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Thursday was Glenn’s favorite day of the week. Actually, scratch that; Thursday was his favorite school day of the week. This was mainly due to the fact that Glenn didn’t actually have a last period class on Thursdays. His American History teacher had been kind enough to make Thursday’s class into more of an independent study period; you were still supposed to show up but instead of a lecture, their teacher sat behind her desk, catching up on something or another while they were meant to read or work on one of their assignments.
Fuck that. Unlike most of the other kids in his grade, Glenn knew how to manage his time. He didn’t put an assignment off until the last minute; he did it as soon as possible, so that he didn’t have to do it later. If that work ethic meant that he had to dedicate a few of his Saturdays to schoolwork, so be it. By doing that, he could be home by two on Thursday's and showered by two thirty. That gave him at least an hour and a half where he could lounge around the house in whatever state of dress he pleased, where he could watch the television as loud as he wanted or where he could jerk off with his door open.
If he was being honest, usually all of the above occurred.
The second Thursday of February started out just like the others. He came home just after two, hopped into the shower (and sang very loudly, but so what?) and wandered downstairs with just a towel knotted around his waist, intent on drinking orange juice straight from the carton and watching some really bad television.
He didn’t even get a chance to reach into the fridge before the front door slammed open. Glenn’s first reaction (other than to stifle his shriek) was to grab a butcher knife out of the block on the counter, hoping to God that he wasn’t about to confront a burglar.
Instead, it was Daryl who popped into the kitchen, still wearing his construction uniform, face streaked with dirt and oil. Glenn immediately exhaled; he was still slightly uncomfortable being almost naked in front of Daryl (funny how that one layer made all the difference) but it was much, much better than if it had been some random man attempting to rob the house.
“Daryl, what are you doing here? I thought you weren’t done until-“ The rest of Glenn’s sentence was forgotten because Daryl had taken off his hard hat, thrown it across the kitchen table (and, by extension, onto the floor) and pinned him against the kitchen counter, belt buckle digging into Glenn’s bare stomach. He tasted like coffee and cigarettes and Glenn gave as good as he got, curling his fingers into the back of Daryl’s neck. The counter dug into his back and he was positive he was going to have a bruise just above his ass, but they seemed to come with the territory. He kind of enjoyed them, if he was being honest with himself.
Oh, how far he had come in only a few months.
“Told my supervisor I had food poisoning,” Daryl panted when he finally pulled away. His fingers were pressing into Glenn’s hips, thumbs tracing over his bones and Glenn really couldn’t think straight and he was pretty certain his towel had become absolutely useless.
“Why’d you tell him that?” he asked. He couldn’t decide what to do with his fingers so they traveled everywhere, scratching at covered skin, hooking into Daryl’s belt loops, tracing over the design on his buckle.
“Cause I couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you,” and with that, Glenn was pretty sure that his legs got a little weaker because he’d loved Daryl’s voice from the first word he heard but when he growled, it went straight to his cock.
“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout your pretty mouth.” One of Daryl’s thumbs traced over his (undoubtedly swollen) bottom lip and he couldn’t help but suck the tip of it into his mouth. Daryl’s eyes glazed over at that and his unoccupied fingers pressed into Glenn’s hips even harder, almost to the point of pain. Glenn was sure that almost all the available blood in his body had gone to his cock, because standing up was getting quite difficult and he really wanted to get to a bed, now.
“Mom’s gonna be here around four,” he managed to spit out, panting embarrassingly loud as Daryl’s hand pressed against him through the towel. When he tilted his head back so that Daryl could kiss his neck, he could see from the clock on the stove that it was coming up on quarter to three.
“Guess we better get a move on then, shouldn’t we?”
Halfway up the stairs, the knot on Glenn’s towel finally came undone and he kicked it aside, nearly tripping over the damned thing. He still blushed when he felt Daryl's gaze on his newly-exposed skin but the way he looked at it, it saved having to take the towel off once they got to the bedroom. Getting there, however, was easier said than done; as soon as they reached the top of the stairs, Daryl had Glenn pinned against the nearest wall, fingers running down his sides and up his chest. Much as Glenn loved the sensations (Daryl had some seriously talented hands), the feeling of rough denim scraping against his skin (especially his cock) didn't feel too great and so he reluctantly slipped away from Daryl's marvelous hands and headed towards his bedroom.
He sat down on the bed, feeling very awkward and rather exposed in the sunlight that came through his bedroom window. Thankfully, Daryl seemed to understand the reason for his tenseness (seriously, Glenn was pretty sure the guy could read minds) and he pulled the curtains across the window before he made his way onto the bed as well. He kicked his work boots off with a loud thud and then he was on top of Glenn, kissing him fiercely, teeth catching on his lips, coffee taste lingering on his tongue. Taking one last peek at the clock (2:57PM), Glenn shut his eyes and threw himself into the moment, banishing his fear and self-consciousness. He used his toes to shove Daryl's socks off and started pulling at his numerous shirts, tossing his bright orange construction vest to the floor before he started working on the buttons of his heavy flannel shirt.
Things were going fast, so fast he could barely breathe but there was a time for long, drawn out, toe-curling sex. Thursday afternoon was not that time. Thursday afternoon was the time for quick, fast, hard sex that left behind bruises and bite marks.
To be honest, Glenn didn't know which option he preferred.
Once his various shirts had been removed, Daryl started working on his belt buckle, leaning his forehead against Glenn's so that he could concentrate better. Glenn took advantage of Daryl's position to start kissing and licking at his neck, trying to get in as much touching as he could before Daryl got his pants off. Daryl's throat tasted like sawdust and when he dropped his arms back down beside Glenn's head to support himself, Glenn found out that his wrists tasted like gasoline but he'd passed both woodshop and autoshop with flying colors so he licked up the tastes until his tongue grew sore. While he'd been occupied savoring the tastes he knew he shouldn't have loved, Daryl had gotten his pants and boxers off and he grasped Glenn's chin in his hand, pulling him back up into a fierce kiss that was all spit-slick and bruising lips and clashing of teeth.
He was going to have such a bad case of numb tongue when all was said and done.
When Glenn reluctantly pulled away, gasping for breath, Daryl snatched his pillow from under his head and pressed his fingers into Glenn's hips until Glenn got the message and lifted up so that Daryl could shove the pillow underneath him. It was a relatively simple action but it still made Glenn's cock stiffen even more and he couldn't help but buck upwards, seeking friction against Daryl. It'd taken them awhile to work up to face to face fucking and it never ceased to make Glenn feel so fucking fantastic. It helped his brain rationalize the sex as worth it, it helped him forget about the sheer betrayal at the center of everything.
He gave his head a firm shake and dug his nails into the back of Daryl's neck, hitching his knees up around his waist while Daryl rummaged in his bedside table for the necessary supplies. Yes, he did feel bad (deep down) that he was sleeping with his mom's boyfriend but there was a time and a place to be thinking about his mom and now was not that time, especially since Daryl had one of his fingers pushed in to the knuckle and was biting his collarbone like it was the last chance he'd ever get.
“Fuck,” Glenn groaned, throwing his head back against the bed and he could already feel his fitted sheet pulling away from the corners. One finger quickly became two and and he twisted his face sideways, pressing it into the bed, unable to stop the warm blush that spread over his face even as he whimpered and ground his hips down against Daryl's fingers, begging for more when he was ready. Even when he begged though, Daryl took his time, dragging out the process. By the time he worked his way up to three fingers, pressed in up to the first knuckle, Glenn felt like he was going to fucking cry.
“Why are you so fucking thorough?” he groaned, unable to stop the hitch in his voice.
“Don't wanna hurt you,” Daryl muttered against his collarbone, which was covered in blossoming bruises. Glenn appreciated the sentiment, he really did but he knew that they were steadily running out of time and he wanted Daryl's cock in him now.
“Daryl, I'm not going to break, will you just fuck me please?” The please seemed to do the trick; Daryl pulled his fingers out and stopped biting Glenn's collarbone and even if Glenn would never admit it, he was kind of glad because his clavicle was absolutely covered in hickies. Suddenly, that didn't matter because Daryl was kissing him with every ounce of strength he had and pushing inside of him. Daryl tasted like cigarettes and Glenn never planned on smoking but saying that Daryl didn't taste fucking incredible would have been a lie. His nails pressed into Daryl's shoulders, leaving crescent moons over the scars that were already there. Daryl growled against his mouth and pulled his hips back, the slow burn making Glenn curse, the words muffled against Daryl's teeth.
He was in way over his head and good Christ was he enjoying it.
“Don't have to be so quiet, y'know,” Daryl said when he pulled back to take a breath, sweat glinting at his hairline. “Ain't like your momma's gonna hear you.” Despite that assurance, Glenn couldn't find it in himself to completely let go, to throw his inhibitions to the wind, to scream at the top of his lungs. Nonetheless, even if he couldn't do that, he could feel words bubbling up in his throat, words that he didn't have to hold back or whisper. Daryl kissed him again before he could spit them out but when they separated, both gasping for breath, the words were still there, joining the taste of blood against his mouth.
“Think about this at school a lot,” he said, back arching as Daryl's palm fitted against his hip, giving him better leverage to thrust.
“That so?” The hand that wasn't bruising his side was tangled into the sheets beside Glenn's head. When Glenn glanced over at it, he could see Daryl's palm print outlined in motor oil against the white fabric and he knew that he was going to put off washing his sheets as long as he could.
“Yeah.” He hardly recognized his voice, had never heard himself sounding so out of breath. “Think 'bout, fuck, think about you fucking me like this.” Daryl's mouth was right beside his ear and he could hear the appreciative growl that came from his lips before he bit his earlobe, tugging on the skin.
“Keep talking,” he groaned and Glenn could hear the trembling in his voice, could tell that he was rapidly approaching the edge and Glenn didn't want to keep him waiting any longer than he had to. He wriggled his hand down between their sweat-slick chests and grabbed his cock the best he could, trying to set up a rhythm once he got a grip. This proved harder than he expected because not only was Daryl increasing the pace with which he was slamming into him but he was also biting his ear again, silently reminding him to keep talking.
One thing was for sure: he was definitely a lot better at multitasking than he had been before Daryl had come along.
“God Daryl, I just think about you, think about your cock and your mouth and ah fuck, Daryl!” Glenn hadn't thought that he had it in him to scream but he'd come pretty damn close. He didn't know if Daryl had done it on purpose but regardless, he'd hit his prostate spot-on and once he found it again, Glenn knew that he didn't stand a chance in fucking hell. Daryl wrapped his arm behind Glenn's knee, pressing it closer to his chest and Glenn could barely move his hand around his cock but ultimately, it didn't matter; Daryl snapped his hips three times, aiming true each time and then Glenn was coming, spurting onto his chest, eyes slammed shut. His eyes were still closed when Daryl's mouth pressed against his hard, teeth catching on his lip, hips slamming into him with an indecent noise. Even through the desperate, frenzied kiss, Glenn could hear the moan in the back of Daryl's throat and he couldn't help but smirk, just a little bit.
After Daryl started to come down, he pretty well collapsed, his limbs going boneless. At the very least, he untangled his arm from around Glenn's leg so that he could stretch it out again. He could feel the ache setting into his muscles, could feel the sweat and lube coating his skin and another shower was definitely in order. Wriggling his arm out from underneath Daryl, who was breathing contently against his shoulder blade, he turned his alarm clock so that he could see the time.
3:40 PM.
“Fuck,” he groaned, brushing a few strands of sweaty hair off of his forehead. “Mom's gonna be home soon.”
“Don't care,” Daryl muttered and that brought up a whole pantheon of images, none of which Glenn particularly wanted to picture. Sliding out from underneath Daryl, he stood up and started grabbing clothes from his drawers. As he made to leave the room, his cell phone caught his eye and he checked it out of sheer habit.
One missed call, one voice mail.
“Hey Glenn, it's Mom, I'm gonna grab some groceries before I come home so I'll be a little late. I'll see you round five. Bye baby.”
Glenn didn't think that he'd ever been so excited about a voice mail in his life. He glanced back over at Daryl, who was leaning over the edge of the bed, searching through his clothes until he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his jeans.
“Daryl?” The man raised one eyebrow as an acknowledgment and Glenn nodded his head towards the door, running one hand through his sweaty hair.
“Want a shower?”
By the time Daryl finished his cigarette and joined him, Glenn had gotten most of the lube and sweat washed off. When Daryl kissed him, backing him up against the slick tiles, fingers brushing over the bruises on his hips, he couldn't help but cough a little. If there was such a thing as being a smoker by association, he was definitely in that category. The hot water made the hickies on his collarbone throb and he poked them idly once Daryl pulled away, watching the bruises briefly change color underneath the pressure of his fingertips.
“Jesus Christ Daryl, good thing I don't have to be shirtless any time soon,” he muttered and the smirk Daryl gave him in return was enough to make his cock twitch once again. The movement wasn't lost on Daryl, who simply raised an eyebrow again before dropping to his knees, muttering something about damn teenagers.
There was no two ways about it, Glenn decided as Daryl started biting at his hipbones; Thursdays were definitely the best day of the week.