
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5530994.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      The_Walking_Dead_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Daryl_Dixon/Rick_Grimes
  Character:
      Daryl_Dixon, Rick_Grimes
  Additional Tags:
      Rickyl, Santa!Rick, Alternate_Universe_-_Modern_Setting, Alternate
      Universe_-_Santa_Is_Real, Alternate_Universe_-_Rick_Is_Santa, Alternate
      Universe_-_Daryl_Is_Sixteen, Age_Difference, Implied/Referenced
      Homophobia, Explicit_Sexual_Content, Underage_Kissing, Underage_Sex,
      Consensual_Underage_Sex, Oral_Sex, Blow_Jobs, Anal_Fingering, Anal_Sex,
      Hand_Jobs, First_Time, Loss_of_Virginity, virgin!Daryl, Smut, Plot_What
      Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, This_Was_Just_An_Excuse_To_Write_Christmas_Smut,
      Crack, Please_Don't_Stone_Me_For_This, Top_Rick, Bottom_Daryl, Rickyl
      Writers'_Group_December_2015_Challenge, Rickyl_Writers'_Group
  Collections:
      RWG_December_2015_Challenge
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-12-25 Words: 3360
****** The Naughty List ******
by serenalunera
Summary
     Daryl has always been on the Nice List. And for the very first time,
     after a not-so-good sixteenth year, he finds himself on the Naughty
     List.
Notes
     i said i would write something for Christmas, i never said anything
     about it being an acceptable thing to give someone... haha
     merry Christmas everybody! hope you'll like this! please leave kudos
     and take the time to write a comment if you enjoyed it, it's worth a
     lot more than any kind of present in my eyes! :)
See the end of the work for more notes
Daryl's family had never made a big deal out of Christmas. According to Merle,
it was bad enough that some strange dude could just appear out of nowhere and
leave stuff in their house, they weren't about to make it easy for the guy.
Daryl had stopped believing in Santa sometime after he had turned 12, only to
wake up in the middle of the night that Christmas and actually see the guy
filling his stocking with presents, an amused little smirk turning the corners
of his lips upwards as he brought his gloved finger against them in a silent
request of secrecy.
Because yes, Santa's beard wasn't that big, at least not enough to obscure his
mouth, and most certainly not that white – more like salt and pepper, really.
Just like the hair around his temples, while the rest of his curls was a nice
shade of brown. And he wasn't this huge, chubby guy everyone thought he was,
either. More like reasonably tall and skinny. With nice blue eyes and a kind
smile. And his costume wasn't all that ill fitting – or red, for that matter.
It was red alright, just not fire engine red, more along the lines of a deep
wine red, with tan fur details on the collar, gloves and hat. And his pants
were just plain black jeans, topped with nice cowboy boots. Everything fitting
him like a glove, of course.
All in all, Santa was a handsome fellow. Which was a disturbing thought to have
when you were a 12 year old boy who had grown up believing that thinking a man
was handsome made you gay, and that being gay meant going to hell. That was
what his family had always claimed, anyway. So Daryl had buried that thought
deep inside of him, in a corner of his mind where he never really went – except
for the occasional night where he questioned his very existence and why he
liked looking at boys way more than girls. But no one was supposed to know
about that, let alone his father. Or the man in the red coat, for that matter.
Ever since that night, Daryl had made it a game to wait up for Santa on
Christmas Eve, if only for the few minutes it would take him to find his name
on the List and leave presents in the stocking at the foot of his bed
accordingly. Santa never said much, he would just shake his head at Daryl's
stubbornness and tell him to go back to sleep in that low, gravelly voice of
his, the thick southern accent making the boy smile every time. He would go the
same way he had come, silent as he melted in the shadows with his giant, gift-
filled bag thrown over his shoulder.
Three Christmases later and Daryl was still high on the Nice List. Up until he
turned 16, anyway. After that, it became incredibly hard to keep himself in
check, let alone ignore his raging hormones, especially around other boys his
age – or older. His stupid crush on Coach Negan wasn't helping, and neither was
the way his friend David's older brother looked at him when they were over at
his house. Caesar wasn't shy about it, raking his eyes up and down Daryl's body
and licking his lips, appreciating the narrow waist and wide shoulders
shamelessly.
At first, Daryl hadn't thought it was something Caesar did consciously, but
when the teenager found himself on his knees with a mouth full of cock not even
a month later, the thought quickly left his mind. This was the first of many
occurrences, with Caesar as well as others – but never Coach Negan, Daryl was
too afraid of what the man would do to him if he so much as got a whiff of the
teenager's attraction for him.
In the end, it ended up being the year of many firsts. First sexual encounter,
first cigarette, first time he got so plastered he fell asleep in Margaret
Greene's barn, only to be woken up by a bucket of ice-cold water and a very
irritated Hershel. First time he went through his brother's porn, and got a few
ideas in the process. First time he stole something – lube from a store and
condoms from the school's infirmary, simply because his brother wouldn't give
him money without asking him what it was for, and Daryl really hadn't been in
the mood to explain at the time. Also the first time he worried about Santa not
showing up, because of all the things he had done that year.
                                      ---
So when Santa does show up that night, it comes as a surprise for Daryl, who
gave up on waiting for the guy about half an hour ago, and is well on his way
to sleep when he hears the rustle of paper at the foot of his bed. Sitting up,
the teenager is relieved to see Santa there, rummaging through the List, a
crease forming on his brow the more he fiddles with it.
"Can't find my name?" Daryl asks, biting his lip and playing with the hem of
his over-sized shirt as his old timid self comes back to life in the presence
of the one man he cannot bear to disappoint.
“You've been a naughty boy this year, Daryl. I'm afraid you didn't make it to
the Nice List.” The older man looks up with a stern look on his face, turns the
List around so the teenager can take a peak, and surely there's a mistake
because his name is there – but one look at the title and Daryl's face
crumbles.
It's the Naughty List.
“So what happens now?” Daryl frowns, looking up at the man in the red coat with
wide eyes. The teenager feels so foolish now, regret filling his gut with lead.
It's not the fact that he won't be getting any presents that saddens him, but
the look of disappointment on Santa's face at the realization that Daryl isn't
a little angel anymore.
"You go back to sleep and try to behave better for next year." Santa's tone is
final, his brow furrowed and his mouth pulled in a thin line indicating just
how frustrating this whole situation is. He shakes his head, sighing, before
turning to the shadows, ready to leave.
"Wait! I can show ya what a good boy I can be." The teenager bites his lip
again, this time in a totally different fashion – seductively. It's a little
clumsy, and really, he has no idea why he said something like that, but he's
glad he did, because Santa turns to him instead of leaving, even if it's with
an incredulous look on his face.
"It's a little late for that, Daryl." The man clears his throat, hoping his
harsh tone will be enough to deter the boy, because as much as Santa prides
himself on the clarity of his thoughts, there is no way the teenager didn't
mean to sound so... Alluring.
"It ain't the 25th yet." Daryl smirks, his whole attitude changing as he crawls
over to the end of the bed, where he kneels before Santa and looks up at him
with mischief in his eyes. "I'll doanything." He purrs, biting his lip again
for good measure.
"I'm not sure there's anything to be done, Daryl." Santa arches a brow, looking
down at the boy kneeling in front of him, everything about him screaming man
except maybe for the leftover baby fat plumping up his pale cheeks.
Daryl says nothing, a mysterious smile pulling his mouth upwards as he scoots
just a little bit closer. His hands find the older man's legs tentatively, he
lets them run up the length of his thighs before tugging on the leather of his
belt with deft fingers, a small smirk playing on his lips. Then he gets to
work, sliding the material out of the loop and undoing the buckle in slow,
careful movements. He keeps the button and zipper for last, and steals a quick
look upwards to meet Santa's rapidly darkening eyes.
"This might get you higher on the Naughty List, Daryl." The man's voice is
suddenly a lot lower, the huskiness of it sending delicious shivers down the
teenager's spine.
"Worth a try." Daryl grins wolfishly as he pulls down the front of Santa's
pants and frees his surprisingly heavy cock. One look at it and the boy forgets
all about being good because something like this doesn't need a good boy. No,
something this big needs a bad, bad boy to take care of it.
Daryl licks his lips, looking up at Santa as he starts kissing the thick rod,
running his lips up and down the throbbing vein on the underside. He keeps at
it for a few minutes, laying open-mouthed kisses everywhere he can reach as
well as little kitten licks on the head, lapping up the older man's precome and
humming in his throat at how sweet it tastes. Santa is fully hard by the time
Daryl stops scraping his teeth along the shaft to wrap his lips around the
crown and starts sucking gently.
The feeling of a gloved hand in his hair makes him smirk around the head before
he starts tonguing the slit, wringing a gasp right out of Santa's throat. Daryl
moans encouragingly, sliding his mouth farther on the thick shaft to get more
of those hot, sex-filled sounds out of the older man. The boy keeps working
around the generous girth for long minutes, bobbing his head slow and deep
until something similar to a punched-out grunt resounds above him once Santa's
cock finally hits the back of his throat. Daryl hums again, hollowing his
cheeks as he sucks harder for a moment before pulling off with a wet sound.
"What 'bout now?" The teenager inquires, the innocence in his tone in total
contrast with the cruel smirk dancing on his lips as he looks up at the man in
the red coat.
"Much higher on the Naughty List. You shouldn't even know how to do that."
Santa grits his teeth, regretting every single one of his words when the boy
goes back to work on his cock, taking him all in and working to get his throat
as tight as possible, pulling breathless moans out of the older man every time
his tongue starts getting a little more adventurous.
“Ya should sit down 'fore ya fall over, Santa. Wouldn't want ya ta get hurt
'cause of me." Daryl's voice is a little rough when he pulls off again. He
gestures to the bed with a tilt of his head, a self-satisfied smirk stretching
his lips as he palms himself through his underwear.
Santa grunts but doesn't move, trying to find out whether or not he should flee
before it's too late, but clearly deciding that he's a little too far gone
since he does as the boy suggested and sits on the edge of the bed. Daryl
doesn't waste any time, straddling him right away and wrapping his arms around
the older man's neck. The teenager takes the time to appreciate his good looks
before leaning in to press his lips against Santa's, the kiss way too timid for
someone who was nursing on the man's cock only moments before.
Santa kisses him back after a few seconds, slow and gentle as his hands settle
on the boy's waist, gloved fingers slipping underneath the too large hand-me-
down shirt trying to pass as a pajama top. Daryl hums softly, fast hands
reaching up to take the man's hat off. He discards it somewhere on the floor
and laughs at the offended sound Santa makes against his mouth, the kiss
quickly turning sloppy and playful. The teenager manages to get the older man's
gloves off at some point, the man's palms sliding up to the small of his back
beneath his shirt to pull him even closer.
Daryl cards his fingers through soft brown curls, whimpering as Santa starts
kissing down his neck, nipping the collarbone protruding from the over-sized
shirt. The older man breaks their embrace for a moment to get rid of the
offending garment, tossing it over his shoulder before going back to kissing
the boy straddling him, hands roaming all over his chest and thighs, the
material of Daryl's underwear blocking him from going any further.
Long minutes pass during which the pair does nothing but kiss, taking the time
to undress one another until Santa's jacket is off and his shirt is open, a
fully naked Daryl sitting in his lap. The boy is all creamy skin and sinful
curves, hips so narrow the older man wonders if he's ever going to fit between
them, the thought bringing a shameful blush to his face, thankfully partly
hidden by his beard. The teenager reaches for the nightstand at some point,
fishing a bottle of lube out of it – to which Santa widens his eyes, surprised
by how prepared Daryl seems to be.
The young Dixon takes long minutes to open himself up, kissing the man he's
straddling without so much as batting a lash – as if he's been doing this his
whole life. There's the occasional moan, of course, but never loud enough to
disturb the way their lips dance together, or the back and forth of the fingers
inside of him. It feels like forever until the boy is sinking down on the older
man's shaft, wincing as his body makes way for the sheer girth of Santa's cock,
thighs trembling with the effort.
"Am I hurting you?" Santa frowns, holding the teenager's hips steady so he
doesn't injure himself any further, worry etched in the crease of his brow and
the fine lines of his face.
"Do I get on the Nice List if I say no?" Daryl looks hopeful then, a pained
little smile tugging the corners of his mouth up as his fingers dig into the
older man's shoulders – for leverage as well as the opportunity to focus on
something other than the burning sensation of the man's cock inside of him.
"No, not if you're lying." Santa tilts his head at that, searching the boy's
face for answers – even though the one he's looking for is painfully visible in
the tension of his features. The teenager inhales sharply, suddenly looking
very shy as he lowers his gaze, eyelashes fanning over the top of his
cheekbones.
"Then yes. A little. I've never done this before." Daryl admits, biting his lip
to keep his nerves in check as he looks down at where they're connected,
something like butterflies fluttering in his stomach. With his eyes down, he
can't see the surprise on Santa's face, or the pleased smile slowly forming on
his lips.
"Looks like you're not as naughty as I thought." The older man chuckles,
tilting the boy's head up with a couple of fingers on his chin, delighting in
the incredulous look he finds on Daryl's face at the meaning behind his words.
"Ya mean keepin' my V card till now is gonna get me back on the Nice List?" The
teenager cocks a brow questioningly, a frown distorting his features as he
finds himself slightly offended by the standards to get one's name back on that
damn List.
"No, not that." Santa straight up laughs at that, shaking his head amusedly
before bringing the young Dixon's face closer to his to plant a small kiss on
his mouth, pulling away before Daryl gets a chance to reciprocate, leaving the
boy huffing in his lap.
"Can we still... do this? I still wanna make ya come." Daryl smiles timidly,
looking up at Santa through his lashes. A deep flush settles on his cheeks as
he waits for the older man's answer, worrying his lower lip between his teeth
in the process.
"You want to make me come?" Santa sounds perplexed, brows shooting up to his
hairline at the boy's words. He thought the teenager would be a little more
selfish, and rightfully so, with it being his first time and all.
"Told ya I'd show ya what a good boy I can be, 'member?" Daryl is more
confident now, a playful smile turning his lips up at the corners. His grin
widens the second Santa starts nodding, an amused look on his face as he puts
his hands back on the boy's waist.
Daryl's brows knit together as he pushes himself up, the burn no longer
scorching like the fiery pits of hell, but softer, more like sitting a little
too close to the campfire, or sinking into a hot bath without checking the
temperature first. The first few thrusts are a little clumsy, and either
agonizingly slow or way too fast, but soon enough the teenager finds a rhythm
and starts enjoying himself, his moans quickly joined by Santa's own. The older
man keeps murmuring encouragements in his ear and kissing his neck, his hands
stroking along his sides and squeezing the meat of his thighs, feeling them
work underneath his touch.
"A little help please?" Daryl sounds sheepish and out of breath, his thrusts
starting to stutter from the effort the position demands. He doesn't need to
ask again, Santa's hands quickly finding their way to his hips, lifting them up
and pushing them down in an easy rhythm.
They start to lose themselves in the embrace, the only sounds registering in
their ears those of their skin slapping together wetly and the soft little
moans escaping Daryl's mouth in the shape of Santa, more, please.They find
themselves tangled together on the bed only moments later, the teenager
sprawled on his back, thighs spread wide around the older man's waist as he
thrusts into him, hips undulating like a snake in the sand. It doesn't take
long for the boy to come, crying out as Santa's hand on his cock milks him dry,
nails digging into the man's broad back.
There is a fond smile on Santa's face as he watches Daryl fall apart in his
arms, sweat making his hair stick to his face and neck, cheeks flushed and eyes
so hooded it seems like a chore to keep them open. The older man strokes the
boy's cheek almost reverently, like he's afraid to break the peace settling in
his bones, but a small smile and a couple of words from the teenager and
Santa's worries melt away like the snowflakes falling against the bedroom
window.
Go on.
And so he does. Daryl lets him use his body for as long as it takes, his orgasm
washing over him after long minutes of lazy kisses and shallow pumps of his
hips, and when he makes to pull away and lie down next to the boy, he can't. He
can't because the teenager is holding onto him with so much force and so much
raw emotion that it is both physically and mentally impossible for Santa to do
so. So he doesn't. He stays in Daryl's arms, wraps his own around him and
immediately starts kissing him again.
They stop kissing after a while, shifting so Santa is the one on his back now,
Daryl lying on top of him with his ear plastered to the center of his chest,
listening to his heart beat. The older man is stroking his hair, perpetually
pushing the bangs away from his face, no matter how many times they fall back
over his eyes. The boy seems content up until he's not, his body tensing
slightly as he scoots up a little, crossing his arms over Santa's chest and
propping his chin on his hands, a small frown wiping away the serene look on
his face.
"Am I still on the Naughty List?" Daryl whispers it like a secret, like it's
something he really doesn't want to think about, let alone talk about. He risks
a glance at Santa's face and instead of the deep frown he was expecting there
to be, he sees a soft, genuine smile.
"No. You're a good boy, Daryl. Top of the Nice List."
End Notes
     find me on tumblr @richardsdaryl
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
