
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1438099.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Walking_Dead_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Carl_Grimes/Rick_Grimes
  Character:
      Carl_Grimes, Rick_Grimes
  Additional Tags:
      Incest, Father/Son_Incest, Hand_Jobs, Established_Relationship,
      References_to_Attempted_Rape/Noncon, Prompt_Fill
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-04-09 Words: 2489
****** Backdrop of Sails ******
by building_a_desert
Summary
     While Carl preferred his father tethered safely to his sanity, the
     sudden distance between them seemed emphasized. It wasn’t as if they
     ignored one another; eye contact was almost constant with Rick
     glancing in his son’s direction every few minutes as if trying to
     make sure the boy hadn’t vanished. But the usual intensity, the storm
     brewing in those blue eyes, was masked here, tempered. Carl wasn’t
     sure how he felt about it.
Notes
     Based off a prompt on tumblr:
     "Intimate touching/ happenings in the train car at terminus? Maybe
     people don't catch on but maybe they do and don't even care?"
     Ughhhh this took me WAY too long; sorry for making everyone wait. So
     I really hope I was sensitive enough to the subject of Carl's assault
     and didn't just get all gung-ho about sex and "healing cock" even
     though they don't (how could they even) go all the way here. I
     completely understand that the last thing a survivor wants after an
     ordeal like that is more invasion of personal space, but the prompt
     hinted at desperate, needy touches and since I wasn't going to just
     ignore canon, I tried to work with it. Please let me know if I was
     just a fucking idiot about it and trust me when I say I meant
     absolutely no offense
     Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own. Enjoy!
See the end of the work for more notes
===============================================================================
 
 
 
                The box car wasn’t exactly spacious. Roughly 60 ft. long and
around 10 ft. wide, the space might have been enough for the eight already
present. But now, with a total of twelve people, capacity was just about at
maximum.
 
                Throw in the extreme humidity, the lack of solid food, and the
sheer fact that they were being held prisoner and the resulting ill tempers
were only expected. Carl stayed mostly to himself, avoiding conversation as
best he could. Given the circumstances, he really didn’t know what there was he
had to offer.
                               
                Of course Michonne actively sought him out, made sure he didn’t
retreat too far into his own head. Her friendly demeanour had notably
diminished though, retreating behind her stoicism, and while he knew she was
trying, trying for his sake, a few forced smiles were all Carl could really
muster.
 
                The rest were a mixture of wavering optimism and certain doom.
Some, like Glenn and Maggie, did their best to maintain an air of stability.
This might have been due to their recent reunion, something they relayed with a
sense of stunted happiness, but it was nice to have something around, even just
a simple dynamic between two people, that wasn’t saturated in dread. For this
display of solidarity, Carl deeply admired the couple.
 
                Sasha was silent most days and often seen sitting close to Bob,
who did his best to be a pillar for the woman. He was quick to flash a smile
her way, even – especially – when all she could manage was a sigh. Daryl hung
back, the quiet grumble escaping, often muttering with Rick quietly. He usually
opted for watch, peering calmly out one of the limited gaps in the metal for
hours on end.
 
                As for those that Carl had only just met, he couldn’t
accurately gauge. Abraham and Rosita, it became apparent, were something to
each other. But they seemed withdrawn, had little hope for escape. Eugene,
apparent genius with the supposed answer to the apocalypse, maintained a kind
of awkward, but well-meaning attitude, while Tara seemed haunted. She didn’t
say much, sometimes wore a smile similar to Carl’s, but mostly looked lost in
thought.
 
                Rick, meanwhile, was arguably the most animated of the group.
He seemed restless, often pacing, keeping a weather eye out for any sign of
danger. But this wasn’t the deranged, grief-fueled mania displayed back at the
prison. This Rick maintained a level of strength absent in the past.
 
                The cogs in his father’s head were running at full power, but
his eyes retained focus. He was never too far below the surface that he
couldn’t respond immediately. It seemed a new determination was present in the
man’s face that Carl couldn’t be sure he’d ever seen before, and definitely
couldn’t fathom. Though faced with almost certain death, the method of which
he’d heard the others discussing, the teen was feeling at best apathetic.
 
                But while Carl preferred his father tethered safely to his
sanity, the sudden distance between them seemed emphasized. It wasn’t as if
they ignored one another; eye contact was almost constant with Rick glancing in
his son’s direction every few minutes as if trying to make sure the boy hadn’t
vanished. But the usual intensity, the storm brewing in those blue eyes, was
masked here, tempered. Carl wasn’t sure how he felt about it.
 
                He still hadn’t said more than a few sentences to Rick since
ithappened.Carl didn’t want to give the memory any more weight than he could
help, didn’t want to let it crowd too much of his mind with ugly words laced
with fear and panic. The pronoun was suitably indistinguishable; it didn’t draw
attention to itself. So he filed the incident away, preferring, at least for
now, to pretend it didn’t happen. He couldn’t dwell on the past if he wanted to
survive the present.
 
                At night the boxcar tended to get considerably cooler.
Naturally the three couples found comfort in one another’s arms, while others
huddled closer than they might have under different conditions. Carl had been
fortunate enough to curl up in one of the corners most nights. Back turned
towards the others, he’d rest, but seldom slept.
 
                Thoughts plagued the corners of his mind, raw anxiety licked
its way up his spine whenever he dozed. Dreams were worse, and more than once
the boy had awoken, cold sweat drenching his body, heart hammering in his ears.
He never turned around to make sure no one had heard; he was sure someone had.
 
                Rick always slept close to Carl, body curled protectively to
shield his son from view, but never quite touching, another change in their
routine. Before, his father would encompass his body, arms wrapped securely
around his torso while soft breaths tickled his neck.
 
                This recent separation, though, it left Carl feeling
conflicted. Did he yearn for the older man’s affection or did he fear it? Did
he fear his father or his reaction to his father? Why couldn’t he control the
quickly spiraling track of his thoughts anymore, why did each question have to
beget another?
 
                The metal was hard beneath Carl’s body, cold and unforgiving to
the aches and pains littering the expanse of his skin. He lay on his side, as
usual, head resting on the slightly crumpled sheriff’s hat while he drew his
hoodie tight. Feeling shivers wrack his body, the boy wished fervently that
he’d managed to loot a thicker jacket.
 
                It was quiet, the closest to calm things ever seemed to get
these days. Everyone was silent; deep breaths were barely audible but there was
no telling who actually slept or not. Carl had been startled awake, by an
outside influence or a dream he had no idea, and felt the familiar chill of
waking up alone.
 
                “Hey.”
 
                The voice surprised him, causing him to tense and attempt to
turn around, before a hand was placed on his shoulder. Not restraining, just
supporting.
 
                “It’s okay. Just me.”
 
                Feeling the tension drain from his body, the boy remained
facing the wall. The sound of Rick’s whispered tones resulted in an immediate
response of his body, something he might have resented before but could only be
grateful towards now. Basic biology dictated that his father’s voice had that
effect, an established truth that nothing could alter.
 
                A thumb traced tiny circles on his bicep, like it was
instinctively seeking to comfort. Carl, adrenaline slowly making way for the
release of dopamine, could now sense the very near presence of the man behind
him. Having someone directly in his 6 O’clock tended to unnerve him lately, but
combined with his other senses kicking into gear, Carl was able to make out the
faint musk of his father, a scent his mind had intrinsically linked with
security.
 
                Before he knew what he was doing, the teen scooted back until
he closed the small divide between them, his back pressed to Rick’s chest. The
act itself had been performed dozens of times over, spooning having been
commonplace between them. But the subconscious display of trust felt more
significant this time, and he knew why, but immediately stomped down on that
train of thought. There wasn’t time for fear anymore.
 
                An arm slowly slid around his waist, keeping their upper bodies
in contact but leaving a noticeable gap between their lower torsos. Carl didn’t
push the issue, not knowing if it would make himself or his father more
uncomfortable. At the moment, he wasn’t even sure the man wanted – whatever
their relationship had been up until now, anymore. What began at the prison
under the cover of night seems to have been revoked, and an indisputable nugget
of guilt and shame has taken up residence where quiet contentment used to
dwell.
 
                “Is this okay?” was whispered into his hair, more lungs than
vocal chords.
 
                “Of course it is,” he murmured, lacing his fingers with that of
his fathers, “Why wouldn’t it be?”
 
                But he knew why, and he knew Rick’s thoughts were on the same
thing. He knew why and he wished he didn’t. Could still feel rough hands
keeping him frozen, groping him, reducing him to a helpless mess while lips, a
stranger’s lips,mouthed at his ear, whispering horrific things to him, shushing
him in a shameless mockery of paternal comfort.
 
                Apparently the very real panic had manifested physically,
because next he knew, Carl felt his father begin to pull away, obviously and
correctly assuming the contact had been a trigger. But the boy couldn’t fathom
being without an anchor, couldn’t endure feeling that bereft again so soon. He
held onto Rick’s forearm, fingers refusing to extricate themselves from his
father’s while molding himself more fully to the larger frame.
 
                “I’m fine,” he whispered, voice catching on a breath, “I’m
fine, just please. I can’t..”
 
                But Carl had no idea what he could or couldn’t do at this
point. He just felt lost without his father, like he couldn’t feel anything
without the man’s attention. But the moment he was given that attention, he was
immediately overwhelmed with emotions he couldn’t handle, didn’t know of any
outlet other than the one he thought he had with his father. And with its
absence, Carl just felt wrong.
 
                Twisting around, he met Rick’s eyes, shining bright and
attentive even in the nearly tangible darkness, before pressing his lips to the
man’s. It bordered on desperate, hands tightly fisting in his father’s shirt as
leverage to keep him close. He just needed the reassurance, the guarantee that
he had his father and his father had him because anything less couldn’t
possibly be enough.
 
                The last few days have caused thoughts to slither, unbidden,
through his head. Dirty, pathetic, weak. And though he fought to ignore them,
they spoke in his own voice and that made him start to question his resolve.
But the surprise, the hesitance, and ultimate surrender of the older man
finally clicked something in Carl’s head: the rift between may not have been
his fault.
 
                He didn’t blame himself for what happened, had the presence of
mind to battle against the archetype of “victim”, even if it hadn’t gone as far
as was possible. But his own shortcomings, his self-perceived lack of strength
combined with the confusion and muddled anger towards those responsible served
only to drastically upend his confidence in himself and his relationships. He
had thought, jumped to the conclusion maybe, that Rick would want out, would
see his son for the helpless, bitter, damaged monster that he was.
 
                But the surge of emotions translating through their lips told a
different story. Rick’s hands cupped his Carl’s face, cradling it, while he
coaxed the boy’s tongue into his own mouth, leading without dominating. The
exchange felt normal,but there was no denying the underlying current of
uncertainty on his father’s part.
 
                Carl noted the exceedingly gentle manner he was being treated
in and the notion of Rick being afraid entered his mind. Afraid, not of what
was between them, but of forcing what was between them, of frightening Carl. It
was so clear now, Rick creating distance as a means of protecting his son in a
well-meaning but incredibly misguided attempt. Even now, the kiss felt too
gentle, too controlled. It didn’t contain the usual passion with hasty words
and hurried undressing that Carl absolutely needed.
 
                Rick wasn’t going to push their affair any further out of fear,
but Carl would prove to him he could out of love.
 
                Taking one of his father’s hands, Carl guided it down his body,
not missing the shudder that went through the man, and pressed it against the
front of his jeans. He felt Rick tense, fingers twitching once as if unsure of
themselves, but didn’t let the man pull away. Unless the teen was horribly
mistaken, Rick wanted to provide comfort as much as Carl craved it, train car
of people be damned.
 
                “Please,” he whispered against Rick’s lips, “I need this right
now, I need you.”
 
                As if a switch had been flipped, the older man bodily turned
Carl so that he faced the wall, back pressed snug to Rick’s front. Hands
wandered confidently over the boy’s chest, slipping under the layers of
clothing to gently caress a small rosy nipple while the other unbuttoned his
tightly-fitting jeans. When his quickly awakening member was taken in hand,
Carl felt so caught off guard his breath caught in a gasp. As if to remind him,
a hand cupped his chin and turned it gently while lips sought his own once
again.
 
                He couldn’t help the tiny thrusts of his hips, the sensations
commandeering his body, while his hands grasped tight to his father’s strong
arms holding him in place. The large hand pumping him nearly concealed his
length, fingers thick and dexterous, skilled from years of self-exploration
Carl never had. It sent a wicked thrill through him, the knowledge that these
were those years, causing him to break the kiss and turn away, biting down on
his lip to muffle any sounds that ached to break through.
 
                “You’re safe, you’re just fine,” was barely audible over his
own heartbeat, but the teen immediately grappled onto his father’s voice as if
it were lifeline.
 
                "Never have to be afraid. Always safe with me, always.”
 
                “My precious boy; so good, you’re doing so good.”
 
                Urgency was on the rise, nerves alighting all along Carl’s body
as the strokes increased in tempo. With kisses being laid down his neck and
collarbone and sweet somethings being whispered in his ear, the boy felt his
orgasm quickly approaching.
 
                “Dad,” he warned, voice this side of desperate, a whine clearly
longing to break through, “Dad I’m gonna –”
 
                Anything else was lost to Carl as he came, hips stuttering
helplessly, face burrowed in his father’s arm. He tried to muffle his whimper
in the fabric, but practicality and discretion weren’t high on his list of
priorities at that moment.
 
                A few moments passed where Rick gently coaxed all the pleasure
he could from his son, stroking him past the point of sensory-overload until
Carl squirmed slightly in discomfort. With the utmost care, he tucked the boy
away and pulled his clothes back into place before pulling the teen close once
again.
 
                “What about you?” Carl asked, aware of the unmistakable bulge
against his lower back.
 
                “Not about me,” came the mumbled reply, lips pressed soothingly
to his neck, “This was for you.”
 
                Normally he would argue, insist Rick reach the same level of
completion and satisfaction at his son’s hands. But a very sudden weariness
swept over Carl’s mind, sleep deprivation and undue stress catching up with
him.
 
                Instead he settled back, drawing those arms closer to him, and
closed his eyes. The solid body behind him didn’t frighten him, and though this
one did follow him into his dreams, there was no room for fear, not anymore.
End Notes
     You guys should definitely come follow me at humdrum-star.tumblr.com~
     ALSO I'm still taking Grimecest prompts, despite my god awful time
     management skills. <3
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