Walking Dead Chasing Rainbows

For Damion Starr, because every day should feel like your birthday. I don't know when I'll be able to turn out another fic to this pairing because the muses really wrung something from me with this one, so ENJOY!

_**Chasing Rainbows, by MissMishka**_

DISCLAIMER: The usual warnings, I claim no ownership of these characters, they are simply borrowed with love and adoration from the original creators to have their stories embellished on a little more than the show may do. Not for any profit.

ADDITIONAL WARNING: This is the most explicit m/m slash scene I think I've ever written and while it is anchored in a strong and turbulently emotional context, I warn you to stop reading now if you have any issues with the idea of men finding and knowing anything beyond friendship with another man. If you cannot see or appreciate the strong, needful and sometimes violently passionate way two grown men can come together then this fic is not for you. We all have are likes and dislikes and you have been warned, so if you read on, you do so knowing what lies ahead and I hope you enjoy it. That being said, I probably made several errors in grammar, especially when it comes to tenses, so if anyone feels the urge to point out the glaring errors for correction, I would appreciate it. Review or PM so I can get the corrections made and I thank you. :)

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><p>The cigarette was a poor substitute for what he'd like to be smoking, but his pot supply had been tossed aside weeks ago and he was loathe to get into Merle's stash.<p>

Drugs would probably worsen his headspace, anyway, and he preferred to stay sharp when possible these days.

Not to mention, mellow was a place he doubted he'd ever see again no matter how potent the Mary Jane.

They all needed a vice to surrender to on this night, though.

Daryl had bummed this stale smoke from Dale as the older man had gone to the pack for his second cigarette of the evening. They'd all known what that simple gesture meant and it added to the pain of the day. Dale had told them one night early on about the pack of Marbolos he kept in his pocket but never smoked. The man had stopped the habit cold the day his wife had been diagnosed with cancer, but he had kept that last pack as a reminder of the cruel irony of fate. The older man had smoked two packs a day for years and his wife had never done an impure thing to her body, yet it had been _her_ "God" had chosen to riddle with the agony of cancer. There had only been one cigarette removed from the pack and that one, Dale had told them, was the one he'd been smoking while he paced outside the hospital waiting for the results of another round of tests to tell them what was wrong with his spouse.

Those nineteen remainders were likely already gone and good riddance to them. No one needed or wanted any reminders of how fucked up fate was after what they'd witnessed outside that cursed barn.

He stared for a moment at the faint orange embers as they began to burn into the filter before crushing the butt under the heel of his boot.

_One vice down, on to the next._

Rick finally moved from the darkness behind Daryl and silently sat on a patch of ground beside the redneck. Daryl didn't know how long they sat there, shoulders just inches apart, staring off into the nothingness of the night. He wasn't about to push anything along, willing to let the other man set this course.

"It's funny," he begins, shifting in the darkness to draw his knee up as a brace for his elbow. "The one choice I've made so far that Shane seems to agree with is the one I'd give most to undo."

Sensing a confessional to come, Daryl wished for another cigarette then leant back on his hands so that they wouldn't fiddle for something to do.

"She was just so panicked in my arms. All I could think as I ran with her was that we'd never make it," Daryl sensed more than saw the Deputy's pleading blue eyes turning to him for understanding. "You don't know what it was like. Happening so quick. She even went for my gun. Those things would've had us both in a heartbeat if I'd have tried to keep going with her."

Though given a pause to interject, Daryl kept his tongue because the other man had it exactly right. He couldn't know what that moment was like. Couldn't imagine or redo it differently. Anyone could play devils' advocate to torment the guy, but that wasn't Daryl's way.

"I had her in my arms. Literally, held her life in my hands," the pale white skin of Rick's hands gleamed in the moonlight as he raised them for both their eyes to study. "I should have held on. If I didn't still have this damned wound troubling me, I could have found some way…"

"And you coulda fallen with her. Coulda both been bit."

"I could've tried harder. I managed well enough when it was Carl. He was a dead weight in my arms after he got shot, but I still ran full tilt to the farm with him. I chose to sacrifice her," the words were the barest whisper in the night. "No one stands a chance out here alone. We all know that. Especially not that little girl. I knew that and I left her," a pale hand moved to pull at the hair atop a head Daryl knew was likely bent in shame.

"Did the best you could to keep her safe. Found a hiding place. Took the Walkers away from her. We can only guess at what happened after that."

_And that guessing was likely to drive most of the group insane_, Daryl knew. Both of them included.

"I never should have let you get hurt looking for her. Shane was right about that, too."

"There are more important things in this world than being right," was all Daryl felt needed said on that particular topic.

"She had to have been bit almost as soon as I left her, if Otis was the one to find her and put her in the barn," Rick's anguish was a poisonous thing at times like that, spreading with the image of how the girl had likely suffered. "Do you think-"

"No," he interrupts firmly, eyes seeking the other man's in the darkness, "and best you stop it yourself. We was just chasing rainbows. I knew it when I went out, but I just kept thinking if I could catch it or find the end…but there's no catching a rainbow. Sure as hell no pot of gold or anything good at the end. They're just tricks of the light. False hopes."

"I just need-"

Needing not to know the end of that thought, Daryl stopped the words with his mouth, hand latching on to the back of the other man's head to pull him in.

Rick was frozen and unresponsive in his arms for long enough that Daryl began to fear he had been after another rainbow. When he would have pulled back, though, the man's hands grabbed at him.

Needing to be sure, Daryl ended the press of his lips to Ricks, put a few inches between their faces and stared into those blue eyes.

"Please."

The word, so weakly uttered by such a strong man, broke any hope of Daryl holding back.

When his mouth pressed this time, it was against lips softened and parted for him.

His hands cradle Rick's head, fingers threading through short, gently curling strands that he would like to stroke some day.

The man comes alive in his arms, hands briefly gripping Daryl's jaw before moving on once assured the kiss was in no danger of ending anytime soon. Those hands tickle down the length of his throat to settle on his shoulders and Daryl urges Rick to turn more into his arms then presses in tighter against the other man's chest.

He breaks from the kiss with a panting frown, angry words on the tip of his tongue when the other man's hands begin to shove at his shoulders to push the tracker back. The anger dies as quickly as it sprang to life, though, as Rick turns his abandoned mouth to Daryl's neck and begins undoing the buttons on Daryl's shirt.

Relief only had a moment to course through him before need and desire pushed it aside to take control.

His own hands smooth down Rick's back, enjoying the flex and bunch of man and muscle before attempting to loosen the few buttons still holding the uniform's shirt on.

Their arms tangled and elbows knocked at their efforts and Rick's soft laugh at that seemed to demand another quick, hard kiss.

Daryl broke away after just a momentary press of lips, leaning back to yank off his shirt without bothering with the last few buttons. Rick followed suit, pulling both his white undershirt and uniform top off in a single quick motion.

Rick took control, surprising Daryl into giving it when the other man put a firm hand to his chest, shoved the hunter to his back on the ground then followed to straddle his prone body.

The hand lingered, fingers moving over the raised ridge of scars on Daryl's skin until he squirmed away from the touch. He went for the Deputy's gunbelt, deftly undoing it and setting the holster within reach.

Rick's fingers went between them to begin unfastening Daryl's pants, only to stop with the zipper tab in hand and lowered halfway. Daryl's hands weren't as bashful, tearing open the other man's belt, button fastening and zip to thrust into the opening to find the front slit opening in Rick's boxers.

A shudder runs through him when Daryl achieves his goal and wraps callused fingers around the Deputy's erection, but the man stops him when Daryl would have stroked the shaft. Rick's fingers shake on Daryl's wrist as the man's head drops to the hunter's shoulder and his chest heaves with quick, deep breaths.

"What are we doing?"

Several possible responses spring to mind, all crude, blunt and obvious given how he was holding the man's tellingly hard dick, but Daryl discards them all. Sarcasm or wit has no place either in the moment, so he finds himself floundering a bit for an answer.

His hand slowly releases that flesh, pulls from Rick's tenuous hold and slips from the opening he'd created in the other man's underwear. He licks his lip and turns his head away for a moment to gather his thoughts.

His hand falls to the ground, finding grass, leaves and twigs to fill his fingers with, but he wants to grip something warm and living.

With that want in mind, he turns his head back toward the one pressed against his shoulder. He brings his hand up to slide carefully into Rick's soft hair and he grips the strands to pull that head up from its hiding place.

"Forgetting," he finally answers, brief and factual, as he locks eyes with the other man.

Another huff of laughter escapes the man atop him, even though Daryl had discarding any humorous retorts to the original question.

"Will it work?" Rick asks, turning his head to rub his cheek against the inside of Daryl's wrist, stubble rasping over the sensitive flesh in a way that made Daryl shiver like a fucking girl.

"No," he answers, being honest with them both.

The rubbing stops as Rick turns his head to stare into Daryl's eyes, face close enough that the other man's frown of confusion is evident in the dark.

"Then why-"

Sensing a repeat of a question he'd already answered as best as he wanted to, Daryl gives a slight buck to throw Rick off balance and stops the words by flipping the other man to the ground and sliding atop him.

"Because we have to try," Daryl whispers before he ends any further conversation with a deep, demanding kiss.

Rick has no option but to surrender his mouth to the tongue that demanded entrance and teeth that nipped at his lower lip. He follows after that, his tongue twisting against Daryl's while his hands gripped the hunter's back.

Daryl doesn't bother to strip them completely, seeing no sense in fussing with the laces of their boots when he only needed to shove their pants out of the way enough for him to maneuver.

Rick's fingers curl into his flesh, blunt fingernails biting in deliciously once Daryl gets the garments out of the way and their naked groins. The friction is almost painful when they instinctively grind together, drawing a wince from Daryl as he pulls his mouth away to bite at Rick's neck.

The dryness of their skin chafed, reminding him that they had little lubricant for this endeavor.

While he wanted nothing more in the moment than to be inside this man, finding solace in release, he refused to add to Rick's pain from the events of the day.

Used to handling hurt, Daryl gave those swelling lips one last press, relishing the way the other man clung with mouth and hands.

Daryl didn't need the distraction, though, so he took a wrist in each hand to pin them to the ground at Rick's sides.

The man's eyes ask a question and show surprise at the restraint, but Daryl only ducks his head to nip at stubbled jaw before moving on to the Adam's apple that bobbed with the gulp Rick took.

Foreplay had run its course to his way of thinking and Daryl's body demanded release.

He kept going down until his chin brushed over the tip of the other man's dick, causing Rick to curse and jump beneath him as if electrocuted.

Eager to see how the man would react to his deliberate contact, Daryl released Rick's wrists to pin his hips to the ground instead. Those hands immediately went to Daryl's head, fingers knotting in the short strands of his hair as his tongue gave the mushroom tip of Rick's shaft a lick before his mouth took it inside.

He began to consider that he may have over-estimated the Deputy's staying power, knowing the man had slept recently with his wife and thinking that would dull the edge of need. The body beneath him was ready for release, though, shuddering and twisting for it as Rick's hips tried to thrust deeper into the wet clasp of lips and throat.

"Easy, pardner," he pulls away to order, but knows the man is beyond hearing the soft words as those fingers tug sharply on Daryl's hair in protest.

Feeling rushed, Daryl bit back a curse, spit on his own fingers then began slobbering over Rick's dick while spreading the pathetic excuse for lube over his entrance.

After anointing each inch of the hardened length in saliva, Daryl rises to straddle hips that immediately begin to buck beneath him when he lets them go.

Wishing for reins or something for the ride, he somehow finds his balance with one hand in the center of Rick's chest, giving the other a chance to reach between them to hold the man's dick steady.

The second the tip pushes up against the soft, wrinkled skin of Daryl's hole, Rick freezes. He appreciates the stillness as it allows him to focus on pushing out and sinking down on the shaft, trying to go slowly to limit the pain from lack of proper preparation for this.

It hurts more than a bit, given how long it had been since anyone had gotten him a position to call him their bitch, but he wasn't going to think of that in this moment. His inner muscles resist and protest the invasion, trying to push out each inch he forces in with his downward motion, but he doesn't stop until he's fully seated on the other man.

A thrill races along his nerve endings at the fullness; a dark place within him welcoming the stretching burn in his ass.

"Fuck," Rick gasps out, his chest heaving on the release of a breath neither of them had noticed he held.

"Need a minute first," Daryl retorts, intending it more a statement of fact than a joke.

Rick huffs out another of his surprised laughs, though, then puts his hands on Daryl's hips.

They stay there for just a moment before skimming up his sides, making Daryl squirm for a moment before he controlled the age old reaction to tickling. Rick made no comment on the indication of ticklishness, though, hands moving on without exploiting the weakness revealed. He slips his hands under Daryl's arms and around his back, fingers curling up over his shoulders to urge the hunter to lean down.

As Daryl complied, bending forward as the other man's head rose to meet him halfway, he saw questions in Rick's gaze, but was glad they went unasked for a change.

Their lips meet hard and hungrily, tongues twining.

Daryl puts a hand to Rick's cheek, holding his head still while he took control of the moment.

He starts to rock his hips, forward and back, up and down, slowly at first to get used to the movement of the thing inside him. His tongue stabs into Rick's mouth, dominant and probing as he wanted to be were their positions reversed.

They break apart to breathe and Rick collapses back to the ground with a panting groan, his hands returning to Daryl's hips and holding hard.

It went quickly after that, the man bucking and twisting against his inability to thrust and pound to completion in their current position.

The tautly arched column of throat exposed by the way Rick threw his head back were an irresistible lure for Daryl's teeth. His kisses along the man's neck had the body beneath him shuddering in a way that should have forewarned, but he kept on, drawn to the skin and muscle and tendons, all pulsing such life.

When he came to the joint of neck and shoulder, biting down just enough to be felt without leaving a mark to have to have explained, Rick's whole body seized.

Knowing all too well what came next, Daryl sat up quickly and spit on his palm before wrapping a familiar hand around his previously neglected cock.

It jumped in welcome of the touch and he began to jerk it hard and fast while grinding against the convulsive bucks of Rick's body as climax tore through the other man.

He was biting his lips to hold in a self-abusing curse, still painfully erect and stroking it to no satisfactory end, when Rick's shudders stopped and he slowly slid a hand from Daryl's hip to help.

The fingers were rough and dry, a little tight and awkward as if it was there first time in such a situation, but that touch was apparently what Daryl's body had been needing.

His jerked as if a cattle prod had been thrust into the small of his back, the pleasure so intense it fucking hurt, blinding and deafening him to everything save the feel of orgasm.

He fell back with the force of it, torso seeming to reach for the sky as the release pulsed through him, spilling over their hands as their joint efforts milked him of every drop he had denied release for months, even before the Apocalypse.

When touching became too much to bear on his softening flesh, his sticky hand took hold of Rick's and gently moved it aside before he bent forward to clump against the other man's chest.

The release, for him, was exhausting and he could have stayed just like that till his body rotted and been happy.

"We should probably forget this, too," Rick eventually spoke into the quiet stillness surrounding them.

Daryl couldn't speak for Rick in the aftermath of the moment and didn't want to question or read anything in to the statement as he finally moved to collapse on the ground beside the other man.

While he hadn't and would never forget the events of the day, he felt he had a more tangible memory for it now than the rainbows he had watched fade from his mind's eye when Sophia shambled from the opened barn.

"No," he says, turning to Rick and finding those injured blue eyes in the dark. "This is what we need to remember."


End file.
