At the End of the World (or the Last Thing I See)
Title: At the End of the World (or the Last Thing I See)
Rating:NC-17
Genre and/or Pairing: The Walking Dead; Rick/Shane (with references to Rick/Lori and Shane/Lori)
Warnings: blood, infidelity, angst, hurt!Shane
Word Count: 9,541
Summary: From a twd_kinkmeme prompt. When Shane goes to get the supplies for Carl, in the struggle and rush of getting out of the school, he's not sure if he got bit or not. If he did he's gonna deal with it, gonna make sure no one he loves gets hurt because of him but first, he's got to make sure Carl's alright.
He didn't exactly plan on telling Rick anything at all.
Ok, so this comes from a kink meme prompt, which I’ll post at the end of the fic just in case anyone doesn’t want spoilers, lol BUT, I will say first off that this is a 2.03 related AU, so, not compliant with (almost)any canon information post 2.03 and bits of 2.03.
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The whole drive back he could feel it, or at least kept thinking he felt it, kept trying to remind himself that just like you could feel a thousand ants crawling on you after you found the first one, just because you felt something didn’t mean it was there. He just floored it, kept his hands steady on the wheel and tried not to grip too tight, to get too twitchy because the last thing he fucking needed was to get distracted now when he was so damn close. No way in hell could he let that happen, not when he’d sacrificed so much already.
Otis’s screams would be ringing in his ears forever, he knew that, knew it just as sure as he did that if he died for this, it’d only be fair. Honestly, he was pretty ok with that in some ways. He had no trouble giving his life for Carl, no trouble at all. Even if that was what he’d done that night he’d have gone back and done it over and over again because that little boy was Rick’s, he was Rick’s and maybe if the world was different or if things at least had turned out different, he could’ve been Shane’s too. He’d have done anything for him, for either of them, and that was something for which he’d never be sorry. He’d die for them, he’d go to hell for them, and he’d do it all with a smile to make sure God knew he had no regrets. The way he saw it, if you didn’t love someone enough to cross every last goddamn line for them if the need arose, you didn’t love them enough.
Still, no matter what he believed, he couldn’t deny the weight of what he’d done, couldn’t forget the screams and the sound of the bullet and the way just then his first thought had been Rick’ll forgive me; he’ll understand because to be honest, more than God it was always Rick’s forgiveness he cared about. It had been the same when they were kids, always looking for Rick’s approval, for that moment they’d meet someone new and Rick’d throw his arm around Shane’s neck and introduce him as his brother. When they were small, that was everything he wanted. Even when he came to want more, he’d spent so many years telling himself brother was enough and getting the chance to be his partner was more than enough, even if it wasn’t quite the definition of the word he’d have preferred.
There were a dozen places Shane could look back and see where his life had forked, see the sometimes utterly ridiculous road he’d led himself down. There had to be more, plenty hidden ones he couldn’t see, but he was sure the biggest one came when they were teenagers, the night they got drunk and he almost kissed Rick in the back of his truck only to stop himself, just in case. Taking a chance then could’ve meant everything, but the loss it could’ve brought with it just didn’t seem worth it, so he bit his lip and sucked down the blood and took another drink of Jack Daniel’s. The night Rick came over after a fight with Lori and ended up pulling Shane’s mouth to his, that turned everything upside down.
The years since had been a mix of highs and lows, of the heady rush of being with Rick mingled with the maddening stifle that was his marriage. He loved Shane, so he told him, had been in love just like Shane had since they were boys, but he couldn’t leave Lori now no matter how much he wanted to, had to try his best to make it work for his little boy. A boy needed his mother, Rick said, and he wouldn’t be the one to take her from him for the sake of his own desires; he couldn’t be that selfish.
Shane, he played with Carl in the yard, let him fall asleep on his chest watching the Braves games when he came over after work, waited out in line with Rick in the cold every Christmas at the big stores in Atlanta trying to get Carl just what he wanted, and he tried to keep from being too bitter over the fact that it wasn’t the fucking dark ages; he didn’t have to be a woman to be able to be a second parent. He understood why Rick felt the way he did, really, but he wanted too desperately to see it clear. They could be a family, he knew they could, hell in a lot of ways he practically already was Carl’s third parent. He kept from asking Rick just like he’d kept from telling him how he felt all those years ago, but he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe things wouldn’t be a whole lot better if they just told Lori they truth. She wouldn’t have to be out of Carl’s life, wouldn’t have to do anything other than accept Shane’s place in Rick’s. She could move out and he could move in and they could fucking exchange houses for all he cared, but somehow, somehow maybe it would all work out. He dreamed about that a lot, and every time he woke up to his breath catching in his chest.
With the world screeching to a halt, rather than shelve that want he’d really only been able to think about it more, every last goddamn day since Rick came back. Seriously, if there was ever a time for them to come clean, the fucking apocalypse should be it. Any given day, any given second could easily be their last, and while sneaking around in the small town life they’d had hadn’t been the easiest thing in the world, they’d had a hell of a lot more time on their hands that way than they did sneaking around in a postage stamp sized camp. They deserved better than that; both of them. Hell, Carl deserved better than spending his whole life thinking his dad was someone he wasn’t, than watching him fight with Lori and seeing the strain and usin’ that as his model for a healthy relationship.
Sure, he and Rick might not be exactly healthy either, but they were in love and they’d been making it work in between the lines for years. Surely that kind of dedication had to count for something.
On the way back, all of that spun around in his mind, a jumble that didn’t so much distract him from the pain in his back as frame it. Rather than the moment of death, his life was flashing before his eyes a little early to give him a chance to see all he might be giving up, to judge it worthy of the sacrifice. Reflexively, he reached over and felt the bag in the seat beside him every few seconds, let his hand bump against the equipment and remind him. He had it, he had all of it, and Hershel could do the operation and save Carl, and that was all that fucking mattered. Everything else he could handle, so long as Carl woke up.
There in front of the house, Rick’s arms were around him as soon as he got the bags to the ground, and even though he spent the last few seconds as he pulled in reminding himself of all the things he couldn’t do till he knew for sure, leaning into that touch was everything he wanted. Rick had a way of holding him close that was fierce and gentle all at once, just right and achingly familiar. His hand curved around the back of Shane’s neck, kept him close as he whispered, accent thick with the rush of hope and relief.
“Thank you, thank you, God, Shane, I-“
He couldn’t let Rick keep that up, keep holding him like that. It was too much, too much everything, and he couldn’t risk the questions he knew would come once Rick got around to stepping back to look Shane over. The scuffle with Otis hadn’t come quite soon enough, not really, because even taking the clearest path he could get he still had to make it through a part of the herd that was coming around for the feast, still had to claw his way between a bus and a fence and broken glass and get himself all the way back to the truck. There’d been grabbing hands and clacking teeth and the slice of glass against his arm and even combined with his wounded leg, none of that he feared. On the squeeze through the fence, though, there’d been a moment, a tug and a jolt and pain and at the time he’d been fighting too hard to focus but after, after…
It felt round, or partially round, or something…
It could’ve been a pole, could’ve been just metal, could’ve even been something else or maybe just a bruise, but all of those thoughts were pretty damn innocuous and none of them really mattered. It didn’t feel so much a question of “It’s either a bite or something else”, because if it was a bite, everything else became irrelevant. He had to operate as if he’d been bit, as if he was sure, because if it was true, he couldn’t take any risks.
Careful not to make it too sudden, not to draw too much attention, he eased away from Rick. He kept just one hand on him, clapped on his shoulder and keeping a point of warm contact that felt like it’d be enough to keep him on his feet for another trip all the way out to the school and back.
“C’mon, don’t thank me for that, man. Don’t you do that. It’s Carl.” He squeezed his fingers, focused on the feel of muscle and heat and the way Rick always, always shifted into his touch. “Go on, you need to be there right when he wakes up, and you gotta go sit with Lori till then. I’m going for some water, alright? I won’t be far; you let me know soon as you know anything.”
“You know I will.”
Yeah, he would. He would, and once Shane knew that, he could go find Daryl.
Daryl, he wouldn’t beat around the bush, and asking him to look wouldn’t fill him with fear. He didn’t particularly give a rat’s ass if Shane lived or died; at least not in the personal sense. Sure, he was ready to believe Daryl’d have his back on a mission, but just cause he’d try not to let him go down didn’t mean the man’d be shedding any tears if he did, and that was precisely what he needed. He needed to know, and he needed to act, and he needed to keep Rick the hell away from all of it. Already that night Rick had almost lost his son. However that turned out, if he had to lose Shane too, that’d just be too much. It’d tear him up after it was all over, but even so, he’d postpone that moment for as long as possible.
Out in the dark, in the tent he knew Lori and Rick wouldn’t be returning to for quite a while, he sat down and took a sip of the water he’d snatched from closer to the fire. His throat was so parched that for a second it almost stung going down, and the flash fear of fever jerked at his veins. He had to get a fucking hold on himself, had to reign it in. It was too soon for that, too soon even if he’d been bit.
Slowly, uncertain, he reached around behind his back, feeling around on his shirt. It was low, farther down than Rick’s hands had reached, farther than-
When he reached torn cotton, he stopped. Carl’s surgery would take a while, and he couldn’t panic. He had to wait, had to know, because if he’d succeeded, it wouldn’t be half as bad, wouldn’t be half as hard to put a bullet in his mouth.
Already, he was pretty sure that then, his thoughts’d be the same as they had earlier that night, running across the pavement.
Rick’ll forgive me; he’ll understand
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’
“Shane.”
From just that one word, he knew everything. He was so used to it, first as kids then in football and on the job and everywhere else, the way Rick said just his name and gave up so much more. There was the ‘be careful, man, calm down’ from a showdown with a suspect, the ‘come over I need to see you now’ from a rambling voicemail, the ‘I don’t know how to do this’ like he’d heard the day he found out he was gonna be a daddy, like he’d heard that very afternoon with Carl bleeding out on that bed.
Carl was alright, and Rick had come to tell him, to get it out before the relief brought him to his knees like it had to be about ready to. Still, he brought his head up from his hands, looked Rick in the eye like he still needed to be told. “Yeah?”
The smile tugging at Rick’s lips didn’t quite match the red around his eyes or the pale white of his skin, but it looked like a good change all the same. “Hershel says he should be just fine. Hardest part was making it through the operation but it’s done; he got all the pieces and closed the bleed up. He’s gonna be alright.”
It was almost dizzying how fast the weight lifted off his own chest, an unsteadying mix of joy and horror. Carl was fine, he was strong and he’d be fine and that was all in the world Shane had wanted, but that one unanswered question had been his tether since the moment he got back, and in that release he felt like he was falling. He’d done his job, done everything he needed to do and now it came down to the answer he was relatively sure he didn’t want.
He couldn’t have smiled convincingly for Rick right then if it’d have had the power to send them all back in time, but he did the best he could.
“I told you he’d pull through. I told you that, didn’t I? He’s a tough kid, reminds me of his daddy sometimes. I knew it, I knew we weren’t gonna lose him now.” Not after Sophia, for one thing. More importantly, though, because if they had a single breath left, they wouldn’t let him go. Not if he could help it.
“Shane, what you did-“
“I told you, don’t, I-“
“I’m not sayin’ you didn’t have a stake in this; don’t take it like that. I’m just sayin’, I owe you his life twice over, and I can’t even begin to find the words for that. I can’t. But what I can tell you…when you were gone tonight?” Rick’s steps brought him close, all the way up into Shane’s space to crouch on the ground before him. Up close his eyes always looked a different shade of blue, a level that couldn’t be grasped lookin’ at him from a few feet away. There were flecks of color and the highlights of devotion and for just a second, that look being trained on him shook him up. He’d never been able to stop that, never even tried.
Rick’s hands closed around his, rough and warm and painstakingly gentle.
“When you didn’t come back and it was gettin’ late, I told Lori I was coming after you.”
The horror at the thought was too much, a sudden slam that had him reaching out to take Rick’s face in his hands. Caught somewhere between the desire to shake him and the desire to kiss him, he just held on too tight.
“The fuck were you thinking, Rick? Jesus, if Carl-“
“If you didn’t make it back, yeah, I think we’d have lost Carl.” His voice broke on that, wavering with the kind of sound that sliced Shane up from the inside, but he never looked away. “But I’d have lost you too, and do you really think I could bear that? You think I could lose you both, think I could live knowing you went out into that for us, for me, because I-“
“Your place was with Carl, you know that, Rick; I told you there was no way you were leaving that house.”
“Maybe so, but once I gave all the blood I could, I couldn’t hardly stand not comin’ after you. Brother, you know, wherever else I belong, being right there with you to watch your back is always gonna be part of it. I have to believe you know that.”
He was always so fucking earnest, too much for Shane to ever doubt him even if he’d wanted to. He stroked Rick’s cheeks with his thumbs, felt the scratch of stubble under the pads of his fingers and took in the contrast in the color of their skin. It was never that marked, the shift in shades never that strong, Rick’s grip on him never that weak.
“How much blood d’you give, man?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“You look like you’re about to fall over; you need to get back to the house, lay down and get you some sleep so when Carl wakes up, you’ll be there to see him.”
“Need to get you back in the house, too. What’d you-“
Just like he’d known he would outside if they stood there long enough, Rick had started to take inventory, to let his eyes flick over Shane’s body and catalogue the differences, dirt and sweat and most importantly, blood. Sometimes it made him smile, remembering that for them at least, it wasn’t something new. To everyone else, the life of constant injury and constant worry was an all new thing, but they’d fought side by side for years and even though it’d only gone to the point of gunshots twice, they frequently didn’t come out unscathed.
Rick’s eyes used to roam over him in the showers, catch a new wound as he looked Shane over. Once, so early in the morning they’d been almost sure it was safe, Rick’s hands had fit over the purple bruise against his ribs, burning hotter than the water as he took Shane’s mouth in a kiss. He’d whispered, words hidden by the pounding of water on tile.
“You know if I could, I’d never let you fall.”
“Ah, it doesn’t hurt.”
“You know I don’t buy that shit.”
They’d kissed as long as they dared, kissed until he was whimpering into Rick’s mouth because he wasn’t shy about that, not with Rick, not when he knew Rick’s hands would flex on his skin for every sound that left his throat. When they broke apart it ended with Rick’s lips against his ear, a promise that when they were properly alone, he’d take his time looking him over. Rick left the shower, went over to bang around in the locker room getting dressed, and Shane turned the water cold and leaned with one palm pressed against slick tile for a good few minutes before the burn of Rick’s taste in his mouth and his touch against bruised skin started to recede.
Rick was always going to notice, everything from the missing hair to the nick on his palm he’d made going out the window, but when he made a move toward the deep gash on his arm courtesy of the glass, it all happened too fast for Shane to have time to find a way to stay something like casual. All he could see was Rick’s fingertips about to touch the blood on his skin, and he knocked Rick’s hand wide, hard enough to make his point clear.
Fuck, but that ruined his plans; it had to. No way Rick wouldn’t figure it out, no way he wouldn’t put it together and…
Shane shook his head, the sigh that left his lungs taking the anxious weight of secrecy with it. “Don’t. Just, ah….just don’t, alright? I’m fine, it’s just…” Just what? How could he even pretend that reaction was normal, pretend it was anything but what it was? He couldn’t, not in their world. Laughter bubbled out from his chest, a memory of being a little boy and having his aunt tell him to never touch another kid’s blood, to keep his distance cause it might make him sick. Back when AIDS was the biggest blood borne concern, he’d still sliced his palm open and held it to Rick’s, let it mingle without thought for type or HIV or any other damn thing the world would’ve warned them about. It was the same, always the same with them. Whenever they didn’t mesh, they just kept pushing until force of will merged the pieces into one.
It wasn’t the time for the laugh, even if it was so goddamn anxious it was plain the sound was just a broken, scattered edge of something huge and devouring, but it didn’t really matter, because Rick wasn’t paying attention. His eyes were on Shane’s blood, on the cut on his arm and the way Shane had shoved him aside and seeing the dawning realization in Rick’s eyes was possibly the absolute worst thing he’d ever witnessed. At the hospital, he’d seen a mother gunned down as she feasted on her toddlers neck, and still he’d have watched that over again on a loop. With popcorn, if it meant not ever having to see Rick look at him like that.
Rick was ever his weak point.
He wanted to close his eyes against it, wanted to block it all out but the best he could do was look away, head dipped down to look at his boots and Rick’s, to see blood and dirt and listen to the slow momentum when Rick finally started to speak.
“No. No, no, no, this can’t be, this can’t….this is not happening now, you can’t be-“ His hands fisted in Shane’s shirt, the intensity startling until he let himself be jerked into looking up to see the rage in Rick’s eyes. He looked like there were a dozen words on his tongue, a dozen denials, but in the end he just shoved Shane back hard enough that he went with the motion, landed back on his elbows on the cot as Rick pushed away to pace.
“Look, I don’t know for sure, alright? I don’t know, but I had to stop you, I had to keep you safe, had to-“ Rick was shaking his head, the jerk in his muscles furious like he was about to deny him, about to argue the point and no matter the pain in his leg, Shane pushed himself to his feet. “I was bringing back what he needed, so help me God I was bringing it back if I had to strap it to the damn truck and drive until I fell out. Cause that little boy in there? You oughta know, he means more to me than my own ass, and if that genuinely surprises you at this point, you ain’t been payin’ attention.”
“You really think I don’t know that, think I’d disagree that my own son’s life is worth-“ Even asserting its truth, he choked. “I’d do anything for him, anything, but if someone had to die to get this done-“
“You know I’m not sure if this’ll ever knock through your thick head, but you are not expendable. Checking out is not an option for you, Rick! You don’t get to call it quits, you don’t get to give up, and you don’t get to take the suicide runs because you’ve got responsibilities, man, you’ve got the lives of all these people that they keep placing right in your hands! You’ve got your boy, and those things mean your life cannot be about you anymore. I mean hey, maybe if this hadn’t happened I wouldn’t put it quite that way, but that’s the way it is, that’s the breaks, that’s where we are and you’ve gotta stand up and realize it, you’ve gotta own it, because if I’m not gonna be here to knock you back on track-“
“Don’t you say that to me; don’t you dare.“
“I don’t want to! Hell, what d’you think, you think I wanna leave you with this? Think I wanna think of you without me there to have your back?”
Rick paced less like a caged tiger and more like a truly wild thing, less fluid grace and more rigid starts and stops. With his back to Shane, Shane could see the too tight stretch of his muscles, the quiver in the way his breath came that let Shane read him loud and clear. The exhaustion of it all was catching up to him, the fear and the blood loss and now this panic, and no matter how much he wasn’t sorry, looking at Rick he couldn’t help but hate himself just a little.
Maybe if he’d done something else, taken another route, shot Otis in the gym when he was still trying to avoid it…
“Were you even gonna tell me, Shane? Or were you just gonna…Jesus Christ.” He covered his mouth when his voice dipped, head bowing into his hands.
Outside the tent, the cicadas filled the silence. He’d thought it before and he couldn’t help but think it then, that Georgia was the constant that went on around them, oblivious to the monsters and the mayhem. They might be dying in droves, but the song of summer and the press of muggy air on his lungs, back roads lit by the moon and the thick smell of honeysuckle on the edge of the tree line, all those things hadn’t changed a bit.
Shane licked his lips, tasted sweat and wished he felt safe closing the distance between them, to kiss Rick’s neck and catch his taste under salt and dirt and blood.
“I had to know Carl was alright. I was gonna take care of it after that. If the damage is done, I’m sure as fuck not goin’ out like Jim, not riskin’ the lives of God only knows how many innocent people cause I don’t have the balls to put a gun to my head. I know what I’m doin’ if I need to, but that doesn’t mean you needed to know it.”
The breath Rick let out came so hollow it hurt, harsh and too quiet. “Right. Cause it’d be so much easier on me, comin’ out of the house later and finding out you blew your brains out by yourself, that I couldn’t even be there to say a damn thing to you, make sure you weren’t alone.” He finally took that step forward, just as Rick spun around and met him in the middle. Rick’s hands caught his shoulders, held him in a grip that didn’t quite pull him in but didn’t brook much room for argument. “You really think that’s how I’d want it, think I wouldn’t want to be there for you for that?”
“Fuck, Rick, I ain’t sayin’ you woudn’t wanna be, all I’m sayin’ is I wouldn’t put that on you; not for the world. Whether you wanted it or not.” His own hands found Rick’s shirt, clenching in the fabric to pull himself just close enough that they were almost all the way together, breath mingling. “I know you, Rick, I know you. You’d never get that out of your head.”
He’d keep it too close, carry it until it destroyed him, so even if the thought of Rick’s arms around him being the last thing he knew sounded about as good as death could ever get, that was an option he’d tried very hard not to let himself consider.
“I lose you now, like that, it doesn’t matter where I am; that’s never gettin’ out of my head anyway.” Rick’s breath was unsteady against his lips, a welcome sensation unmatched by the offbeat tempo of fear rather than arousal. He let go, let Rick’s crumpled shirt slip from his fingers so he could wrap his arms around Rick’s shoulders. He turned his head, stubble scraping lightly against Rick’s. It wasn’t a kiss, wasn’t the connection he wanted but at least it was close, at least it was something. He stayed just like that until Rick eased up, stopped squeezing handprints into his shoulders and just held on.
With his eyes closed he could still picture it, the way Rick had looked at the gash on his arm and Rick that morning crying into his shoulder and blood on his forehead and he hated it, hated every bit of it. Rick never needed protecting in the conventional sense; he was too brave a man for that. He was always the one ready to burst in on a suspect, always the one ready to take the front stance and put Shane behind him, but the man’s heart was a hell of a lot more fragile, and it was there Shane had always had a chance to actually look out for him, sometimes.
“You don’t have to do this, man. Hell, could be nothin’. Let me go talk to Daryl, I can-“
Rick pushed him back, sudden enough that they were both swept a little off balance. He’d seen Rick on the verge of tears more times than probably anyone else in Rick’s life so he knew the signs, the way he turned his head just a little, almost like a dog about to be hit. Still, he was tempering it, drawing himself up the way he’d had to learn to. This world, it did things to every last goddamn one of them.
“Go stand in the light.” Rick jerked his chin toward the light next to the cot, words heavy like he was pushin’ them out. “And take off your shirt.”
For a minute, Shane wished he could say something to dial them both back, something like he would’ve said before. Like a still warm night in October out behind Rick’s house when Rick had asked the same thing of him and he’d grabbed Rick’s belt, tugged him forward to crash into Shane and pin him against the house, words leaving his mouth in a rush.
Hey, whatever you say, officer.
Maybe for the first time, he couldn’t help but realize how far behind them that time really was. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d been like that together, playing around like they were boys instead of men, laughing and hushing each other and worrying about nothing more than what might happen if Lori finished her bath too fast or the neighbors came out to take out the trash. Ever since Rick came out of the hospital it was all desperation with them, raw need in every form. No matter if he was thinking quick and rough in the woods or the few times they’d managed to steal at least a little proper time, the tension never dropped. It was all I need you, thank you God, shut the fuck up, we’re gonna make it, we’re gonna get through this, I told you I’d come back, I never should have left you-
On and on without any real chance to breathe. Even slow, even the day he’d been able to lay his head on Rick’s chest and listen to that heart beat until his hands stopped shaking…of all the regrets he should be having there at what could be the end of his life, the fact that he hadn’t had a chance to make Rick smile in the midst of chaos probably shouldn’t have been one of them.
He couldn’t do it then either; couldn’t have even if his mouth hadn’t gone so suddenly dry at the thought that crossed his mind as he took the hem of his shirt in his hands. It could be the last time, for that. The last time, and while he couldn’t remember the first he could remember football, remember stripping in the locker room while they talked and trying to keep his eyes off Rick’s chest because he still thought he shouldn’t be looking, and he’d wondered for years just how much Rick looked too, if when Shane’s eyes were turned he looked like he did at work when the others couldn’t see, all appreciation and pent up desire.
If he was a choosin’ a last look, he’d have been pretty happy with one like that. Not the way Rick’s head was still half turned, still building up the strength. He stepped into the light slow, one hand running down Shane’s chest so reverent he almost shivered. The chill mesmerized him, slowed his breath. Before, Rick’s touch had only ever set him burning.
His right hand cupped Shane’s face, tucked it close to murmur against his ear. “On your back?”
He nodded, mouth still dry.
With a last squeeze against the bare skin just above the line of his jeans, Rick’s fingers snagged on his belt and pulled, turning Shane to put his back to Rick and the lantern light. Rick’s fingers grazed lightly over his shoulders, tracing muscle, and Shane shut his eyes against the light. He focused on Rick’s touch, on the progression of fingertips down his back, on the pressure when Rick pushed him just a little farther toward the light. The pressure of Rick’s palm led him to lean forward without a word, and though he twitched a little with the pain when Rick’s probing hands got close to the mark he could feel, he gritted his teeth, held his breath until he could feel Rick’s on his skin, a ragged exhale.
“There’s no teeth marks. No teeth marks, no tearing, there’s-“ Inbetween the words Rick hauled him close, arm wrapping tight around his waist as his lips pressed hard against Shane’s spine. When he spoke, they stayed right there, words flowing against his skin. “There’s a sliver of wood, looks like you banged the crap outta yourself on some damn thing but-“ Rick’s breath came so short he was almost gasping, hovering too close to laughter and sobs without touching either. “ ‘s not a bite; it’s not. It’s alright, Shane, it’s alright, we can patch this up, we’re gonna be alright.”
“Yeah? You’re sure, its-“
“I’m sure, I’m sure. There’s no bite. Just a wound; Hershel can take a look, get that wood out for you, and…God, Shane.”
The words blurred the farther he talked, half hidden by the kisses he trailed across Shane’s back, over his shoulders, against his neck. Rick’s lips were everywhere they could reach, mostly quick but with flickers of teeth and tongue, constantly roving until Shane reached back to get a grasp on Rick’s hair. It was meant to ground him, to let Rick feel him and give himself something to hold on to to tame the sudden dizziness that tried to tip him towards the ground. As soon has he had that hold, though, just holding on suddenly wasn’t enough.
He twisted in Rick’s grip, didn’t have much room to move but took what he could, enough to turn his head and drag Rick’s lips up to his. As soon as their lips met the kiss was frantic, Rick taking his mouth like somehow it’d ease the way he was still struggling for breath. He let Rick in from the beginning, let his tongue thrust inside to search out Shane’s taste. Still it lacked control, both of them fighting for too much ground in a way that brought the jarring sensation of their teeth knocking together, of blood from Shane’s split lip seeping against their tongues. If anything, the struggle only fueled them. Shane’s nails scraped lightly across Rick’s scalp and Rick’s arm across his stomach constricted even tighter, and they finally slipped into a rhythm, a brief gasp for breath perfectly broken as Rick’s tongue slid past his lips again. He was deliberate, demanding, and though Shane jerked at the feel of Rick brushing the roof of his mouth, it was Rick that moaned when Shane rose to meet him.
God, he loved that sound, loved it both when Rick didn’t hold back and when he did. He could remember nights before, remember Rick’s hands on the headboard and Shane’s hips snapping into him quick and strong, Rick’s head thrown back as he made the kind of sounds more fit for porn than any he’d ever heard in his life. He’d loved that, but he loved too the feel of vibration on his palm, of the way Rick gritted his teeth and bit down on Shane’s shoulder in the woods to keep from crying out and drawing a walker as he came.
He’d told Rick before, if a walker came up and ate his ass before they finished, he’d be haunting Rick for the rest of his life. Rick had dragged his hands through Shane’s hair, kissed his forehead and pointed out that sometimes, Shane wasn’t exactly the quietest son of a bitch either.
Trapped front to back in Rick’s arms, he could feel Rick so very well; the not wholly comfortable friction of the fabric of his shirt on Shane’s wounded back and the absolutely wholly welcome press of his filling cock. The way they stood it fit just right at his ass, just right for Shane to twist a little and shift back and be rewarded by the quick, instinctive thrust of Rick’s hips against his. Shane turned his head, groaned into Rick’s neck as he arched back in invitation. It wasn’t the time, not hardly, Carl could wake up and Lori could come looking, anyone could come looking, but Rick’s grip on him was so strong, so claiming. Moments like that, it’d have been the easiest thing in the world to say they belonged to each other, to say it like Rick didn’t wear a ring and there were no secrets to keep. They brought out a need in each other that defied all sense, and though he wouldn’t have been beyond askin’ Rick for something right then, he knew he’d never have had to.
Rick’s soft “fuck, Shane” against his collarbone brought a moan to his throat he held in, knowing he shouldn’t and hating that he couldn’t, because hearing talk like that from Rick’s mouth just might be the death of him someday. Rick wasn’t a saint by a longshot but still he was the good man Shane never would be, the angel out of the two of them if there even was one. The uniform and all it stood for hung off his shoulders in a way Shane’s never had, and hearing him slide down to something darker, something full of instinct and desire, that’d always been able to wind him up.
Rick’s grip shifted, the solid press of his arm lifting in exchange for his hand sliding just below Shane’s belt. He squeezed, eager and a little rough, and Shane’s hips bucked into his touch. He’d been plenty hard already, but there was something about Rick’s hands, about the way he always pulled Shane to him and held on. Even with the denim between them, it was under Rick’s palm that he felt the last dizzying rush of blood displaced.
“Still can’t believe I can do that to you.” He’d said it before; God willing he’d say it again. Rick had a way of doin’ that, talking about him with a kind of awe that Shane could never deserve. It left Shane wanting to give him a good punch to the jaw sometimes, to maybe knock something loose and knock him to his senses, but it was never what he really wanted and he knew it wouldn’t have done much good anyhow. Mostly, he wrapped those words up in his mind and held them tight, replayed them when he had to watch Lori’s arms around Rick’s waist or face himself, face the truth that how Rick saw him and everything he was sure he was weren’t quite the same.
Shane laughed, breathless and high off their victory and remembering, he’d wanted to make Rick smile. “Shit, you do that to me all the time. ‘s not like it’s difficult with you.”
“I know the feeling.” That had to be one of the oldest turn ons, one of the deepest. There was nothing like it, nothing like looking at Rick across the fire and seeing that he was already being watched, that Rick’s gaze roved over the V of his shirt down between his legs, tracing his shape and the play of light and shadow. He could see the desire there, the want that burned in his eyes with a sharpness Shane couldn’t have failed to miss. Being desired by a stranger was one thing, flattering and maybe enough to pique some interest but being desired by the one that meant everything, seeing that was enough to turn your mind upside down. Nights in the camp he both loved and hated it; loved to see it but hated the sick feeling that came with knowing how most nights it’d have to end.
Sometimes they could catch a moment but more often than not he’d find himself back in his tent alone. Sometimes he could get off, could wrap his own hand around his cock and imagine it was Rick’s, call different callouses and a different grip to mind from years of memory. Others, all he could think about was their tent not too far away, of Lori taking him in her arms and slaking need that wasn’t for her. He knew enough to picture all too well how it might have been, knew how Rick felt over him and under him, how he moved, how he breathed. (He knew that about her now too, knew it all because instead of going crazy with the loss right away he’d tried to stave it off by trying to taste Rick on her skin, to draw her in close enough that he could draw something of Rick out.) He’d start to wonder if he held her just as tight, if he whispered curses against her skin, if she knew that if she bared her neck and moaned his name when he was close he’d bite down just a little harder and he’d come like that, holding on with absolutely everything he had.
He wondered because he couldn’t help it, wondered in a way that made him feel sicker than it ever had because it wasn’t some hypothetical thing that might be happening across town but something that was happening right then, feet away, something that wouldn’t have happened if they’d had even five minutes in the damn woods for Rick to drop to his knees and so much as get his mouth around Shane’s cock. The hurt of that was blinding, a kind of mingled pain and fury that wiped everything else out. Those nights, jerking off could never happen, could’ve never helped anyway, and he stayed awake too long with his ears straining for sounds he knew he’d never hear.
Sometimes, though, none of that mattered; it couldn’t, not if he wanted to keep from going crazy. When it was the two of them, everything was too right to doubt, so right he couldn’t believe for a second that he ever made love to her like that. With Rick’s hands on him and his lips on Shane’s throat, that was always a hell of a lot easier to be certain of.
Rick’s hand left his cock and he almost protested, opened his mouth for it only to forget all thought of words the minute Rick’s fingers slipped in. It was funny, because while they never did taste quite the same anymore, polluted by too much else, all he ever really tasted was Rick. It was still there, buried but not gone, and he sucked eagerly, too desperate to bother to tease Rick with his tongue the way he loved to, to stroke the underside of those fingers as carefully as if they were Rick’s cock.
He sucked, teeth scraping a little, though he only bit down lightly once, at the sound of Rick’s belt clinking open. There was no wall here, no solid brick for Rick to press him up against so they ended up on the ground, his worn out body feelin’ every bump in the dirt under the thin material of the tent floor. His hands and his leg ached and he didn’t care, couldn’t possibly have cared, kept tonguing Rick’s fingers as he added a third. Shane slipped his own hand between his hips and the ground, scrabbled with his belt to get it open so Rick could tug his jean down just low enough.
The slide of Rick’s fingers inside him was nearly enough to get him up on his hands and knees, everything in him pulling back towards the intrusion, so eager to take Rick deeper he couldn’t stay still. The first time they’d done this (the time Shane had been pretty sure would never happen because they were having damn good sex already and hey, Rick had never had any complaints), Rick had slid one finger in so slow, dripping with lube, and when he’d found just the right spot and Shane jerked and keened like he’d been electrocuted, Rick had rubbed across his ribs all slow and steady like he was soothing a horse.
Shhh. I know, I know, feels good, don’t it?
Good didn’t even come close. The stretch of taking Rick’s cock for the first time had thrown him a little at first, but all it had really done was clear the haze of pleasure in his head with just enough pain to make sure he lasted a damn minute. He’d come so soon after that, shaking and coming apart and almost fucking blacking out, and Rick had been all around him, holding Shane’s legs up and holding him tight and muttering how he couldn’t believe the way he looked right then, all wrung out and beautiful.
He was pretty sure even his mama’d never thought that about him, but Rick, he said it like it was a given.
When the second spit slick finger joined the first, Shane reached for Rick, tugged him down all the way on top of him because he couldn’t bear even that much space. Like that he could feel the press of Rick’s weight against his back, could even revel a little in the extra pain it brought to his wound, a reminder of the solidity of it all. The fingers of Rick’s left hand twined with his, both pressed hard against the ground, and Rick’s breath came quick but steady against the nape of his neck.
The first thrust of Rick’s cock into him brought the burn he knew it would, eased by the slickness of Rick’s fingers and the way he’d spit into his own hand first, slicking his cock up just a little, just enough. Somewhere, probably not too far to the right in Rick’s bag, they had lube they’d scavenged from a drug store. It was good when they had the time for it, but there was something to be said for its absence, something organic and just right about nothing between them that didn’t come from them. That little bit of a burn was just right sometimes, just right and utterly worth it, especially then.
Rick let go of his hand with a squeeze, braced himself on his forearms and let his forehead rest against Shane’s shoulder as he thrust into him. He didn’t start slow; he couldn’t, his tempo too fueled by his own still rapid panting, by fear and love and panic. Shane was right there with him, the rhythm sometimes screwed to hell by the way he could never stay still, could never resist bearing down and rocking back against him. His cock was trapped against thin nylon, the friction not quite enough, but when he shifted his weight to try and get his hand down between his legs, Rick’s fingers closed hard around his arm.
The cut there was still seeping blood, still not all the way scabbed over and it welled up a little more under Rick’s grip, a light coat of red on the underside of his fingers. He held on just long enough to make his point, to keep Shane’s hand still, or maybe longer than he needed, maybe long enough to prove another point, too. Shane’s blood was safe, Shane was safe, and when Rick’s hand nudged up underneath him to wrap around him, it already felt damp.
He managed to hide his moan pretty well behind gritted teeth, his hand twisting into a claw against the slick floor as he tried to hold onto something, anything. He could feel Rick’s lips on his shoulderblade, up to the nape of his neck and back down again. He was surrounded by sensation, the rough burn of stubble against his skin, the slight ache of taking Rick in that gave way a little more with every stroke to nothing but pleasure, the cramped jerks of his cock in Rick’s bloodied palm. The closer he was to coming the closer Rick always got, folding up from under him or in around him like he couldn’t get close enough.
With his face buried against Shane’s neck he could feel everything, feel the tracts of tears that hadn’t quite been able to come in those first breaths as he’d traced the edges of Shane’s wound in the light. In another life, they’d have had time to take it all in, time like he’d always thought he’d have when Rick came home from the hospital. He used to tell him that when he visited, check for the nurses before he pulled Rick’s bandage down and left a kiss right on top of it.
Hey, Rick, you gotta wake up soon, ok? I’m right here. You know every chance I get, I’ll be right here.
He’d thought then that scar would be a focal point for him, draw his lips and his fingers and a thousand reassurances for both of them that that day on the road was long behind them, that he’d never again kneel on the pavement and feel Rick’s life trickling out between his grasping hands. In the aftermath of the exodus, that scar haunted him. It was a reminder of all he’d done wrong, of how he’d left Rick there when he wasn’t dead, all asleep and vulnerable and so damn lucky he hadn’t just become a fucking buffet. Maybe someday, that’d change. Maybe he’d let himself sink into it all again, cover Rick’s body with his and trace that scar with his tongue and find a way to forgive himself. For the time being, it was enough that Rick could have the kind of relief he couldn’t, could have the chance to hold onto Shane all that much tighter because he’d been sure for even a moment that he could feel him slipping away.
Rick’s hand tightened on his cock, his movements just a little quicker as his own thrusts edged more toward erratic.
“Shane, Shane, c’mon.”
He didn’t have to have that, didn’t have to have Rick’s voice or that tone to it that was so goddamn pleading, almost the same tone that slipped out of him with his hands cuffed above his head and Shane’s thumb teasing against his ass. He didn’t have to have it, but God he loved it.
As he came he turned his head, buried his face against his own arm to force himself to keep quiet. Rick’s name came out anyway, muffled but still audible, and though the sound Rick made against his neck then was a little louder, he didn’t regret it. He could feel Rick’s cock jerk as he came inside him, the sudden sticky warmth far more intoxicating than he’d ever thought it could be, before Rick. Like he always did in those moments when their stake on each other seemed so clear, he couldn’t feel anything but fucking good about a damn thing. Rick’s arms were still around him, his bare chest still pressed to Shane’s back, Rick’s shirt draped down both their sides in a way that brought to mind blankets, something back from another time, another life.
Rick pulled out and rolled over, breath rushing out of him in a shaky rush as he weakly tugged Shane to rest against his chest. For all the passion he’d had in him just minutes before, he seemed colt weak again, like his body’d scraped itself into cohesion only as long as it took to answer his needs.
Shane’s fingertip traced the shadows under his eyes, the edges of his beard. He looked so fucking exhausted, dirty and scraped thin and still breathtaking.
“You look like shit, seriously.”
Of all the damn things that could’ve done it, that actually got him a laugh, Rick’s chest shaking just a little with it, the upward twist at the corners of his lips for just a second lighting his eyes, too.
“You’re not exactly a vision yourself, jackass.” Rick’s fingers carded gently through his hair, still sticky with blood and come and Shane couldn’t possibly give less of a fuck, right up until Rick’s thumb brushed tentatively over bare skin. “Jesus, you really did a number on yourself, didn’t you?”
For just a second, the feel of Otis’s grip was all too clear, strong enough to almost make his stomach heave. One look at Rick kept him firmly grounded in the present, looking up at Shane with so much love in those red rimmed eyes it could’ve never failed to settle him. Everything he’d ever done for Rick, for Carl, everything, he’d do it all over again. If he had to keep killing, if he had to do worse than he’d yet done…if it kept Rick alive, kept Rick lookin’ at him like that, it’d be worth it.
Shane smiled for him, turned his head to kiss the soft skin on the inside of Rick’s arm. “Ah, it’s nothin’. Just had a time gettin’ out of there, that’s all. Don’t you worry.”
“You know it’d be to your advantage to give that up right now. You know it’s never gonna happen.”
“Yeah, well…” He reached for Rick, fit his palm against Rick’s cheek and smiled into the kiss when Rick met him in the middle. They kissed slow, open and wet, and he reveled in the diffusion of errant sparks across his skin at Rick’s low sound of approval. “We gotta be headin’ back.” Much as he hated to be the voice of reason, it was true. Hard ground and all he’d have liked nothing more than to lay his head down and fall asleep against Rick’s chest, but even if they were to ever bring this out in the open, Lori walkin’ in on it wasn’t the way to do it.
He stretched, chin coming to rest for just a minute over Rick’s heart. “Think I’ll see if I can take a shower.”
“Hershel’s lookin’ you over first. I may not be a doctor, but I know enough to know that sliver of wood’s gotta come out, and besides I think that one on your arm needs stitches. And after that-“ His voice rose, drowning out the protest he had to have been seeing coming on Shane’s face. “-why don’t you come sit with me, with Carl. It’s not just me and Lori he’ll wanna see, you know.”
He’d always known Rick to be his weakest point, that joint just right for applying pressure, but Carl somehow, sometimes that seemed even more fragile. Maybe it because he wanted too much he couldn’t have, maybe because sometimes when Carl looked at him he felt like the daddy he wasn’t, but the reminder that his face was one Carl’d be lookin’ for did things to him that made it hard to breathe.
Shane took a deep breath, picked his head up off Rick’s chest and nodded once as he blinked the sting away from his eyes. The shower could wait, everything could wait. He’d let Rick lead him to Hershel and hover and fuss like a damn hen if it made him feel better, and after they’d go sit with Carl, give himself a chance to perch on the edge of that bed and count Carl’s hopefully less shallow breaths until his daddy fell asleep next to him like Shane knew he would. He’d stay up, watch over them both until Rick woke or the exhaustion took him, either way.
There was a part of him that couldn’t help pointing out that it wasn’t much, that whatever snapshot he might get of feelin’ like a family was stolen, like a skewed painting for a cartoon askin’ the audience to look for the out of place piece.
Still, he’d take it; he’d fucking take it.
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