I did have this added as the second chapter of my oneshot Entanglement, but it's pretty explicit compared to the first and can be read on its own (I think) so I decided to separate them.
This takes place a couple of weeks after Entanglement. In my mind Daryl pretended like nothing ever happened, so Glenn did too.
Until Now... (buh buuum)
Glenn pulled the door shut just as the first walker careened around the corner. Despite the pitch blackness, his remaining senses informed him of a warm, solid, sweaty mass directly behind him. He took an aborted step backward onto what a loud grunt told him was a foot.
"You wanna back it up there, buddy?" he asked, keeping his voice low.
"Can't," came a hoarse, angry whisper near his ear. "Cuz someone's gotta hide us in a damn shoe box."
"Look, I'm used to doing this by myself," he shot back in the same tone. "Didn't see you coming up with any bright ideas."
"I said we could take 'em!"
"A whole pack? What, go down swinging? That's a terrible idea, Daryl. A terrible idea."
"The hell it ain't."
"Let's just not and say we didn't, okay. Two and oh, Rambo."
"Whatever. Keep brayin', jackass."
"Me! You're the one who-"
The door rattled alarmingly and Daryl's left hand flew up to clamp across Glenn's mouth, the other gripping his waist. At the moment, Glenn's fear outweighed his pride and he suffered the indignation with held breath. His eyes widened and pupils dilated reflexively, pointless though it was in the dark. Snuffling and growling could be heard mere inches away, then mere feet away, then an unknown distance away.
As nothing continued to happen, Glenn moved to pry the hand off his face. All he got for his efforts was a shake and shush, along with the hand at his waist snaking up and around his arms, pinning them down to his sides. He didn't need eyes to know that Daryl was glaring at the back of his head. Since using his limbs would involve a dangerously audible scuffle, Glenn (just to recover his space, you understand) did the most logical thing he could under the circumstances.
He licked him.
Daryl gasped and jumped in response, startling Glenn in the process, and pressed himself minutely further into the body in front of him. Then to Glenn's surprise, the hand that had been cupped over his mouth flattened, as if to maximize contact with his lips.
Intensely curious for reasons he didn't really want to examine, Glenn decided to poke the bear.
He licked him again, a broad stripe up the palm, lingering long enough to taste salt and earth (circumstantial poeticisms for sweat and dirt, which Glenn would hold secret to the grave). Just to see what would happen.
What happened was surreal. Daryl shuddered, groaned and dropped his head onto Glenn's shoulder, turned and breathed into his ear, brushed his mouth down the side of his neck, all with an agonizing slowness. A thumb gave the barest hint of a brush against Glenn's lower lip.
Glenn swallowed thickly, feeling extremely aware and alert for reasons that had nothing to do with the danger outside their utility closet. Walkers be dammed. This was dangerous. Forget playing with fire. This was playing with fire with a pyromaniac who'd burn you when he ran out of wood, paper and C-4. But he'd always had a certain fascination with fire. Burning was a calculated risk. Was it a bad sign if he'd already written himself off as collateral damage?
The thumb made a firmer pass and this time Glenn caught it between his lips, lathing the tip with his tongue experimentally, feeling the jagged tip of the nail, then the frayed cuticle as he took it in deeper. Daryl emitted a rumbling moan and tightened his hold around Glenn's waist, holding him steady as he gave a slow, subtle roll of his hips.
As subtle as pressing your dick into a guy's ass can be.
By this time, Glenn was hot. Not just trapped-in-a-stuffy-closet-on-a-summer-afternoon hot, but hot hot. That pressure on his ass, those lips on his neck, that hand on his waist that had dipped under his shirt and was tracing his pelvic bone. They were burning him up. His heart felt like a mini furnace, not just pumping blood faster but heating it too, sending rivulets of liquid fire to his extremities, one in particular. Daryl could probably taste the magma in his neck as it rushed down from his brain.
The hand on his waist started to play with the edge of his pants, feeling under the elastic of his boxers. He could feel his dick swell and start to push against the restricting fabric as Daryl's lips stopped their caressing and started to suck in earnest. Glenn nearly moaned around the thumb in his mouth, lightheaded by the sting of teeth and sharp suction combined with the knowledge that yeah, that's gonna leave a mark.
A vision flashed through his mind of returning to camp, feeling the stares latching onto his neck, onto the brand of Daryl's mouth on his neck, seeing Daryl stiffen and glare back at them, daring anyone to question him, question them.
He couldn't hold back the moan this time, which was of course when Daryl decided to unceremoniously shove his hand down Glenn's pants, causing his moan to choke off into a kind of burble-squeak thing. It was the most undignified sound he'd made in his entire life, but his mortification was swiftly neutralized by a dark chuckle swirling into his ear. The tongue that followed helped too, a languid swirl of wet muscle that left a glistening trail back down his neck. Or, you know, would glisten if there was any light.
Daryl blew lightly on the non-glistening trail and rolled his hips a second time, the bulge in his pants much more prominent than before. He gripped Glenn's dick in a callused hand and gave it one firm swipe from base to tip, fiercely pleased by the pathetic noise the action elicited. His fingertips came into contact with Glenn's precome, felt the slime that was so familiar yet so foreign stick to his skin, ooze slightly between his knuckles. His movements became stuttered.
Daryl froze suddenly, thumb still encased in Glenn's mouth, Glenn's dick still encased in his hand, lips stalled over Glenn's thumping carotid artery. So foreign, too foreign. The sound of his own heartbeat jackhammered harshly in his ears. The bubble that encased this fragile moment-heat began to lose surface tension with each passing moment.
It took Glenn a beat to recognize Daryl's rearing inhibitions, not until Daryl's hand was approaching full retreat out of his pants.
"Daryl," he whined, rolling his hips back into the solid heat, cheeks non-burning as bright as the non-glistening saliva on his neck. He pulled a hand free and slapped it desperately over Daryl's before it could escape, a strangled, "Hohh," choked out of him at the sudden pressure.
"Damn, boy," Daryl growled into his ear and mission accomplished. He dipped his hand below Glenn's dick to fondle his balls, other hand trailing off Glenn's face and running down his neck towards his chest. He gave Glenn's sac a long, borderline-painful squeeze and started kneading Glenn's pec as if it were a woman's breast. Since there was an obvious problem with this method, his hand skittered to the center and stroked Glenn's sternum for a bit, as if figuring out what to do next.
"Daryl," Glenn whined again, way too turned on to be embarrassed at this point. He pushed his ass back again, a strange thrill rushing through him at the dampness he felt. Daryl was leaking through his fucking pants. Because of him.
Daryl released Glenn's balls and returned to his abandoned dick, squeezing at the base and slowly applying the same hard pressure all the way to the tip. Glenn could visualize the bunched up skin, the slight ballooning of the head at the end of the stroke. Daryl rubbed at the slit, at the frenulum, felt the vein as if he was a blind man visualizing and remembering by touch. Which he sort of was at the moment.
Glenn could feel the cool heat coiling in his belly, fire and ice and electric charge all roiling together into a maelstrom of awesomeness. He didn't have a whole lot of stamina at the best of times, and this encounter was blowing his 'best' out of the water. He was holding out the best he could, though, when shit got real. Apparently Daryl decided it was time to speed things up because all of a sudden there was a mouth latched once more onto his neck, fingers latched onto a nipple through his shirt, and the hand on his dick started to jack him off in earnest. Daryl used quick, firm strokes with this fancy twist near the end that had Glenn's eyes rolling back in his head.
"Holy shit, Daryl, holy shit. Oh my god, yeah," he started to babble, not knowing or caring what he was saying. "Yeah, that's-ah! Oh god, please. Please, come on, aw please. "
"Shhh," Daryl soothed in his ear. "Gotta be-ungh," his hips started to move faster, harder, seriously grinding himself into Glenn at this point. He moved the hand on Glenn's chest into his pants to cup his balls as he continued to jerk him off, both hands fully committed now, his arms bracketing the boy in front of him. "Gotta be quiet."
"But, but! I've gotta-I'm gonna-"
Glenn came, his mind's eye bursting with color, body shuddering, curling backwards like a crossbow in reverse, head coming to rest, panting, on Daryl's shoulder. Daryl gave two more erratic thrusts before he went completely rigid and gave a long, loud groan that sounded punched out of him.
They both stood there in the black, no sound apart from their shared, labored breathing. Daryl wiped his hands off on the outside of Glenn's boxers before moving them up to Glenn's hips, thumbs tracing meaningless shapes onto his hipbones. A minute or two passed as they came back to themselves.
"Man, I can't believe it," Glenn said finally.
Daryl froze behind him.
"I can't believe you licked my neck. You're an animal."
There was a heavy silence.
"That's the part y'bring up?" demanded Daryl, tone drenched in disbelief.
"Don't get me wrong, it was super hot. I'm just saying that's a first for me. The licking."
"Glenn..." Daryl rumbled, nosing behind Glenn's ear, tongue snaking out to continue its previous exploration. "Shut up."
Glenn may or may not have keened a bit as he tilted his head to give Daryl better access.