A/N - Okay, here is my first crossover. Shane from The Walking Dead and Mac from Red Canyon. Special thanks must go to Peachylana's husband R for giving her the prompt, and Peachylana herself for kindly allowing me to steal it. L, I truly hope it is as epic and screwed up as you were wanting. Now anyone who knows me knows that explicit smut will feature. And if you've seen Red Canyon you need no further reference. But if you haven't then be warned there are strong psychological themes and scenes of a non/con nature. Consider yourself warned. As always the characters ran away with me and developed beyond the few thousand words I'd envisioned. Basically they tied me down and had their way with me. Exhaustedly. So cringe, wince, close your eyes at times, but read and hopefully fall in love with my vision of Shane and Mac aka...Shac. This is set in between the flashback sequences from the movie Red Canyon and before the movie itself starts. Also before the zombie apocalypse starts.
Deputy Shane Walsh. Fuck. He stares at himself in the rearview mirror. He's sitting in his jeep in front of the house that will be his for the next six months. Temporary transfer, changing of the guard. Fucking bullshit. He was being punished because some fucking dipshit made a complaint and they wanted him out of dodge. He knew it was bullshit, Rick knew it was fucking bullshit, had fucking said so to their Sheriff. But he was still being punished.
Bumfuck Utah the sign might as well read. Not Cainville. Shane shakes his head breaking eye contact with himself. He gets out of the jeep grabbing his two duffle's along with his weapons bag. He doesn't bother locking the jeep, he hasn't got anything in it worth stealing. He unlocks the door and leaves it open to air the house. Piece of shit dump it is. But better than the literal dump of a house he'd passed on the way here. It didn't even have power, only a generator. He flicked the light switch and this place at least had that.
He unpacks the little he'd brought with him and then heads back out to the jeep. He grabs his punching bag and sets off to the shed on the property. He looks at the beams and knows they'll carry its weight. Finding a ladder Shane hooks up the bag and letting it hang down he adjusts the height going up and down the ladder a few times to do so. Then he puts it away and watches the bag for a few minutes. Before he's realised what he's doing he's moved to it and landed a punch, then another and another. Not working out this time, just working out his fury. His fury at himself, his fury at his friend and partner, his fury at his boss and his fury at life in fucking general. Life for gifting his friend with someone like Lori. For the child they had together. For the life they shared together.
Shane had never had anything in life he'd wanted before that he couldn't get. Until now. And he was furious.
##########
Mac breathes in the fresh air standing outside his cave. He unsnaps his coveralls and pulling his arms out of the sleeves, he lets them dangle while he lights a cigarette. He's finished another batch of meth putting him ahead of schedule not that he'll tell his old man, he'd only have him make more. He can barely keep up as it is. And since that cunt had killed Rick a few years back he was short-handed. His old man had decided not to hire on anyone else, wanted to keep it in the family. Fucking rot that was. And that fucking retard Harley had gone and become a fucking deputy. Shaking his head in fury Mac opens his tin and takes out some chaw putting a wad in his cheek. He cuts meth in with it. Give's a slower and longer lasting high that still allows him to work and not go batshit
crazy like some do when the fuckers smoke it or eat a rock. Like the high Rick had caused him to have that night he'd fucked Devon's sister. Fuck, was she his sister too? He didn't fucking know and he didn't fucking care. But either way, it doesn't hurt that his old man hasn't figured out what he's having, he thinks it's just tobacco. Any advantage against Walter he can get Mac will take. He watches the sun set not seeing its beauty. Mac sees no beauty in life. He heads back to the cave to package what he's made and to start on another batch while he's in the mood. Then he needs to get home to feed his fucking dog.
Hours later he stops in the middle of the road looking at the Ashton house. There are lights on inside. And a jeep in the driveway. Big tires with large coil suspension springs. A man's vehicle. He leaves his engine running while he stares. Who the fuck is it? Better not be that fucking shit Devon. Mac swears one of these days he's gonna gut him and bathe in his blood. That fuck had cost him thousands of dollars, all because he'd taken his fucking sister to his cave so she could see Harley. Fucking cunts, the pair of them. Suddenly he sees a shadow detach itself from the side of the house. It's not Devon he realises. Whoever it is was watching him watch the house. He stares at the shadow as it stares back. Mac feels the gaze of the man watching him. It makes him nervous. And so far in his life the only person who has ever made Mac nervous is Walter. That a man he can't even see is making him nervous is pissing him off. Making him more furious than usual. Without even looking he reaches for his cigarettes and shakes one out and lights it. All the while he's staring at the shadow he can see. And he feels the shadow staring back. He inhales his smoke and then exhales as he puts the truck back in gear and drives on to his own house.
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Shane reports for duty the next morning on an empty stomach. The Sheriff thankfully takes him to breakfast while on foot patrol. He points out various businesses. And he points out a bar on the edge of town, barely visible to the naked eye it's so far out. It's in their limits he says but the owner usually manages to handle any trouble. It serves good food but unless you like rough places don't go there after about ten in the evening. He's serious when he says it looking at Shane making him understand the type of place it is. Shane looks out at it. He'd fit right in he thinks. But he nods at the Sheriff merely saying they have a place like it back home in Georgia as well. After work he hits the grocery store but realises there is no hardware store. He queries the grocery clerk and they say the garage on the way out-of-town will sell what he's after. He puts his groceries in his jeep and stops there on his way home. It's nearly closing. He stops the guy from locking the door. His uniform is the only thing preventing it from slamming in his face he knows. Shane takes advantage of it, he needs the tape or he'll bruise his knuckles even more than he did last night. And that's bad for business. He purchases a half-dozen rolls of the tape he uses, that should keep him stocked for a month or so he thinks, he makes sure to check they always stock it and the guy answers they do. He's sullen and fidgety, coming off a high Shane realises. None of his business he thinks. Shaking his head he heads outside the guy following on his heels and shutting and locking the door behind him. Shane pauses however as he surveys the parking lot. It hadn't been there before but there is a red pick-up truck parked at the side entrance now. He asks who it belongs to and finds it belongs to the mechanic and owner. Shane asks his name as the guy lopes away to his own piece of shit vehicle. He tosses the answer over his shoulder as he gets in. Mac. Shane doesn't know if that's his first or last name, but it is something. Now he just has to put a face to the man he'd watched watching him last night.
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Mac stands inside the closed-door of the side entrance. He watches the man speak to Denny's back through the dirty window as he ran off to his car. And he heard Denny say his name. Fucking sun was in his eyes. He'd recognised the jeep when he'd pulled up. He was waiting to get a look at the man who'd stared back at him last night. But the fucking sun wasn't cooperating. He was in shadow. All he could see was he was tall and had a good build with curly hair showing under the cap he wore. No hat for this deputy. Fucking figured he was a cop Mac thought. He wondered if Walter had known that when he'd let him the house. He was betting he did. He'd get a kick out of inconveniencing his eldest son. The only son who'd stuck around Mac thought bitterly. He thinks about walking up past the Ashton place this evening to see what he can see but decides against it. Shouldn't fuck with a deputy. Or at least not until he knew more. With this thought in mind he heads over to the far wall picking up the phone and dialing a number from memory. He makes arrangements and then does the last bit of work he needs to make sure he has the weekend off.
He heads home and feeds his dog letting him out for a run in the yard while he tinkers with his generator. Then he pens him up again as he heads inside to shower. When he's in the shower and thinking on the silhouette he'd seen earlier today he is shocked to feel his cock stir. What the fuck? He's not a fucking homo. He grips it but it only hardens further as he tries to quash thoughts of the legs he'd seen walking back to the car. Mile long legs that had eaten the ground like it was nothing. And he'd walked like a predator on the balls of his feet. And none of this was helping his fucking hard on. Mac gripped his cock as hard as he could, hoping to stop his erection in its tracks but that only made him more aroused because he fucking liked pain. What the fuck was wrong with him? He didn't fucking like cock, he liked cunt; he took cunt and only cunt. He let go of his dick and finished rinsing his hair letting the soap run down his body then without hesitation he turned the water to cold. His curses echoed off the walls of his filthy bathroom but the cold water did the job. When he's finished his shower he gets dressed and heads out to his truck. Before starting the engine he looks down to the Ashton house in the distance, the lights are on.
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Shane finishes his evening workout. He's heading back to the house when he hears the faint sound of an engine starting up. Looking down to Mac's dump he sees the truck lights reverse and then head on into town. He wonders where Mac is heading. Mac. He wonders if it's his first or last name. He wonders what he looks like. He smoked he knew because he'd lit one last night when they'd been watching each other. Shane wondered if he'd be someone who'd keep him company during the six months he was here. He was used to seeing Rick every damn day. Work or otherwise. He showers off his sweat before heading into the kitchen. He's not on call this weekend and the next two days stretch before him endlessly. He thinks he'll go hiking for most of it, get to know the territory and keep himself fit. No fucking gym here, he'll have run and hike for his cardio. He already missed Georgia, he missed the insects, the wet heat that it was. Not this fucking dry as a bone weather. Unrelenting day after day. Nothing green anywhere. Why couldn't he have been transferred somewhere green at least? He shakes his head as he looks at the dinner he'd just made without thinking. He's not hungry but he eats. He knows his body needs fuel. Then he turns on the television. It's nothing but snow. Shit, he ain't even gonna bother with trying to get it fixed he thinks, he'll just rent videos. There's a store in town. But he's bored. Back home he'd have friends to see, work around his house to do. Not even a fucking movie theatre in this town. He decides to take a walk. He grabs his keys and leaves the kitchen light on along with the outside light out the back. He takes a torch but it's a full moon so he doesn't need it as long as he sticks to the road. He wanders up into the canyon, heading back the way Mac's truck had come from the night before. What had he been doing out here anyway? Shane had looked at the map, there was no other house out here.
He's curious, curious about Mac, he's not yet laid eyes on him but he's thought about him at least a dozen times in the past twenty-four hours. He lives in an absolute shithole. He has a vicious dog that Shane is sure would tear his throat out if it ever got loose. He drives a beat-up piece of shit truck on the outside but with an engine that purrs like a kitten. Shane didn't know a lot about engines, but he knew enough to tell when one was tuned to perfection. That truck might not look like much but its engine was top of the line. Without realising what he's doing Shane turns around and heads back down toward his house continuing on past it. He walks steadily not questioning what he's doing even though is conscience is screaming at him to stop, to go back. He's trespassing he knows but he can't help himself. He is curious. And his curiosity when it's roused knows no bounds. Taking a deep breath he puts a hand on the fence of Mac's house yard and vaults over. The dog sets up a racket. Shane decides to see if he can befriend it. He heads over and talks soothingly to it. Using a monotonous tone of voice that doesn't change he crouches while the dog continues to bark, spraying him with spittle in the process. After what seems an eternity it stops barking. And it looks at Shane. Without hesitation Shane puts his hand to the cage letting the dog sniff him. He is surprised by a lick on his palm. Its tongue is rough, wet and warm. Shane wonders if the dog licks its owners palm as well. It takes him a few seconds to realise his cock is twitching in his pants at the thought.
He is up like a shot startling a whine out of the dog. No, he thinks. No. He's not going there. He turns around and simply walks away vaulting the fence again and heading back up to his own house. He will not do this. He will not get caught up in shit like this.
##########
Someone with huge fucking feet had been in his yard. Mac stands staring at the boot prints in the dirt. They'd come over the fence, up to his dog's pen and stayed there, from the look of them they'd even squatted for a time. His eyes narrowed as he stared at them, everything narrowed until all he could see was the boot prints in the dirt. His dirt. He'd known last night when he got home that someone had been around. He'd smelled him. That scent Mac had somehow smelled last night seemed to be still lingering in the air this morning. He knows it's fucking stupid but he's sure he can smell the man. He feeds his dog and then decides that he needs to deal with this shit head on. He opens the pen and the dog trots out. When he sets off up the road the dog heels beside him like he's been taught. Mac doesn't even bother to shut his front door.
He bangs on the back door standing beside it with his dog sitting directly in front of it. It's early, just a half hour after dawn but he doesn't fucking care. Fucker ain't got any right to be on his property and Deputy or not he's gonna learn not to fuck with Mac. The sap he'd grabbed slips down his sleeve into his palm as the door opens. Distracted by saying hello to the dog he doesn't see Mac until he launches himself at him, clubbing him on the side of the skull with the sap and then leaping inside as he falls backward. Before the guy knows what the fuck is happening Mac has rolled him over and has tied his hands behind his back kneeling on him the entire time. He comes back to himself to find his dog whining in his face before he moves to the unconscious man's head and licking his face. Mac slaps his dog away as he stands up. His eyes are caught by the weapons dismantled on the table. He's not great with guns but he can tell about three of them are strewn on the table in the process of being cleaned. Fucker was an early riser he thought. He remembers his conversation with Harley last night. Shane Walsh, single, in trouble for beating too much on someone in lock-up. Sent here to get him out-of-the-way for six months. Unless Mac fucking killed him now he was gonna be stuck with the fucker for six months. He paces as he lights a cigarette and thinks about what he wants to do versus what he will do to the man on the floor in front of him. He is nervous. The guy is a cop, and not a local one. If he makes a mistake in how he handles this he'll be fucked. He's sure the cop has friends who'll rain hell on Cainville until they find out what happened to him. He paces some more before giving in and taking some meth that he cut's with chaw. He chews it, letting it seep slowly into his system. Fuck smoking it, slow is better when it comes to this shit. He watches the man on the floor start to slowly regain consciousness. And he decides to leave, he grabs his dog and walks back out of the house leaving his front door open as well. He is furious at himself for giving in and going so far as to look at taking the man and playing with him before he did away with him. But…he could play. He comes to a stop in the front yard as he thinks it through. He could play, right here in the house and then leave. No way would the fucker report it being the type of guy he is. Mac would be completely safe if he had some fun with him. He knows this with certainty. But he'd have to be careful, no marks, no bruises. He smiles as he thinks he can work with that as he walks back inside, shutting the door behind him.
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Shane's head is pounding. He feels like a jack hammer has set up residence on the side of his skull. What the fuck happened? He goes to move but realises his hands are tied behind his back. Panic skitters down his spine as he realises his legs are tied as well. He's hog-tied. Literally hog-tied. He can't fucking move. He hears a snuffling sound and turns his head. Mac's dog is drinking from a bowl of water on the floor. Shane watches in puzzlement as he puts two and two together. Mac had hit him, used his dog as a distraction and hit him. And now he'd tied him up. But why? Shane hears a rustling sound to his right and turns his head that way. He sees a pair of beat-up steel-toed boots in his vision. The legs in them spread wide, covered in navy blue pants of some description. He can see one hand lying on a thigh, fingers dangling a cigarette between the legs. The other arm he can't see. He still can't see the face of Mac though he knows its Mac because of the dog. Shane closes his eyes as he coughs trying to get his breath. He has something around his neck. Panic turns to sheer terror that slides an ice-cold blanket of dread over his entire body making him break out in a cold sweat as he realises that his neck has a rope around it. A rope tied to his legs. If he straightens his legs he'll choke himself. He closes his eyes hoping he's dreaming but he's not. When he opens them he's still hog-tied. He doesn't feel the roughness of the rope on his neck though. His eyes wheel in his head when he figures out that Mac has put cloth around his neck so he doesn't mark it. That means he isn't going to kill him or he wouldn't care about fucking marks on his neck. But Shane would prefer to be killed than to have to live with what is about to happen to him.
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Mac smokes his cigarette while he watches Shane wriggle on the floor. He smiles as he sees the panic set in. The realisation that he can't move. It makes him hard. And once he'd decided on this course of fun, Mac had decided to stop second-guessing himself. He was going to follow his dick, like he always did. But he is wondering how he's going to get at Shane, he isn't stupid enough to think if he releases any part of Shane that he would survive. Shane would beat him to death with his bare hands for what he's done so far, never mind what he's going to do. He'll have to be careful to take his fun, make sure it won't be visible to anyone and get away. That's going to test him, he's never worried about whether he's made a mess of anyone before. But he figures once he's away he'll be safe enough though he'll have to keep an eye out for the next months until Shane transfers back to wherever the fuck he's from. Harley hadn't known other than 'the South' and Mac didn't fucking care anyway.
Shane was a night, maybe a weekend of fun. He'd checked. Shane wasn't on duty until Monday, so he had today and tomorrow to play. And he was going to play. He gets up and opens the fridge. Nice choice of food. Guy liked to eat well. Mac could appreciate that. He makes himself something to eat and makes something for Shane as well though if he doesn't eat he'll give the food to his dog. Might be kind of entertaining to watch them fight over it actually he thinks. He sits on the floor with his plate eating his food then he puts his empty plate on the table and takes the one he's made for Shane down. He forks up some of the food and puts it at his mouth. Shane tries to speak but Mac smacks his head. He won't deal with words. He keeps the food there until Shane gives in and takes it He forces him to eat all the food and then realises he needs water as well. Fuck, he's gonna need to work out the best place to keep him in and how to get him there. He empties a bottle of beer by drinking it himself and then fills it with water from the tap. Won't taste great from the mineral content but it'll do the job. He watches as Shane drinks it. Fucker wants to live he thinks. Good.
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Shane chokes on the water, Mac had given it to him straight from the tap. Tasted like sulfur but it was drinkable short-term. He swallows convulsively feeling the material around his neck and his arms stretch as he tries again to see if there is a way loose. Of course there isn't, Mac has tied him expertly, but he hasn't gagged him. Not that he needs to, there is no one within shouting distance to hear him anyway. He fights off a shudder. He still hasn't seen the man's face. He's white, had has bitten dirty nails, a tattoo on each hand, small ones, inked at home. His hands smell like cigarettes and more. Something Shane can't put his finger on. And he's managed to incapacitate Shane like he'd never been incapacitated before, all without Shane having seen his face. Somehow that fact is foremost in his mind, focusing on it is allowing him to forget about what he's expecting to happen to him. All Shane can think is that when he's moved he has to get free. No matter what. But then Mac is standing over his back and pulling up on the rope around his neck. Shane tries to fight it but he can't.
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Mac pulls viciously until he sees Shane's head drop and he lets go immediately. He checks for a pulse and then he moves quickly knowing Shane won't be out for long. He undoes the ropes holding Shane's legs up and lets them fall to the ground. Stripping Shane he manhandles his dead weight up and onto the kitchen table. It's an old solid wood one. Very sturdy. He spreads his torso out face down making sure he can breathe and then he pulls a wrist forward and ties it off to the table leg in front of him quickly tying off the other wrist as well. He is careful to put cloth between Shane's rope and his wrist, can't have the law asking questions of its temporary transfer. Then he puts a folded towel over Shane's upper torso and throws rope over it as well before getting down under the table and tying that too. Now for the legs. He grabs more cloth and wraps both Shane's ankles before spreading his legs and tying then roping them in between a block of wood. Shane's legs are effectively imprisoned and spread, all for Mac. He stands back admiring his handiwork. Not bad for a job without thought. He takes a pinch of chaw as he looks at the prize dangling between Shane's legs, and the entrance he's going to fuck. He drags a chair behind Shane and sits there as he chews letting the drug work slowly through his system. He unsnaps his coveralls slowly as he watches Shane's cock and balls swing as he breathes. He wishes he could have the man face up so he would see him in full but knows that can't happen. His cock is stirring in his pants as he stands back up and shrugs his shoulders out of his coveralls, he's wearing only underwear with them as it gets so hot in the cave.
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Shane comes to again, his brain is hazy and he can't move when he tries to. He realises he's no longer hog-tied on the floor but as he comes to consciousness again he knows his place is that much more precarious as a result. He feels any kernel of hope he'd had that he would escape when Mac tried to move him evaporate. His muscles clench and spasm in protest while his mind wheels around in circles trying to find an avenue, any avenue of escape. He clears his throat as he hears movement behind him and tries to speak. Only a hoarse groan comes out. He clears his throat again but before he can try to say anything he feels his buttocks wrenched apart and something force its way inside him. He screams at the agony of having his rectum violated by Mac's cock. It simply pushes into him without warning, without preparation. Shane screams again as Mac starts thrusting in and out of him, his hands bracket Shane's hips making sure he stays completely in place, Shane can feel his ragged nails digging into his skin as he feels Mac's cock pound inside him. He's not wearing a condom Shane realises. He knows it's useless to fight though he can't help but try. His wrists pull against his bonds and he tries to move his legs only to find them anchored between something that is heavy and immovable. He finds himself sobbing and saying no. Over and over even as another part of his mind tells him to shut the fuck up and stop being a pussy. None of it makes any difference. He is being raped by this man Mac. A man whose face he has never even seen. Why his mind latches onto that thought he can't say, why would it be better if he'd seen Mac's face? He doesn't know.
Shane feels Mac come inside him and then he feels Mac leaning down, bending over his back, resting his elbows on Shane's shoulders as he catches his breath. Then his elbows dig in as he raises up. He withdraws abruptly and Shane winces at the pain. He can feel Mac's come inside him. It feels hot in his backside. And when Mac withdraws he feels it trickle out of his arse. And he smells blood.
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Fuck. Mac sits back in the chair as he continues to catch his breath. Who knew fucking a man would feel like that? It was completely different. Not as wet, but tighter, hotter. And he wanted more. He looks at the man splayed on the table for his pleasure. He sees the blood and his own come dripping out of him, fuck but he'd like to have Shane himself clean it up. His cock twitches again at the thought of watching Shane put his fingers inside himself and scoop Mac out and lick him off his own fingers. Mac leans forward and pushes two of his fingers inside Shane causing him to moan in pain again. Ignoring him he feels around trying to scoop some of himself out to force Shane to lick it off. In doing so however his fingers cruise over a nub inside Shane and he jerks with a muffled groan. Mac frowns and brushes his fingers over the nub again. And again Shane jerks. Mac leans back looking Shane over as he watches his body's response to his fingers pushing that little place inside him. His eyebrows raise as he sees Shane's cock jerk every time he brushes the nub. Whatever the fuck it was his cock sure liked it. From the way it was rising Mac was betting he'd fucking come if Mac kept touching him. And he immediately knows that would somehow be worse than Mac just fucking with him and leaving him. Mac knows that Shane will feel that much worse if he gives him pleasure as well as pain. Mental degradation for this man will be so much worse. It will eat at him until there is nothing left but a morass of pain, suffering and anguish. So he leans in and starts brushing his fingers repeatedly over the nub as his other hand starts to fondle Shane's nuts, rolling them like a pair of billiard balls, slapping them lightly. But his focus is on his fingers brushing that nub. He sets up a rhythm, pull back, thrust in and brush the nub. Like he's fucking him again, which he wants to do. But it could wait. Humiliation first. He leans his head down watching Shane's cock rise and jerk in time with his thrusts. He barely hears Shane moan and plead for him to stop. But he hears when the begging stops and the sounds change. They change to Shane groaning and trying to push himself back on Mac's hand, trying to get Mac to fuck him harder. Mac grins evilly as he stops, keeping his fingers away from the nub and simply stilling them in Shane's arse. And Shane howls. He howls like the fucking dog Mac treats him. And Mac laughs this time as he realises that right now, right this instant Shane is his dog. His bitch. And he's going to fuck with him.
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Shane whimpers and ignores his inner voice calling him a fucking pansy, a pussy and a wannabe cunt as he tries to push back on those fingers. Those fucking long and strong fingers. Those fingers have become his entire existence. He is not in pain, he is not dehydrated. He doesn't have a concussion and a pounding headache. He's not thinking that the person giving him this pleasure is the one who has just violated him in the most extreme way a man can be violated. He wants more. He clenches on the fingers as they begin to withdraw and hears the indrawn breath behind him. So he does it again. And suddenly the fingers are back, thrusting in and brushing that spot inside him. He'd read about it of course but never thought about it with regard to himself. He barely hears the question in Mac's voice as he speaks to himself wondering what he was touching. He is too focused on trying to come like he has never come before. For once he is taking and damning the consequences. And so he starts to plead again, this time he is pleading for more. Yes he says, yes.
And Mac complies, Shane feels his fingers withdraw to be replaced by Mac's cock again, this time he's managed to lubricate himself and he eases in, feeling his way trying to find how to move to brush that spot. And when he works it out he starts thrusting viciously, moving across Shane's prostate with each thrust. Shane screams again, this time in pleasure. And he comes, his sperm shooting out of his cock without any further touch on it. He can feel himself clenching around Mac and Mac yelling and coming inside him again as a result. And when he has come down from the best orgasm in his life he feels shame. Just as Mac wanted him to.
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Leaning back in his chair again Mac wipes himself off with the tea towel he grabbed off the counter. He'd managed to lube himself up this time, fuck knows why. He shakes off the fact that his conscience tries to tell him he didn't want to hurt the man more than he already had. He looks him over again and sees the look on his face. He looks shattered, like he is nothing. Mac smiles knowing he'd put that look on his face. He picks up the bottle of oil he'd used on himself and he puts it on the counter as he stands up. He drops the tea towel there too. Then he stretches. He hasn't been this relaxed since, he frowns realising he's never been this relaxed in his fucking life. He chokes that thought off quickly. If he starts thinking he's not satisfied with his life it'll be the easiest way to wind up dead. Fucking cocksucker making him think he wanted more. Mac snarls as he turns to look at Shane. And before he knows what he has done he picks up the knife he'd used to get his food before and stabs it into the wood by Shane's hip. Shane flinches but doesn't say anything. Mac starts pacing as he takes a hit of chaw. He continues to pace back and forth losing track of time.
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Shane concentrates on breathing through the fear he'd felt jolt through his system when Mac had stabbed the knife into the table. He stays quiet as he listens to the pacing of the man who'd just raped him and given him the most incredible orgasm he'd ever had in his life. He knew he was screwed any way he looked at this. So he decided to not look at it. He was going to simply react to whatever Mac dealt him. And when he left him as he was going to Shane would pick up the pieces and move on as he always did.
A dull ache in his lower abdomen brings him back to the present. Mac is still pacing and Shane is loath to interrupt him but he needs to. So he clears his throat. The pacing stops. And before he can lose his nerve he admits he has to piss. There is a beat of silence and then cupboards open and close and he hears a thud under the table followed by the command of Mac that he piss. He can't help the sigh of relief that comes with the release of his bladder. When he has stopped he hears Mac move behind him again and sit in the chair he has set back there. Shane wonder's what he sees. Him obviously but what does he see, what does he look at?
##########
Mac looks at Shane again. He smells come and blood and now urine in the air. He leans his elbows on his knees as he looks at Shane, really looks at him. Yeah he's a fucking man, but he'd taken his shit, and when Mac had found that spot inside him, he'd come back for more. In fact he'd begged for it. Mac felt something stirring inside him. Something fucking stupid because it was a feeling that had no business in his life. He smacked himself in the head and left the house abruptly talking to himself the whole way back to his own, his dog prancing around beside him. The only thing that had ever given him unconditional comfort was the being beside him. He was fucking stupid to think he'd get it from anywhere or anyone else. He opens his truck door and takes out the bag of meth he keeps behind the seat. He needs more now, doesn't need these fucking feelings forcing themselves on him like they did when he'd done Devon's kid sister. He takes the bag with him back to the house and without pausing to think he throws it on the bench. And he takes the knife testing it for sharpness. Then he simply starts carving along Shane's flank. It's awkward because the angle but he's not far gone enough to release Shane to complete it more comfortably and he's too far gone enough to stop. Down he carves managing to be reasonably neat despite Shane's movements. Four letters he carves. Shane is his whether he fucking wants to be or not. Mac owns him now.
##########
Shane screams as Mac cuts him. He tries to move away even though he knows it will do no good. He can only hope he survives. The wounds feel like fire licking down his right side. Then Mac moves to his other side. And the pain begins again. And again he yells. This time Mac stops and cuffs him on the back of the head telling him to shut the fuck up. And he goes back to work. Down his flank, he feels more cuts. He finds himself sobbing at the pain. A dim part of his brain recognises it's not physical pain but mental pain. Mental pain of being bent to someone's will against his own. Shane had been given pleasure tonight with his pain. It made him feel things he didn't want to feel toward the man who'd raped him. The man who'd then given him the most mind-blowing orgasm he'd ever had and had then fucked him again through it taking care with him despite his obvious roughness. And now he was cutting him. Hurting him. Shane turns his head away from Mac, to the right no longer wanting to get a look at the face of the man who now owned him. He looks at his far kitchen wall and he thinks of what he'll do when he's let go. If he's let go. He wants a shower.
After a time he realises Mac as stopped cutting him. He hears him moving around in another part of the house and then he comes back and Shane smells something in the air, before he registers the smell Mac is pressing a cloth to his right side causing him to flinchl at the sting of the antiseptic. He dabs several times and then repeats himself on Shane's left side. And he brushes his fingers over his work with a chuckle. And then he smack's Shane's arse before leaving the room again. Shane hears cupboards open and close and he's back again sitting down behind him.
##########
Marked. He's fucking marked as Mac's now. Anyone who fucks him in the future will know who he belongs to, even if they don't know Mac. His grin is both predatory and evil at the thought of other's trying to fuck what's his and seeing his marks. He palms his cock again, he's ready to go another round. But he want's something different this time. A growl distracts him. It's Shane's stomach. He glances at the clock on the wall and is shocked to realise the day has passed with everything they've done. And now he's aware he's fucking hungry too. He looks at the baggie on the bench but decides he doesn't want it now. He gets up, moving toward the refrigerator and again looks at Shane's offerings. He makes something to eat for himself only this time and he eats sitting looking at Shane's arse, the arse he's going to fuck again before he leaves. He wants to fuck him knowing his mark is on him. He stands when he's finished eating and throws his dishes in the sink before grabbing the oil again and taking it to the table. He squats down and pouring it on his hand he grabs Shane's cock and starts jerking it roughly. Shane groans in protest. At the same time he pours some over his arse and thrusts his fingers inside easily as he's still relaxed from earlier. Mac jerks him erect as he finds that nub inside Shane and starts nudging it repeatedly causing Shane to start moaning in pleasure now. He feels his cock become even harder, Shane is making his own cock hard from just watching him take what Mac's dishing out. Fuck he can take it, cunts can't. Mac feels something stir in him again and again he chokes it off standing up and removing his fingers and simply guiding his cock into Shane's tight arse. He feels his eyes roll in his head as he enters the tightest thing he's ever had the pleasure of fucking. He bends over at an awkward angle so he can keep a hand on Shane's cock for a bit before the fucking becomes too pleasurable for him. Standing he grinds his pelvis into Shane, knowing he's bruising him, wanting to mark him further he thrusts uncontrollably, deliberately slamming his hips into Shane. Angling himself so his cock brushes against that nub he thrusts until he feels the arse around him start to spasm in orgasm and he follows it. When he's finished he drops down on Shane's back resting there. And before he's realised what he's doing Mac drifts off to sleep.
##########
Shane breathes shallowly as he tries not to wake the man sleeping on him. He has lost track of time himself knowing only that it's dark again and has been for some time. His head feels like it's splitting from the inside out and he can't even work up some spit to moisten his mouth. The dog stirs from his place under the table and stands with a soft growl. Then Shane hears tires outside. He tenses thinking to yell but before he does a hand clamps over his mouth and the other moves around his neck choking off his air. He struggles to breathe as Mac tells his dog to be quiet. His house is dark whoever stops there stays in idle for a few minutes and then his phone starts to ring. Shane waits through twenty long rings before it stops and the vehicle moves off. It takes several more minutes before Mac relaxes his hold. He finds himself able to breathe again but pauses in sucking in a deep breath when the bloody knife Mac had used on him is brought into his line of vision. The hand holding it is steady though it reeks of a chemical smell Shane finds familiar but can't place.
"Big bad Deputy was going to call for help? Let people see that you're my bitch? Guess it's true what they say about Southerners being stupid inbreds then huh?" Shane hears his chair being dragged around the table slowly as he talks to him. It's the first time he's asked him any questions though Shane thinks they're rhetorical. He stays silent and moves his head to the opposite side of where Mac is dragging the chair so he doesn't see his face, or even a shadow of it. Then Mac puts on the light. Shane squints against it and as his eyes adjust he feels his head turned back the other way and a towel wrapped around his neck and pulled. He squeezes his eyes shut in pain and denial.
"Open your eyes now bitch." Mac's words are punctuated by a yank on the towel. It's Shane's absolute last vestige of denial and he simply squeezes them shut even tighter. Foul breath that smells like chemicals, tobacco and food from Shane's own fridge assaults him but he keeps his eyes closed. The knife drags slowly across the table and the point then digs into his shoulder causing him to wince in pain. But still he keeps his eyes closed. The knife then draws across his forehead, slowly and surely but not breaking skin this time. It drags along his cheekbone before lifting and tapping a couple of times on his nose causing him to flinch and open his eyes to slits before he remembers and shuts them again. The towel on his neck is suddenly taken in hand and his airway constricted again causing him to gasp. He barely hears the words Mac is saying but he feels the fingers on his jaw prising it open and the towel loosening so slightly it's barely noticeable and then he feels the cock enter his mouth. The fingers on his jaw make it impossible for him to clench down and bite it. And the next words whispered in his ear make sure he won't do it anyway. He grunts an assent to the words and the fingers leave his jaw. And biting back an instinctive gag Shane starts to suck Mac's cock.
##########
Mac's head falls back on his neck as he feels the wet heat of Shane's mouth sucking on him. It's the first time a man has sucked him and it feels even better than a fucking cunt's mouth even though Shane has no idea what the fuck he's doing, it's still better because it's his property taking care of him, property that he has marked as his. It isn't long before he is on the brink. And he finds himself taking Shane's hair in his hands as he starts to fuck Shane's mouth brutally not caring that he's making the man gag. And when he comes he forces his cock as far down Shane's throat as he can causing him to literally gag and vomit Mac's own come back up. Mac withdraws as Shane splutters and chokes and ignores his trouble breathing as he'd tightened his grip on the towel as he came. He falls back into the chair taking note of how Shane turned his head away so he couldn't see him. They both try to get their breath back and silence begins to settle around them. Mac is finished. Sated, happy with what he's done to Shane. He wants to do more but if he does Shane won't be going to work on Monday and he can't have people finding out what he's done to him. So he stands and yanks on the towel again. Constricting Shane's airways until he passes out. He lets go immediately and sets about untying him. Doing up his coveralls he takes up the sap and the ropes he'd used along with the block of wood and calling to his dog he switches off the light and leaves. He forgets about the bag of meth he'd thrown on the counter.
Back in his own place Mac feeds his dog and lets him run around while he showers. He looks at his cock as he washes it. It's covered in oil, come and blood. He ignores his conscience telling him what he'd done was wrong. He'd enjoyed himself as never before and he felt fantastic. Next time he went travelling he'd pick a man-bitch to fuck up. He was sick of cunts. Penning up his dog he falls into bed and sleeps deeply without a thought to the wreck of a man he'd left passed out on his kitchen table.
##########
Around the time Mac is falling into bed Shane is waking up. His head feels like its going to split wide open and he groans which makes it worse, and ducks expecting to be hit for the noise he's making. It's only then he realises he'd managed to put his hand on his aching head. He wasn't chained. The house was dark though. No light on anywhere. He moves his other hand and finds it's free too. So he moves his legs and they respond. He is free. And fuck he is hurting. He slowly pushes his arms on the table, raising himself on his elbows and he stays there for some time listening to the house, sensing it. There is no one around. The house is completely still. He can only hear the wind outside. And a coyote or something in the distance. He slides back on the table until his legs can hold him albeit weakly. And he pushes his palms flat to aid himself in getting up, he walks them back until he is standing gripping the edge of the table. It takes him several minutes to stand without holding onto it though. He looks around in the dark. Thankfully he can see some shadows, knows where the doorway is. He staggers to it stabbing his toe into the stove on the way and cursing hoarsely at this new pain. He aches from head to toe, but the worst pain by far was his head and his anus. He wants to touch both of them but isn't game enough to. He manages to make it to the bathroom and shuts himself in knowing it won't do any good if Mac decides to come back. He doesn't even know where his guns are as they'd been in pieces on his kitchen table until he'd been tied down on it instead. He hopes Mac hasn't taken them. He switches on the bathroom light but doesn't look in the mirror instead getting in the shower and putting the water on hot and hot only. He dunks his head under the water as it starts to heat up ignoring the voice screaming at him about evidence being washed away. Mac had gotten it right, he wasn't going to be reporting this. He starts scrubbing himself down with soap stopping only when his hands brush across his flank down by his hip. Shit that hurts even more. Then he remembers the cuts. He is more gentle with them and those on the other side but he still doesn't look. He finishes in the shower only when the water runs cold and he steps out on the mat and takes a towel drying himself off still without looking. He dabs at the cuts looking at the blood on the towel. It's not just from the cuts he knows. He's bleeding from his backside as well.
Only when he is dry and every possible touch and smell Mac left on him has been obliterated does Shane look in the mirror. His face apart from his swollen eyes looks fine, drawn in pain but that can't be helped. He can fake something there. His neck has no marks on it whatsoever because of the towelling Mac had used. His shoulder was cut, deep but not wide, he could tape that up. He raised an arm and looked at his wrists. No bruises, faint redness but that's all. They were sore and stiff though. He'd need to take care of them with some liniment. He raises both hands to his head feeling along the top of his skull. There it was. A knot the size of a large marble. Hidden by his hair and in a place that wouldn't impede him wearing his cap at work on Monday. He takes some meds for his headache and the pain, thankful he's got strong stuff due having been injured playing college football. And then he checks out the inevitable. Mac had started on his right side first so that is what Shane looked at first as well.
The cuts didn't make sense at first. It is only when he gets a smaller mirror and looks into that, that he realises what Mac has written. His name. He had written his fucking name. Carved it into his flesh. Shane pivots to the other side ignoring his dimming vision. He curses vilely as he reads this word. Suddenly he has black spots in his eyes. He knows he's going to pass out so he drops the mirror in the sink and staggers into the bedroom passing out before he'd even lay down causing him to fall face down across the bed with his legs hanging off the side. His last thought is of making Mac pay. And that he needs to find out what the son of a bitch looks like to do that.
##########
One month later and Shane has the weekend off again. A long weekend actually. He'd elected to work his roster so he'd have a long weekend. He's healed physically and he thinks he's just about to heal mentally. He'd found his guns scattered on the lounge when he'd woken up the next day. Taking twice as long as he usually would he'd cleaned them while still naked and aching so he'd have something to defend himself with. Then he'd eaten and had another shower before dressing and steeling himself to look in the mirror again. He hadn't been imagining things. Mac had cut his name into his flesh with another word Shane wasn't even going to think about except to wonder what word he could reciprocate with when it was Mac's time. He forced himself to bleach and scrub down the table and the whole kitchen. Then he cleaned the entire house and going against everything in his training and nature given what had happened to him he'd left all the doors and windows open with the screens on to allow the house to air. He fancied he could smell Mac everywhere he walked. In cleaning the kitchen he'd found the bag of meth. It explained the chemical smell he'd been unable to identify. Mac was a cooker of the stuff. That night he did something he hadn't done since high school. He'd taken an illegal substance. He'd crushed it as fine as he could and snorted it. It was surprisingly high quality shit. He refused to let himself take it again but he'd needed it that night. And it had helped him.
Now he was ready. He'd spent the last month preparing, researching and stalking his quarry. He knew what he looked like from his mug shot. Even though it was old, there was enough in it he'd be able to distinguish him. And he'd watched that truck around town enough on his patrols to know his haunts. Mac frequented the fucking bar the Sheriff had warned him to leave before ten in the evening.
As Shane stepped through the doors of the Luna Mesa it was just past eleven on Friday night. Mac's truck was in the lot.