Chapter Text
It's blue and it's soft and it seems like it glows over Daryl's skin and even though he knows he is well and truly alone in the house, Daryl finds himself trembling with that delicious anticipation of what if.
What if Rick found his way home earlier than usual today, what if he was released from work sooner than either of them expected and walked in. What if he entered the room and found Daryl swirling like he's been doing for over an hour, swirling in a satin blue dress, the circle skirt of the garment flying around his thighs and hips as he goes.
He stares at himself in the mirror, his hands stuck in a never-ending caress on the fabric that fits so snugly across the planes and dips of his chest and shoulders.
His legs are smoothly shaved - a fantasy or rather an intimate tendency to prefer smooth over rough, gentle over tough, soft over harsh. He gives in to it every now and then and right now, the joy of subduing the manly manliness of his long muscly legs make him forget how incongruous one may judge him.
Butterflies are flying up his chest in the wake of his hand, tangling in the folds of satin across his waist. A small smile graces his lips and further gentles his features, soothing the wrinkles of life up his brow, making room for the blue light of his eyes to shine and reflect back to him in the full-length mirror he's facing.
Delicacy, the gentleness of the soul reverberating in the way Daryl's limbs seem to stall whenever he's able to dress in this way, whenever he's able to blend his features in makeup and to tame his hair with products he otherwise keeps stashed in the bathroom cabinets.
It's a thrill and a delight, to be given the opportunity to live a life where this is possible, where Daryl can afford to shed the skin of the redneck, to abandon the angular edges of his birth and fully embrace the petal-soft nature of his person, one he carefully hides to all else, the wind, and the people around him. Even Rick.
And sometimes he thinks maybe his husband knows. Maybe Rick Grimes - the most tender man Daryl's ever met in his life, the most cheerful dork and still the strongest pillar of Daryl's existence - knows it all and doesn't judge. Because sometimes, Rick's eyes have a gleam to them as he gives him something that feels like a knowing side-glance. Because sometimes Rick's face lights up with the curve of his lips as they tend to form a half-quirk of a smile, a question without words.
And maybe, someday, Daryl can tell him.
And maybe, someday, Daryl can show him.
For now, Daryl swirls one last time before he changes into another dress, black this time, velvet this time, and his eyes water. He knows he'll have to tell Rick eventually. Because this feels too good to let go of and more than that, it feels too good to let it happen so seldom.
The thickness of the velvet as it hugs Daryl's body feels like a second skin. Its wrapover design top sticks to his chest in the most delicious embrace. The skirt pieces are tight down the expanse of his thighs and down again to below his knees, the curve of it all leaving his heart in a warm flutter.
Thank God for online orders. Thank God for Rick being a patron of privacy and leaving him to take care of his own private mail and deliveries.
Daryl sits on his bed still in the dress, absentmindedly stroking his thighs through the cloth, gently biting his lipsticked bottom lip and he is suddenly overwhelmed with both relief and panic. A double-natured stroke assaulting his heart as he is as he most often want to be: in the clothes that let him feel himself and he's still empty. He's all alone in his enjoyment of his fine appearance and as happy as he is to even be able to do this, it is still a lonely moment.
He stays this way for a long time, so long in fact, so lost in his own head in fact, that he didn't realize Rick was home and had been so for more than an hour when he opened the door to get out of their bedroom, still wearing his new favorite dress. He didn't realize it until his feet bumped on something in the doorway as he went to leave the room.
A curse muttered between gritted teeth later, Daryl looked down to discover a bag, toppled over but still easily identifiable - Tiffany & Co. - Daryl gasped.
He looked from side to side but Rick was nowhere to be seen and if he'd paid more attention, he might have heard the sound of the TV coming from downstairs, but he hadn't, blood was throbbing at his temple and his mind was reeling.
He picked the bag up from the floor and quickly closed the door of the bedroom behind him.
He sat back on the edge of the bed and very carefully fished out the turquoise, ribboned box from its bag. He undid the precious bow that closed the box and gasped again, audibly. The lid taken off, the box had revealed another, jewelry, velvet box. A large square of it at that, and when Daryl lifted the lid of that one as well, his fingers shaking with uncertainty and exhilarating anticipation, he had to remind himself out loud, to be calm enough not to damage the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his life.
A rose gold necklace with an olive branch for a pendant, small diamonds for olives. All of it resting on a satin scarf artistically folded to showcase the colors of the jeweler House while nestling the delicate gold set.
A single tear escaped from Daryl's eyes as he ghosted his fingers over the expanse of the necklace chain, relief rushing through his every pore to his nervous heart, questions steadily filling his mind at the same time as gratefulness made his body pliant and warm.
It took awhile but eventually, Daryl put the jewel on. He marveled at the feel of the cold, glinting metal on his seemingly overheated skin, his fingers continuously going back to brush feather-soft over the expanse of the chain and pendant.
His smile was a shaky little thing that felt like acceptance but he couldn't let it wash over him, not yet. Rick first. Rick's eyes on him would tell Daryl everything he needed to know before he could envisage acceptance as part of his life, full acceptance. And so he got up on equally shaky legs, his knees colliding repeatedly as he took the few steps to the door, the few steps in the hallway to the stairs and then down, down the stairs until he reached the living-room and took a deep breath in, waiting for Rick to turn his attention away from the TV to notice he was there.
His lungs stuttered when Rick did look up. His heart beat so fast in his chest it hurt when Rick did straighten up on the couch, when he visibly took in the appearance of his husband, Daryl standing still as a statue under his gaze. And then Rick smiled, gentle as always.
“I knew the second I saw this necklace that it would look perfect on you, Dove.”