“Dixon!” Davies’ harsh boston accent rips through the personnel tent, louder, and rougher than the sound of rasping sand against the canvas sides, and Daryl jerks with the obnoxious nasal tone that never fails to grate his skin. “Get in here solider and sit your ass down.” Daryl's lips curl at the corners in distaste, but a solid hand claps him on his curled in shoulder, and thick fingers dig into scarred flesh for just a second. He turns his downcast eyes to his left only to be met by glittering brown orbs that dip to catch his own. ‘Ain’t gonna let nothin happen,’ They say, and with a short, sharp nod of acceptance, Daryl pushes aside the tent flaps, and sits down heavily in a canvas director chair. He’s facing a pop up table, adorned with a large mirror that’s watermarked and sand worn around the edges, reflecting his own sunkissed face back at him. Daryl’s spine stiffens as he feels Davies’ hands drop down onto his shoulders, his body was suddenly prepped and gearing up to run.
Four months into a damned six month tour out in the asscrack of nowhere, surrounded by dust n’ homemade IUD’s, with snipers settin up shop in rubble strewn buildin’s n still, havin some beefed up guy standin at m’back with a pair a’scssors n’ a clipper scares me more n’ anythin. Ain’t never been able ta trust no one with this, Pa really fucked me n’ Merle up more n’ he coulda ever imagined. Asshole’s prolly laughin his twisted ass off down there cos his boy’s turned out ta be a cock lovin’, piece of shit pussy just like he always said.
“Jus’ get it over with will ya?’” Daryl growls through clenched teeth. He wants to get up, leave and take the rap for letting his hair creep down past the nape of his neck, but before the idea of running is even fully formed, Walsh steps into view, right in his eyeline. Wide palms brace a muscular frame on the table in front of him, obscuring the mirror as Shane hops onto the table. He dips his head, matching Daryl's bowed neck, and waits. Leaning back on his hands, with his heavy sand coloured boots swinging back and forth under the table, where they dangle without a care in the world. Daryl looks up and grounds himself in those wide, expressive brown eyes, and nods. Walsh’s eyes don’t leave his for one second, even as he raises his fist and waves the go ahead to Davies, still standing patiently at Daryl’s back.
The blade at the back of his neck is cold, and feels sharp like teeth. It sounds loud enough to be a chainsaw so close to his ear, and his eyes widen in a moment of pure panic. Walsh isn’t bothered though, his lids drop a fraction, still keeping that grounding eye contact but somehow saying ‘s’alright brother,’ without him ever having to utter a word.
Yeah s’a sad fuckin truth, every few weeks I gotta sit in this damned chair, getting a straight up buzz cut. Starin’ inta t’eyes of t’hottest damned southern boy ever ta wear dessert issue ACU’s. Cos it ain’t like it’s easy ta look n’ not wanna touch, seen pretty much every inch of all ma brothers’ skin. No way ya can’t, living in each others’ assholes the whole time. But Walsh is all fuckin muscles n’ sunkissed skin, with them damned eyes that don’ never let mine go, when I’m ‘bout ta freak the fuck out. Guy’s got giant hands n’ thick fingers. Ain’t gonna lie, I jacked it more n’ once ta the memories o’them pinnin me down n’ openin’ me up, cos me n’ Walsh, we ain’t strangers ta helpin’ each other out from time ta time. Bein’ inta guys ain’t against t’rules out here, s’just frowned on. S’long as ya keep it quiet, when s’dark n shit, no one really gives a damn. Hell, even some o’the straight guys end up jackin w’each other when they been out here in the sand away from their girls fer too long.
There’s a pile of buzzed off hair scattered around the floor between his feet, not that he looks down to see it. He's still staring into Shane’s eyes with unrelenting precision, because they are the only things that keep his ass on this chair. He can feel the little hairs drifting down the back of his neck, can see them falling to the ground out of the corner of his eyes, and knows the tooth-like blade scraping across his skull is almost done with it’s job. Walsh grins at him, like he always does when Daryl’s head is left with only the shortest amount of stubble clinging to his asymmetrical skull.
He hates this drastic style, his ears aren’t perfectly aligned, and it highlights the puffiness around his left eye, a permanent reminder of an operation performed years ago. Plus, the buzz cut makes him think of Merle and their old man. Walsh seems to like it though, says it makes his cheekbones stand out and when they fuck later, his hands will be all over the rasping stubble. Because they will fuck later. Daryl knows this like he knows they’ll wake up tomorrow at the crack of dawn, for drill runs. This is what they do. Brothers in arms, fighting in a war that’s not their own, serving their country. They have each others’ backs, protecting one another out there in the desert and the ramshackle towns. Back here, in camp, Shane protects Daryl from his own personal battlefield. Then when the night is quiet and their brothers sleep off the heaviness that each day holds, they fuck, hard, fast and violent. Burning off their aggression, their fears and their worries, in the best way they know how.
Won’t be long before I get on that plane back home, ya better clear out all that shit of yours from my room else I’ll be kicking your ass. Don’t wanna come back to the state ya left for me last time I was deployed. Sending ya some cash, get some damned food with it this time, no fucking drugs alright?
Things are same as always here, sand, sun and fucking heat and not in the good way. Haven’t lost anyone this time round though so that’s good right?
Hoping to get me some extended R&R when I’m home so how’s about we get ourselves away for a bit, load up the truck and just tent up somewhere for a while?
When ya gonna write back to me Merle? Haven’t heard from ya in ages but I know you’re still back home cos ya sent the fuckin water bill ta me out here ya prick. Ya know I don’t care ‘bout what ya said last time we spoke, would just be nice ta hear from ya.
Just as Daryl is about to sign off, pen poised just above the paper, the light from the burning candles scattered around the small tent flicker wildly when a sudden gust of air from the door flaps opening, and someone steps inside. He doesn’t even need to turn around to see who it is, no one else comes into his makeshift quarters this late at night. He huffs, carefully folding the letter he’ll finish and send out with the mail tomorrow, and tucks it underneath his bedroll, leaning back on his elbows and tipping his head over his shoulder to take in the hulking silhouette now framed in the doorway. The faint candle light casts some pretty amazing shadows across Walsh’s bare torso, the muscles seeming to ripple and morph without him even moving, and Daryl is already caught in the spell. He knows that when he goes to sleep tonight there’ll be bite marks all over his body, scratches covering his hips and shoulders, mingling with the scar tissue that already resides there. He’d never once been even remotely happy to be littered with the reminder of his violent pig of a father, until he met Shane. Those scars that everybody knows about, allow him the privacy of never being asked why he doesn’t strip his shirt off when they’re all out playing ball, or why he prefers to keep his tent solo instead of bunking down with the rest of them. Because this way, he gets to keep Walsh’s brutal marks to himself, doesn’t have to answer questions, or suffer the jeers and jibes of their brothers and them knowing that he gets fucked hard and rough whenever he can.
He’s shirtless now though, he can feel himself getting hard already, because he knows how this is gonna go. He slides his elbows out from beneath him, laying back as slowly as his core muscles will allow until his back and shoulders hit the thin ground mat beneath him. He raises his arms above his head, tucking them underneath his neck in a feigned posture of relaxation because he knows Shane, knows all his warped little kinks and he likes to offer them up for the taking. He knows it’s worked just like he planned when the shadow of Shane’s hand roams down his muscle covered chest, and comes to rest right on the apex of his thighs, and Daryl knows he’s hard already, that the guy’s probably been straining against his thick camo pants ever since Davies pronounced him done and shoved him out of the personnel tent. And that image, the one of Walsh walking around half hard and throbbing as he helps his brothers clean out the canteen, as he works his runs in their make-do gym, has Daryl’s cock running thick and hot. He lifts his hips just a little to feel the evidence without having to move his hands from above his head, and he can feel Shane’s eyes on the movement.
“You’re a cocky sonofabitch Dixon ya know that?” Daryl’s eyes narrow at Shane’s words, but it’s all talk, this is what they do.
“Fuck you Walsh,” Daryl sneers, lifting one leg and planting his foot so he’s bent at the knee with his boot almost brushing against his fabric covered ass. “Ya get off stalkin’ inta a mans tent swingin that dick of yers around do ya?” Daryl’s lip curls at the edges, his sneer turning into something much more feral as Shane takes a step towards him, quiet and stealthy as a damned gater.
“Take your boots off,” Deep and low and commanding, Shane orders him in a way that leaves no room for argument but Daryl still tries, cocking his head, and smirking up at him as Shane comes close enough to cover Daryl with his looming shadow.
“Get up,” Shane growls at him and as slowly as he can, with a lazy, belligerent gaze over Shane’s body, Daryl gets to his feet. He stands toe to toe with Walsh, his eyes locked on those brown depths that keep him so grounded at times, and make his heart thump wildly at others. Shane is taller than him, wider and more muscular and he emits an overpowering feeling of hidden darkness, harnessed and barely contained. Daryl loves it, this wildness that matches his own. Two storms crashing against one another. Shane’s inner beast, a violent, crushing Lion, an unlikely but perfect match for Daryl’s ferocious, yet quiet Leopard like tendencies.
“Get your goddamn boots off,” Shane orders him again, staring down at Daryl's face with the hint of a smirk adorning that wide mouth, plush and thickened lips stretching slightly over perfectly straight white teeth.
Million fuckin’ dollar smile my ass. Seen them chicks starin’ at ‘im like they wanna wrap their soft legs ‘round him n’ watch that smile as he gives em’ what they want. They ain’t never gonna see this face though. Guy’s a fuckin’ wild beast needs ta rut n’ claim n’ take what’s meant fer ‘im.
Daryl takes two steps back, releasing himself from Shane’s orbit, and crouches down. As slowly as he can, he works the laces of first one boot, then the other; letting his eyes flick back and forth between his feet and Shane’s cold gaze made of steele. Once the boots are off, he places them side by side beside the bedroll, easily in reach incase Shane makes him put them back on later. He stands up, smirking up at Shane, baiting him with his hands resting lightly on his hips; thumbs tucked into the waistband and his lip slipping back and forth behind his teeth, as he gnaws the skin because he knows it makes Shane a run a little wilder when he does.
C’mon Walsh. C’mon you fuck, ain’t gonna give it up w’out a fight n’ ya know it.
Daryl doesn’t need to say it out loud because his eyes are doing the talking for him, and in the dim light of the candles he can see Shane’s eyes getting steadily darker. Daryl watches out of his peripheral as Shane’s hand moves lower to the obvious tenting of his camos, and presses down on the outline of his cock, sliding over it in one, long movement. Daryl smirks a little wider at the sight of it. He knows he’s just a few tension fuelled moments away from being pushed down and feeling those thick fingers pressing into his ass and opening him up. He’s caught off guard however, when Shane suddenly reaches out and pushes him roughly against the side of the tent. His back presses hard and harsh into one of the metal struts, with one of Walsh’s hands a tight grip around his jaw, holding his head at a sharp angle of submission; the other shooting down to grab Daryl’s cock through his camos. He sucks in a rasping gasp of air through his teeth at the motion and the feel of Shane’s fingers scratching the fabric over his already full, and rigid length.
“Arms above ya head Dixon. I know ya know what I wanna see,” Shane growls, his grin widening enough to show those fucking teeth as Daryl lets his nails scrape across the outline of Walsh’s biceps on the way up. As soon as his hands are clasped against the fabric above his head, Shane’s hand leaves his cock and those thick fingers wrap around Dary’s skull. The tent is filled with flickering candlelight and the rasping, scratching sound of stubble against calloused fingertips as they map the bumps and newly shorn hair adorning Daryl’s scalp. Shane rolls his hips forward once and Daryl refuses to let the aborted moan that wants to escape, leave his clamped-shut jaw because he never gives it up so easy. This is what they crave in each other, this never ending battle for dominance. The fight, the resistance is part of their warped foreplay, and it’s the reason they always gravitate to each other. Shane’s head dips, his knees bend, and if Daryl weren’t familiar as he is with this dance then he’d have the disjointed, thought that maybe he was about to get his dick sucked by that fucking plump mouth and that barbed tongue. But he is familiar and he waits, his nerves quivering underneath his skin and his knees losing a little of their structure as Shane’s mouth touches the sensitive flesh covering his ribs and he bites, hard. Daryl’s teeth clench underneath Walsh’s hand, but he doesn’t make a sound, still refusing to give in because he knows it gets even better than this.
Shane’s mouth moves slowly upwards, teeth scraping along Daryl's side until there’s a large and slightly mangled nose pressing into the straight, dark, sweat scented hair in his armpit.
Yeah Walsh ya kinky fuck, gotcha now ain’t I?
Daryl holds still as Shane buries his face in the crook of his arm and just stays there, breathing in deep and inhaling Daryl's sent. He hasn’t showered yet today, won’t now until the morning comes around again, but he knows that Walsh likes it like this, fucking loves it when Daryl stinks to high heaven after a long day out in the desert.
That fuckin beast comin’ outta play again ain’t it? Fucker likes it dirty n’ wild, likes ta know he’s fuckin a man, likes ta smell it all over ‘im when he’s done.
Daryl does moan a little and presses his hips forward when Shane’s tongue laves over his skin, dragging through the hairs in one long swipe. Wet and thick pressing into the flesh as he breathes in again, capturing the smell of Daryl on his tongue, pulling it into his lungs and keeping it there as he nips the skin at the very top of his bicep. Shane’s mouth works its way across Daryl’s chest, tugging roughly at the skin as he moves until he’s capturing one of Daryl's nipples between his teeth and biting down, dragging another small moan from Daryl’s throat.
Shane switches the hand holding Daryl’s jaw and places a wide palm over his mouth instead, hushing Daryl’s noises in another act of dominance, that gives him the room for his own lips to continue their journey across Daryl’s body. His other nipple gets the same treatment as the first, and they are suddenly both standing on end, straining forward towards Walsh’s wicked teeth. Shane continues on until his face is buried in the crook of Daryl’s opposite arm but this time, those perfect teeth are tugging at the hairs before his tongue laps at the skin, and starts working his way back up Daryl's arm and across the width of his shoulders, biting the juncture of his neck with a sharp sting.
“Fuck Walsh, get t’fuck on with already,” Daryl snarls, the sound muffled against Shane’s palm as he pushes his hips forward in a blatant display of insolence. His fingers grip hard into the skin of his own wrists above his head, fighting the desire to just drop his arms and push Shane down on the floor and take things into his own goddamn hands.
“Easy Dixon. Gonna shut that mouth or do I gotta shut it for ya huh?” Shane grins at him and drops his hand to start working on his belt, pushing his camos down far enough that his thick cock springs out, and the head brushes against the trail of hair just underneath Daryl’s navel. It leaves a little drop of wetness on Daryl’s skin and he watches as brown eyes turn almost black in the darkened room.
Daryl bares his teeth in a feral grimace, and finally releases his hands from above his head, wraps one around the back of Shane’s neck and pulls him in so that he can bite that fucking smile off his face. They don’t kiss like they want each other, there’s no love or tenderness in the touch. It’s bruising, filthy, and dominating. Their teeth nip at each others skin, and tongues fight against one another as they each try and force their wet muscles into the other's mouth. Daryl digs his fingernails into the taut muscle of Shane’s thick neck, and he hopes they come away blood smeared and leaving lasting marks. Walsh is having none of it though, he grabs hold of Daryl’s shoulders at the same time nudging his feet apart, forcing him to widen his stance as he pushes Daryl down to his knees and rubs his leaking cock across Daryl’s chin as soon as he hits the floor.
“Open wide baby, want that wicked mouth wrapped around my cock before ya get them hands on it,” Shane drawls slowly, stretching out the words like he’s too lazy to say them properly. Daryl hates it when Shane calls him baby like he’s some fuckin fragile flower. He leans forward and presses his lips against the swollen, almost purple head of Shane’s dick, looking up through his eyelashes at the man still looming above him with a look of utter boredom in his eyes.
“Suck it yerself Walsh,” Daryl growls, his lips brushing against Shane’s sensitive frenulum before nipping at it and chuckling darkly when those giant hands grip tight either side of his face and force his head back enough so his jaw has no choice but to drop open. Daryl lets his tongue stick out, flattened and curving at the tip as he grips his nails into the backs of Shane’s knees hard enough to hurt.
S’it Walsh, m’ready fer ya. Go ahead n’ stick that thick cock right down m’throat n’ make me c hoke on it.
“Shit!” Shane hisses as his eyes threaten to close. “Ya got no idea how goddamn fuckable ya look on yer knees for me do ya?” The words come out like a moan as he lays that heave weight right onto Daryl’s outstretched tongue. He rubs it back and forth, pressing down onto the rough, flat tip and uses it to massage that bundle of nerves just underneath the head, as Daryl sits perfectly still and allows his mouth to be used.
“Get that cock of yours out, I wanna see ya jack it while I use ya mouth,” Shane orders him, pulling back to smear the warm, wet precome across Daryl's upper lip.
Daryl’s hands move faster than he wants them to, they all but rip open his belt buckle and yank the zipper open hard enough to destroy the metal teeth. Shane takes a step back and slowly runs his hand up and down his cock as Daryl pulls his own out and grips it tight at the base. Shane strokes himself faster, another bead of liquid forced out of the tip as he watches Daryl’s fingers squeeze his own turgid length in a rhythmic motion, and he sticks his tongue back out to lick the precome from his lips before opening wide again and staring Walsh down in challenge.
Use me. Make it so’s I can’t fuckin’ speak tomorrow.
“God-fuckin-damnit,” Shane growls, louder than he should in this place, before forcing his cock right into Daryl's mouth, and starts fucking into him in sharp jerks. Daryl almost chokes as the head hits his soft palate but he just manages to keep the retching in check as Shane pushes in and out and braces his hands on the metal support strut behind Daryl’s head. He does choke when Shane forces himself in as far as Daryl can manage and holds him there with one hand dropping down to cup the back of his skull. The sick, wet, throaty sound as Daryl’s body tries to expel the thick intruder into his body rings loud and clear in the quiet night, matched only by the gasping noise his nose makes as he tries, and fails to drag enough air into his lungs. He digs his nails in even harder to the backs of Shane’s knees and feels the tremor of pain and desire running through Walsh’s muscles as he claws at the skin and swallows around his cock. The hand still gripping the base of his own cock moving to fist the length as he jerks himself off to the feeling of Shane buried deep in his throat, and the stench of his arousal infiltrating his senses.
C’mon Walsh, bend me over n’ stick yer fingers inta me n’ make me feel it.
Daryl groans around Shane’s dick lodged in his throat at the thought of those hands pawing at his ass, thumbs spreading him wide and delving into his tightened hole. Just as his lungs begin to scream for air Shane pulls off, leaving a trail of spit connecting his cock to Daryl's mouth as he pants and sucks in more oxygen. Shane looks down at him and groans as he wipes the stringy saliva across Daryl’s cheek, and runs the excess up and down his length right in front of Daryl’s face.
“Get up and bend over,” Shane tells him, letting go of his dripping cock to point at the table in the corner. Daryl does as he’s told, slowly pushing to his feet, his camos slipping down past his knees, his throbbing cock standing upright and bobbing as he moves across the room. He places his elbows on the tabletop and catches his own eyes in the mirror facing him on the wooden surface. His gaze quickly takes in the sight of his swollen mouth, his reddened lips, and flushed cheeks. His pupils are wide and his cheeks have that pinky tinge he gets when he’s really turned on. He can see the reflection of Shane moving around the candlelit room, opening drawers and hunting around in the bedsheets with muttered curses when he doesn’t immediately find what he’s looking for. Daryl dips his head to hide his shit-eating grin as Shane moves to stand behind him and reaches over to fit his palm underneath Daryl's jaw, tilting his face so that their eyes meet in the mirror.
“Don’t move,” Walsh growls, raising his eyebrows so that Daryl knows it’s not a request. He presses his heaving chest to Daryl’s back and never once lets his brown eyes move from Daryl’s blues as he slides a thick finger down the crack of Daryl’s ass, down to cup his freely hanging balls and gives them a rough tug before he traces the line right back up again. Daryl grimaces again at the pull, and as Shane’s finger brushes over the rim of his hole, his eyes flutter a little, as if they’re trying to close without permission.
“Goddamnit!” Daryl almost yells as Walsh lands a stinging palm on his ass as punishment, causing his hips to jolt forward as if to move away from the sharp contact. Shane just grins at him and smoothes over the skin where he’s no doubt left a handprint, his eyes sparkling, and Daryl knows that Shane wants their eyes on each other while they do this.
Another fuckin’ kink there Walsh? What ya wanna see what m’eyes look like while ya fuckin’ me raw or is it ya wanna excuse to spank my ass till it’s red n’ on fire?
Daryl forces his eyes to stay locked onto Shane’s even when that finger slips back down his ass again, and presses teasingly against his hole. Slick with lube and fuelled by Daryl’s spiraling arousal, the digit slips inside the tight muscle and as much as he wants to dip his head and grit his teeth against the burn as Shane pushes further inside, he keeps his eyes facing forward, his nose wrinkling and lip curling at the wicked look on Walsh’s face as he slips in past the knuckle and twists . He grits his teeth and can see his jaw working hard in his peripheral as Shane works another finger inside and brushes over his prostate. He’s not sensitive enough yet for it to be blinding as he fingers the nerves, but it sends a shiver down his spine nonetheless, and holds a promise of tonight turning into something fucking fantastic.
Shane’s voice is low and deep as he presses his chest down onto Daryl’s back, mutters words in his ear as he pistons his fingers and rubs his cock along Daryl’s ass cheeks. Every single filthy phrase out of Walsh’s mouth makes Daryl's eyes darken even more, makes his ribs heave with breath that comes out strained and quick.
“Goddamn this fuckin ass of yours Dixon. Don’t matter how many times I fuck ya open, always still. So. Fuckin. Tight.” The last words come out as a violent growl, each one punctuated by a deep thrust of those two fingers. Daryl is way past caring about losing the game, or the noises that spill from his slack jaw as Shane batters his prostate. Brown eyes glint with wild pleasure and triumph at his victory as Daryl gives up and drops his head onto the table with a deep thump. Another slap, this time landing on his other cheek, has him groaning incoherently into the grain, and pushing back wantonly onto Shane’s fingers, ignoring the deep chuckle rumbling through the chest now barely touching his back.
The fingers thrust in one more time, scissoring wide and stretching Daryl open as they slowly pull from his body and leave him clenching around thin air. Shane presses him down further, plastering himself over Daryl’s back, and brings his hands up to run once more across his newly shaved scalp as he continues to grind his cock into the slick cleft of Daryl’s ass and bites the soft, fleshy lobe of his ear. Daryl raises his head, melting into the caress and the heat of the man sprawled over him for a moment before that heat is gone along with those hands, and that mouth, then he’s bent over and suddenly cold, even in the warm desert air. He’s only left for a moment though, because before he knows it those palms are pressed against his cheeks and pulling them apart, his head drops back down as warm breath washes across his sensitive flesh.
His mind shouts, and his teeth clamp down on his lip to stop his voice from taking that shout and letting it loose into the tent.
Get that damned tongue in me right fuckin now Walsh or so help me imma stick m’own fingers in n’ finish m’self off.
Shane’s stubble coated chin scratches the length of his cleft as he moves up and down, breathing him in again in deep pulls. His tongue darts out as he pulls Daryl’s cheeks wider and pushes his thumbs into the puckered skin spreading him open once more. The first prod of Shane’s tongue into his hole sends another shiver down his spine and a feral growl rips through his throat as he pushes backwards, wanting it deeper and right fucking now. Walsh just grins and chuckles, clenching his fingers hard into Daryl’s cheeks as he licks him open with little jabs, and broad strokes of his tongue. He continues to eat Daryl’s ass like it’s an open ice cream bar, sucking and slurping until Daryl can’t even lift his head from the table anymore, until he’s coated in a stream of saliva and Shane’s fingers slip and slide through the mess.
“Goddamnit Walsh!” Daryl growl. It’s not a moan, nor a sound of pleasure but a promise of pain if he doesn’t heed the warning.
Another sharp rap of Shane’s palm on Daryl’s ass as he withdraws his face from between pink tinged cheeks and a whispered “ greedy ,” and Shane is pushing two thick fingers inside the sopping wet hole and stretching his walls open once more. He rubs the pulsing head of his cock against the rim where his fingers still hold it open, and each time it catches, Daryl hisses, grinds his teeth together, and grips the desk so hard one of his fingernails splits and cracks under the strain.
“Look at me,” Shane groans as he pulls his fingers out and replaces them with the head of his cock, pressing just the tip with its leaking slit inside and pausing. “Look at me when I take that goddamn fucking ass of yours.”
Daryl grins into the tabletop, his forehead still pressed against the wood. It’s a wild, feral smile that’s all teeth and borders on maniacal before he lifts his head and lets Walsh see the animal inside, begging to be fucked.
“Fuck Daryl,” Shane slips out of character the second Daryl’s eyes meet his, and he pushes his cock inside that tight ring of muscle, just far enough so that the head of it slips in with a jolt. He pauses for a moment, watching Daryl’s jaw work and feeling the tight clench around him before leaning forward, slowly inching in and reaching a hand out to rub against Daryl’s newly shaved head. His hand curls over and around, coming to rest once more along the hard line of Daryl’s jaw as he bottoms out, his hips pressing against the reddened flesh of the ass spread out before him.
“Fuck!” Daryl groans, the word muffled through gritted teeth as Shane fills him, stretches him with a burn and a prickle of fire as the thick head brushes against his prostate.
“Yeah, I’m gonna,” Walsh growls and then he’s pulling out and slamming in, over and over again, and Daryl is hanging on to the table for dear life as Shane rams into him, with the sounds of slapping flesh, grunts and groans filling the tent.
Fuck, fuck, FUCK. Yes Walsh, fuck me hard as ya can, wanna feel it all fuckin day. Fuckin cock. Fuckin tight, shit!
Daryl struggles to keep his eyes on Shane’s as he’s pitched forward and yanked back roughly. The hand gripping his jaw tightens and pulls him upright so that his back his pressed up against Shane’s chest and he can see his own body in the mirror. His dick is leaking furiously now, bobbing and twitching against his belly as his ass gets pounded, and Shane’s free hand wraps around his body to take hold of his cock, squeezing and tugging it. Daryl puts his own hand over Shane's and directs its movements, making it pull faster and grip tighter as he chases his orgasm. Daryl forces his jaw open against Shane’s bruising grip, and doesn’t need to ask for what he wants because Walsh knows him, and they’ve done this dance before.
Two thick, still wet fingers push into his open and willing mouth and Daryl tongues at them before biting down hard. Shane makes an obscene noise somewhere between a gasp and a whine as he slams his hips forward even harder, nailing Daryl’s prostate over and over until he feels lightheaded and begins to wonder whether he’s biting too hard, whether Shane will have to take himself to the medic tent for a patch up when they’re done. It’s brutal, punishing and furious, both men taking and taking from their opposing roles, until Shane’s hips are stuttering and Daryl’s cock has leaked so much that there is a string of precome dangling from the tip and trailing across their joined fingers.
C’mon Walsh, fill me up. Come in my tight ass n’ make me feel it.
Daryl is so fucking ready to come, he knows that the feel of Shane spilling into him will push him over the edge, and he knows exactly how to make that happen. He reaches his free arm up, bends it at the elbow and wraps his hand around the back of Shane’s neck where his head is tucked into the skin behind Daryl’s ear. Shane lets loose a sound that is surely supposed to be a chuckle but comes out cracked and broken as he turns his head and tucks his nose into Daryl’s armpit as far as he can manage with their awkward angle. One deep breath in, three shuddering thrusts, and a disgustingly obscene moan, and Shane’s hand is flying over Daryl’s cock as he’s coming violently into the tight channel and croaking out indistinguishable cuss words.
“C’mon Daryl. C’mon wanna feel it. Give it up man.” Shane mumbles, and it’s as close to begging as he ever gets and the sound has Daryl thrusting his hips into their joined hands, pushing back onto Shane’s still hard and pulsing cock before he’s shuddering and moaning in one long, drawn out syllable and spraying come all over the table top, smattering across the mirror and with the last few jerking movements it drips down over their joined knuckles.
Shane’s forehead drops, and he’s panting against Daryl's shoulder, even as his cock begins to soften. Daryl squeezes out the last few drops of his own orgasm before falling forward, his elbows hitting the table quickly followed by his forehead. Shane’s cock slips out as he splays himself over Daryl’s back and they both grunt at the loss, their chests heaving, and sweat running off both of their bodies.
They rest for a few moments until the sweat begins to cool with their recovering heartbeats, and Shane finally pulls away, tugging his camos back up his legs and flopping down onto Daryl’s bedroll with a huff. Daryl pushes himself upright and turns around, scanning the floor and finding his own pants to pull back on. He hunts in the pocket for a his pack of smokes once they’re refastened, leaving his belt open and hanging at his hips as he lights up and leans back against the table, head tilted up and smoke billowing out into the tent.
“Yer a kinky fuck ya know that Walsh?” Daryl says with a little huff of satisfied laughter that makes smoke tendrils puff out of both nostrils. Shane just grins, his mouth splitting into the widest smile yet of the night without even bothering to open his eyes.
“Sure am,” Shane replies, all smug and satisfied as he stretches his arms above his head showing off ripped biceps and a rippling torso.
“G’on get the fuck outta ma tent, some of us gotta work tomorrow,” Daryl swings a leg out and delivers a swift kick to Shane’s knee, and chuckles at the grumble of protest he gets in return. Shane rolls out of reach of another well aimed shove of Daryl’s foot and pushes himself up from the floor approaching the table and swiping the smoke out from between Daryl’s fingertips. He takes a single drag and delivers one last bruising kiss, passing the smoke into Daryl’s mouth as he does before turning round and leaving the tent, stolen cigarette still in his hand.
“Fucker,” Daryl calls after him but it’s good natured, delivered with a smirk on his lips, and he knows without a doubt that they’ll do this again in a few days. And they’ll love every second of it.