"Be as rough as you want Rick."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Always been the way it way before."
"By who?" A kiss under his jaw, then those teeth nibble around his collar bone.
So good, just not enough yet.
"Ain' no one important." Even at the phrase designed to chase away explanation, he can still remember hands which used to trace his body –causing aches and pains in ways which he thought were supposed to be normal. Those hands scratch at his chest, leave teeth indentations on his body. Eventually a firm fist always creeps up to his throat and tightens its grip as the man releases into him. Always.
Daryl thinks it's normal.
The conditioned side of his brain waits for a blow to happen, painful bite –anything, but when Rick's hands only leave touches of fingerprints drawn like lines of memoirs so distant on his sensitive skin, he begins to think something is wrong. His mind races trying to figure out what it could be, perhaps he isn't attractive enough and Rick isn't even into him. He wants to be wanted. More than anything, he wants Rick to want him.
"Ya can be harder if ya want. I don't mind."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know, just thought you might like it rough."
"Ok, if that's what you want. I can do that."
Fuck. Even he doesn't know if he wants it, but he sure as fuck expects it. He needs it, really. Rick becomes more forceful in his kissing upon his lips. He presses down harder, but it's just not enough. Fuck! Why isn't Rick turned on?
Knowing what he has done before to get a man closer to their own edge of lust and exhilaration, Daryl bites him on the neck.
"Ah, shit, not so rough."
"Don't you want it rough?"
"Ain't this enough?"
No.
He remembers what it felt like before. It's always the same man he remembers first. Some piece of shit friend of his fathers who never started really coming around until Daryl turned 18. He always brought booze, and never was it when Merle was in town. So naturally, his own father would get so shit-faced he'd pass out before anyone. Daryl, knowing his limits would always be stumbling drunk, but able bodied and aware. The man pushed himself on Daryl the first time. "You want this, don't you bitch?" It didn't take long for Daryl to become used to the way he was pushed against the wall before the bed. The man had a taste in leaving bruises instead of kisses, and a taste for biting instead of licking. He fucked so hard but he never listed to Daryl telling him to slow down. "Fuckin' keep yo' mouth shut". It didn't take long before Daryl just took it how it was delivered –letting him do whatever he wanted without protest.
The next man was the same. Daryl was 19 when he began sneaking into bars with his fake I.D. The one time he let himself drink too much a man offered to drive him home. It wasn't but a mile before his home when they pulled off onto a side road and the man beat the shit out of him before taking what he felt was his. He lay on the passenger seat, feeling the bumps in the road cause ache in his bones where he was beat so hard he thought something must be broken. The man finally made it to Daryl's driveway and gave Daryl's semi-conscious body one last rub on the dick, "Hadn't had a sweet ass like yours in a while. Hope to see you around again."
He reached over to open the passenger door for Daryl and thanked him for the good time.
He'd become accustom to one bar junkie after the next, one good time resulting in marks in places others weren't supposed to see. Merle might ask from time to time what happened to his face when he came around with black eyes, or carrying bruises and scratches visible above the collar of his shirt. 'Don't say much', he'd always think. It didn't feel right to tell Merle he was sleeping with men, and saying a girl did this would just raise questions.
"Bar fight."
"Gonna have to teach ya to be stronger baby brother. You ain't actin' like a man letting yourself getting' all beat up. Gotta make em' hurt if you're gonna get the beating."
He remembers the first time he took Merle's advice. His father's friend, though older in age than him by many years, didn't carry the weight of aging on his features. He was built and strong. Delivered twice the blow when Daryl struck him in the jaw. He lay there covering his bloody face, trying to conceal the wound through the invisible webs of his fingers as the man continued to pound into him, more turned on than affected by the sight of Daryl laying there bleeding. "That'll fucking teach ya, you little bitch!"
Rick helps Daryl take off his shirt and pants before taking off his own shirt. He straddles Daryl from above, admiring the man in the way the moonlight from the tower window creeps in and touches his skin. It doesn't conceal the pieces of him he never wanted Rick to see.
He leans over Daryl and kisses the scar on his ribcage –once pierced by an arrow in his selfless hunt for a girl who was not his own. His own lips tenderly touch another scar just above Daryl's chest. He doesn't know the creation that caused this one, but he doesn't push to ask. Kisses are pressed to another scar, and another. Before Rick knows it, he's kissing places he never knew could contain so many secrets.
He's gentle with his touch as he runs his hands down the length of his stomach and to the area where his boxers hide. He ignores to uncover Daryl's member, instead he leans forward and kisses the other man on the lips again.
Daryl has to pull away. "I can't do this."
"Why?"
"It's… you don't want it."
"I do." Firm hands find Daryl's face and lightly grip the sides of his head.
"Then why ain't you actin like it?"
"Wh-what am I doing wrong?"
"Hit me." Hands fall from where they held him.
Silence.
"I can take it," he reassures –wishing those hands would touch him again. "Come on now. Hit me hard as you can. It's alright."
"Why do you want me to do that?"
"Is-Isn't that how you like it?"
"I don't want to hurt you, Daryl." His sigh reigns through the silence. "Is what you meant when you said that's how it was before when you had sex?"
"When I was fucked, yes."
"Who did that to you?"
"I said, it don' matter."
"More than once?"
"Leave it be."
"Daryl. Answer me-"
"Fine. You want to know so much? Every damn time." Rick doesn't know what to say but his eyes speak volumes to Daryl as they forcefully look down at him. After a moment, Daryl can't look back any longer and attempts to break the contact. "You ain't need to look at me like that. I can handle my own."
"Why would you let them do that to you?" His voice shreds somewhere near disgusted when he asks, "What else did they do besides hit you?"
"I really don' want to talk about this. I shouldn' said anything, shoulda known you'd be lookin' at me like I'm some sort of lost cause."
"I don't see you any different."
"Then stop." Those two words may have well physically pushed Rick away as much as they emotionally did.
Rick's jaw tenses as he reclines from Daryl. "Look, forget I said anything. Let's just…" When he stands with his shirt in his hand, Daryl feels as though his equilibrium begins to shift.
He panics to find something to say which might change things. "Rick wait. Don't go. I just don' want to talk 'bout it is all."
"You don't want to talk about it, but you want me to do it to you. That's something I'm just not comfortable with. Not now, and I don't know if I'll ever be."
"It ain't like that."
"Then what is it like? Cause you're leaving me pretty lost in the dark right now."
"I just ain't ever had it different. I don't know what's considered as normal other than… that."
"Yeah well hitting you every time during sex ain't normal."
"Show me."
He scoffs. "Show you?"
"Show me… what's normal."
Rick looks away from Daryl as he stops to think. His hand without the shirt finds his forehead as it caresses tired eyes.
Daryl takes his chance and pulls the hand from Rick's face. Rick's eyes meet his and in the dark of the night those glowing orbs are enough of a lifeline for each other to focus on. Daryl steps forward pulling Rick into him by finding those lips he missed too much already. He is careful when he meets them, feeling the way they graze against his own before placing his tongue on them. Rick inhales deeply –something that makes Daryl's insides burn in a way he has never felt before.
The shirt soundlessly plummets to the floor when its captor releases its hold. Rick kisses Daryl deeper as he traces cold hands along Daryl's back. He can't help but clutch onto him with the tips of his fingers –but is cautious to not be too firm. When he can't stand it any longer, he slides them both to the hard floor again, careful to hold Daryl's head from the back so his fingers take the brush of contact against the surface.
He kisses Daryl on the neck –feeling the reaction of the former tense as his muscles contract and hips lurch forward. Daryl's not sure what to do with his hands anymore as they feel lost –unsure of how to behave themselves when the rules have suddenly changed. He follows Rick's lead, observing the way kisses are pressed. He braces himself for bites even though he knows they won't come. It takes several minutes before he raises his lips up towards Rick's neck… and gently nibbles his teeth before leaving a kiss.
"Ah, yeah…" His words become lost as Daryl does it again, and again, each time lower before he can't tilt his body to get further down.
Rick pulls his pants from himself, clumsily stepping from them and placing his clothes aside. Daryl's boxers are last to be torn away. He holds onto Daryl's dick in the dark, wanting more than anything to get the man to the edge and see him lose control. Daryl feels for Rick, grabbing on tight before moving his hand in an up and down motion.
"Ah fuck Daryl," his breath quickens as his heart begins to race. Instead of waiting any longer, he positions himself over Daryl and begins to push himself in. He hears Daryl grunt and suddenly stops. "Hey, hey does it hurt?" His hand feels for Daryl's face which already is covered in a light sweat.
"Yea –no, keep goin'. I'm good."
Rick cautiously continues – each moment he stops and pulls Daryl forward, forcing him close into his own shoulders as he rubs the back of Daryl's neck. Though he wants more than anything to push all the way, he takes his time and is careful to hear for sounds hinting of discomfort. The thought of anyone hurting Daryl makes him sick to his stomach, and even more so at the thought of the things they did. Did Daryl ever cry out only to be told to shut up?
"Keep goin'… I can handle it," Daryl pants with a shaky breath.
He kisses Daryl on the lips one last time before helping him lay back down on the floor. It takes one last exertion to get himself fully inside, and in that time they both begin to lose it. Rick can't help himself –impulsively he begins thrusts his hips, trying to find that spot that puts them both on edge. His mind is lost somewhere in another dimension causing him to say things like, "Feel so good Daryl" when he never consciously thinks on it first.
If they're loud or not, he doesn't know nor care.
Their breaths are rapid and words are spoken then lost like an echo in the small tower. Rick leans forward and whispers into Daryl's ear, "Daryl, I ain't ever gonna hurt you." And in that moment Daryl believes him, and lets himself lose it in front of the first person who ever left him kisses instead of bruises.