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If he could slide out of this moment, escape in his mind to somewhere where this wasn’t happening, he would, but its happening and nothing he thinks can stop him from focusing on the heft of his brother’s cock, jammed halfway down his throat.
He’s on his back, flung across the mattress like a rag doll, his head hanging off the edge of the bed, and while it seemed like a good idea at first, he knows now that he couldn’t have picked a worse angle and the need to breathe is all consuming but that’s neither here nor there, not when Merle’s fucking his mouth within an inch of his life.
Merle’s gripping his head, big hands on either side, tugging his hair for leverage. He has a moment to reflect on this, to think of how he’d offered to blow him when he’d come home a mere thirty minutes previously, of how fucking drunk Merle was and the way his eyes had gleamed, were still gleaming even now, a sure sign of him dipping into his stash of goodies.
He’d offered out of necessity. Merle wasn’t a melodramatic drunk; he wasn’t a sad sack, crying over his beers. No, he was one of those who re-told the few fleeting glories he’d experienced to anyone who’d listen, he was one to get rough, to start fights, to break things or people or both and he wouldn’t think twice about roughing his baby brother up either.
But this, this wasn’t what he’d bargained for, not Merle undoing his pants with that sick leer on his face, that proud smirk when Daryl had seen just what his brother had waiting for him and even as his blood had run cold, he’d lain across the bed when Merle advanced on him, his heart starting to race. With Merle squatting over him on the bed, his mouth running a mile a minute, that thick, long, heavy cock looming, the decision had quickly become a very bad one.
And now, now he’s out of breath, fighting to suck him properly, fighting to breathe through his nose like he knows he’s supposed to, but he can’t. Merle’s holding him tight, forcing more of his cock into his mouth, pushing past his lips and over his tongue, inch after inch until Daryl thinks his lips might split, until he’s sputtering, bile rising in his throat.
Merle’s crooning to him, telling him he’s the best, so fucking pretty when he’s blushing like this, that he feels so good and how he’s lucky to be allowed to suck his big brother this way and Daryl can only gag as Merle’s hips snap forward, slamming his cock further in, down into Daryl’s throat.
Tears run from his eyes, falling back towards his hair and running in rivulets along his ears. He’s panicking but Merle can’t see it, he’s shaking like a leaf and there’s so much drool seeping from his lips, pre-cum from Merle painting the insides of his mouth and the back of his throat, running down his chin and back along his skin, mixing in his hair.
He grabs at Merle’s thighs, tries to, scratching at them, but Merle laughs and pets his hair with one hand, telling him he’s the prettiest cocksucker in town, look at those pink little lips of his. His other hand is forcing Daryl’s jaw open, gripping him hard enough to bruise and Daryl feels the shame and fear spike in him all the more when he feels a tiny bolt of arousal at the lavish praise that Merle’s heaping on him, even if it is whiskey soaked words.
Merle snaps his hips faster, fucking his mouth roughly and Daryl feels a hysterical scream build in his chest, reduced to a gurgled moan, choked off gasps catching around his brother’s cock and he squints up at Merle, drool seeping over his cheeks as Merle thrusts all the way in, slamming into him, slamming into the back of his mouth, his balls slapping Daryl’s chin, Daryl’s nose buried in his groin and he’s panting above him, moaning his name again and again.
Darkness looms and he reaches up blindly, gurgling loudly and Merle slams harder into him, shouting Daryl’s name as he comes and Daryl can only hang on as he feels the rush of hot, burning hot, salty fluid flood his mouth. With one ragged breath through his nose, he chokes, tears pouring now as Merle thrusts once, twice more, riding out his orgasm and the bitter liquid pours out of him and sprays up and over Daryl’s lips, over his cheeks, a seemingly never ending flood painting his flushed face.
He’s gasping frantically, heaving in breaths of stale air, his brother’s cock still rubbing over his lips, smearing the come into his skin, branding him with every pulse. Merle’s panting and he gentles his hold on Daryl’s jaw, rubbing his fingers back and forth along his throat, telling him he’s a good boy as he strokes his hair with his free hand.
Daryl lies back limply and even though his throat is his own once more and he can breathe freely, he can only lie there, shaking all the more from the way Merle’s petting him, covered in come and drool.
Merle laughs and Daryl closes his eyes, holding the edges of the mattress, knuckles white with effort.