The night had the makings of a pleasant evening: CSI wasn’t a rerun, Lori was making meat loaf for dinner, and Rick was three fingers in Shane’s clinging heat. It was shaping up to be a pretty good end to a pretty good day.
Shane panted harshly beneath him: his legs splayed wide, thighs slack and open as he let Rick do all the work. Let Rick fuck him, let Rick push in to the knuckles as far as he could go.
Fight the dead. Fist the living.
Rick was enjoying himself in a way he couldn’t explain to anyone. Shane’s asshole was like those little soft-plastic figures he’d gotten for his sixth birthday that he dunked in and out of water to watch them shrink and grow.
So when Shane’s asshole gets wet it turns into a dinosaur?
“Are we gonna get on with it?” Shane asked when Rick had gotten to the point where he was just trying to make different shaped triangles with his fingers to see if Shane’s asshole would follow suit. It didn’t, not really, not as well as Rick would have hoped. The closest shape he could get it turn into was something vaguely octagonal.
Well, that seems appropriate, since the two are about to engage in some MMA (mixed martial assfucking).
“Right, sorry,” Rick said. He reached for the box of condoms on the nightstand beside the bed.
It was the gleam of light, or rather, the lack thereof, that caught Rick’s attention. He spit the half torn condom wrapper onto the sheets, raising his left hand for closer inspection.
“You know, if I ever have one of my hands cut off, I sure hope it’s not my fisting hand.”
At first he didn’t see a difference. His hand was the same as ever except for being smeared in lube which was pretty normal when he was hanging out with Shane. The seconds ticked by slowly until the realization hit Rick like a truck.
He wasn’t wearing his wedding ring.
He always wore his wedding ring. He never took it off, not to shower, not to go swimming, not when he was fucking Shane. Rick was a man who took his vows seriously.
His ring-wearing vows, not his “not fucking other people” vows, to be specific.
His breathing started getting faster because he knew he’d had it just minutes ago. He distinctly remembered pausing to admire the way it had sparkled brightly with lube.
Rick rustled quickly through the covers. He made a sweep of the mattress. He even poked his head over the side of the bed to check the floor.
There was really only one place it could be.
Carl took it and then went outside the house, because that’s all Carl fucking does.
“Don’t get mad,” Rick said after he’d composed himself. His voice barely crackled.
Shane stared Rick hard in the eye.
“What did you do?”
“Okay. You know how when you’re playing Sonic, and he gets hit by something, and then all his rings pop out?”
Rick couldn’t bring himself to answer. He couldn’t say it. Saying it would make it true.
He showed Shane his naked hand instead.
“I, uh,” he stuttered, pantomiming as best he could an elaborate depiction of losing the symbol of his and Lori’s eternal love inside his best friend’s ass. “Maybe.”
Now that is a difficult round of charades.
“Gimme a minute,” Shane said, sitting up straighter. He tensed as a look of discomfort swept across his face. “Yeah,” Shane said while fidgeting, ass visibly clenched. “It’s in there alright.”
“Hold on a minute. I’m going to see if I can try to read the inscription.”
“Shane, I have to be home in twenty minutes. I need to get it out now.” Rick launched himself forward, hand dipping down between Shane’s legs. He’d gotten his ring in there. He could get it out. It wasn’t so different from the time he’d lost his keys down a storm drain. If anything this was better. Rain wasn’t going to wash his ring out of Shane’s ass and into the ocean anytime soon.
“Okay. I need some chewing gum and a stick.”
Shane brought his thighs together and slapped Rick away.
“You’re just gonna push it in further then you won’t be getting it back until tomorrow,” Shane warned him. It took Rick a minute to get what Shane was implying.
POOP. HE’S IMPLYING POOP.
“Okay,” he said, swallowing. “Okay. How do you want to do this?”
As it turned out, Shane’s idea was pretty fun.
Armed with a mini-flashlight, one of Shane’s legs on each of his shoulders, Rick’s fingers made their ascent. He couldn’t see much aside from the smooth pinkness of Shane’s insides. Still he kept a look out for that first flash of gold.
Rick is spelunking in Shane’s ass. Just wanted to make sure that was clear.
Rick wedged his fingers apart more than an inch in diameter as he moved them inside Shane. It wasn’t like the fingering he’d done earlier where the goal had just been slicking and loosening the way. This was closer to spreading. This was Rick holding Shane open; the mini-flashlight clenched in his teeth a beacon of silver in the seemingly endless dark.
I thought of a bunch of lines here, so I’m just going to post all of them:
? Shane’s asshole is a Bag of Holding, apparently.
? Good thing Glenn isn’t here, because this is exactly the kind of shit they make him do.
? How is this different from Rick’s plan? Aren’t they both just “Rick sticks his hand in Shane’s ass and roots around”? Is it the flashlight that makes it “fun”?
? Worst mod of Doom 3 ever.
After nine minutes and his hand in Shane almost to the wrist, he found it, finally. There was his wedding ring wedged just out of reach, standing up straight so Rick could see through the hole. It looked like Shane’s asshole had a tiny golden archway.
So Shane has a McDonald’s franchise in his ass? Food, folks and fecal matter!
“I can’t get it,” Rick said. “Maybe if I had a stick. Or some chewing gum.”
OH MY GOD I WAS JOKING JOOKKKIIINNGGG AAAAAAUUUUGGGGGGGHHHH
“You’re an idiot,” Shane replied. “Keep your hand there.”
Shane maneuvered himself onto his knees. They were careful that Rick’s hand didn’t slip. He didn’t know what Shane was doing or how kneeling was going to help. He was about to ask when Shane bounced three times in quick succession, mattress rocking as he thrust his weight up and down.
Shane was trying to shake the ring loose and it was working. Rick felt his wedding band brush against the heel of his palm as it fell out of Shane’s ass, plopping down onto the bed gently, cushioned by the plushness of Shane’s duvet.
Apparently Shane’s asshole is so cavernous, he can shake a one-inch-plus ring loose — like he’s trying to get the last piece of ice out of the glass — even while Rick’s hand is still in there. Shane’s anus is apparently the size of one of those rock tumblers kids could buy in the ’80s.
“Got it!” Rick called triumphantly. He resolved to never let it out of his sight again. “Wait,” he said after a second, squinting because what he was seeing just couldn’t be right.
“This isn’t my ring.”
I know this is tame by FFF standards, and (bllssfully) short. But someone thought of the idea of Rick Grimes losing his wedding ring in Shane’s ass, and decided it was a story that needed to be told. And then spent his or her time writing it. On purpose.
Honestly, that’s plenty terrifying to me as is. If you disagree, feel free to send in more potential FFFs that meet your standards of depravity. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go wash my hands for the next several days.