wildest dreams ━ rick grimes × male!oc

chapter eleven:

ƇӇƛƤƬЄƦ ЄԼЄƔЄƝ: "secrets I have held in my heart are harder to hide than I thought, maybe I just wanna be yours."

"I can take the clothes to Carol, momma," says Carl, holding out his hands, buzzing with nervous energy, ready to work for the affection he desperately wants.

Ren coos. "Aren't you just the sweetest?" He ruffles Carl's hair, grinning when the pup leans right up into his touch, purring loudly.

"Who's Carol?" Asks Rick, sitting down on the low camping mattress. The bed is still a mess, covers thrown to the side and pillows haphazardly placed in the middle. Rick's got the oddest need to pull Ren and Carl onto the bed with him, and smother them in his scent.

"A nice omega lady," Carl explains, "says it's her job to keep our clothes clean."

Ren quirks a single brow. "As long as she doesn't mind," he says, opening his messenger bag. He pulls out a pair of cargo pants and a t-shirt, placing the items along with his used towel into Carl's awaiting hands. "Take your dad's uniform too."

"Mhhm."

Rick holds out his uniform for Carl, the used towel hanging from his neck. He smiles when his pup grabs the clothes and almost sprints out of the tent, happy to do something for his momma.

"Puppy's just a big bundle of fucking energy," Ren huffs, amused, "wish he'd share some with me." He drops his messenger bag onto the floor and searches for his other bag, making a triumphant sound when he finds it. He takes the duffle over to Rick, sliding down to sit on his knees in front of his alpha.

Rick's throat closes up on him again. He idly wonders if this will be his reaction every time Ren decides to get close, decides to trust. He watches, nervous, as Ren looks through his duffle bag, pulling out a small white container, some gauze and some bandages.

"Don't really have much with me," Ren says, opening the circular container, "just some supplies from the hospital and the guns and ammo I took from your armoury." He dips his fingers into the salve and then softly, carefully, smears the cool cream over Rick's wound, pressing the pads of his fingertips gently into the purple and brown skin that lays there.

Breathing is suddenly the most difficult thing for Rick to do. Breathing is supposed to be natural, something you do unconsciously, but when Ren peers up, looking at him through his dark lashes, Rick's lungs fail to cooperate. He leans back onto his hands and curls his fingers into the sheets, his grip deathly tight, wondering if this is how he's going to die.

Unconsciously, Ren shifts into the small space between Rick's legs, following after him. While Rick struggles to breathe, his omega continues to take care of his wound, covering the area with a piece of large, white gauze. "Breathe," he murmurs, softly, delicately, rubbing the pad of his thumb across the gauze, making sure it's properly kept in place before he reaches for the bandage and covers the gauze with it, soothing the edges down to stick onto Rick's skin.

Rick takes a deep, shaky breath and then exhales it, trembling from the effort. He feels like a newborn fawn, struggling to take its first steps, unsure of how to use its limbs.

"You hurt anywhere else, old man?" Ren asks, one corner of his mouth lifting into half a smirk. "Gotta fucking hand it to you, waking up from a shitty coma and prowling around like you're all good. It's, uh," he licks over his bottom lip, "really fucking attractive and also, kind of, really fucking dumb of you."

"Shoulder," Rick manages to say. He must be a masochist, wanting Ren to stay in his space and steal all the oxygen in his lungs. "Got shot there too. And I'm not old."