Work Text:
It seemed that the moment Daryl's head had hit the pillow he had already been waking up the next morning.
An unhealthy amount of running in the zombie apocalypse caused extreme exhaustion in everyone without fail, even Daryl Dixon. A hot summers day worth of supply running, and physical running from the undead made the hunter's muscles ache in a way that he couldn't even begin to describe. No matter how many showers he took, he couldn't rub off the sweaty, miserable pain in his body.
Daryl was used to sucking it up.
It took Daryl a few moments to actually wake up to register that the alarm clock was loudly blaring, and it was already 7:30. Daryl told his body to move to shut the alarm off, but the aches said otherwise. Instead, he groaned out in discomfort, head shifting into the pillow.
It was almost as if his prayers were answered the moment that a tanned arm from the corner of his eye reached over to slam the button on the alarm clock. One harsh click of the button, and the loud shrieks of the alarm had ceased.
Rick.
"Mornin', Darlin'."
That thick southern accent was enough to ease Daryl back to sleep, but a voice in the back of his head reminded him that it'd be outright rude to straight up ignore him. Daryl told himself to turn over. To kiss Rick's face as a greeting. To ask him how he slept.
"Mmh," was all he could manage in response, though. Way to fucking go, Dixon.
"Meant to let ya' sleep in more. After all, you worked harder than anyone yesterday."
Daryl could feel a shift in the bed, and he could only assume it had been Rick sitting up. Instinctively, Daryl turned his head to get a good look over his shoulder.
Proving his assumption correct, Rick had sat up in the bed to stretch. His arm muscles tightened over his head, reaching for the sky. The leader's muscles had been perfectly shown off with that thin t-shirt, one of which was riding up his stomach to give Daryl a nice view. He decided it was absolutely worth the pain in his neck to sneak a peek.
Rick was quick to notice. He raised a cheeky grin at Daryl, arms lowering back onto his lap. "Peepin' Tom," he teased.
Daryl chortled, easing his head back on it's side as he finally managed to completely wake up. He let the pain in his body settle in entirely, as well as the sticky feeling of sweat on his chest plaster him to the bedsheets below. He wasn't wearing a shirt, was he?
"Jus' check'n up on ya'..."
Rick echoed his lover's laugh, his body melting back onto the mattress. He was a little closer to Daryl this time.
"How're you feelin'?"
"Shitty."
Rick's hand reached over to Daryl's bare shoulder, hesitating before laying it down. Daryl instinctively tensed, but was quick to drop it. Apocalypse and all aside, the hunter wasn't keen on letting people touch him, let alone even look at his back. This was Rick Grimes however, the man to whom he had trusted himself onto many times. "Y'were trackin' that deer down for miles, can only expect you to be sore,” Rick says.
Daryl took a deep breath. "Yeah. Well, got lot'sa hungry people to feed."
Rick's hand was burning through him. Daryl needed more of that warmth desperately.
"Sure are."
Rather than staying in that position, Rick shifted to bring himself closer to his husband. His hand moved up and down his arm, massaging his tired muscles with as much tenderness as he could possibly muster. "I was more try'na hint out your dedication, y'know? 'S admirable."
"Mmh... Don't talk like y'wasn't a help either, Grimes. Knees would'a buckled if I didn't have 'yer shoulder ta' lean on."
A warmth coated the entirety of Daryl's back, now able to feel Rick’s bare chest pressed up against him. "Wasn't the one firin' those killin' shots though, was I? You n' 'yer impeccable aim..." Rick's words slurred, his face burying itself into Daryl's neck. His beard tickled the hunter.
"Awh, hell, Rick," Daryl mumbled, head dropping back. "Not now. C'mon, let my muscles heal b'fore ya' fuck em' up even more."
"What? No, no, no," Rick was quick to object. "C'mon, I'm not gonna fuck ya' right after a run. Y'know that." The leader's hands slinked through Daryl's body as he trailed off. The hands slipped up to Daryl's shoulders, fingers working to massage at them again. "Jus' tryin' to reward you for all that hard work, y'know? A massage couldn't hurt, could it?"
Those hands felt like honey trickling into a wine glass. It felt real good. Daryl huffed. "C'mon, 'yer spoilin' me. Don'tcha have that 7:45 shift, or?"
Daryl knew Rick was right. He needed this massage more than anything. But he always prioritized work before his own small needs; always.
Rick hummed, reaching away from Daryl and leaving an uncomfortable breeze upon separation and lack of warmth. "Not a problem. Deanna told me I could check in a little late if there was an emergency. Spencer'll take over."
"'Emergency,' huh?"
"Hey, never specified what did and didn't count as one. 'Sides, haven't checked in late once. I'm sure she'll let it slide."
Rick reached away, grabbing at the walkie-talkie laying on his dresser. He clicked the button. "Deanna? Y'there?"
Silence. Daryl cocked an eyebrow, ready to shoot back some sort of snobby remark at Rick— but as soon as he had opened his mouth, a woman’s voice came chiming over the walkie talkie. Deanna’s voice. “Rick. Is something wrong?”
"No, no, just wanted to say I may be a little late to my shift. I think Judith might be workin' up some sorta' cold, need to make sure she's okay."
Daryl turned over his shoulder, shooting Rick a small scowl. That scowl melted away as soon as Rick returned with a smirk.
Deanna's voice crackled through the walkie-talkie, "No problem. Remember, we have a doctor that'll be more than happy to keep an eye on her. I'll get Spencer on watch in the meantime."
"I appreciate it. I won't be too long," Daryl could hear Rick's smirk in his voice. Made him want to slap it off. Lovingly, of course.
Rick put the walkie talkie back in it's spot. "See? She's perfectly fine with me bein' a little later than usual."
"You lyin' piece of shit." Daryl grinned, turning back away with a bit of hidden satisfaction. Not that Rick needed to know that.
"What? Can't just tell her the truth, can I?" Rick scooted closer, a hand laying itself down onto Daryl's side. "Want me to call her back up and tell her m' missin' work to rub my husband's back?"
"Awh, shaddup." Daryl playfully smacked Rick's hand off his side, both men laughing out. The laughter died down, and Rick hadn't gone back to lay his hands down on him again. This caused Daryl to peek over, finding Rick observing his back. "See somethin' ya' like, cowboy?"
Rick's eyes met Daryl's. He looked away with a grin, hands returning back to his shoulders and continuing to rub. "Just like lookin' at your tattoo."
"Just the tattoo, huh?"
Rick sighed, eyes darting back to Daryl's backside. "Y'don't like the other part, so m' not gonna mention it."
Daryl gave Rick an apologetic glance, head turning away. He knew Rick was staring at his scars. I mean, he couldn't exactly blame him, they're a real fucking sight. But that didn't make him any less insecure. "Yeah? Why, y'like em?"
"Yeah. Guess I do." Rick realized his mistake fast, "I mean, no— don't like the fact you're hurt at all. Or, uh, how y'got em."
Daryl couldn't help but cringe.
"I just think 's admirable how tough y'are. They remind me of your strength." Rick trailed his hands around Daryl's back a bit as he spoke, taking in and tracing every scar he laid his eyes on.
"They do, eh?"
Usually, Daryl hated even mentioning his scars. He tried not to think about them as much as he could, and anyone who even dared to touch his back usually never lived to apologize. But Rick was different. Rick wasn't entertained by seeing Daryl's scars, nor did he view him any less for having them. He knew Rick well enough to be able to open up as much as he could ever possibly want to about anything. And if the scars got Daryl praised by his lover? Maybe that makes them a little worth it. Just a little.
"Yeah. Am I allowed to be, uh," Rick stumbled over his words.
Daryl replied before Rick could pick himself back up, "Yeah. I like the feelin'."
Rick was almost like a bandaid for his scars.
The leader hummed, full focus now on every perfect imperfection that littered his husband's back. "Bet your back must be pretty sore."
Rick leaned down to begin plastering ever-so-gentle kisses to Daryl's scars, up, down, and back up again. "So fuckin' gorgeous."
Daryl let Rick have his own enjoyment, a quiet smile reaching over his face. "Never knew ya' liked scars, Grimes. If y'like em so much, I should let'cha have at em' more oft'n."
Rick laughed. "Awh, don't make it sound creepy. I jus' like seein' you secure is all."
Silence filled the room, and Rick knew Daryl had an idea that Rick was gonna add onto that sentence. "N'... Yeah. Maybe they're a bit attractive."
Daryl smirked, a rugged chuckle making its way out; a gesture that told Rick, ‘yep, guilty as charged.’
“Keepin’ that in mind. Y’wanna see my scars more often?”
“Don't get any smart ideas. This doesn't mean I’m not gonna scold ‘ya for gettin’ hurt on runs. Don't go scarin’ yourself up.” Rick paused after that, a smug silence lingering in the air. “N’.... I wouldn't hate seein’ your scars every now and then.”
"Well, for what 'ts worth I like th' mole on 'yer ass. I wouldn't hate seein’ that every now and then either.”
Rick laughed out a gentle, “asshole,” smacking at Daryl’s side.
Before Daryl could spit out a retort of some kind, the door swung upon without warning.
"Hey, Dad? Deanna told me Judith— oh- Jesus Christ, you guys."
"Carl!" Rick hissed out, pushing himself away from his husband with instinct.
There stood Carl, standing smack dab in the doorway, hand smacked over his eyes (one eye and an eyepatch) with an undeniably disgusted cringe. Daryl could've killed him right there.
"Fuckin' hell, kid!" Daryl snapped, "ever hear a' knockin'?"
Rick cleared his throat. "Yeah, uh," he murmured, "I'll be right down."
"Yeah, yeah," Carl waved his hand dismissively, turning away. "I'll see you down there."
With that, Carl shut the door and speed walked down the steps, every thump a pang of embarrassment in Daryl's gut.
"Next time, fuckin' knock, kid!" Daryl yelled back. He groaned, defeated, body turning to face Rick. "Y'heard the boy. Get to work, sheriff."
"Fuck, m' sorry Dar'. I'll talk ta' him." Rick pinched the bridge of his nose. He sat up in bed for the last time, groaning as he pulled himself up from bed. He threw on his shirt and jacket, slipping his socks and shoes on. Daryl could tell by the way Rick was walking that he was a bit sore too, but not nearly as much.
"S'fine. Y'can catch me tonight. Don't die out there, cowboy."
Rick chuckled, pressing a kiss to Daryl's forehead. "See y'after my shift, alright? Get some rest."
Rick's footsteps trailed away, before he had finally left the room.
Daryl listened to Rick’s heavy thuds walk down the stairs, allowing the sound to fill his head. He took a breath, eyes shutting once more. If Rick wanted him to get rest, then he wouldn't object to it. For once, his exhaustion beat his stubbornness; he’d let the former take over.
“See ya’ after ‘yer shift…”