Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He knows he’s fucked up. A little off, a little weird. He doesn’t like people. Can’t stand the thought of someone touching him much less actually letting it happen. He’s quiet. He doesn’t talk unless he has too, and even then he won’t say much. He spends far too much time outside among the trees and not enough in society. He eats things ‘normal’ people wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole. In his defence, he’s been eating possum since he was a kid and not only is it good in stew, it’s never once made him sick. Unlike that one time Merle and him grabbed lunch on the way out of town at that little fast food spot and he’d spent the night in the bathroom. He can count his friends on one hand, Dale, Carol, and Rick. Though Dales his boss so he’s not sure that really counts. Carols also just the cashier that works nights on Thursdays at their local grocery store, which just so happens to be the time and day he shops. He’s not really sure he can count her either, even if she’s the one that checks him out each time and she’s nice enough to have a little chat with him. Ricks just the officer that throws Merle in the drunk tank once a month. He’s a nice guy really. They talk when he swings into pick him up. So overall he’s just the weird quite guy who lives in a cabin in the woods, grunts more then he actually talks, and doesn’t really socialize outside of his brother.

Which is where things get even weirder. If anyone ever finds out what goes on within the four walls of their home he knows all hell will break loose, and they’d probably get run outta town. Because he couldn’t be a normal guy. He couldn’t go out and settle down with a girl, or hell, even just fuck around with one period. He knows people talk, can hear em sometimes when they think their being sneaky and whispering behind their hands. He knows they think he’s queer. Their not really wrong, but he’s pretty sure they wouldn’t guess what’s really going on either. Cause he’s not normal. Normal guys don’t crawl into bed with their older brothers at the age of twenty-eight and thirty-six respectfully. He reckons that they probably don’t cum calling their name either, much less while getting pounded into the mattress. But he does.

So he’s just a tad fucked up. He’s not real sure what it means for Merle though. Unlike him, his brother can carry-on with just about anybody. Little old lady’s at the grocery store, the guys down at the bar, Rick while he’s getting arrested. He just gets people, or at the very least he understands enough to hold a decent conversation. He doesn’t mind when someone slings an arm over his shoulders, or pats him on the back either. He just goes with it all easy like, as if someone foreign touching him doesn’t make his skin crawl. He doesn’t have any issues with woman either, which is one of the reasons people haven’t figured things out yet. It should probably bother him that Merle sleeps around, but it really doesn’t. At least five nights out of seven Merle spends tucked up with him, it’s only the odd one here and there that he doesn’t. And even if they don’t get to fuck, chances are Merle will crawl into bed with him at some point before morning. It’s pretty rare for him to actually spend the whole night with some bar fly.

So compared to him Merle’s a little more normal. Which is part of the reason he tends to keep things to himself. He can never really tell if what he likes or feels is socially ok or weird as fuck and blatantly strange. Merle’s the only one he talks too on a regular basis, and while his brothers never gotten angry with him, sometimes he gets confused. Merle doesn’t understand why he thinks the way he does, or why he does certain things in general. Which includes his rather long and confusing list of sexual preferences, kinks, and turn-on’s. Because again, he’s not normal. Of course his sex life has to be as weird as him.

Chapter Text

He loves the way Merle smells. After a shower when he’s still dripping wet and in nothing but a towel, smelling like body wash and something distinctly him. After work when he’s covered in grease and smells like oil and tire rubber. After spending the day in the woods and the suffocating heat, sweat stained shirt clinging to him smelling like thick musk and alpha male. But his absolute favourite is when Merle fucks him. The heady smell of sex, sweat and cum. Merle covered in a thin layer of perspiration, little beads that breakout across his forehead and roll down his face. There’s just something about the prominent scent of his brother that gets him going.

It’s not even a necessarily good smell, at least not to most people. Carols poked at him before for smelling a little ripe himself when dropping into the store after hunting all day. It’s not like a field of flowers, a light smell that’s generally accepted as pleasant. It’s thick and heavy and considered fairly gross by most. He likes it anyways.

It doesn’t take long for Merle to pick up on it, not that he’d have to be a genius to figure it out or anything. Being the good big brother that he is, he’s willing to indulge him. So long as it gets him laid.

——

He’s just finishing up with his bike, putting parts and tools alike away for the night, and getting cleaned up to head inside. It’s been a hot and humid day, the sun scorching down in relentless rays. Too hot for hunting, leaving him home bound on his day off. With everything packed away he heads over and sits down on their front step.

Theres not much to their front patio, they could probably fit two chairs if they’d bother to get some. It could use a new coat of stain, the old coat having lost its colour leaving it a kind of greyish. It’s got a basic railing and three little steps centred with their front door.

He’s just pawing around in his pockets for a pack of cigarettes when he hears the telltale rumble of truck tires on dirt road. Merle’s home. It must be later then he thought if he’s off from work already.

The old truck pulls around the corner faded blue and off white, kicking up a cloud of dust behind it. Merle’s got one arm hanging out the window as he drives with the other, his own cigarette hanging from his fingers. He looks work worn and dirty. He pulls up next to the Triumph and parks. Merle slides out and brings his smoke up for a drawl as he swings the truck door closed. His brothers in a wife beater, the once white fabric stained in both grease and sweat leaving it an off colour. His mechanics coveralls are tied off at the waist, the dark navy blue a stark contrast. Merle finishes off his cigarette and flicks the butt off to the side with a huff.

“It’s too fuckin’ hot out here boy.”

“Hmm.” He stays where he’s sat, unlit smoke dangling from his lips. He should be fumbling around for his lighter, but there’s a bead of sweat making it’s way down Merle’s neck on the right side that’s kinda taken over most of his concentration. It’s leaving a little trail of pale skin behind it, slithering it’s way through a hard days worth of filth that’s no doubt covering Merle head to toe. He has the overwhelming urge to follow the trail it’s left with his tongue. Maybe bury his head into his big brothers neck for a moment and huff up the intoxicating scent. He bet he smells good, filthy and musky and fucking gross. Delicious.

“What’chu starin, at hmm?” Merle’s smirking down at him, arms crossed high on his broad chest. “See somethin’ you like?”

Yeah. Something alright. He can feel the swell starting up behind his zipper already. Normally Merle grabs a quick shower after work while he starts up some grub for the two of them. Maybe if he’s lucky he can get him to postpone, at least until after he’s had his fill. “Might’ve.”

Merle steps forward to lean his weight into the railing next to him, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You wantin’ somethin’?” He’s looming over him all confident and grinning. Merle’s hips are about eye level with him sat down on the steps in front of him. His coveralls are stained in smears of grease, the knees worn and the colour fading.

He grabs his smoke with deft fingers and tucks it up behind his ear, chances are he’ll be wanting it after. He watches Merle from underneath his overgrown hair, the bastard smiling away at him, and promptly buries his face into his brothers crotch. He’s never been much of a talker.

There’s a sharp hiss of breath above that morphs into a dark chuckle. “Yeah, you wantin’ somethin’.” One of Merle’s hands fists into the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair. He’s pulling him closer and grinding his face into his rapidly filling cock below. The smells overpowering. Oil and grease from the shop and the sharp tang of sweat covered balls. Merle’s body’s own concoction of ambrosia made specially for him. “Yeah you like tha’ dont’cha? Dirty fuckin’ bastard tha’ ya are.”

He glances up at him, nose buried in the juncture of his thighs and breathing him in. Merle’s face is flushed from both the heat and something else. His pupils blown wide and eyes narrowed to slits in the evening sunlight.

He nuzzles his face in deeper and groans at the heady scent that fills his sinus’s. He reaches down to palm at his own aching length, the other groping upwards to pull at the knot of Merle’s arm sleeves around his waist. The coveralls eventually come loose with a harsh tug, the excess fabric falling around his hips, leaving the zipper straining to hold the rest up. A quick flick of his wrist rips it down and the rest of the navy blue pools around Merle’s work boots. He’s wearing only a pair of grey underwear beneath it that quickly follows, his cock bobbing free and hard.

“Yer’ just begging for it ain’t’cha lil’ brotha’. Look at ya, practically droolin’ over my cock.” Merle jerks his head back by his hair to look up at him, his other hand palming the side of his face. His thumb follows the contours of his lips before slipping it in between. He suckles greedily, tongue rubbing insistently at the pad of it. It taste as bad as it smells. The bitter taste of grime and dirt that leaves his mouth dry and tart. “Com’ere.”

He’s pulled forward again, Merle’s thumb pulling his mouth down and open. “Tha’s it, go on.” Merle coaches him onto his cock, the spongy head slick with precum. The musky smell of his brother is stronger here without the layers of cloth in between and it leaves him reeling as he swallows him down. He’s fighting with his own zipper as he bobs his head and tongues the vein that runs along the underside of his brothers thick dick. As he finally pulls himself out Merle pushes him down to the hilt with a firm hand on the back of his head. It’s a stretch that leaves him gagging and his eyes watering but he holds himself down even when Merle lets up. He drags his nose through Merle’s pubic hair as his eyes practically roll back into his head.

“Fuckin’ hell, yeah like tha’.” Merle groans deep in his chest as his hips pull back just to thrust forward again, cockhead nudging down his throat. “Just like tha’.”

Merle smells absolutely, disgustingly amazing. He twist his hand up and around the head of his own cock as he chokes away at his brothers. He works fast, head plunging down over and over, his hand working to match the rhythm on himself. There’s the bitter splash of precum coating his tongue as his other hand pushes Merle’s shirt up out of the way. He toys with a nipple, rolling the hardened little bud between his fingers as Merle continues to buck and moan above him. It’s not much longer before Merles thrusts become shorter and faster, quick shallow pumps of his hips.

“Gonna cum boy, you fuckin’ swallow.” Merle clamps one hand over the other at the back of his skull and holds him down as his cock pulses. He sucks hard and swallows around the thick cock wedged between his lips till it stops. Merle’s gasping for breath when it does and leaning back against the railing of their front patio. His brothers cock is still half hard but deflating where it rest against his thigh. His own is still painfully hard and throbbing in his grip. “Get up ‘ere.”

He stumbles to his feet, his pants slipping down his thighs to his calves. Merle grabs him by the arm and pulls him in, one of his thighs sliding between his own. Merle tosses one of his hands up behind his head, baring his arm pit thats slick with perspiration, the wife beater below it soaked. His brother tangles his other hand into his hair and drags him forward, smothering his face into his pit. “Ya’ like tha’? Hey lil’ brotha’?”

His face is damp and surrounded by the sweet musky scent of his brother, a high pitched moan pulling itself from his throat. He humps into the bulging thigh wedged into the apex of his own. His cock drags over sweat covered skin as he licks into the salty warmth of Merle’s under arm. He’s huffing in Merle’s scent and thrusting hard into him when he cums, shooting up between their stomachs and making a damn mess. He gulps for air as Merle pulls him out to rest against his chest, his other arm coming down to rub at his back. “Yeah, there ya’ go.”

Here, circled within Merle’s arms, both of them filthy and stated he feels safe. Wrapped up tight and guarded. Merle’s lips brush his forehead as his own peck at his collar bone.

“I’m fuckin’ hungry.”

Chapter Text

Merle’s generally a lazy son of a bitch. Sure, he’ll work when he absolutely has to, or if it means he’s gonna get something good out of it. But for the most part he’s content to sit back and let somebody else take care of things. Granted there’s a few, very few, things that he likes to handle himself. For example, nobody touches Merle’s bike but Merle.

Daryl takes care of his own. He keeps up on the maintenance and anything else that might need doing, and the one time he tried to take care of Merle’s, he’d just about eaten dirt. Merle’s lazy but he takes care of what’s his. He can be picky too. If there’s something he wants done a certain way and your not doing it right, he’ll step in. Overall though he’s pretty lazy and more then willing to let someone else do the heavy lifting.

Which leaves Daryl doing most of the chores. It’s not like he really minds, he likes doing mundane things. Washing dishes and throwing in a load of laundry is pretty easy and it has a way of making him feel useful. However, it’d be nice to not have to do all of it, all the time. He cleans, he cooks, he hunts the food to cook, it’s like he’s a damn housewife. So while his Saturday is filled with this that and everything else, Merle spends most of it on the couch.

——

Stepping in through their back door is a relief after spending the last couple hours out checking snares. He’s got four rabbits strung up by their feet hanging over one shoulder and his crossbow over the other. The rabbits get tossed into the sink to get cleaned up in a bit, their beady eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling. They need to be properly gutted and the fur removed but for now he needs a break. Just five minutes to rest his eyes and relax.

He props his crossbow against the wall leading into the living room and makes his way over towards their old recliner. Throwing himself down into the worn cushion with a huff and propping his feet up on the little coffee table, he settles in.

Merle’s to the side of him, splayed out on the couch from one end to the other. He’s in nothing but his underwear, not that Daryl can blame him with the heat wave sweeping through. With one hand tucked back behind his head and the other low on his stomach, he snores. His head is lolled back and mouth open, fingers twitching against his skin. Merle’s due for another hair cut. Little ringed curls are just staring to form, curling around the edges of his ears. It makes his scowl of a face look younger, not as ornery or mean. Merle’s a fit man despite his laziness. Work keeps him in shape from hauling things around and what labour he does manage to do around the house. His limbs are toned and strong, he’s a stocky kind of guy, always has been.

Daryl shifts lower in his seat and starts picking at a hangnail as he watches Merle sleep. Let’s his eyes wander over each plane and dip of his brothers body. He’s watched it change over the years, no doubt the same as Merle’s watched his. He knows each scar, knows what touches bring pain and miserable memories best left forgotten. He knows what touches Merle likes best too. He knows Merle don’t mind kissing, especially if it’s filthy, but he doesn’t like him kissing at his neck. Hasn’t figured out why, just knows that he don’t like it. He could kiss him head to toe if he wanted, just not there. He knows Merle likes getting blowed, what guy doesn’t? But he isn’t so keen on returning the favour. Jackass.

Thinking of Merle always leads to him thinking of other things. To the people in town who whisper about him being sexually inept, here’s a big ole middle finger to you. The problem isn’t that he can’t or that he won’t, it’s just that the wrong person does it for him. Cause it’s only ever been Merle. Literally. Merle’s the only one he’s ever slept with, period.

Merle’s shifts in his sleep with a grunt and a sigh before settling again. Watching Merle move drawls his attention back down to the juncture of his legs, his thin briefs disguising nothing.

Daryl drops his hand down from his mouth to his lap, his fingers twisting a loose thread. He shouldn’t. His hand drifts over his own bulge, finger tips just grazing against the material of his pants. Merle’s a heavy sleeper but he could still wake up, could catch him in the act. Would probably give him hell for it. Or help him out. He digs his thumb in at the thought, rubbing the head of his cock into the meat of his thigh. He’s half hard already, blood pumping and filling it out. With a last glance at his brothers face to confirm that yes, he’s still asleep, he pulls his button loose and tugs down his zipper. The rip of it sounds ridiculously loud to his own ears but Merle snores on, none the wiser. His chest continues to rise and fall at a languid rate, breathe drifting out between his lips.

Thin lips that would look perfect wrapped ‘round his cock, sucking him off and swallowing his cum. He pushes his pants down his thighs, his cock bouncing out into the open air. Wrapping a hand around his length he gives a slow rolling pull that leaves him throbbing. Merle sighs and Daryl answers with his own.

He sets an easy pace. He doesn’t want to get caught but he doesn’t want it to end too quick either. Playing with fire, toeing the line. Part of him hopes Merle catches him, the other half dreads it. What would Merle think, waking up to him sat not three feet away jerking himself off? Would he scoff and laugh? Get mad? Or would he call him a slut? Maybe pull his own cock out and order him down on his knees. Or maybe he’d just sit back and watch, make him put on a show while Merle jerks his own cock ‘til he cums.

The distinct sound of skin on skin fills the room as his pace slowly picks up, growing more and more desperate for relief the more he thinks. He runs a finger along the underside of his cock, feels the pump of veins beneath his skin and hums deep in his chest. He takes his hand and licks it before thumbing precum off the head and covering himself in slick heat. There’s the electric zing of pleasure up his spine, the muscles in his thighs jumping.

He’s still looking. Eyes hungrily taking in Merle’s body, his arms, his chest, the bulge stretching the fabric of his briefs. He glances up at his face, to check, to make sure he’s still out. Merle’s face is lax in sleep, he thinks about covering it with his cum. Imagines thick ropes of white trailing across his face. Pictures Merle startling awake to him stood over him, fist flying over his cock as it pulses.

“Fuck” he hisses, still quiet, he has to be quiet. “Oh Merle, shit.” He’s close, his cock throbbing in his grasp. He works his length in short quick tugs focusing on the head and the sensitive underside. He can feel it building, his balls pulling up as his orgasm approaches. He scrambles for his shirt, grabbing the edge and yanking it up his chest. His hips jolting forward in little thrusts as he cums with his cock aimed up at his stomach. It streaks across his abdomen and pools in his bellybutton, leaving him a jittering gasping mess. “Fuckin’ hell.”

The couch groans as Merle rolls over with his face tipped up to look at him, eyes squinted and drowsy. “What’chu doin’?” His voice sleep laced and rough.

Dammit.

Merle frowns. His face scrunching up into confusion that morphs to disbelief as he finally processes what he’s seeing. He stares. It’s a moment that seems to last a lifetime as Daryl sits covered in his own cooling cum. “Ya’ fuckin’ jerk off while I’m sleepin’?”

“Mmmm.” Can’t deny it. Not when the proofs staring them both in the face. Doesn’t mean he’s gonna admit to it out loud though.

Merle rubs the sleep out of his eyes with a huff. “You didn’t think ta’ wake me?”

He kinda did, just not the way Merle would have probably preferred to be woken. Sure, Merle wouldn’t have a problem waking up to his cock getting sucked. He’d possibly have an issue with Daryl nudging his own cock against his lips though.

“Didn’t think about ole Merle wantin’ some fun, now did’ja?”

Course not. He can’t think about asking Merle for help around the house, but he should think about getting him off? Fucksakes, he’s such an ass. “Maybe if ya’d get off yer’ lazy ass I’d a thought about you a little more.”

“Psssh” Merle flips him off with a wave of his hand. “What, you my lil’ girlfriend now? Gonna make me jump through hoops just to get laid?”

“That ain’t what I meant.” He pulls his shirt down, fuck the mess he needs to do more laundry anyways, then sets about putting himself away and zipping up. “Just sayin’ is all.”

“Yeah, well fuck off.” He flips over to face the back of the couch like a sulking toddler told he can’t have candy before dinner.

“Man, you wanna get all pissy, fine. I fucking do everything round here, least you can do is fuckin’ appreciate it.” He hauls himself to his feet and makes for the hallway. If Merle wants to be a jackass, he can too. Fucker can clean the rabbits himself and make his own supper for once.

“Ya’ go ahead and throw a bitch fit, it ain’t hard for me to find somewhere else to stick my dick.”

That one makes him pause just outside the door to his room. That fucking stings. He knows Merle takes a lot of what he does for granted, but is that all he is? Just his stupid little brother that happens to be an easy lay? Too inept to get it anywhere else?

Well jokes on him. Fucker wants to test him, he’ll show him. New plan. He’s getting changed and he’s going out. If Merle can get his dick wet, so can he.

Chapter Text

So things don’t go exactly to plan. He gets cleaned up and changed, walks right past Merle and out their front door, he even makes sure to slam it behind him. He hops on his bike, revs it up and peels out heading for the nearest bar.

It’s only as he’s pulling up that he realizes the major flaw to his plan. He has no fucking clue what he’s doing. Sure he’s gone to bars before, mostly when Merle drags him out of the house but still. He knows how to order a drink and sit pretty up at the bar, or well, slouch is more accurate. So that’s what he starts with. He orders himself a beer and he sits. He drinks. Then he kinda sits some more. Basically that’s as far as his first outing goes. Eventually he chickens out and drags his sorry ass home. Merle doesn’t even spare him a glance when he gets back. Like he doesn’t even mildly suspect that Daryl’s been up to anything.

So he trudged back to his room and locked his door. Cause fuck Merle if he thinks he’s getting back in here anytime soon, and flops face first into bed. He spends the rest of the night feeling like a sorry sack of shit and vows to try again tomorrow.

——

Daryl’s been acting fucking weird and it’s starting to piss him off. First he starts that bullshit about chores and helping out around the house. As if he doesn’t pay for most of the shit they have. Then he throws a fit and locks himself in his room for an hour, like he’s some whiny ass chick on the rags. All of this after jerking off to his comatose body, (not that he particularly cares about that all too much). Then he has the nerve to slam his way out their front door and fuck off for another two hours on his bike, only to come back and close himself off in his room for the rest of the night. Acting like a fucking rebellious teenager or some shit. Doesn’t even make him any dinner.

Well if Daryl wants to act like he’s fourteen again he can go right ahead, he’s not giving into his pathetic attempts to rule the roost.

——

The day after shit went down he picks up a gal right after work, doesn’t even go home, just straight to her place. It’s quick and easy, no strings, just the way he likes it. She’s just some brunette with decent boobs and a wet cunt. Turns out she’s a squealer and he wants to fucking gag her. He settles for pushing her head down into her pillow and try’s not to smother her instead. After, he remembers her face and name as best he can and adds it to the ever growing list of women to avoid.

His three main rules, wrap his dick, loose their number and never give his own, and most importantly never double tap. One and done honey.

He heads home an hour and a half late, grabbing food on the way cause Daryl’s probably still in a pissy mood and not cooking. Except, Daryl’s not home when he gets there. Must be out hunting, blowing off steam. He eats, watches some shitty low budget movie on tv and fucks off to bed. If he happens to hear Daryl come home half past eleven and wonders where the fuck he could have been, he keeps it to himself.

Four days later he starts getting, mildly, just mildly, concerned. Daryl’s never home. Well, not never, but hardly. Which is weird cause Daryl’s always home. Little brother gets off work an hour, sometimes two hours before him in the evenings. Which means foods usually waiting for him and the house is relatively clean when he gets home.

There’s no food, and the house is a little bit of a mess. It’s not the pigsty they grew up in but it’s getting a little cluttered. Leftover containers are left out on the counter, which he’ll admit are his. There are dishes left in the sink and clothes not washed, it’s like Daryl’s just dropped every chore he’s ever done. Which is bullshit. Merle doesn’t even know how the fucking washer works.

Their gonna need more groceries soon or Merle’s gonna have to live on take out, cause how the fuck is he supposed to know what they need, or where to get it? Daryl’s the one that actually looks at the damn flyers they get in the mail, he’s the one that figures out what their gonna eat based on what they can afford. He just eats what’s put in front of him.

Their getting low on coffee too and fuck if he’s going to Starbucks in the mornings. The hells a grande? Large? And if that’s large then what the fuck is a tall? What’s wrong with fucking small, medium, and large? Can you even order just a plain black coffee at Starbucks?

Point is, Daryl needs to quit being a little shit and get everything back in order, or he’s gonna kick his ass.

The issue with that threat, is it only works if Merle can find him. Cause again, he’s never fucking home. In fact he’s coming home pretty damn late most nights, or at least late for him. Late enough that Merle must already be asleep because he doesn’t even hear him get home anymore. He knows he didn’t just fall off the face of the planet either. He hears Daryl leave for work in the morning, can see traces that he’s been in the house throughout the day too. A coffee mug here, a hunting knife there, more meat added to the freezer from a hunt. Sometimes hearing him in the shower, or catching a glimpse of him out among the trees. He’s here, but he’s not.

The first time he try’s Daryl’s door and finds it locked, he’s floored. It’s late, real fucking late and he knows Daryl just got home cause he fucking heard him. The little bastard can hear him outside his door too, he just knows it. Fine. He goes back to bed without a word.

The next day He’s home long enough to change and then he books it to the bar and picks up the first willing girl he sees. He’s got other outlets, he can outlast Daryl far longer then Daryl can outlast him.

Another six days and three more girls and he’s really fucking pissed. Forget concerned, concerned got thrown out the window. Now he just wants answers. He’s practically out of laundry, the fridge is empty and he hates to admit it but he’s tired of sleeping alone. He could unlock the door to Daryl’s room, easy-peasy. He could open that door and barge in and demand answers. But that would give Daryl the satisfaction of breaking Merle.

So he comes up with a new plan.

Two days later he gets his chance. Works slow, their finished up for the day and when his boss says he can pack it in a whole two hours early, he doesn’t argue. Normally he’d try to stay. True he’s not a fan of actual work, but if he can get his last two hours pay while doing shit all, it’s a win-win.

He goes home. He grabs something to eat from their dwindling supplies and waits in his room when Daryl gets home himself. If he notices Merle’s off early or not he doesn’t know, but Daryl seems to clean up and head out pretty quick. Merle follows. He watches Daryl get on his bike from the window in the door and waits for him to make the turn before heading out himself.

A bar. Daryl’s been hanging out at a god damn bar, and it’s clear to see he’s become a real regular. Merle slips in the main door and slinks along to a booth furthest from the bar where Daryl’s sat. He orders a drink when the little blonde girl who looks too young to even be here let alone working, comes around. Then he sits back and watches.

Daryl seems to just be hanging out. Other then a small comment with the guy behind the bar, or a quick conversation with the blonde between customers, he just sits and drinks. For a second there’s a small ball of cold dread that settles in his stomach. Daryl’s not dad. He’s not.

There’s a commotion outside the front door before it swings open and in walks two of his least favourite people in the world. Shane Walsh and Rick Grimes. Fucking pigs. Their laughing about something as Shane hauls off his jacket and tosses it over the back of a chair. Ricks making his way to the bar and-.

He’s touching Daryl. He just walked up next to him and patted him on the shoulder with a smile like it was the simplest thing in the world. Daryl still flinched, but he’s not swinging at him. Sure he’s a cop, even he’s not stupid enough to hit a pig. Still. The grip on his beer bottle grows tight as he glares daggers from his dark corner. It’s about to get worse. He doesn’t realize it yet, if he did at the time he might have left. Saved himself the headache. But he doesn’t so he stays.

It’s a bit of a nicer bar then he’s used too, not a huge difference but a clear level up. They serve finger foods here which is definitely something he likes and could get used to. There’s a section of the space that’s open, a dart board on one wall and a pool table set up near the other end. Because alcohol and flying sharp things makes sense. The tables are clean along with the floor and the drinks aren’t too expensive. The beers cheap and that’s good enough for him.

Ricks picked up a pitcher of beer that he’s hauling back to the pool table where Shane waits, two glasses in his other hand. Good. Fuck off.

Daryl follows him. He just slips off his stool at the bar, taking his glass with him and trots after Rick. At first he has the vain hope that Daryl’s going for the darts, he’s just gonna fuck around. Nope. He walks right up to the table and nods at Shane as if they fucking know each other too and grabs a stick. Then shit gets even weirder.

Little blondy steps out from behind the bar, leaving her note pad and pen behind and trots after them too. Shane hands her a stick and Rick gives her a smile. Daryl racks up and their off. It’s Rick and Shane vs Daryl and whoever the chick is. Betty? It begins with a B he knows it does, remembers seeing it on her little name tag.

He wants to break every single one of her perfect little white teeth. If he was pissed about the pigs he’s damn right furious with her. Rick and Shane are bad enough, that somehow Daryl’s gone and made friends with the shit-sticks that arrest him blows his mind. Barely legal makes him wanna paint the floors red. She’s giggling at whatever Shane’s spewing and bending over to take a shot, her pert little ass sticking out behind her. Any other day and Merle would just be another guy taking a look. Except he’s not.

Daryl’s watching her too. He’s not ogling her, not staring at her ass or her cute little pair of tits, but he is watching and anybody who can hold Daryl’s attention for any length of time is not on his friend list. Because it used to be him and only him that could hold Daryl’s attention for more then five minutes. But here he is. In a bar. With people. Friends. And by rights he should be happy for him, Daryl’s interacting with people. He’s somehow integrating himself into society when Merle was convinced he’d be a forest hermit for life. Fucking yippee. He hates it.

The game continues on and Daryl stays oblivious to the fact that he’s here. People keep touching him, and the more it happens throughout the night, the less he flinches. It pisses Merle off even more. Daryl’s his. His little brother. His, whatever they are. They have no fucking right touching up on him like their doing.

If there’s one good thing about sitting through all the bullshit it’s getting to watch Daryl. His little brothers built with wide shoulders and a tapered waist, something he’s always liked about him. Gives him something to hold onto either way. Thick arms from lugging around that crossbow all day, and tanned skin just begging to be licked. Watching him lean over that pool table and line up a shot leaves him half hard.

It’s been forever since he’s taken Daryl to bed. Sure he’s had his fill from other sources, but thats different. It’s not him. He wants him. Wants to see the way he squirms under him, feel the tight heat that no girl let’s him near, watch the way his face goes when he cums.

Beth, that’s her name he remembers, heads up to the bar to grab a refill on the pitcher. It’s a slower night, a Wednesday. No wonder she can manage to take a break for a game of pool. Slimy bitch. She looks so young. He’d be real cautious picking up tail that looks like that, jail bait. But Rick and Shane are cops and they apparently, along with Daryl know her. So she’s gotta be legal. She heads back to the table with the pitcher in tow and a glass of whatever the hell Daryl’s drinking.

Daryl gives her a little nod as she hands it over and she smiles and flips her hair back over a shoulder. Makes his blood boil. He can’t hear what she’s saying but he can see the way her hand lingers on Daryl’s forearm, the way she tilts her head and the flirty little smile. Can see the way Shane nudges Rick and fucks up his shot to nod over at them with a smirk. Can see Rick roll his eyes with a grin and pour himself another drink. And best of all, there’s not a damn thing he can do about it.

He can’t just walk over there, sling an arm over Daryl’s shoulders, or push him back into the wall and kiss the shit out of him, stake his claim. He can’t tell the bitch to go climb another tree, that this ones occupied. Can’t slug her in the face, one because he don’t hit women, and two she’s stood right next to a set of cops. Can’t even just walk over as Daryl’s brother, interject himself into the conversation and eventually drag him home. He knows he wouldn’t be welcomed, knows what most people think of him. Used to know what people thought of Daryl too but apparently things change. So he sits in his shadowy corner of fucking depressing anger and drinks.

Eventually they finish off the last match. Rick and Shane win overall, not that he’s really paying all that much attention. Bethy-Mc-Bitch goes back to work or whatever and the pigs get ready to head home. Daryl slinks off down a hall towards the bathrooms and Merle can’t help but chase after him.

Little brothers pissing like a race horse at a urinal when he slips inside and lets the door close quietly behind him. He lets him finish up, watches him shake off and tuck himself away and delights in scaring the ever loving shit out of him when he turns around.

“Jesus fuck Merle, what the hell?!” Daryl flinches back so hard he nearly cracks his head off a stall door. His cheeks are flushed in that way that means he’s tipsy but nowhere near drunk. Good, means he would have been fine driving home. Last thing he needs to worry about is scraping his remains off the damn road.

“Heya Darlena” he leans back against the door with his arms crossed, let’s his eyes take their fill of him. “How was your little date huh?”

“The fuck ya’ talk’n ‘bout? Ain’t on no date.” Daryl huffs all surly and pissed.

“What, little miss blondy not putting out? Shame that is, bet she’s got a real tight-.”

Daryl steps forward, chest puffed out like he’s ready for a fight and cuts him off with a snarl. “Beth ain’t some little whore Merle, best watch your mouth.”

Oh shit. Don’t tell him Daryl’s actually, no he wouldn’t, couldn’t. He’s not fucking dating her or some shit, he can’t be. How long has it been since they’ve slept in the same bed? Since they’ve fucked? It hasn’t been that long, no more then two weeks. Which sure yeah, that’s a lot longer then they’ve ever gone, but fuck. Daryl wouldn’t just move on, much less that fucking quick, right? Daryl’s his. He can’t walk away, he can’t just fucking loose him.

Something must show on his face because Daryl seems to wilt instead of swinging at him. “Merle the hell ya’ doin’ here? You picking up some chick?”

For once the thought bothers him. No he’s not, he’s not here for anybody but Daryl. He doesn’t want some bar hussy, he wants his brother back. Wants him home cooking supper and bitching about laundry. Wants to see him coming home from a hunt and looking proud as a peacock. Wants to twist the doorknob to his room and it not be locked. To get to crawl into bed with him and bundle him up in his arms even if he still smells like someone else, and replace it with the scent of him. He just wants him.

“Nah. Ain’t no girl.”

Daryl’s watching him with tired but questioning eyes. “The fuck ya’ here for then?”

“You.”

It’s a bad idea. Chances are Daryl’s gonna smack him rather then let him and their in a fucking bar bathroom, anybody could come walking in the door at any second. He steps over to him anyways and crowds him in against the outside wall of the bathroom stall. Daryl’s watching him from underneath his bangs, hair so overgrown at this point it almost reaches his shoulders. It looks good on him.

“What’chu doin’ Mer’?” Daryl’s hushed breath smells like whiskey and smoke.

He knows what he wants to do, he’s just wondering if Daryl’s gonna let him. He’s not touching him yet but his fingers itch too. He braces them against the wall to either side of Daryl’s face, framing him in between his arms and leaning in closer.

Being practically nose to nose means he gets to see Daryl’s eyes up close and personal. It’s the prettiest shade of blue he’s every seen, not a damn thing like it anywhere else in world. Most of the time Daryl’s got them hidden behind a wall of bangs, blocking the world out and refusing to let them in. He traces his brothers face with his eyes. He still looks so young, especially when he’s shaved. Face clean and clear with full lips a pretty shade of pink and his sweet lil beauty-mark.

“Merle?”

Hell, he could just kiss him stupid, steal the breath from his very lungs and bask in its heady flavour of smoke. So he does. He cocks his head to the side and surges forward to slot their lips together. The taste of whiskey on his tongue as it tangles with Daryl’s is divine. It’s been too long. Little brothers grasping at him, fistfuls of his shirt getting twisted up in his hands. He’s so sweet like this, lips kiss swollen and wet with his pretty lil eyes blinking up at him. He slots a thigh between his legs and watches Daryl’s hips hitch into the pressure, can feel his growing need through the layers of denim that separates them.

“Look at’cha, don’t you make a damn fine sight.” He says it because it’s true, but mainly cause he gets to watch Daryl’s face flush. The way he can’t meet his eyes, how it makes him squirm as his skin dapples a fine shade of red. Little brother never could take a compliment. “All for me, ain’t it Darlena?”

“Ain’t your plaything mer.”

He’d believe him if he wasn’t so breathless, his hard cock digging into his thigh.

Daryl’s apparently pissy about shit still though, and that’s just not gonna fly. He needs to come home where he belongs and more importantly away from blonde-bimbos with pairs of pretty little tits. So fine, he’s gotta do some persuading. If sweet talking him isn’t gonna work, he’ll just try something else.

His laziness generally follows him into what ever situation he gets in. Now sex is fun. He gets plenty out of it, and he’s not a complete ass that leaves his partner high and dry. He just doesn’t wanna work that hard for it. Sure if he’s fucking some chick and she wants him rubbing at her fun-button, that’s fine and dandy. Yeah eating a gal out can be fun sometimes too, but he’s not gonna spend an extended period of time at it. That takes effort.

Daryl’s easy. Hell, half the time it’s like he gets off on getting him off. Which is great, it means he doesn’t have to do as much. But if he’s gonna get Daryl home, he’s gonna have to work for it apparently. Fucksakes.

He slips a hand in between the two of them and works at getting Daryl out. He’s thick like him but just a tad shorter, his foreskin pulled back to reveal the slick spongy head. He drops down to the tiled floor of the bathroom and pushes at Daryl’s legs to get him to spread them. His cock bobbing out from the flare of his open jeans, precum beading at his slit, now eye level.

The little shit better appreciate this, his fucking knees are gonna kill him tomorrow.

Wrapping a hand around the base he swallows him down. There’s the sharp tang of precum and the underlying musk of piss. Right, bathroom. Forgot that. He’s never really done this. He knows what he likes and he’s got a pretty good idea of how it all works, but actually doing it all is a bit different.

He bobs his head taking more of his brothers length, mindful of his teeth, and works the rest with his fist. If Daryl thinks he’s gonna deep throat him, the answers fuck no and he can get over it. Bad enough he’s doing this now, little brother starts to want more and he can kiss his ass. Fucking hell, he better not go expecting this kinda thing all the time either. He tongues at the head, lapping up precum and watching Daryl fall apart in front of him.

Daryl’s panting down at him, one hand reaching out to paw at Merle’s head. If the fucker try’s to push him down he just might bite. Just a little. He settles for growling at him deep in his throat, which is kinda counter productive as that just makes his hips surge forward. Daryls cock head rams the back of his throat and with a hand at the back of his head it takes a second to pull off. Gagging on dick is not how he wants to go out.

“Fuuuck Merle.” Daryl grabs himself with his other hand, fist working over his length as he steadies Merle’s head and-.

“Don’t you fucking dare!”

Daryl groans and he’s got just enough time to close his eyes before little brothers cumming across his face. He can feel the wet splatter of it as it streaks over the bridge of his nose and down his chin, probably up in his fucking hair too.

Mother. Fucker.

He risks opening the one eye he knows isn’t covered and glares up at him as best he can. It’s not very effective if Daryl’s shit eating grin is anything to go by. Not that he really expected it to be, considering he’s covered in cum on the floor of a bar fucking bathroom.

“We headin’ home now mer?” He’s still panting for breath, his cock hanging out and partially hard.

Little shit.

Chapter Text

They never have to worry about buying candy for trick-or-treating kids on account of the fact that their so far outside of town. Plus, what parents gonna bring their kids to the Dixon’s for candy? So on one hand, they save money and on the other, they get left the hell alone. It’s a fucking win-win. Hell, the only reason he knows today’s Halloween at all is cause of Rick.

It’s Judith’s first real year experiencing it, you know, now that she can actually walk and talk. She even picked out her own costume. Why the almost four year old girl wanted to be a dinosaur, specifically a stegosaurus, is anyone’s guess but she’s happy. Ricks wallet might not be, and fucking hell, why is that shit so expensive? The kids literally only gonna wear it once.

Back to the main point.

Halloween isn’t a big deal in the Dixon house hold. They don’t decorate or pick out ridiculously priced costumes. Daryl stops by the grocery store last minute and snags some discount candy for themselves but that’s about it. They might watch a horror movie or two, squished together on the couch, but yeah, pretty uneventful.

So he’s a bit perplexed but the whole situation he’s currently in.

Daryl had gotten off work, bought a box of some multipack chocolate bars and a tub of gummies, and gone the hell home.

How he ended up pinned, facing the countertop in the kitchen, by Merle, who’s in the tightest male cop costume he’s ever seen in his life, is anyone’s guess really.

The black fabric of the collared top is pulled tight across the width of his brothers shoulders, no sleeves, and a badge on one side of his chest. He even tucked it in. Black pants with a thick black belt, and shiny black dress shoes too. He hadn’t bothered with the hat but it’s sitting over by the stove, black as well, and POLICE in bold white letters.

“You’ve been a bad, bad boy Dixon.”

It should be cringy. Down right awkward and embarrassing. It’s cheesy as all hell and his cocks hard as fuck over it.

Because despite how cheesy it is, Merle’s fucking hot.

He has a fleeting thought about how much that damn costume cost, cause based on the quick glimpse he’d gotten, it’s damn well made. Then Merle’s gripping his hands a little tighter and breathing into his ear.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you been up to. Think you can just get away with it? Nah, boy. Spread em.”

Merle steps back from him and kicks his feet further apart, forcing his legs to spread. He leaves his hands braced on the lip of the counter where Merle left them. Its hard to tell what Merle’s planning but he’s up for where ever this leads.

He jolts a bit at the first rough touch as Merle starts a pat down. Their both familiar enough with the routine for it to seem fairly realistic. Merle even goes as far as to empty out his pockets and toss whatever he finds onto the counter beside him. Loose change and a crumpled receipt.

“Your under arrest boy, gonna drag you down to the station. Have you locked up faster then you can blink.”

Merle’s digging into his pocket again, as if there’s anything left to find, and ends up groping his dick instead. Bastard knows he hangs to the left.

“Wha’chu hiding, huh?” There’s a smirk to his tone. He damn well knows what he’s doing.

“Nothin’. Ain’t hidin’ nothin’.” It takes everything in him to bite his lip and stifle any noise. If Merle wants to hear him, he can work for it. Although the way he’s rubbing at the head of his cock through the lining of his pocket is making it kind of difficult.

“Ya’ lying to me now? Tha’ how we playin’ this?”

“No sir.”

The hitch in Merle’s breath is worth the mild humiliation, even if it leaves his cheeks flushed and forces him to duck his head down. The quick squeeze to his throbbing cock is just a bonus. His hips jolt forward in response, seeking more. More friction, more of that tightness.

Merle pulls his hand out of his pocket with a huff, as if he’s annoyed, and palms him hard through the front of his jeans instead. “Wha’s this then, huh?”

Son of a bitch. He can feel the bite of his zipper through his underwear, the rough pull of denim too. He thrusts forward, pinning Merle’s hand between the lower cupboards of their kitchen and his own aching length. Manages to get a good few rolls of his hips in before Merle’s wrenching his hand out and grabbing him by the back of his neck. He doesn’t let him hit his head, but Merle bends him forward with force until his forehead his flush with the counter.

“Your a little shit aren’t ya’? Hey, boy? Think your smart?”

He can feel Merle’s heat along his back, knows that if he pushed back just a little further they’d be flush in all the right places. “No sir.”

Merle’s breath stutters against the back of his neck. One hand curling into his hair, fingers flexing. The other reaches around to grab his arm and twist it up behind him.

With his chest braced across the counter and one arm immobilized behind him, there’s not much he can do. Legs spread wide, bent over and panting for breath he’s already been made a bitch. For all of Merle’s comments and macho bullshit, he knows his brother won’t look down on him for it. They both want this.

There’s a rattle of metal, a quick fumble by Merle and then something thin and cool is slipping around the wrist held high on his back. It doesn’t take a genius to guess what it is. His brother really went all out for this shit. Then his other arm is being hauled back and he’s handcuffed. He pulls his wrist apart as far as he can just to test them. They hold solid. Metal rings cutting in just enough to pinch.

“There. Ain’t gettin’ away now, are ya’? Gonna behave now?”

Merle could keep him here all night if he wanted. One of the few times he’s got any kind of patience is when he’s got him like this. But it’s been a damn long day, and as much as he’s enjoying this he kinda wants to flake out on the couch and fall asleep watching some shitty horror flick. Means he’s got to speed up the process a bit is all.
Instead of answering he pushes back into Merle’s groin, ass grinding into the impressive hard on of his brother.

Merle grunts and there’s a split second pause before he’s moving.

He hears it. The sharp crack, even with the layers of clothes. It doesn’t really sting either, doesn’t really hurt.

Merle wouldn’t hurt him.

And he didn’t, not really. But they’ve never done that. Not like this, not with this, when their doing things they shouldn’t be. Sure they’ve fought before, sometimes with fists more then words. That was before they started all this.

Merle’s hand still rests, hot and heavy against his ass. Like he’s frozen stiff and can’t comprehend the fact the he just spanked him.

The thought sends a weird kind of heat down through him. It’s twisted. He shouldn’t get off on Merle hitting him, especially after everything they’ve been through. But this is different, right? Merle wouldn’t hurt him, wouldn’t beat him. It’s not like that. He’s not their drunken father, he’s Merle. His big brother who isn’t perfect but tries in his own weird way.

Merle still hasn’t moved and that’s just not gonna fly. He pushes his hips back into his hand, just a little at first and then harder when it doesn’t get much of a reaction. “Ya’ just gonna stand there officer? Thought you was supposed to be reading my rights? Where’s my phone call?”

“Jesus.” It’s a rush of air, pure relief, and Merle kinda leans into him, all tension dropped.

He’s got to get Merle back into this, cause it’s fine. Their good. It’s good. Rolling his hips back into him, he’s hard, but not as hard as he was. It’s a start. “C’mon officer, can treat ya’ real good if ya’ let me off the hook this time.”

There’s a breathy laugh at his back and Merle’s pulling him close again. Arms wrapping around his torso, his hands still cuffed at the small of his back. There’s the shadow of a kiss to the back of his head and Merle’s raspy voice in his ear. “Yea, gon’ be real good for me aint’cha?”

“Hmm, yes sir.”

“Good boy.”

Merle pulls him up right and against his chest. There’s a hand working up under his shirt, up over his naval and through his sparse chest hair to pinch and tease at his nipple. Merle’s other hand is pulling at his belt, working the worn leather open. Then it’s the button and his zipper and finally his poor cock can breathe. Merle pushes his pants down out of the way along with his underwear as he nips and sucks along his jawline. He can feel him good and hard against his backside as they rock against one another.

“Stay put, no funny business, got it?” Merle’s pulling away before he can really respond and getting something from the table by the sound of it.

Sure enough, he’s back quick and dropping a bottle of lube on the countertop. There’s a hand fisting into his hair and he’s being shoved forward again, chest down and ass out. “Don’t ya’ move.”

“I won’t sir.” He’s too worked up to be embarrassed but his face heats anyways. Don’t matter, not like Merle can see.

The hand leaves his hair and it’s picking up the bottle and there’s the click of the cap. There’s the wet squelch of it as Merle works it with his fingers before they dip down to slip between his cheeks. A warm and wet finger traces his entrance before sliding in with ease. Their practiced. They know each other’s bodies well. It’s not long before a second joins the first and Merle’s being an asshole and doing his best to avoid his prostate. The stretch of being prepped is leaving him panting and rutting back for more, cock heavy and leaking precum between his thighs.

“Tha’s it boy, shit, you want this bad dont’cha?”

He nods his head in quick little jerks and moans as Merle twists his fingers deeper. His arms are starting to burn with the way their held behind him, shoulders protesting the pull. His harsh breathing and the slick noise of lube fill the air around them.

“Don’t worry, ole’ Merle’s got ya’.”

Merle’s pulling out of him and he doesn’t mourn the lost of his fingers at all cause he knows what follows. There’s the clink of Merle’s belt buckle, the shuffling of clothes hauled open and the squirt of more lube. There’s the groan as Merle works over his own length briefly before the blunt head of his cock nudges his entrance. The stretch, the slight burn, the slide and the impossible feeling of being full.

“Fuck mer,” he’s breathless and moaning, leaning back for more. “Come on, fuck please.”

“Shh I got’cha.”

The drag over his prostate as Merle starts to pull out only to slam back in. Over and over, no time to adjust. The slap of skin on skin and their moans spill out into the room. He can’t jerk his own cock with his arms pulled back like they are, but he might be able to come from Merle fucking him alone. It’s not often that he can but he just might tonight.

“Fuck, look at ya’. Fucking drooling over my cock aren’t ya’?”

“Want it mer, want it so fucking bad.” His dicks dripping down onto the floor of their kitchen, with every swing of their hips. He’s not far off from cumming either, can feel it building, almost there just needing something to tip him over. Then he has a thought. He’s not sure why, and he hasn’t even though it through before its spilling out. “Fuck, want, w-want ya’ to smack me.”

Merle doesn’t pause, but it fucks up his rhythm. Hips stuttering along with his laboured breathing and fingers gripping at his waist hard enough to bruise. “God damn boy.”

His thrusts grow faster but messy, uncoordinated. One hand leaves his waist and there’s a slight pause before his hands coming down. It’s not as hard as the first one, isn’t hard at all by Merle’s standards, but without the protection of clothes there’s a sting to it.

He moans loud and clear and rams back against Merle because it’s fucking good. It’s wrong but it’s good and this isn’t hurting him. The second one is harder, firmer, louder.

“Ya’ like tha’ lil’ brother? Yeah?”

He nods and nods, breath hitching and groans when Merle does it again. Again and again leaving his ass hot and probably a fine shade of red. Each smack echos in the quiet of the room and sends a flare of pleasure down his spine. “Mer, fuck mer.”

Merle grabs him by the hip and reaches down with his other hand. Grip hot and tight on his twitching, leaking cock and it’s no more then three pulls when he cums.

He’s shaking and it’s good, it’s good, it’s good. Thick ropes of cum covering the floor between his feet and the door of the cupboard.

“Oh hell Daryl.” And Merle’s cumming too. Jack rabbit thrust as liquid heat fills him. Can feel his cock throb with each pulse before he collapses onto his back, effectively squishing him. “Fuck.”

“Mmm.”

“The hell did I put the keys for those things?”

——

It’s late. His shoulders ache, his ass too, just a little. He’s leaking cum and he’s too lazy and content to really clean up. Here, on the couch watching shitty horror movies where everyone’s a fucking dumbass. Candy wrappers and half a tub of gummies that Merle’s still picking at. Wrapped up tight in Merle’s arms and a blanket, he’s comfy. Merle wearing that stupid cop hat and holding him close. Warm and safe. It’s good. Their good.

Chapter Text

Merle’s bought him a present. Like, genuinely bought, not stolen, a present. For him. Which honestly hasn’t happened very often. His crossbow being one and his first legal drink being the only other one he can think of. So yeah. 

Only issue is, Daryl never asked for anything. 

Especially not this.

“C’mon just this once?” Merle’s pouty lip is so over exaggerated it almost makes him laugh. Except he can’t laugh due to the fact that he’s flushed hot with a good portion of shame and mildly frozen in shock. 

“Promise I won’t ask again.”

Bullshit, that’s a white lie if he ever heard one. Merle will let it lie for a while and then bring it up again just when he finally feels like he’s in the clear. 

“...Mer.” 

“Come one, just once, one time and that’s it. I pinky promise!” He even holds out his left hand, pinky extended and grins. Lips upturned and eyes squinted shut. Makes him look both younger and older at the same damn time. Must be the crows feet that are slowly but surely starting to form on the outer corners of his eyes. 

He’s gonna be so goddamn handsome in his fifties.

Back to the point, which is hanging precariously off Merle’s right index finger. And happens to be baby pink and trimmed in white lace of all things.

“Hell baby, you might even like it.”

His face burns impossibly hotter and he knows he’s gotta look like a prize winning tomato at this point. “...don’t call me baby.”

Merle drops his hand and cocks his head to the side with a look of ‘quit your bullshit.’ “You like it when I call you baby.”

“...no I don’t.”

“Do fucking too, shit boy didn’t I teach you to lie better then that?” 

Merle rolls his eyes and turns around to face their dresser rather then him, perched on the end of their bed where he had previously been trying to fold the fucking laundry. 

Considering it had been sitting in the basket for the last four days he figured it was time for the grand migration to the drawers.

“Look, you don’t wanna that’s fine. I’ve got better things to do then sit here and beg to get laid.” The ‘gift’ slips off his finger and lands in a heap in the top drawer that’s half open and Merle heads for the bedroom door muttering “Ungrateful little-, good money spent.”

Once he's alone Daryl’s not sure what to do. He should probably finish putting away their clothes but he doesn’t do more then push it back into the basket it came out of. Some of it’s still half folded and the rest is crumpled up. It gets kicked aside (for another fours days or more) and he makes his own way over to the dresser. 

It’s a stained wood, dark brown and old, second hand like most of their furniture but it works just fine and that’s what counts. Sure, one of the knobs slowly works itself loose a couple times a year but it’s nothing two minutes and a screwdriver can’t fix. 

And there it is. Folded over itself and still a soft baby pink, sitting to the left side in the top drawer. He stares and it, well, it doesn’t stare back. It’s not like it has eyes, it’s just a damn pair of panties. Baby, pastel fucking pink and white lace-, Jesus fuck it’s got a teeny tiny bow. 

Picking them up, gently because shit, they look so damn delicate. It’s smooth. Not cotton, it doesn’t have that, that shit, dry feeling? Cotton isn’t coarse, but it’s, it’s dry. 

That doesn’t even make any fucking sense.

Okay, but it’s not silk either. It’s gotta be some kind of blend or something-, why the hell is he stuck on that? Who cares what it’s made out of, Merle wants him to wear the damn thing. 

Well.

Okay so he’s less not interested and more, well, more self conscious.

There’s just no damn way he’s gonna look good in something like this. He’s too, too scarred, too rough and not small and dainty and pretty. Hell, would they even fit?

There’s no tag on the waistband like his boxers, just the brand and size printed on the inside. It’s so tiny he can barely read it, and no, his eyes are fine regardless of what anybody says about his inability to read tiny shit. They should just print stuff large enough to read. 

Okay so yeah, based on what he can make out (which is nothing so he holds them up against himself instead) they might just fit. 

Where the hell would his junk go? Like sure, let’s say he hypothetically gets them up over his ass, not that he’s thick as a bowl of oatmeal or anything but still . Where’s all his dangly bits go? Again, fine, it’s no thong or anything but, well. Still . The crotch is small and he’s got balls. 

He ain’t no pre-teen boy, he’s a man. Most of the time he prefers to hang to the side rather than up (disregarding certain situations) and that would probably be his best bet. So he’s gonna look like a dumbass and he gets to be uncomfortable on top of it.

Where the hell did Merle come up with this?

Alright, fine. He’s not stupid, cross-dressing, panties, whatever this situation is he knows it’s a thing. He’s not big on porn but he has seen it. And yeah Merle is more inclined when it comes to dressing for the occasion now that he thinks about it. The skimpy little cop uniform hanging at the back of their closet certainly counts. The fact that it had been joined by a sweet little nurse outfit and the fact that Merle hasn’t realized that he knows it’s there is, well. 

Again, he’s not stupid . He thought that’s what Merle was talking about when he had practically pranced in talking about presents. He thought ‘Sweet, Merle’s ass squeezed into a mini-skirt.’ 

Huh. Shit, Merle’s kinda got a whole thing for that then, doesn’t he? The cross-dressing thing. Or maybe it’s just the dressing up in general but he already knew that. Merle’s never asked him to dress up before unless you count his birthday suit, so that’s a first.

That, kind of makes him feel a little guilty. Merle’s always tagging along and putting up with whatever weird shit gets him off, why can’t he do this for him in return? 

The more he thinks about it the more he wonders why Merle doesn’t want to wear em. He’s always wanting-. Sweet ever loving-, don’t tell him the nurse shits for him?! Is that why Merle hid it? Crap, the panties are some kind of ‘get him used to it and then go for the bigger stuff’ thing isn’t it? And here he was worried about how big an idiot he was gonna look in these, what about-, nope. He’s not going there. 

He drops em back in the drawer and slides it shut and kind of just stands there for a minute. 

He needs a drink.

— —

Merle’s puttering alway in their little shed and he looks anything but happy. He looks pissed if he’s being honest with himself and yeah, there’s that guilt feeling again.

His brothers digging through one of the tool boxes, looking for an actual tool or some small part he doesn’t know which. His brows pulled down almost as much as his mouth leaving him in a concentrated scowl. 

He doesn’t find whatever it is he’s looking for and slams the cover down on the box, apparently only to smash the hell out of one of his fingers. 

He shouldn’t feel guilty for that one . He didn’t do that, Merle did it to himself. But he does . Merle’s having a shit day. Tries to surprise him with a ‘sexy’ gift and hoping for some fun times and he shoots him down and now he’s busted up a finger. 

“Mother fuckin’ bitch!” He’s got one of his hands clasped tightly to his chest, face red in anger and eyes shut tight. Then he promptly kicks out at whatever shits laying about the shed floor. It just so happens to be a milk crate full of scrap bits and pieces that go flying all over the place. Pinging off of this, that, and everything else. 

“Gonna be a bitch to pick that up.”

“Go fuck yourself, asshole.” 

Yeah, Merle’s pissed.

“Com’ere.” 

“No. Fuck you.”

“Merle.” He holds out his hand beckoning him over.

Merle glares at him from the corner of his eye, hand still clutched to his chest. Eventually he deflates, which is better than the alternative. His shoulders hunch in like he’s trying to be smaller and he shuffles over.

“Lemme’ see.” Daryl reaches out and slowly pries his hand away, taking his injured one into his own. His middle finger isn’t broken but it sure looks like it hurts. Gonna be purple tomorrow, might even lose the nail. He’s not bleeding though so there isn’t anything he can do to help. Not that Merle would let him put a bandaid on it anyways. 

He settles for running his thumb over it all gentle like, soothing. He knows it won’t actually do anything, but it’s the thought that counts right?

“Think you’ll live.”

“No shit Sherlock.”

“Mer.”

“What.” Merle doesn’t look at him, just stares don’t at their hands like a sulking kid who didn’t get any cookies. 

“If you wanna-“

“No.”

“You didn’t even let me finish asshole.”

“You don’t wanna and that’s fine. Ain’t makin’ ya.”

“Damn right ya ain’t makin’ me do shit. Just, look if you wanna then...” 

He doesn’t want to, but he doesn’t necessarily not want to either. If Merle wants it then he can suck it up. It’s not like he’s being asked to do some freaky deaky, deep, dark, fetish shit. It’s just panties.

It’s just panties. 

“Daryl, you don’t wanna. It’s fine.”

Merle pulls his hand back and with a sigh bends down to start picking Shit up.

“You do shit for me all the time.”

“That’s different dumbass.”

“How? You go along with what I want all the time.” He steps past Merle to start cleaning up further in, boots scuffing against the concrete flooring. 

“Cause I want to. That’s the difference. You ain’t gotta do shit you don’t want. If I didn’t wanna do it, I wouldn’t.”

True enough. Merle does what he wants when he wants and he doesn’t give two shits what anybody else has to say about it.

“There ain’t been anything you’ve been iffy on? I’m not, not saying no. Alright I’m just, I dunno. It’s a ‘I don’t know if I wanna but maybe-ish’ kind of thing.” 

They tidy up in silence for a minute. Merle mulling something over in his head and just the plinks and pings of things being dropped in the crate fills the quiet. 

“Yeah. I guess there’s been a moment or two where I’ve had to think about something. But I thought about it and it was fine. Same way it’s fine you thought about it  and said no.” 

He stills sounds sulky, put out, disappointed. But at the same time Daryl's kind of surprised.

“Didn’t take you for the not pushy type.” It’s meant as a joke but it makes Merle pause.

“Ya don’t do that shit.” Merle’s watching him, a bolt held between his fingers and face serious. “You don’t make somebody do something like that, not-, you just, don’t. Not if they don’t want it.”

And okay. They’ve never talked consent or any of that kind of stuff. They don’t have deep conversations. Not that ‘have consent before doing things’ is a deep convo, it’s more common fucking sense. And it’s not like he thought Merle would be out doing that kind of thing, or well, nothing past ‘she’s kind of tipsy but still in her right mind’ even though that sounds horrid now that he’s thinking it. Just, if one of his barflies said ‘no’ or changed her mind he knows Merle would back off. Or he’d make a stupid joke and then back off. Cause Merle might be willing to go for ‘shes playing hard to get’ and make a fool of himself but if she said ‘fuck off’ he knows where he’s not wanted. 

“Ya, I know Mer’ ain’t what I meant. Just joking is all.”

Merle nods, fiddles with the bolt before dropping it in the crate and their back to cleaning. 

— —

It’s after, when the sheds clean or less potential things to trip on is probably more accurate , that he brings it up.

“I’m kinda surprised you didn’t want it.”

Merle looks mildly confused as he closes up the door behind them and flips the latch. “Want what?”

“The-, you know, you're the one that likes dressing up and all. Figured you’d of wanted to wear em.” 

Maybe if he hadn't been watching Merle as closely as he had he wouldn’t have noticed. But he was watching him close up the shed, waiting for him so they could head inside together and so he sees the minute it registers in his brother's head what he’s talking about just as he’s turning to face him. 

It’s small, but there’s a quick widening of his eyes, a brief panicked glance around at the ground and then his face slips neutral and Merle’s pushing past him with a scoff. “The hell would I wanna do that for.”

So he’s left standing next to shed by himself and he’s gotta stretch his legs to catch up. “Says the one that jumped me in a skimpy cop costume.”

“Wasn’t skimpy. Had pants.”

“Alright fine, t’was no Halloween costume though. Ya got that from a sex place didn’t you?”

Merle doesn’t answer and they’re up the back steps and walking in through the back door leading into the kitchen. Merle kicks off his boots which means he’s done for the day and not planning on heading out anywhere. He does the same and pushes both pairs to the side of the door so they’re out of the way. 

“I’m just saying is all. I thought you were talking about the other little number you got tucked away. Wasn’t xpecting underwear.”

Merle’s already part way down the hall but that makes him pause. “What’chu talkin ‘bout.”

He doesn’t think anything of it because if Merle had one surprise for him it’s not hard to think that maybe he had two. So he just rolls his eyes and ducks into the fridge to grab a beer. “That sweet Lil’ nurse thing. Tis’ white.”

There’s a quick choking noise followed by a sputter and a “How the hell ya know ‘bout tha?!”

“Pssh. Dipshit. I’m the only one that does laundry around here. How the hell you think our clothes find their way back to the closet?”

There’s a silence that stretches long enough to have him peeking around the corner to look down the hall just to make sure Merle’s still there. 

He is and he’s chewing at his lip and dragging a hand through his hair. 

When Daryl leans himself against the open doorway to the kitchen he looks up.

“Ya, don’t, I don’t know, think it’s fucking weird?” Merle’s not a shy guy but he sure looks the part for once.

“What? You dressing up? Nah, you’ve done it before, just I ain’t really all that up for doing the same. You know?” 

Cause while he could maybe suck it up and wear the damn panties one damn time , there’s no way Merle’s getting him in a fucking skirt. Especially not white frilly looking shit that’s in no way shape or form practical for a nurse. 

So, he’ll just let Merle down gentle like, set boundaries and everything will be fine. 

“Tha’s different. Was pants and manly shit.”

He’s never gonna tell Merle but it’s about the closest thing he’s ever wore that’s made him look gay. Not like, rainbows and glitter gay, but like leather daddy gay. Again, not telling Merle that cause it would be weeks before he’d get laid again. Cause he’s not gay. They’re just a thing. Not a thing, thing, not like an ‘item’ or whatever they’re just, them.

Just them. 

Him and Merle and Merle and him.

“Man, It’s all the same ain’t it? It’s sexy or whatever, just don’t think I’d pull it off like you do.”

Eventually he’ll look back on this whole conversation and realize they were both thinking two completely different things but in the moment that’s where they leave things. Merle goes to say something and then he doesn’t. Just gives a quick nod and continues on to the bathroom.

He showers. They grab some lunch and flick on Deadliest Catch and zone out for the rest of the day. Eventually they get supper too and then it’s off to bed. 

Daryl makes a pit stop into the bathroom, brushes his teeth and takes a quick piss before checking that the front door is indeed locked. Then it’s down the hall, flick off the light, open the door to the bedroom and-.

“ Fuck .”

“Uh, hi .”