustrating on down the line, but somehow it doesn’t make him want to sort things out between them any less, “You’re just fine as far as I’m concerned. Now, what were you saying about how it was all Merle’s fault?”

Daryl glances away, his cheeks going red again as he says, “Well… Merle said you liked me. I told him there was no way, over and over again. He told me to flirt with you and see then, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to run you off. So one day, he took my phone and started texting you. That time… when we… He was the one that started it. And at the time, I was kinda drunk so I went along with it. I was halfway convinced he’d gotten one of his friends to play along but I just got so caught up in it anyway, that I…”

“Yeah,” Glenn says, fidgeting a little despite himself. He knows it’s awful of him, but somehow the thought of Daryl mooning over him and being drunk and miserable enough about it to give in and sext him is almost arousing. “I did it, too.”

“I know,” Daryl breathes, and when their eyes meet, Glenn’s stomach flips. Apparently he’s not the only one that gets turned on so easily. “When I woke up the next morning I saw the texts again and I just… I checked the number and realized it was really you, but there were a million and one other things it could’ve been in my head. Like Merle had paid you to pretend or you just didn’t know what else to do so you went along with it. And then I didn’t know what to… I didn’t wanna make a bigger ass outta myself, y’know? I didn’t want to fuck up, so I just didn’t say anything.”

“And now, here we are,” Glenn says flatly, but not unkindly, “We haven’t really spoken in days, Daryl. Is that what you want? For us to just go our separate ways and forget it?”

“No,” Daryl insists, uncrossing his arms and standing, moving to sit beside Glenn on the futon. “Glenn, look. I swear I don’t want that. I guess I just didn’t know what you wanted and I didn’t want to get the wrong idea or make you get the wrong idea, so I just sorta sat on my ass and waited for you to show up and sort everything out for me. And I’m sorta seein’ now that it was the wrong thing to do. Now, I think I just wanna tell you the truth. Consequences be damned.”

“What’s the truth?” Glenn asks, shifting a bit to look at him.

The room falls silent for a moment as they just look at one another, Daryl looking properly embarrassed and pained by all of this. He strikes Glenn as someone who is not at all accustomed to voicing his feelings, either because he doesn’t feel like he’s allowed to or because he wants to seem tougher than he really is. But if he’s willing to do this for Glenn, he’s sure he can at least meet Daryl halfway with everything that comes after this.

Daryl shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Okay, look just. Please try not to hate me, alright? See, I was never gonna tell you I liked you. I didn’t think anyone knew, not even Merle. But he did, apparently, and he’d always call your store and order pizza and I wouldn’t know and I’d get caught off guard. At first, I think he just did it to mess with me, but. Then I guess he saw how happy it made me to be around you and he kept tryin’ to push me into asking you to hang around and to just… spend more time with you. But I couldn’t. I’d rather see you every once and a while and think about what could be than push things and have you get mad at me.”

He’s so pitiful that Glenn can’t help but reach out and give Daryl’s knee a reassuring squeeze, nodding as if to tell him to continue.

“When Merle texted you, I was just gonna tell you it was him and try to laugh the whole thing off, but when you answered so, well… positively, I couldn’t help myself. I went with it and said stuff to you. And that was all the truth. That night when you came over? I really did wanna kiss you. I wanna do more. But I’m just… I’m real bad at this kinda thing, y’know? I’ve lived with Merle my whole adult life and, as you might’ve noticed, he makes gettin’ close to people kinda hard. Plus, I’m socially stunted any goddamn way. So, if you do like me - and I don’t blame you in the slightest if you don’t! Or if my communication issues ain’t somethin’ you wanna deal with - I just want you to know the whole thing. This whole time, ever since you came to our house the first time, Merle’s thought it’d be great to pick on me. He saw the way my face fell when we ordered pizza and it wasn’t you on the other side of the door, and he’s been givin’ me hell for it ever since. Somewhere along the way, he started takin’ his jokes a little too far. I understand if that’s embarrassin’ or worse for you. It is for me, too.”

One look at Daryl shows that he means it; his eyes are on the floor and his hands are in his lap, far removed from Glenn as possible even though he’s sitting right next to him. He looks downright complacent, resigned to his rejection. In his eyes, apparently, Glenn’s too desirable to want him back, too self-righteous to tolerate Merle’s behavior, which resides somewhere between mocking and overprotective. It’s almost laughable if Glenn thinks about it too much. This place feels just as much like home to him as his apartment does. Daryl and Merle both feel like home to him. He’d be a fool to walk away from this. So he decides not to. He goes with his gut instinct.

And his gut instinct is to kiss Daryl.

To his credit, Daryl only freezes in shock for half a second before responding enthusiastically, wrapping his arms around Glenn’s shoulders and leaning into him, eyes shut tight even when they part for air.

“Thank God,” Daryl whispers, his forehead pressed to Glenn’s.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Glenn laughs, “You know, I really did think about this that night I came over.”

“Yeah?”

Glenn nods, and this time it’s his turn for his cheeks to flush, “I thought about what it’d be like for you to fuck me on the futon, or up against your front door. Wanted you to kiss me, but so much more than that. I remember you touching me, just barely. Your shoulders and knees against mine. But it made me so hard. I’m just pathetic, I guess.”

“That’s not pathetic,” Daryl shakes his head vehemently, “I… I like it a lot, actually. Did you do anythin’ about how hard you were?”

“Hm, yeah. I guess you could say that,” Glenn says, brow furrowed in mock-thought as he delightedly watches Daryl squirm over his answer, “I went home and sort of, you know, humped my mattress while thinking about it.”

“Jesus,” Daryl’s voice is low, reverent as he tips his forehead against Glenn’s, bringing their mouths close. With only the barest hesitation, he kisses Glenn again, his tongue tracing the seam of his lips until Glenn opens them gladly, finding Daryl’s tongue with his own and pressing up against him until Daryl relaxes against the back of the couch. Glenn slides a leg over Daryl’s thighs and awkwardly pulls himself into his lap, unwilling to break the kiss.

Daryl’s fingers are shaking as they grip his hips, pressing tighter every time Glenn nibbles at him. After a few moments of kissing like that, he slides the tips of his fingers under Glenn’s shirt, and Glenn hisses at the pleasant coolness.

“Do you actually wanna do this?” Daryl asks, looking up at Glenn with all the seriousness and focus in the world, “I just want you to be sure.”

Glenn gnaws at his own lip, deliberating for a moment before gently sliding one of Daryl’s hands from his waist to his front, over his clothed erection. Daryl meets his eyes and grins, so shyly pleased at the thought of turning Glenn on that it makes Glenn want to kiss him all over, make him beam like that all the time. So he does. Between presses of lips and gasps for air, he breathes, “I’m sure.”

And that’s when Daryl picks him up.

He’s a little surprised that Daryl can even lift him, but the man stands, holding Glenn around his waist as if it isn’t causing him even the slightest inconvenience. Wisely, Glenn hooks his legs around Daryl’s waist and kisses him deeply. Next thing he knows, he’s bouncing down onto an unfamiliar mattress.

Daryl follows him down, pressing him into the springs as he kisses him, more urgently now but still soft. Glenn’s been kissed before like the other person was trying to rip his teeth out through the skin of his mouth, and he appreciates this delicacy. Part of him wishes he could look around Daryl’s room and commit everything to memory, but the mattress is comfortable and he’s overwhelmed by Daryl’s scent, so he figures that is enough.

Fingers slide under the hem of his shirt again, and this time he helps out, slipping it off and listening as it hits the floor somewhere to his left. Daryl’s fingers don’t press down hard, he’s in no hurry. Glenn shivers and laughs as his sensitive and ticklish spots are discovered, and eventually, Daryl’s touches grow more sure.

When his lips follow, it takes Glenn by pleasant surprise, as they start at his neck and trail down, curious lips and teeth feeling out the shadows cast by his collarbones, a curious tongue flicking out against his left nipple. Glenn feels as though he’s being handled like he’s precious, although not exactly fragile, and he appreciates the balance. So many people have touched him before that simply didn’t know how to, but Daryl seemed to have thoroughly studied the manual.

His hands fall to Daryl’s upper arms and pull him back up. He kisses Daryl because he wants to, because he’s still getting used to the notion that he can do this whenever he likes, because Daryl acts like he doesn’t know what it’s like to be wanted and Glenn desperately wants to show him. He slides his fingers under the hem of Daryl’s shirt and Daryl trembles. Freezes.

“Something wrong?” Glenn asks, careful not to sound too worried or upset. The last thing he wants is for Daryl to feel bad because of his hesitance. He’s been beating himself up over it more than enough.

“It’s just… ugly. Don’t want you to see.”

Glenn cups Daryl’s face in one of his hands, the other rubbing his arm comfortingly, “I’ve seen you shirtless at least a dozen times, and I promise you, you’re not ugly in the slightest.”

Daryl grunts, ‘It’s my back, not my front.”

Somehow, Glenn understands what he means. And he wants Daryl to know that he’s pretty much sacred in Glenn’s eyes, that nothing could make him ugly. Yet he knows whatever is on Daryl’s back will take him time to sort out. It’s bigger than what he has with Glenn right now and they’re going to have to work together to break it down enough to be small enough to handle.

In the meantime, he can still make Daryl feel loved. So he takes his hand out from under Daryl’s shirt and kisses him, makes him understand what he wants to say without any words and then says it anyway, “It’s okay. Whatever you want, whenever you want. I still want you, whenever you’re ready.”

“I still want to,” Daryl insists, “I just… not without my shirt right now.”

Glenn nods as though he completely understands, looks into Daryl’s eyes as he leans in. Gives him a few seconds before kissing him, long and earnest. All at once, Daryl pours himself back on top of him, and Glenn’s legs slide open. He can feel how hard the both of them are, can feel their hearts thrumming together, almost in perfect rhythm.

It’s hard to know what to do with his hands, so he just slides them over Daryl’s ass, bringing them closer. They grind a bit, their kissing getting choppy and breathy as Glenn rolls his hips up a bit more. He slides a hand down Daryl’s pants - which he doesn’t object to - and Daryl grabs his thighs and spreads them a bit more, making the contact between their hardnesses that much more intense.

All sense of discomfort and indecision is gone. Glenn wants Daryl inside of him, however he wants to take him, he wants to be taken. So he slides a hand between them and undoes his fly as they continue to grind against one another, Daryl pressing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to his neck.

“Do you have condoms?” he asks, breathless, “Lube? I want you.”

“I want you, too,” Daryl replies, the sincerity a little stunning despite their current situation, enough to send the air out of Glenn’s lungs in a quick rush and make his heart pound, “Should have some in the bathroom, hold on.”

Glenn just lays there for a moment, his chest heaving, but then he kicks his shoes and socks and jeans off. He’s still a bit too bashful to just strip and wait, so he leaves his underwear on, but otherwise the things he was wearing would have taken too much precious time to remove. He’s unsure of what to do now, like this, and he strokes himself nervously over his underwear a few times to ease his nervousness.

When Daryl walks back in, he seems pleasantly surprised by this turn of events, throwing the foil packet and bottle of lube on the bed and crawling back on top of Glenn, crawling on top of him and replacing Glenn’s hand with his own. In reciprocation, Glenn reaches for Daryl’s fly and helps him slide out of his own jeans, teasing Daryl’s erection against his thigh.

“Shit,” Daryl mutters, “It’s been forever, I’m not gonna be able too… I wanted to take my time with you, but--”

“It’s okay,” Glenn reassures him. Somehow, knowing Daryl goes mad wanting him makes him calm, “We have all the time in the world.”

Daryl smiles at him again, a real, sweet and happy smile he’s only seen on Daryl’s face a handful of times, and then he kisses Glenn again, their lips slack and sloppy against one another as he clumsily divests Glenn of his underwear. He sits back on his heels and appraises Glenn’s body, looking happy as could be. “You’re even more beautiful than I imagined you’d be,” he says softly, and Glenn blushes despite himself. No one’s ever really talked to him like that before.

To hide his embarrassment, Glenn hooks a leg around Daryl’s hip and sends him sprawling over him again and Daryl’s hands slide up his sides. They move against each other for a moment, laughing and breathless, playfighting and rolling over half a dozen times. Then, Glenn’s dizzy and on his back again, and Daryl’s hand is between his legs, stroking the skin between his balls and his entrance with something slick and cold. He shivers and moans, and all the laughter is gone because he wants so acutely that it’s almost painful.

“Do it,” he whispers. Daryl licks his lips and drags his fingers over Glenn’s entrance without really paying it any mind. The realization that Daryl’s teasing him isn’t as frustrating or infuriating as he might’ve otherwise expected it to be though. Instead it leaves him wanting to whine and be pitiful, for Daryl’s cheeks to go pink again at the thought of someone just needing him so badly. So he looks up at Daryl through his lashes and quietly begs, “Please do it to me.”

He searches out Daryl’s eyes, and they don’t leave his even as Daryl slides a slicked finger inside, It feels good, it feels like Glenn’s been waiting for it forever, and he opens his legs so Daryl can press in further. He does, little by little, gnawing at his bottom lip in concentration, adding another finger after a moment, stretching him and setting long-unused nerves aflame with familiar pleasure. Like a cat, Daryl rests his head against Glenn’s thigh and rubs against him almost possessively as he watches himself fuck Glenn open. Glenn’s erection stands proudly, just inches from Daryl’s nose, but he doesn’t want to spoil the view by touching himself just yet.

Daryl, however, seems to take this as a hint and leans forward, lapping lazily at Glenn’s cock and practically purring with the tip of it in his mouth.

“Oh fuck,” Glenn breathes quietly, keeping his hips from following the slick warmth of Daryl’s mouth with all the willpower he has. He tips his head back as Daryl adds yet another finger, the uncomfortable - though not outright unpleasant - stretch reminding him of what’s to come, in more ways than one. “Daryl, please.”

He doesn’t mean to whine that time, but he does regardless, and it seems to be more than enough persuasion for Daryl, who pulls his mouth away from Glenn’s cock with an obscenely wet pop before tearing the foil condom packet between his teeth. He takes his fingers from Glenn’s entrance - leaving him achingly empty for a moment - before pressing the head of his cock there instead, one hand braced around the base and the other rubbing comforting circles into Glenn’s hip.

“You ready?” he asks, his voice damn near hoarse.

“Always,” Glenn replies, his voice breathy as Daryl presses in. He closes his eyes to the tightness and the heat of it all. He feels Daryl’s body fall into his and press over it, tight and warm. Daryl’s shirt feels strange but so good against his dick, and his stubble against his neck feels right.

Daryl’s breath against his neck is hot as he whispers, “Oh god, Glenn. You’re perfect.”

And then he moves.

It’s bursts of light against Glenn’s eyelids, it’s electricity running through his veins, it’s like every inch of his skin is being touched at once. He feels sacred and beautiful and more than he’s ever felt. Distantly, he realizes how foolish it is to feel this way, that this is the sort of thing people write in trashy books, it’s not a real feeling. But the way his insides hold Daryl inside him is almost as if he’s meant to be there. Every stroke sends shivers through his body, and he doesn’t care if it’s real or if it’s going to last forever because it’s so fucking good.

Daryl’s holding his legs apart when he finally manages to pry his eyes open, his hips dangling a few inches over the bed as Daryl fucks into him. It’s ruthless in the intensity and the power behind each thrust, but it is so, so gentle in the way that Daryl’s looking at him and holding him. It’s so much more than he ever expected, and so much more than enough to get him off.

He reaches out for Daryl, their eyes meeting and his mouth wide open. Daryl knows what he wants, leaning forward enough for Glenn to clutch at the back of his neck and haul him in to kiss him, their mouths meeting in a clack of teeth and a frustrated exclamation somewhere near a moan on Glenn’s end of things. He props himself on his elbow but he still can’t get close enough, moaning again and again in exasperation and pleasure, wanting to be as close as possible, wanting more of everything.

“Bend your knees,” Daryl commands, and Glenn’s a little startled by the immediateness with which he complies, but when Daryl drops his grip on his legs, he understands a bit better. And when Daryl growls, “Hold onto me,” his heart flutters and he gives a moan of assent.

Without breaking the kiss, Daryl manages to haul Glenn into his lap, holding him tightly by his waist as he continues to thrust into him as hard as he could. Glenn braces himself on his knees and takes it more than happily, the new position giving his prostate ample attention. When Daryl’s arms start trembling, Glenn grabs him by the shoulders and starts bouncing on his cock, and for a while they meet each other halfway.

“Glenn,” Daryl breathes against Glenn’s cheek, “Fuck, I’m gonna…”

“Touch me,” Glenn whines, “Please, please touch me.”

Daryl kisses the juncture of his jaw and his neck as Glenn takes over doing all the work bouncing on Daryl’s cock as Daryl’s hand slides down his abdomen, gripping his cock and gently stroking, teasing the head with his thumb and squeezing the base on alternating strokes.

It takes less than a dozen pulls of Daryl’s arm to have Glenn coming, and it catches him off guard. He shudders as he spills all over his stomach and Daryl’s shirt, staring down at his cock pulsing in Daryl’s fist. He licks his lips and Daryl brings his fingers up to Glenn’s lips. He sucks down his own release greedily, cleaning Daryl’s hand until it’s spotless.

He realizes this whole time, Daryl’s been moving softly, gently inside of him and he grinds down a bit, batting his lashes as he says, “It’s you’re turn. I wanna see what it looks like when you come.

Daryl trembles at Glenn’s words, but shifts his hips upwards just the same. They work up a rhythm before Daryl’s impatience gets the better of him. He shifts and gently drops Glenn on his back again, holding his thighs apart and fucking him hard before he almost doubles over, coming inside Glenn with a soft grunt, collapsing on top of him and burying his face in Glenn’s neck.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” Daryl says flatly into Glenn’s skin.

“Why?” Glenn laughs, “Too good to be true?”

Daryl kisses his neck. Then his jaw. Then his cheek. Then his lips. For several minutes at least, he kisses Glenn like there’s nothing he’d rather do, sliding out of him as he runs his hands over his body, appreciating him and taking all of him in.

“Exactly,” he says.

They don’t mean to fall asleep like that, but they do. When Glenn wakes up, it’s totally dark outside, and he can hear Daryl in the shower of his attached bathroom. He’s tempted to join him, but realizes he probably ought to respect Daryl’s privacy until he feels comfortable enough to really show him all of him. He cleans himself off with a kleenex and wiggles his way up the bed so he can properly rest his head on a pillow. Otherwise, he’s unsure of what to do.

He should probably at least get up and get dressed and take what little money he did make today back to the store and help close up, but he realizes he really doesn’t want to. Having a job, no matter how easy and brainless it is, is going to be hard now that this is a thing. He’s never going to want to leave Daryl’s house - let alone his bed - ever again.

The shower shuts off and he curls up around himself, sort of facing the door. He shuts his eyes, sighing contentedly. When Daryl comes out - unfortunately - already dressed in flannel pajama bottoms and a ratty old t-shirt, the way he looks at Glenn makes his heart feel all melty, and he crawls into bed beside him.

Glenn blinks slowly and smiles back at him, “Hey.”

“Hey. You doin’ alright? Wanna shower?”

“Right now I’m just kinda hungry,” he says a little meekly.

“Well we got pizza,” Daryl grins at him crookedly, “I got some groceries, too, so I can cook for you if you want. Or we could go get somethin’, though probably not much but McDonald’s is still open right now.”

“Pizza sounds fine to me,” Glenn says “Don’t want you to go to any trouble on my account. But could I borrow a pair of pajamas?”

“You wanna stay the night?” Daryl asks, grinning a little goofily.

“If that’s okay,” Glenn says, though Daryl’s already rifling through his dresser drawers for some clothes for him.

“It’s more than okay,” Daryl says, handing him a pair of plaid pajama pants and an old Pink Floyd t-shirt, “That’s one of my favorites and it’s old as hell, so please try not to mess it up, okay? I mean, I trust you with it, but still. You’re the first person besides me to wear it since I bought it back in highschool, so.”

“I will,” Glenn smiles at him.

The two of them pad out of his room into the kitchen. Merle’s sitting on the couch watching football. The volume’s reasonably loud and he’s got a beer. When he sees Glenn, he looks somewhere between pleased and annoyed.

Took that stupid pizza light off the top of your car,” he says conversationally, during a commercial break, “Turned it off and threw it in the backseat. Figured you didn’t want anyone thinkin’ you were makin’ all night deliveries.”

Glenn chuckles a little despite himself, “Well, thanks.”

Merle hums in response and Daryl and Glenn lean on the counter as they sip lukewarm beer and eat cold slices of pizza. The next time Merle spares them a glance, his face lights up in recognition. “Hey, I want my change, by the way. I gave you a twenty and that pizza was only like fourteen bucks.”

“Ain’t you ever heard of tippin’, Merle?” Daryl asks good naturedly.

Merle smirks at the two of them, winking at Glenn as if to assure him that it’s all in good fun before turning his attention fully on Daryl, “Figure whatever it is you gave him that’s got him walking funny is more than tip enough.”

“Oh,” Glenn says after he swallows a sip of Newcastle, “That reminds me. I didn’t fulfill my delivery boy duties.”

The both of them look at him, but he turns his full attention on Daryl and gives him a shy smile as he says, “So, uh… No pressure or anything, but… Do you think it would be cool if maybe we went out sometime?”

Daryl’s face lights up and he nods while his brother cackles in the background.

“I take it back, kid,” Merle says in between chuckles, wiping a tear from his eye, “You keep the change this time."

#glaryl #darlenn #darylglenn #darlenn fic #glaryl fic #rated m #twd fic #walking dead fic

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