Title: Humiliation
Author: veiledndarkness
Rating: R
Pairing: Rick/Daryl
Summary: He's falling apart, he's so far from his life before and he's losing his mind, but he just can't stop.
Disclaimer: The characters within aren't mine. No profit has been made and no harm is intended.
Written for the twd_kinkmeme on Livejournal.
Prompt: Rick is losing it, and he knows it. He's becoming more sick and twisted. But he can't stop, and Daryl just won't say no to him.
Warning: Slight spoilers for Season 3
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He's three ways from fucked but he can't seem to stop.
It doesn't help that Daryl won't say no to him, that he won't hesitate when Rick gives him a command, no matter how depraved it might be and it's damned intoxicating to see the man bend over at his request. He hates how good it feels to unleash his anger on someone.
He can't remember when it started exactly, though he thinks it was around the time that his suspicions were confirmed, about the moment that he heard the halted words dragged from his wife's lips, her admission to what he'd known almost immediately after he'd arrived in the quarry and there's fresh anger licking along his skin at the memory.
His wife, his best friend and God, he can picture them together, see them pressed skin to skin and his fingers curl into his palms, digging bloody gouges. There's so much raw fury burning through him and he can't let it go even if he has to choke it down to face his group.
And with it, with those words of guilt, he thinks it was somewhere around then that he found a deep longing to hurt someone, to rip into them and punish them in the way that he couldn't bring himself to do to Lori or to Shane, bubble to the surface.
Daryl never refuses him.
He has him pushed up against the bars of the empty cell door, forehead pressed to the gritty metal bars, fingers gripping the bars above his head for leverage as he drives the length of his cock into him. Daryl's hard muscle and dirt stained skin, but he can see the smoother spots between the scars that litter the man's back. He's fond of pushing the worn fabric of Daryl's shirt up in one fist, licking and biting over the soft skin surrounding each mark as he thrusts.
He isn't gentle with him, he doesn't kiss his mouth the way he would've with Lori once upon a time and he doesn't whisper sweet nothings in Daryl's ear. He's this side of rough with him, fingers grasping and bruising, teeth sharp and slick as he bites at Daryl's shoulder, drawing a faint trickle of blood from him as he comes.
It started with having Daryl kneel before him, his wet mouth a tight, hot seal around his cock, relieving him of the tension that coils at the bottom of his spine. He's good at it, better than Rick had expected and there's this gleam to Daryl's eyes when he gives him a demand, a look of understanding and need that mix together in the dim light of the prison.
And now…now he's bending him over the nearest objects, uncaring of what sounds travel to the cell block that the group is holed up in. He uses him as roughly as he wants, marks him with fresh bruises, and no request is ever refused. He can only feel the anger abating when he's buried deep inside Daryl, fingers clamped tightly to the man's neck, to his wrists, forcing him down harder and harder, demanding that he submit, that he pay for what they did to him and God help him, Daryl just does it, every fucking time.
He bends down, stands up, kneels on all fours, lets Rick cuff him to the bars and he only stares at him, panting for air, his own cock hard and bobbing between his sweat slick thighs, legs apart and ready for him.
He doesn't recognize his face in the bathroom mirror, not when he's got his hands over Daryl's fingers, driving into him with renewed anger, shoving him up against the cold sink ledge and the mad gleam to his eyes is enough to steal his breath. He's losing it, losing his control and all the anger is swarming under the surface, choking the air from his lungs, and Daryl…Daryl's watching him in the mirror, lips parted as he shudders toward his own orgasm and as Rick comes, he feels his sanity splitting apart at the seams.
Daryl never refuses him.
He can't look his wife in the eye, can't forget how Shane's blood had spilled over his fingers that night, so horribly warm in the cool night air, can't let the rage abate, not when Daryl submits to him like this, day after day, taking the punishments, taking the anger he won't unleash on anyone else and he hates himself, hates his lack of control and how good it feels to use Daryl this way.
He's falling apart, he's so far from his life before and he's losing his mind, but he just can't stop.
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