Archive of Our Own

Shane's always been a bit of a dog with a bone.

Even before all of this, Rick's known that the man tended to – to be aggressive. It worked well for them, it came in handy with their occupation. They would do Good cop, Asshole cop and they were proficient in their little routine. Once Shane latched his teeth into someone or something, it took the will of God Himself for the man to release. More often than not, that someone was a perp or a suspect, someone deemed deserving of it. But sometimes it was simply a thought or an idea, too. He’d always thought that this little… personality quirk of Shane’s was a flaw. But it was the way that the man was built, it was a fact of his existence and Rick was as aware of it as he was of the other’s love for beautiful women and baseball.

Shane had once tried explaining it to him. Said that it was like having a song stuck in his head, the same chorus repeating until he finally played it out loud - until he verbalized the thought or followed through on the idea. Rick had admired this relentless pursuit often, had praised his friend's dogged nature when it was due but maybe that had been wrong. Maybe he'd been too lenient, too reliant on Shane doing the roughing up. Had become too relaxed and used to Shane's ways to notice the signs of his nature morphing into something else.

Nursing his bruised ribs, his split knuckles and aching jaw, he's certainly noticing it now.

He’d thrown the first punch, spurred on by the challenge in Shane’s dark eyes, the bite of his teeth tugging at every emotion Rick’s ever felt, pulling only the worst ones out. The anger, the ego. He’d thrown the first punch but Shane had looked ready to kill. Blood dripping from the cut above his eye, he wishes his friend had learned to let things go.

And worst of all, for a moment there, he’d been ready to leave the other to his fate. Randall in his grip, he’d been ready to just... give up on Shane.

He's walking the property, not exactly pacing but not calm either, meandering between buildings no longer in use, away from camp. The worries of the living keep filling his mind, his jaw aching with tension. What to do with Randall, who’s now tied up in the shed; where to go next if the Greenes kick them out. Lori’s words – Lori’s words whispered in his ear, something insidious in them.

You killed the living to protect what’s yours. Shane thinks I’m his. He’s dangerous.

He's absorbed in his problems, thinking the coma hadn’t been that bad, half-missing the oblivion of it. Because he keeps turning the words, the issues, over and over in his head. They blind him to the hunger he feels and the sweat gathering at his nape under the falling sun. He’s not paying attention, being stupid enough and careless enough to know that Dixon would make fun of him for it in that hick drawl of his. He’s not paying attention - it’s no surprise when his foot catches and he stumbles.

His first and immediate instinct is to make a grab for his Python, to start shooting as his heart hammers in his chest. But nothing jumps at him as he loses his footing, nothing growls nor comes crawling out of the tall grass as he remains frozen with his gun drawn.

Embarrassment rushes to his head, face feeling even warmer now. He casts a look around, wanting to make sure nobody’s seen him losing his mind over – over a length of chain on the ground that he’d rolled his foot across. With a huff, he stows his gun away and bends to pick he chain up, curious.

The Greenes used to have a dog, he thinks idly. At one end, the slightly rusted metal is linked to an old doghouse.

The house is several feet away from him, tucked behind a dilapidated chicken coop. It’s a decent size with white, peeling paint and a faded red roof, obviously built by the family – maybe even Hershel himself. He can see the name ‘Max’ still written above the door, the hand childlike and uneven, letters textured and chalky from age and weather.

At the other end of the chain there is a brown, leather collar. The links clatter together with a metallic sound as he pulls them towards himself until the collar sits in his palms. Running his thumb over the cracked, sun-warm material, he notices the nametag missing. Briefly, he wonders what kind of dog it was and what happened to it before his eyes catch movement in the distance.

It’s Shane and he seems to be stalking the length of the property, checking the wooden fence that’s seen better days. From where he stands, he takes note of the man’s squared shoulders and how he appears to be stomping around rather than walking. He’s holding himself like he’s expecting a fight – and he probably is. Shane’s probably aching for it, foaming at the mouth to challenge someone else now that Rick’s gone and declared an end to their animosity.

It’s time for you come back. Like Shane’s the Greenes’ dog, run off his leash, thrown off his collar to be free. Except he wouldn’t be the Greenes’ dog, he’d be-

The low-simmering anger he’s felt since they’d come back from trying to get rid of Randall makes his throat close up. He almost wants to step up to the ring again, grab Shane by the back of his neck and scruff him for misbehaving, for the disrespect. The betrayal. But he can’t – he won’t.

Shane may have always trusted him but rarely had he let Rick lead, had always been stubborn about keeping Rick like an ace up his sleeve. Always louder, always bigger and more physically imposing. It had been a good strategy when they were on the force, Shane coming in hot and drawing eyes, but out here, when they were always steps away from losing their humanity in their fight to survive, he can’t have that. And Shane can’t seem to reconcile with this fact, with following after Rick instead of bulldozing ahead of him.

The leather in his hands creaks and he forces himself to unclench his fingers. He drops the collar back onto the ground and it lands with a dull thud.

Instead of facing Shane, he heads the other way, keeping out of the other’s sight until he’s gone from his periphery entirely.

They’d brought Randall back with them against Shane’s advice – against, perhaps, Rick’s own better judgment. But they’d brought the kid back, placed him in the shed and then the whole process started anew.

Kill, don’t kill – torture for information. Good cop, Bad cop – Daryl Dixon.

It’s no use. Execute the kid, Dale’s on his case, humanity lost. Let the kid live – they’ll all wish they didn’t, sooner or later. They go around in circles, Dale’s campaign setting everyone on edge, but nobody wants to make the difficult choice. Nobody wants their hands dirty but something needs to be done, this time Shane’s right.

They try to take a vote and it’s useless. Randall has to die.

Flanked by Shane and Daryl, he feels oddly calm – detached. Even as Randall snivels and cries, begging for his life, he weighs the heft of the pistol in his hand, cocking it. A squeeze of his finger and they’ll have one less thing to worry about. More blood on his mortal soul, more weight on his shoulders.

Carl’s voice cuts through the air like a bullet slicing through his chest.

“Do it, dad. Do it.”

No, no. His steady hand falters, heart in his throat. His eyes meet Shane’s and the man looks just as surprised, already moving towards Carl with a low Are you kidding me? What Did I say to you?

Conviction, he thinks, blinking down at Randall’s whimpering form. Conviction in Carl’s young voice, urging him to kill, to take a human life. Enough of it there to bring him to his knees. So much hate and vitriol from such a young boy, from his son – his world. No, he can’t do this. Dale was right; this isn’t the example he wants to set, apocalypse or not.

“Take him away.” He manages past the lump in his throat. “Take him away.”

Dixon obeys with no visible reaction, following Rick’s order without question.

He knows what he’ll see when he looks at Shane, is familiar with the other’s particular brand of judgment by now, but still. The certainty that Shane would have gone through with it regardless of Carl’s presence and his morbid encouragement hurts.

Shane slams the door on his way out and then it’s just him and Carl. His son’s eyes are intent, an accusation in them he’s not ready to face as he grapples with what he’s been letting his boy see. How little he’s thought about the impact of it all on Carl’s mind. Shit.

Daryl’s hand is oddly gentle on his as the man takes the Python out of his shaky grip. He can’t do it.

“Sorry, brother.” Low, gravelly and entirely sincere. Daryl pulls the trigger.

Dale’s body has scarcely been in the ground for more than four hours when Shane approaches him again. Rick pretends he doesn’t see him, makes his way from the barn towards their camp but takes the long way around, drawing Shane away from the house.

Heavy, booted footfalls that crush leaves and dry grass without any care spared to being graceful or silent stalk after him. They round an old paddock, a well and the out-of-use chicken coop in tandem before he turns around, hands on his hips.

“We have to kill him.” Shane insists, dark stare unrelenting.

“Jesus, Shane, the man’s not even cold yet.” He keeps his voice calm, keeps his temper in check but there is something thundering within him. A part of him is rioting at being challenged again, at being disrespected and questioned. It’s a part of him that he doesn’t like to look at often, that feels entitled and a facet of himself that he’s kept out of sight and mind. Because he’s always prided himself on being patient and reasonable, on being gentle with those who needed it and stern with those who deserved it. And a patient man’s hands don’t itch to subdue, his words don’t inflate his own importance – he doesn’t wish for blind obedience.

But right now, after what Shane has put him through, he does not know if he can be that patient man any longer. He wants Shane to obey, to fall in line. Needs him to drop it for once in his life, but the other man is simply not getting the message. Then again, maybe Shane’s just being purposefully disruptive, railing against the wall of Rick’s own nature.

“We can’t keep him in custody! We can’t keep doing jack shit!”

“We keep him.” He remains firm in his decision, Dale’s death too fresh to even think of killing Randall right now. Especially with the speech he’d made.

Shane’s eye twitches, jaw working as he gets into Rick’s face. “We need to kill him.”

“No, we don’t.” He presses two finger’s to the other’s heaving chest, pushing lightly, keeping the man at a distance. The muscles under his touch flex and if he focused enough, he’d probably be able to feel the hammering of Shane’s heart against his ribcage.

The other opens his mouth to argue but Rick grunts, cutting him off.

“You’ve always been like this.” The words are curt and scathing enough to give Shane pause. “Since we were kids. You’d latch on to an idea and you’d refuse to let anyone change your mind about it.”

“This isn’t some idea! This is a question of our safety, man. Rick.”

“Shane.” He hisses, giving way to his anger, getting into the other’s space like Shane had tried to just moments ago. “You want to fight me again, is that it? Want to go at it with knives this time? Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

Lightly cowed, the other looks away. “We tried it like you said. It ain’t work.”

“We try again. We do better.”

“But-”

“No, Shane!” It bursts out of him in a harsh shout, echoing the area around them loudly. Loud enough to scare the crows out of the tree nearest to them. He steels himself, lowering his tone. “Have we come to this? Are we animals fightin’ for territory now? Do I have to treat you like one for you to understand? Do I gotta teach you to heel for you to stand down?”

With the other seemingly too stunned to retaliate, he continues. “No? Then stop actin’ like a damn dog biting at his leash.”

“Man, fuck you!” Shane barks, teeth bared, finally gathering his bearings.

Enough, he thinks as the other’s fists clench at his sides. Too far, he amends as Shane, his friend – his best friend since they were gangly preteens stealing apples from Mr. Barnes’ orchard and getting chased by his flock of geese – looks about ready to take him up on his earlier offer involving knives. What the fuck happened?

“Go to the RV.”

The abrupt request seems to stump the other man, taking some of the fight out of him.

“What?”

“Go to the RV and wait for me inside.”

They stare at one another in silence until Shane finally relents. The other slinks away, casting furtive glances at him like he’s expecting to be kicked – or stabbed in the back.

When the other is gone, Rick crouches to pick up the thing that’s been nudging against his foot since they stopped walking. The brown leather is warm, heavy in his hands – giving him ideas that are as harebrained as his ploy with the walker guts had been.

Might work, a part of him urges, might scare him enough to.

Daryl’s sitting on a log not quite at the camp but close enough to make it seem like he’s not purposefully avoiding everyone. Though, not that anyone’s there at the moment. The rest of their group seems to have congregated at the house or has been tasked with fixing the wire fence further out, leaving the hunter alone.

From what Rick can tell as he approaches, the man is making more bolts for his crossbow. He watches the younger work, stalling. Eventually, he relaxes his stance, leans up against a tree and it must be enough for Daryl’s attention to finally shift from the task at hand.

Clever eyes dart from Rick’s face to the collar and back, an eyebrow raised.

“Lose your attack dog?” The man surprises him by asking and he has to bite back a smirk, feeling both stupid and lightly delirious with what he’s about to attempt.

“Nah, I know where he is.”

“Seemed pissed.” The other’s gaze moves towards the RV and Rick nods.

“Always is these days.”

They lapse into silence before he shifts on his feet, heat fighting to rise in his cheeks. “Listen, Daryl, I need a favor to ask.”

The other grunts, stare growing shifty and narrow with suspicion before it roves over him again – landing firmly on the collar this time.

“I need you to keep everyone away from the RV for a while.”

The stormy eyes seem to spark as the man chews on the skin of his thumb. “How long?”

“Hour or two.”

The hunter scoffs, shaking his head. “Ambitious.”

Somehow, the joke eases his frayed nerves, Daryl’s dry delivery leaving him bashful instead of embarrassed.

“Maybe. But…” He trails off with a shrug, letting the other fill in the blanks.

Daryl observes him for a moment longer before going back to his bolts. “You – you gonna need backup or somethin’?”

He smiles, genuine for the first time in what feels like weeks and is probably longer; finds himself pleased at the younger’s willingness to help.

“Only if I start screaming like I’m bein’ murdered.”

“Alright.” The acceptance is easy and Rick feels a pang of regret? Envy? That this man he barely knows folds better under his command than his longtime partner and friend. Seems to trust him more, too.

He doesn’t dwell on it, head for the RV instead, heart in his throat.

Shane is inside, pacing as Rick steps through the door. He’s coiled tight and ready to brawl which seems to be his MO as of late. But Rick’s not here to throw down and he won’t let the other goad him into it again either. This time, he hides the collar behind his back, unwilling to spook Shane just yet.

He’s not – he’s not actually going to do it. He’s certainly planning on saying he’ll do it but he’s not – not weird like that. Weird enough to threaten it, though. But a threat’s a threat and Shane can’t know he’s not being serious about it so he needs to focus. Stop thinking, his brain urges. He’ll call you out on it, another part of him worries, spiking his pulse. He pushes both back as he clears his throat, locking the door all the while.

“I feel like our talk out there didn’t come across clear enough.”

You’re not gonna be dangerous. Not to us, not to me, not anymore. You gotta trust me. It’s time for-

With each word measured and slow, leaving no room left for misinterpretation, he continues. “I feel like you think you’re off the hook just because I didn’t leave you to die – like I know you’d-a done if it were me.”

“Rick, brother, I wouldn’t-”

“What was it? I don’t know how to keep my family safe? I can’t?” He sneers, lip twitching with renewed anger. “I’ve had a long think about what you said, what Lori said, and I finally know what needs to be done.”

The other shuffles on his feet, stance unsure. Shane nods like he’s picking up what Rick’s putting down. It leaves him with a perverse sense of satisfaction because the man can’t possibly know.

“I’m not talking about Randall, Shane.”

The other jolts at this, eyes wide, suddenly panicked and darting towards the door. There’s no gun in his waistband, his knife is in his pocket and too far for Rick’s quick reach, Shane’s at a disadvantage and knows it, too. Whatever happens next, Rick needs to hurry up with it.

“I’ve let you question me for too long because we’re friends, because we’ve been partners for years. But it seems obvious to me now, that you need to be reined in.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, man?” Words barely above a whisper, Shane swallows heavily.

“I asked you earlier if I needed to teach you to heel but I’ve decided I’m done askin’.” He brings the collar from around his back and Shane’s eyes grow impossibly wider.

“Rick.”

“You’re gonna be actin’ like an animal – like a dog – you’re gonna be treated like one.” The step forward he takes is met with Shane taking one back.

Something in his him is pleased by the concession; that mean part of his brain sparking shivers down his spine at finally having caught Shane out.

“What – where. Uh.” The backs of the man’s shins hit he bed, taking the floor from under him and Rick takes the opportunity to loom. Both hands wrapped around the leather, he shows the item off in the low light of the RV.

“You need to be reined in, Shane.” He repeats, voice a low rumble. “If you won’t do it yourself, I’ll do it for you.”

Curiously, Shane doesn’t flinch away as Rick steps between his spread knees. Doesn’t throw that punch Rick’s been half expecting either. There is no lashing out, no harsh words. Shane only watches, wide-eyed and mute.

He’s calling my bluff, Rick thinks as his heart tattoos a frantic beat against his ribcage. He has to fight tooth and nail to keep himself steady, to not back down now that he’s finally getting somewhere. Shane has to be trying to call his bluff because why else is the other just sitting in front of him, still as a statue, staring like he’s gone stupid.

He won’t have it. He won’t give Shane the satisfaction of seeing him withdraw his threat.

He undoes the collar, the clinking of the buckle thunderous in the otherwise silent RV. Shane’s breathing goes labored but his eyes don’t stray from Rick’s hands. He’s sweating now, white shirt sticking to his back, knuckles aching. He’s going to have to do it, he realizes. This idiotic grab for power he’d come up with in a desperate bid to put them on the right track again is going to have to be played out in full.

Almost as if hypnotized, Shane lifts his head up, proud chin tilted and allowing Rick easy access. In a similar daze, he fits the collar around the other man’s neck, hands steady as he buckles it despite feeling like he’s quivering at his core. The fit is snug. The leather is two fingers wide and with just enough give for the other to breathe comfortably, but tight enough to give the man trouble when swallowing. He watches Shane’s throat bob as he tests it out, struggling a little and-

There is heat behind his eyes, dripping from his brain, down his spine and into his gut as he takes in the sight below him.

“I need you loyal, Shane.” Voice a hoarse whisper, he pulls back some, intending to give the man a bit of space. He doesn’t get very far, though.

Shane’s hands reach for him, lightning quick, attaching themselves to the backs of his thighs and he startles, preparing to defend himself. But the other’s not done yet. The man’s shaved head comes forward just as abruptly as his hands had and – this time, for sure, he’s getting punched.

He doesn’t. There’s no pain since there’s no force behind the motion. The other’s forehead rests against his stomach gently and there’s not even a hint of violence to be gleaned in the action. No pain – only hot, damp breaths puffing against his skin through his shirt, making him shiver. He’s shocked into stillness as Shane seems to melt against him.

He watches, fascinated by the way the man’s shoulders droop, tension leaving them. The rough hands at the backs of his thighs clench and release rhythmically, gripping at dusty denim. He swallows spit as his mouth floods with it and cautiously fits a hand to the back of the other’s nape.

Shane’s warm, putting out heat like a furnace, the RV around them feeling stuffy all of a sudden. Rick wants to tug at the collar of his shirt, wants to fan himself, but he’s afraid of breaking whatever spell the other is under. He settles more firmly into his stance and Shane shudders, prompting him to croon softly as if it’s instinct. He’s flushed, he knows; flustered with whatever this is turning out to be, but he’ll take it over the other trying to kill him.

Slowly, he runs his hand up the back of the other’s head, fingers catching the bristles where Shane hadn’t redone the buzz cut. Like this, they breathe together, inhales and exhales synced in a way that Rick can’t help but marvel at. Soon, the silence will get to be too much and he’ll want answers but for how, he lets Shane calm down.

With a twitch, the other’s fingers curl inwards and Rick bites back a hiss as they move towards the inseam of his jeans, the sensation on the skin of his inner thighs making him tremble for a second. He’s never – Shane hasn’t ever done anything like this. A hug after they hadn’t seen each other in a while, hands on his back and shoulders, on his face, foreheads touching after a rough shift – Shane trying to clean him up after Carl got shot, desperate reassurance he’s alive. They’d always been close, sure, and sometimes Rick had wondered – but they had never been like this.

In his supplication, the other is veering dangerously close towards a territory Rick isn’t sure what to do with. However, he knows that he doesn’t want to lose this opportunity. Maybe Shane’s finally ready to listen now. Hope flares within him, a seedling growing tentatively into a young plant. Despite everything, he didn’t want to give up on Shane. Is, in fact, trying his best to keep Shane with him, to keep him in line.

The other shudders again and Rick feels – he feels the heat increase, right where the other’s lips are as if Shane’s opened his mouth. Heat coils in his gut at a dizzying pace and it’s arousal, clear as any other time he’d gotten hot under the collar for someone. Except it’s not just someone this time, it’s Shane. Shane who’d sooner call a guy a slur than even consider… But maybe Rick’s wrong. Wouldn’t be the first time.

Dragging his palm down the other’s head to the back of the collar, right where the thing is buckled, he hooks his thumb under it and tugs lightly. Applying just enough force to make Shane aware of what’s happening. The other’s fingers clench again, grip bruising but Rick doesn’t mind.

“Will you be loyal, Shane?” He gentles, other hand kneading the firm muscle between the man’s neck and shoulder, digging into a knot he finds there.

“I don’t want to do this without you. I need you by my side. Not running ahead, not biting the hand, not butting heads with me. By my side.” Mine, he doesn’t say, but the sentiment seems obvious. It must be, judging by how the other’s breath hitches, a groan rattling from his chest on his next exhale.

“That what you want, hm?” Surely, by now, he’s pushing too hard too fast, but he doesn’t know what to do. And the longer he stays there with Shane pawing at him like that, the more the line between what this is and what it’s supposed to be blurs.

“Rick Grimes.” Shane’s rough drawl startles him into giving the collar another tug. Which, in turn, prompts another breathy grunt from the other man.

“Always the model citizen, always the kind neighbor, paragon of virtue. The Good fuckin’ Samaritan.” The other lifts his head, chin digging above his belt buckle. “Leavin’ the rest of us to watch as the sun shines out of your fucking ass. Do you know how hard it is, living up to your expectations?”

He sucks in a breath, surprised. “Shane.”

“You’d get this look on your face. All frown, with your blues dead center, and each sucker in your vicinity would fold like a house of cards because they’d disappointed you. People’ve always bent over backwards to please you, you know that?” The other scoffs, dark eyes finally meeting his and Rick’s stunned to find his pupils blown wide, making them seem even darker.

“And I’m no better, bent all outta shape because you hate me now.”

“I don’t hate you.” The response is immediate and he finds that it’s true. He’s angry, worried – disappointed. But he doesn’t hate the man, despite all the shit between them, he doesn’t.

“What are you, Jesus?” Shane releases a short laugh, tilting his head further back into Rick’s hand. “I slept with your wife, I tried to kill you.”

He clicks his tongue, annoyed, and Shane falls silent immediately, whatever he was going to say next, forgotten.

“You saved my life and protected my family. That’s more important.” With a huff, he brings the fingers of his other hand to Shane’s face, tracing the ridge of the man’s nose then moving to his jaw, keeping him still. He chews on his next words, weighing his options as Shane waits patiently. “You just lost your way a little, ain’t that right? No one to corral you, to keep you safe, keep you close. Lori probably meant well but you’re not used to her brand of controlling, huh? More for actions, less so words.”

It feels near-blasphemous to speak about his wife with Shane like this. It’s certainly hypocritical but what is he to do when Shane’s finally letting him lead without question? When the man is finally listening, attention rapt.

“That what you want?” Shane hushes in a warped mirror of his own earlier question, hands moving back and up. “Keep me safe? Keep me close?”

“Yeah.” Tone sure, he affirms and only startles a little when Shane’s hands inch towards his ass, pulling him even closer. “With me, always with me. I need you here, Shane.”

The other’s eyes flutter closed, nostrils going wide as he inhales heavily. Rick watches, rubs his thumb along the skin of the other’s throat, along rough stubble and the edge of the collar.

“Sure seemed eager to replace me with-”

He tugs on the leather, tutting in reprimand and Shane’s teeth clack together in a rush to close his mouth.

“None of that, now.”

There is a part of him that wonders how far they’ll take this; how far the other is willing to go.

The urge to possess, to own, is unfortunately familiar. In the past, in the world before, he’d curbed it just like the part of him that wished for obedience, but maybe they’ve always been one and the same – a selfish instinct to hoard affection, to be admired and held in high esteem. He’d had that. Had it with Lori who used to love him, with his son who looked up to him and with Shane who respected him, and it had been enough. But he doesn’t anymore, all of that is gone now. The closest he has is his tentative place as group leader and Daryl’s shaky trust.

He wants those things back in whatever way he can have them.

“Nobody here but you an’ me.” With both his hands now on the collar, he shakes the other’s head a little. Just a small motion, left then right, then left again but it seems to do the trick because Shane goes docile again, lips parted.  

Shane’s hands bypass his ass which he gets to have a moment to be grateful for before he’s once again shocked into stillness.

Strong, square fingers land on his belt buckle, tucking into the waistband of his jeans. He feels the tug of material where Shane’s resting his grip, feels the warmth of scarred knuckles against his skin and it’s like putting his tongue to a live wire. He swallows, throat dry and thick with it.

“What do you say, hm?” He croons, less surprised than he should be at how interested his dick has gotten in the whole ordeal. “Gonna trust me again? Gonna be my partner? Ought to stop pullin’ your machismo bullshit, too. ‘Specially ‘cause you look damn good like this.”

Now, Rick’s heard Shane make all sorts of noises before. From grunts and growls, pained groans and sighs, to nasty cackling and wheezing when something’s particularly funny. But he doesn’t think he’s ever heard the man whine. Because that’s what leaves the other’s mouth as he pulls the other’s head back towards himself. Shane whines and its high and reedy, a sound he didn’t know the man could produce. It has his fingers tingling, leaves him shifting his stance, growing aggressive in his hold on the other.

“You liked that, huh?” The rhetorical question receives an answer regardless, and in the form of Shane’s fingers grappling with his belt, trembling to undo it. He takes pity on the man, humming.

“Go on.” He urges even as disbelief almost makes him hesitate.

Shane seems to hold no such reservations. His fingers work efficiently if clumsily, the sound lighting a fire in Rick’s gut. It’s been – Lori’s never liked – he shakes his head to dispel the thoughts and Shane freezes, looking up at him with wide eyes.

With a croon, he rubs his thumb along the other’s jaw. “It’s alright, keep going.”

Reassured, Shane gets his belt open and then, he doesn’t hesitate undoing the button and the zipper. Half-hard, Rick is bared to the other’s probing stare. He should feel self-conscious, should even be regretful about it, but he doesn’t. How could he when Shane looks ready to devour him.

The other doesn’t even bother tugging his jeans or underwear down, just fits his warm, open mouth to the swell of his cock in the worn cotton. He hisses, hands scrabbling along the other’s head and finding purchase, one at the back of the collar, other at the man’s strong shoulder.

Shane pants, damp breaths making his length twitch, his muscles lock in place because he’s imagining it now and by the looks of it, the image won’t stay in his head for long. But Shane’s hands don’t move from where they’re gripping his hips, thumbs tucked into his waistband. It’s like the other’s waiting for more, for something else.

“You waitin’ for my word, now?” Biting his lip, he teases and then watches as the tops of the man’s cheeks flare red. “That’s good. That’s – come on, this is nice but I want your mouth on me.”

It seems like that’s the only encouragement Shane needs because without wasting any more time, the other’s hands worm their way into his underwear. Rough, familiar fingers wrap around his length, dry and firm, making him wince. Shane hasn’t done this before, he’s real fucking sure of that, but there’s an unbearable itch in his brain that makes him want to ask.

“What, Shane? You never sucked cock before?” He goads instead, grinning as the other’s shoulder tenses under his grip.

The other opens his mouth as if he wants to say something no doubt snarky in turn but Rick cuts him off again, unwilling to hear it.

“Did I say you could talk?” He grunts, tugging on the collar. “No, I know you ‘ain’t had a dick in your face before or you would-a told me all about it, huh? Always loved running your mouth about your latest screw. If I’d known you preferred being the one on your knees, it would've saved us from more than a few boring shifts.”

There’s still anger in the other’s gaze when Shane meets his eyes but it’s – it’s all embarrassment now, no real animosity behind it. Shane’s flustered, shy, and he’s still only vaguely holding Rick’s length in one hand as if he’s scared to do more.

Putting as much authority as he can into his tone, he orders. “Hands behind your back.”

Shane’s fingers spasm around him and he winces, but the motion is short-lived because the other follows as instructed immediately. His cock bounces up, glistening at the head, fully hard from just a little fumbling and the sight before him. Fuck.

He’s sweating and so is Shane, they’re both damp with it, the air in the RV stuffy, but it’s all secondary to the heat inside of him. He grips himself in hand and spits, letting it dribble down to ease the way. With practiced movements, he strokes along the thick length, making sure the other man can see. And Shane is certainly watching; he’s barely blinking with how focused he is. It’s flattering, making him feel like a damn Bird-of-paradise; preening and posturing, trying to draw attention to himself.

The other seems to grow bored with his display, though, either not impressed or impatient enough to overcome his fear. Lips, plush and warm press to his knuckles. The other leaves wet kisses along each one before he runs out and then it’s Shane’s lips on the underside of his cock. His muscles lock up, overheating at the light press alone and he wants to swear. Wants to urge the other to go faster, to do more but he knows he can’t rush Shane. This has to be something the other man gives him willingly. A surrender.

A timid lick against his tip and his dick twitches, making Shane’s eyes widen. He’s oddly sweet like this, unsure but still trying. He grins, releasing the hold he has on himself, letting the other chase at him with his mouth. Shane whines again and he wishes he had known about the sound sooner.

“Want to open up for me?” He asks just to see what the other will do. Shane parts his lips for him and Rick taps the head of his cock against the bottom one, smearing precum along the rosy skin. Shane swipes at it with his tongue, face contemplative and the heat returns behind Rick’s eyes.

Breathing heavy, he waits as Shane opens his mouth around the crown, taking him in slowly, tentative in his curiosity. He groans as the other envelops him and Shane’s eyes dart up, a question in them.

“Good – doing good, sweetheart.” With the hold he has on the collar, he pushes lightly, feeds more of his length into the wet heat.  

It’s slow going, letting Shane get used to the weight of him. His hips are stiff with the restraint he’s been showing and his thighs tremble with the effort of keeping upright as Shane sucks him off but the hot, swirling arousal in his gut is worth the little discomfort he feels.

The man explores with his tongue, spit slipping past the seal of his mouth, making a mess and moaning as if he’s the one getting pleasured. But the man doesn’t touch with his hands, holds them firmly behind his back and lets Rick pull his head up and down his cock at an easy pace.

“Think you’re ready for something faster?” He hums when the other sucks at him, the noise loud and filthy. Shane moans again, looking eager though he can’t exactly nod at the moment. “Yeah, yeah. You want it, don’t you? You’ll be good for me.”

Good boy, the words ring through his head and he pauses, wondering if that’s – if going there is a step too far. He runs a hand through his hair, huffing; he won’t know until he tries. And besides that, he’s still the one in charge, still the one calling the shots. Stop overthinking, he urges mentally, he’s into it.

He pulls Shane off of his length, the sound of it slick and perverse, making him shiver. “Do you want it, Shane?” Rick asks again, steeling himself, keeping his tone low and steady. “Want to be good for me? Want to be my good boy?”

“Rick.” The other’s voice is shot, rough and scraping along his throat as it leaves him. “Rick, you can’t just – fuck.” Shane’s eyes slam shut, a shiver seemingly working through his body.

“Yeah, I can. I can do what I please. And you’ll let me, won’t you?” Grinning, he tugs on the collar with a sharp movement and Shane chokes back a whine, mouth open and panting.

“Yeah. I will. I’m-” The other seems to bite back his words, teeth viciously gnashing at his bottom lip as if to stop himself.

“Nothing more than a dog for me, that it?” His stomach clenches as Shane pushes up against the restraint of the collar. “That what you were gonna say? That’s what this whole thing’s been about. Eager to put on this collar, eager to get on your knees for me. This is what you were missing all along, hm?”

“Askin’-” Shane huffs, head twitching. “Askin’ a lot of questions you know the answers to.”

“Maybe I do.” He shrugs, gripping himself again, stroking slowly. “Maybe I just want to hear you say it.”

The other bares his teeth at him with a hiss, an accusation in those dark, watery eyes. Shane’s face is still flushed and sweaty, he’s still breathing hard, heaving like a bull seeing red, but he’s not pulling away. He’s staying exactly where he has been so far with his hands behind his back.

“So?” Tilting his head to the side, he waits for Shane to find his words because it seems like the other’s thinking about it all real hard.

“I want it.” Shane states firmly after a few moments. “I like the collar. I like – I like… belonging.” The other falters, gaze moving away from him.

“It’s easier, huh?” He croons, easing off the collar and cupping the other’s cheek instead.

“I want you to-” The man grunts, shaking his head as if he can shake the words loose but nothing comes out.

Rick takes pity on him, bending down and puts his lips to the other’s forehead. He trails kisses down the bridge of his nose, enjoys the little whimpers leaving the other and then finally, presses their mouths together.

Shane shudders against him, pushes right back, tries to turn the kiss aggressive and fast but Rick doesn’t let him. Every time the other whines for more, he pulls back, allows Shane to chase him for a moment before gentling him into submission. He enjoys the languid motions of it, keeps it unhurried, fascinated by the scrape of his stubble against Shane’s. There is power in this, too; in the denial and the want, the push and pull, the way Shane darts his tongue out to taste but offers only feeble protest at being denied.

When his hard length gets to be too much to ignore, he allows for more. He pries open Shane’s mouth with fingers and tongue, excited at the way the other’s maw gapes for him, eager and waiting for more. He grins and does his best to fuck Shane’s mouth with his tongue. Stars burst behind his closed eyelids, his head fuzzy with everything that’s happening. It’s good – it’s incredibly good and he doesn’t think anything’s ever felt as heady as what he has with Shane in this moment.

Shane detaches himself from his mouth with a loud smack and before Rick can do anything about it, the other’s mouth is on his cock gain. It’s more confident this time, more used to the sensations, leaving Rick winded.

“Fuck, Shane!” He groans, deep and long as the other gags on his length, pace frantic. He won’t last long, not like this and he wants – he wants to make it last, wants to keep Shane like this for as long as he can.

Shane lifts off him, tongue stuck out and Rick forgets his own name at the sight. Eyes watery and nose running, spit smeared along his skin, in his stubble, the other spits the saliva and precum back onto his cock with a vulgar noise before taking it all into his mouth again.

“Jesus Christ.” He chokes out with a disbelieving laugh, stunned because there’s nothing shy about the other now, nothing timid. Shane’s going at it like it’s everything he’s ever wanted in life and Rick watches, helpless as the man gags himself on his length. He can’t take all of it in, doesn’t have enough practice for it but he thinks that, with time, the man could-

“Close.” He warns, stomach clenching again, hands on the collar and using it to keep Shane moving. He’s not going to let him up, he decides.

“Gonna come in your mouth.”

Shane moans, loud and unrestrained and Rick finally notices the other’s hips rocking in frustrated, aborted motions where he’s sat. The other thrusts against air futilely, hardness trapped behind the zipper of his cargo pants, not enough resistance to get him off but the thought of it is incendiary – that Shane could reach his peak just from giving him head.

“Fuck, fuck.”

The wave of it blinds him, he barely gets any warning before his orgasm is taking him by surprise and even though he said he would do it, he still pulls out of the other’s mouth when Shane chokes after the first spurt of come. Instead, he spends over the other’s face, painting a pearlescent streak across the bridge of his nose and cheek as Shane takes in gulps of air.

In an act of need he kisses the man again, smears his spend between them and shares the other’s panting breaths, shares the taste as the man tries to calm down.

Tone hushed, he reassures. “Good – good boy. My good boy, Shane. Yeah, y’alright. Nice and easy.”

But Shane’s still trembling all over. His muscles are straining against the tight shirt he has on, hands still clenched against one another behind his back, entire body taut and ready to snap, ready to release. It’s impressive and it’s – it’s good to know that he can do this, that Shane can follow his lead when it needs to happen.

He nudges the other back, a little further from the edge of the bed. With hurried movements, he puts his spent cock away and then plants a knee between the other’s spread thighs, ready to return the favor. He slides his leg up until it’s resting snugly against the man’s hard length and Shane whines, hips twitching into it.

“Can you get off like this?”

The man nods, biting his lip as he brings his arms out straight behind him to lean back on them.

“Go on, then. Let me see it.” The encouragement appears to be what the other was waiting for because not a second later, Shane begins rolling his hips. And – it’s more than he was expecting, it’s harder than he thought. Shane is all bulk, all strength and force, and rippling muscles as he rides Rick’s leg. It should be clumsy, the grind should not be enough but Shane throws his head back, collared neck exposed and Rick’s cock gives a feeble twitch of interest. He’s a sight, alright, one Rick will be thinking about any chance he gets because with the other here, under his command, it’s like the world outside doesn’t exist. Everything he’s been worried about since he woke up from the coma seems to have melted away, every problem irrelevant. Shane and him the center of his world, making Shane understand and listen his main objective.

“Yeah, that’s it.” He urges again when Shane’s rhythm grows erratic, lids lowered but dark eyes still glued to him.

He crawls forward, pushing until Shane is on his back, until he’s covering the other’s body with his. Finally, the other’s restraint breaks and his hands come to clutch at Rick, gripping his shirt and straining the stitching. But it’s alright, he’ll allow the disobedience because it doesn’t matter anymore.

“Come on.” He whispers into the hinge of the man’s jaw, dragging his teeth along it before settling on a spot above the collar where the skin’s gone a little red and irritated. The other twitches against his leg, the RV bed creaking under them and the sweat on the other’s skin salty when he tastes it.

“You gonna get off rutting against me like an animal, hm?” The croon is lightly mocking but mostly affectionate because he wants it, wants to see Shane reach his orgasm like this. But, with a spark of malice, he continues, not quite done with putting Shane in his place yet.

“Like a bitch in heat. You gonna let me mount you next time? Take my cock real well, I bet. Fuck, Shane, you want that?”

“Yes, yes.” Shane pants, looking bewildered at both the question and his own admission, cheeks ruddy and mouth wet. “Want it, Rick, please.”

“Yeah, you be good and I’ll give you anything you want. How about that? Be a good boy for me and next time-” He doesn’t get to finish the sentence, doesn’t get to contemplate on his promise of a next time because Shane is arching under him, hands gripping his back hard enough to bruise as he comes with a startled gasp.

He feels the heat spreading along the front of the other’s pants and promptly ignores the shiver racing down his spine, unwilling to let this go on for another round. Afraid of what he’ll do and allow if it does.

But he does let Shane cling to him as the aftershock wracks through him, coos and croons and hushes him when he trembles. He rubs their cheeks together, pets a hand along his head and thinks that they’re vaguely gross, covered in cum and spit. The RV reeks of it all, too and it’s going to take a lot of airing out to get rid of the stench of sex. Because that’s what this was – shit. He’s just had sex with his best friend.

He expects the panic to set in, expects it to hit him square in the chest but it doesn’t. Instead, he rests his body on top of Shane and lets the man bury his nose in the crook of his neck.

Tentative teeth nip at the soft skin there and he chuckles, amused. It’s comfortable, knowing that Shane can take his weight; it’s nice, the soft kisses the other man presses to his sweaty throat. One of the other’s hands eventually makes it to his damp curls while the other anchors itself to his hip and then they just – breathe together.

They have to move. He doesn’t know how much time has passed but he’s left Daryl in charge of their privacy for two hours and he isn't certain for how much longer the hunter will be able to hold the nosy members of their group off. Including Lori. Fuck, Lori.

“There he goes again.” Shane grumbles before tumbling him over in a swift motion that he doesn’t anticipate.

He chokes out a surprised laugh, accepting his turn as the mattress. Except Shane’s bulk is much more considerable and every muscled ridge of him is making Rick squirm. It’s not unpleasant and he finds himself feeling at ease, trapped like he is, instead.

“What?”

“Thinkin’.” Shane eases off a little, pushing up. “Could feel you tensing up.”

“People with brains tend to do that.” He raises an eyebrow at the other and Shane rolls his eyes. The levity is quick to leave him, though, because he is thinking and more importantly, he’s worrying again. Shane waits him out, patient for once, as he forms his words carefully.

“You know I meant it, right?” Bringing a hand up, he runs his thumb along the collar, pausing where the nametag used to be attached, the little metal loop worn. “I need you with me, Shane. I need you, not some jarhead dickbag you think you have to be.”

“Christ, please, no need to mince your words.” The other snorts but it’s not as easy as his earlier words were.

He observes the man, the ridge of his brow, the bump of his nose, how the other’s holding himself up in what is essentially a push-up without much effort and finds himself – well. He’s always loved Shane, has admired him and has been by his side through thick and thin. There’s no need to worry about what, to some, may seem like the natural progression of their relationship.

Except that’s not true and Rick knows it. But he doesn’t want to think about it; for once, he wants to accept something as fact and move on.  

“I know we got carried away but I meant it.” He repeats in case it wasn’t clear.

Shane swallows, throat working against the collar. “I know.”

“Here, let’s get this off.”

With steady hands, he works the buckle of the collar free, tossing it to the side once it’s off all the while Shane stares at him in silence.

“I liked it.” The other admits, eyes downcast.

“I know.”

And it’s enough. For now, it’s enough. They might talk about it sometime in the future but for now, there’s nothing further to discuss.

They get cleaned up in silence, working in tandem like they used to, passing wet wipes and paper towels between them like they’ve done this before. He stows the collar away, hidden behind supplies they’re not likely to use any time soon.

He steals a kiss before opening the door to the RV, leaving Shane inside to fight the blush on his own.

At the sound of the door, Dixon raises his head, eyes finding his immediately.

The tops of the other’s cheeks and ears go red and Rick keeps his face stern despite the bashful grin that wants to stretch his lips.

“All sorted?” Daryl asks, clearing his throat.

He nods, looking towards the house. “They give you any trouble?”

The other shrugs. “Lori came by askin’ if I knew where y’all went… Sent her to one of the wells.”

He winces, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thank you, Daryl. I owe you one.”

“’S long as your dog don’t come bitin’ at my ankles no more, we’re good.”

The laugh bursts out of him, loud and unexpected as it always does these days but he accepts it all the same. Briefly, gently, he touches the man’s shoulder in gratitude and moves towards the house, eager for a shower and a change of clothes.

Behind him, he hears the RV door open again and can only imagine the stare down between the two men he’s left behind in his wake.

Shane relents. Satisfied and brought to heel, the other man defers to him. Nobody says a word about it.

In the end, as the horde sweeps through the farm, the decision of Randall’s life is taken out of their hands.

~