"Rick," he says again, squinting down into the darkness until he eyes start to adjust.
Rick's low growl vibrates through the air, soft and deep. Come here, Daryl, it seems to say, and Daryl clenches his fingers and bites the inside of his lower lip, fighting the urge to just fling himself over the edge of the hayloft and down into the darkness below. An Alpha's call inspires obedience and Daryl knows he's damn lucky that whatever Shane, Dale and T-Dog had managed to rig up means Rick has been effectively silenced.
Daryl grabs a bottle of water and a flashlight from the pack Shane gave him and flicks the flashlight on, shining it down into the darkness below. The floor is marred with slime and blood from the Walkers that had been kept in here, and there are a few stray patches of hay scattered across the concrete, but otherwise there's nothing of note. No Rick, trussed up like a squealing pig, that he can see.
So Rick must be below the hayloft. Waiting for him.
A shiver runs down Daryl's spine, and he grips the water bottle tightly in his cut-up hand. The pain is dull from the shards of glass he knows are still stuck in his palm, but it centers him and stops his heart from racing and his shoulders from tensing up.
If the world wasn't in a shit storm, if he and Rick had found each other and for some unexplainable cosmic reason, Rick still wanted him the way Alphas want Omegas, this would be so different. There'd be a chase, something long and arduous for Rick to prove to Daryl that he's willing to follow him to the ends of the Earth and kill whatever gets in his way for the right to mate with Daryl. They'd court, share kills over a fire and Rick would learn how to make Daryl purr with his hands in Daryl's hair and his lips on Daryl's throat.
Then, they'd mate. Daryl's body would get slick and ready and he'd crawl until Rick covered him, shoved his shoulders down and bit his nape until Daryl howled for him, clawing at the ground as Rick fucked him, his body grinding deep and hard into Daryl's until they were both so sated and fucked out that their words became nothing more than grunts and moans; two animals desperately rutting together to sate some need that had been ingrained into them from birth.
And then, when their bodies were high on bloodlust and sex and too spent to give another moment, Rick would pin Daryl down and knot him, come deep inside of him while his knot swelled to deter any other rival male and make sure none of his seed leaked back out, ensuring his claim and aiding pregnancy. Daryl feels his body rippling, aching and dry at the thought of getting fucked so deeply and so well that his body would round with his Alpha's child. It would have no choice, no matter what Daryl had done to render himself barren.
He wants to. Part of him wants to mate and breed so badly that the hand holding the flashlight is shaking and the water bottle is crackling under his grip. But the other part – the part that is practical and angry and full of guilt – knows that it's better this way. He isn't meant to be a father, can't risk his own kids ending up just like him. Just like his momma, Daryl's biology is programmed to fall hard and to fall fast, and even with all the care in the world and all the judge of character, there's no telling when an Alpha could snap and turn on his family.
Another low growl echoes in the darkness and Daryl swallows, snapping back to the present. He steps away from the edge of the hayloft and kneels in front of the bag again, going through it so that he knows what he has to work with.
He unhooks the rope and sets it to one side with his knife and his crossbow. Inside the bag is more bottle water and food, enough rations for three days just like he'd asked for, wrapped up in a paper bag like a packed lunch. There's bread, jerky, and even a jar of peach jelly. He snorts, thinking of Beth and Maggie carefully preparing it for him, and sets it to the side as well.
There's something else in the bag, and Daryl pulls it out with a frown. It's a small bottle that fits easily into the palm of his hand, and before Daryl even reads the label he knows what it is, what it's for.
He shoves the food back into the bag and fastens it a little more vehemently than he means to, and glares at the bottle again. Lube. Fucking lube. Because he can't go into Heat, can't get wet like he's going to have to if he stands a chance of not getting ripped up from the inside by Rick's knot. He wonders who put this in here – Lori, maybe, who'd know more than anyone how big Rick is. Maybe Carol, who might have had sex so often when she didn't want to or wasn't ready that she had to use fake slick for her asshole ex-husband. Maybe Maggie, who is in love with her mate and they go at it so fucking often that maybe she just can't keep up but still wants it so badly that the soreness is worth it.
He wants to throw it away, toss it out of the fucking hayloft window with a curse, but he doesn't. He doesn't because whoever put this in here knows he needs it. Fuck, he will need it, because he's not fool enough to think that Rick is capable of being gentle, is capable of holding back and realizing that Daryl's body isn't as into this as he wants it to be. If sex is what Rick needs, Daryl isn't going to believe that he'll be capable of stopping.
He sets the bottle of lube down and pulls the rope over, shoving himself up to his feet. He uncoils it carefully, tests the thickness and the coarseness of it. It's more like twine than rope, really, and wouldn't do much good for restraining. It's certainly not the strong, thick shit they brought in before – the kind that is used to wrangle cattle and horses. This kind of thing is used to loop around fences, a deterrent rather than an actual method of restraint.
Daryl lets it drop with another huff. Fuck it. If Shane and Dale and T-Dog couldn't manage to tie up one damn Alpha with all the rope they'd used before, this twine shit isn't going to help Daryl any.
He eyes the bottle of lube again. He has to get himself ready. There's no one coming to the barn for three days, but even so Daryl grabs the bottle and crawls over to the corner of the hayloft so that he's not immediately visible from any angle, inside or out, and closes his eyes as he pulls his jeans down below his hips. He doesn't push them any father, just enough so that he can reach where he needs to.
The lube is cold on his fingers and he hisses, but doesn't give himself time to adjust as he reaches back and slips the tip of one finger inside. He hasn't had anything inside of him since his first and only Heat, and that had been so unsatisfying and terrifying that he hasn't thought to try since. It's not like he gets really wet anyway, doesn't have the slick in him to relax and let it feel good, so he's never tried.
But he has to try, now, for Rick. At least make it so that he can deal with it when it does happen. Rick won't know to go slow, to be gentle, and to wait for slick that will never come. Daryl feels a flush spread over his face as he shoves one finger in as far as it can go, gritting his teeth when his untried body protests the sudden intrusion. He has to fake it for Rick, make his body feel slick and welcoming and eager like an Omega should be. If it saves Rick, he can deal with the pain. He will.
He shoves in another finger, hears another growl below him. Maybe Rick can smell him, now. Rick knows he's here, he has to know, and he'll be able to smell Omega and lube and know that Daryl has come for him. His Alpha will finally get what he wants, what they both want, even if the circumstances are less than perfect.
When Daryl manages to get up to three fingers he forces himself to stop, getting to his feet and pulling his pants back up. His body has started to burn with anticipation – it's not Heat, but even his unreactive body understands what it means to feel slick and stretched, knows what the stench of Alpha is supposed to do. Daryl can't smell Rick much over the hay and the stale, dusty scent in the barn, but he's sure he will.
Taking another deep breath, he grabs the water bottle again and the flashlight. He shoves the water bottle into the back of his jeans until the belt catches the thickest part of the bottle to keep it steady and secure, and after another moment of thought he slides his knife back into place at his side. He doesn't like the thought of using it, but he might need to.
If nothing else, a tiny, hopeful part of him thinks he might just cut the ropes with it. Rick will calm down once he sees Daryl; he'll come back to himself. That's all he wants – that's all his Alpha wants. Daryl. For some crazy, wonderful reason, Rick wants Daryl.
Daryl climbs down the ladder, flashlight between his teeth, his ears pricked and his body tense for any sudden movement. None come, and Daryl reaches the concrete of the barn floor unmolested. Which is strange, because Daryl knows Rick was definitely capable of moving around before the other Alphas tied him up.
He squints into the darkness and shines the flashlight there.
"Fuckin' Hell," he whispers.
Rick is there. Rick is…
Daryl reaches up, wipes a hand over his mouth. "Rick," he whispers, earning another low growl from his Alpha. Rick's eyes are wild and red, such a deep, bright red like freshly-spilled blood. There's rope thick around his neck, keeping him held back against one of the strong, wooden beams stretching from roof to ceiling, and there's rope around his chest and stomach. His shoulders bulge and his hands are hidden and Daryl knows his hands are tied around the beam as well. He's kneeling, his jeans brown from mud and Daryl can see that they're almost scraped through, too, like Rick has been bracing his knees on the floor and pulling with all his might, like he can support the weight of the beam on his shoulders like he does everything else.
That's not even the worst thing.
Daryl suddenly understands exactly what the stick was for. Rick is gagged, his bared teeth bloody because he's been chewing on the damn thing. There's rope around each side of it that circles the stick and goes back around his head – it looks like some fucked-up, macabre bridle in Rick's mouth, and Daryl can see blood on his lips and the corners of his mouth are probably torn and splintered. Alphas' teeth are sharper at the canines – not pronounced or awkwardly jutting, but definitely there, and it looks like Rick has been trying to rip the branch to shreds with just his mouth. His jaw must be aching, his gums bleeding and red.
Daryl chokes back a raw, rage-filled sound; an emotion that he can see reflected in Rick's red eyes. "Godfuckin' -." His hands are shaking so hard that he almost drops the flashlight, and he finally lowers the light, able to see well enough in the darkness to know where Rick is, to know that Rick can see his silhouette just fine. "Rick."
Rick snarls. Daryl knows without looking that his upper lip is curling back, more blood and saliva leaking around the branch in his mouth. He hears Rick give a choked-off growl, hears the branch creaking from the force of his jaws.
Come here, Daryl.
He doesn't hear the words, and thank God for that, because he knows what Rick will ask him. 'Come here, untie me, spread your legs, bare your throat', and he wants to do all of it and if Rick tells him to, then he will, and they'll both die.
But he has to think about this. He takes another shuddering breath and lifts the light again, swallowing when Rick squints and snarls at him. He steps forward, his head bowed as he approaches, trying his best to look submissive and non-threatening. The closer he gets, the brighter Rick's eyes shine, red and wanting, and Rick lifts his head towards him, his nostrils flaring and his throat working to swallow.
He's rabid, no better than a Walker right now. Daryl has to do this carefully.
He can't free Rick's mouth, and he can't free Rick's hands. Not yet. Not until he knows Rick can hear him, can respond to him. He sets the flashlight down and lets the two of them become enveloped in the darkness once more. This is how their kind used to interact, he tells himself, before things like society and common languages cropped up – it used to just be Alpha and Omega, wrapped up in each other in the darkness with their eyes sharp and looking over each other's shoulders for other predators. Daryl knows the wild, knows the ancient beings they used to be, breeding and fighting for survival.
Rick is still learning; he's a youngling Alpha with a new pack, clawing and howling for his mate. Daryl might be new to the pleasures of the flesh and something as raw and raging as desire, but he knows and understands instinct. He knows the wild, and he knows hunger. He can teach Rick.
"Rick," he whispers again, his voice hoarse like he hasn't spoken in days. He reaches forward with his uninjured hand and fights the urge to flinch when Rick swings his head around, grunting and growling, his stubble-rough cheek hitting the back of Daryl's knuckles. "Easy, Alpha, easy. S'just me."
Gotta be sweet, little brother. Gotta charm your way outta this one.
He can appease an Alpha. If it worked on Shane it will definitely work on Rick, who loves him and wants him with the intensity of a sun. Daryl takes another step forward until he can hear Rick's breathing getting heavier, knows Rick is able to scent him, and he's suddenly glad that he doesn't go into Heat because he's not sure he could handle the intensity of an Alpha in Rut if he did.
Rick's face rubs against his hand, the ropes creaking as he fights against them, and this time the sound Rick lets out is one laced in pain, in such sharp-edged, cracking desire that Daryl is reminded of glass, shattered windows glittering under his boots.
"Rick," he says, his voice breaking. It feels like the only word that he can say, the only word that matters, is the Alpha's name. "Fuck. Goddamn dumbass, what're you doin', huh?"
He can see the shine of Rick's eyes when Rick looks up, and brushes his hand through the Alpha's blood- and sweat-damp hair. His fingers hit the rope wrapped around Rick's head and he takes in another sharp breath.
Alphas in Rut become that way because they feel something threatening them, or their mate. If Daryl lets himself believe that Rick snapped because Daryl was almost put down right in front of him, then maybe all Rick needs is to see him, to feel that he's okay.
It occurs to him, now, that this is the first time Rick has seen him since that incident. He'd heard Daryl's voice, but they haven't seen each other until now.
Daryl bites the inside of his lip, grabs the flashlight and flicks it all the way on so it'll stay on when he takes his thumb away, and sets it back down. Now he can see Rick's face, and Rick's eyes snap to him, wide and glazed, and he takes another huge breath that makes the ropes creak around his chest. Rick arches forward again, his knees scraping back against the concrete with a damp, rough sound, the skin around his neck reddening as he lunges against the ropes.
He growls out another word that sounds a lot like 'Daryl', and Daryl swallows hard and takes a step back.
He needs to get Rick something to drink, needs to feed him. But he can't take the gag out because if Rick tells Daryl to let him go then Daryl will obey because he has to. Daryl reaches back, Rick's eyes burning into him like he's an ant under a magnifying glass, and he pulls the water bottle out from his belt. It's wet, condensing in the humid air.
He crouches down, putting his head below Rick, and lowers his eyes so that his hair is hiding them, showing his submission as much as he can next to Rick. He can feel Rick's gaze on him, heavy like an iron collar around his neck, and he shifts his weight to his knees and crawls forward until he can fit his shoulder against Rick's chest. Rick growls again, and Daryl feels the stick in his mouth rubbing into his hair, winces at the slickness that he knows is blood and saliva, dripping down his neck and staining Rick's throat. Rick is trying to bite him, claim the Omega willingly crawling into his den, and Daryl shivers, his body clenching up and warm because he wants Rick to bite him. When it's over, he still wants it – because now that Rick has Rutted it doesn't matter if Daryl denies them what they both want.
They'll make it. They have to. Rick has to.
He can feel the hard edge of the stick rubbing against the back of his head, feel the brush of Rick's lips around it as the Alpha tries desperately to bite and nuzzle him, and Daryl sighs and tilts his head and pushes his nose up against the rope around Rick's neck.
Rick stinks of his own blood and sweat and it makes something in Daryl curl up and whine, more Omega than he's ever felt in the presence of this powerful Alpha.
"'m right here," he says quietly, rubbing a hand gently against Rick's heaving chest. "C'mon, Rick, I know you can hear me. You gotta calm down. Ain't nothin' worth gettin' this worked up over."
Rick snarls at him, upper lip curling back, and the ropes creak again. Now that he's pressed up close, he can feel Rick's muscles strain and fight against the restraints keeping him back. He's weak, underfed and overworked, half-crazed from Rut, and physically Daryl knows he'd probably have the edge right now, but untying Rick's hands is out of the question.
He needs to calm Rick down, so that he knows he can at least loosen the ropes without putting himself, Rick, and everyone else at risk.
But first, water. Daryl pulls away, wincing at the rough growl Rick lets out, the Alpha's eyes narrowed and demanding on his face, and he reaches for the water bottle again and unscrews the cap. Rick's eyes snap to it and he blinks, his nostrils flaring, and Daryl wonders if he can even smell anything aside from blood and Rut and Omega.
"You gotta drink somethin'," he says, because even though Rick's only reaction is to growl at him, at least he's reacting. He lifts the bottle and takes a swig of it himself, then puts it to Rick's lips. Rick bares his teeth and Daryl can see his jaw bulging around the ropes at the stick in his mouth, but when he starts to pour the water Rick's throat works to swallow and it looks like some of it is going in around the stick. It's a start, at least, even if part of Daryl worries over what else Rick is swallowing as the water pours down his throat. "There we go. That's real good, Rick. Keep drinkin'."
The water trickles into Rick's mouth, across his lips and down his chin and neck as well, making his skin shine in the light coming from Daryl's flashlight. Daryl fights the urge to lick his Alpha's throat, clean him up, and focuses instead on making sure he works as much water into his Alpha's mouth as he can. Rick is breathing deeply through his nose, a low rumble settled deep in his chest, but at least he won't die of dehydration and right now that's all Daryl can ask for.
He knows there's a time limit on this; the sooner he gets started working Rick down from his frenzy, the better. Rick's eyes start to close after a moment, his breathing going from slow to gasping, uneven, and Daryl pulls the bottle away, half-empty. He puts the lid back on and tosses it to one side.
Rick tilts his head forward again, gaze sharp. Daryl has had time to learn the different colors of blue in Rick's eyes – the dark, stormy gunmetal color that means he's angry, the summer-sky brightness that means he's happy, but there's no way to read the red. It's flat, there's only one emotion there: want, need.
Rick is in need and it's Daryl's job to provide. Always has been.
Daryl pets through his hair again, bites the inside of his lip when Rick turns his head and rubs his gagged mouth against Daryl's wrist. 'He'd bite you if he could', Daryl tells himself, because he can't let himself believe that already Rick is calming down, stepping away from the frenzied edge. If he did, he'd be more of a fool than Merle always believed he was.
Water taken care of, he decides that food can wait. The human body can survive without food for a long while, and although he wants Rick healthy it's in both their best interests to keep him weak for now. So instead he tugs on Rick's hair, snaps the Alpha's attention to him as though it had ever really left.
"Gotta get you off your knees," he murmurs, because although they're about the same height it's easier for an Alpha to feel in control when they're standing. He pushes himself off his knees, onto the balls of his feet, and tugs at Rick's ropes to try and work them up the beam as the Alpha struggles to stand. "There we go, c'mon, Rick."
Once Rick is standing Daryl pushes his nose against Rick's collarbone this time, keeping his head lowered and letting the Alpha feel his warmth. Rick's breathing is strained, his body trembling with pent-up aggression, and this time Daryl can feel him. He closes his eyes and allows Rick to arch and rub against him, bites his lower lip hard when he feels Rick's erection rutting against his thigh, the Alpha snarling at him with such demand that Daryl feels like he can hear the words even though Rick is still gagged.
His mouth is dry and he shifts his weight, feels the slickness of the lube he'd used on himself between his thighs because he needs to be sloppy-wet, tight as sin, ready for his Alpha when the time comes.
"S'gonna be okay," Daryl says, both for himself and for Rick, as he slides his hand down Rick's chest and starts to work at the Alpha's belt, tugging it free and unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans so that he can reach inside. His eyes are still closed and he sucks in a sharp breath when he wraps his hand around Rick's cock, feels it warm and smooth in his hand. Rick is already leaking, precome smearing on the inside of Daryl's wrist right where his mouth just was, and Daryl is surprised at just how hard the want hits him.
He strokes Rick slowly, pulling his erection out so that he can touch the entire thing. Rick's breathing is unsteady and fast, raw against Daryl's hair, and Daryl can feel his knees shaking. He wets his mouth and spits on his hand, goes right back to stroking before his Alpha can snarl at him for taking his touch away. It's like he can feel Rick's desire as a second skin, coating him, and he'd never thought that this kind of feeling could be for him but now that he has even a taste of it he understands.
It is right now, crowded in some dark corner of a cursed barn with an Alpha he doesn't deserve, that Daryl knows he'll either save Rick or he will die. It's not just a thought anymore, it's knowledge. The kind of things people will teach years from now – about how Omegas and Alphas are meant to mold together, bond together so tightly that even death cannot separate them.
Rick lets out a loud, pained moan, and Daryl winces as he hears the stick in his mouth crack again from the force of his jaws. Rick arches into his hand and Daryl twists his grip in answer, letting his fingers tease at the small, loose patch of skin where Rick's knot would grow if they were fucking. Pressed as close as he is, Daryl feels Rick's abdomen clench and his shoulders shudder, curling in, and then the Alpha is coming onto Daryl's hand, coating one leg of his jeans in his release.
Daryl doesn't even think about it; he lifts his dirty hand and smears Rick's seed along his neck so that his Alpha can smell it on him, and opens his eyes when he hears Rick's shuddering inhale. When he pulls back, Rick's eyes are on his neck, wild and red and dark. He grunts out something, another word that sounds so much like Daryl's name, and Daryl nods.
"Right here, Rick," he says, and tilts his head when Rick leans his down, straining against the ropes, to drag his nose through the come on Daryl's throat. It's an Alpha thing, he knows, to want to smell themselves on their mates, and Daryl shudders at the brush of Rick's bloody mouth against his neck. Rick still wants to bite him, would still rip his throat out given half the chance, but it's a start.
He puts his other hand in Rick's hair and lets the Alpha rut and growl against him. Rick is still hard, the Rut he's in demanding he not stop and so Daryl slides his grip right back onto Rick's cock, his hand now slicker because of Rick's come. Rick shudders, snarls again, and this time the sound is impatient and angry.
'He wants to fuck,' Daryl's mind whispers. 'He wants his bitch sweet, ready, on his hands and knees. He wants his Omega. Give it to him.'
Daryl ignores that voice in his head that sounds so much like Rick, closes his eyes again and keeps his hand going, tight as he can make it, until Rick is coming again. Just like before he rubs Rick's seed on his neck, his wrists, and lifts up his shirt to rub it on his stomach, until he's sure he reeks of the Alpha. Rick lasts through one more round before his eyes finally start to dull, drooping with exhaustion. After the third round his cock no longer produces anything when he comes and finally starts to soften. Daryl helps him to sit this time with his legs sprawled out, and he makes Rick take one more drink of water before he flicks the flashlight off.
Rick's breathing is even, slow and deep as Daryl knows it gets when he's about to go to sleep. His heartbeat is steady and his eyes no longer glow with that Alpha fever, and even though the sun is still shining brightly, Daryl lets the exhaustion take him, too. He didn't sleep the night before and he doubts Rick has slept since he Rutted, and it's nice to feel the Alpha finally calming down, knowing it's because of Daryl, because Daryl is near him. Rick's mind is reacting to having his mate nearby, sweet and willing and safe, and if Daryl can give him that then it's a win in his book.
He's sticky with come and absolutely stinks of Rick, but he doesn't care. When Rick closes his eyes and finally starts to drift off, Daryl sits next to him like there's nothing wrong with the picture, like he's just keeping watch and letting Rick catch some shut-eye on a run, like the Alpha's not bound and gagged and half-feral from a Rut.
He climbs up the ladder once Rick is asleep, eats enough jerky to calm the gnawing hunger in his stomach, and then curls up with his knife under his hand and drifts off to sleep.
Daryl is woken by a loud, angry snarl. He immediately rolls into a sitting position, knife gripped tightly and ready to slash, but it's not a Walker sound he wakes up to, and he doesn't see the dead hovering above him, jaws working and hands turned to claws trying to rip his flesh from his bones.
Instead, he winces through the hayloft window, seeing the orange light of dusk settling over the forest that guards the border of Herschel's farm. He can see Carl in the distance, wandering around with Carol and Lori towards one of the wells, and he can hear Shane yelling somewhere for Dale, his words unintelligible but his voice unmistakable. He doesn't sound panicked, though, so Daryl lets the tension fall from his shoulders and wills his heart to calm down from the initial adrenaline rush.
The snarl comes again and Daryl closes his eyes and sighs. Rick. He's awake.
Daryl's skin is tacky with come and he can feel his hair plastered to his neck, sweat making him sticky and gross, and he winces as he rolls over and pushes himself up onto his knees. His eyes flash involuntarily to the bottle of lube he'd left sitting next to the backpack and worries the inside of his lower lip with his teeth.
They hadn't gotten to penetration that morning, and Daryl knows he'll have tightened up and he'll need to use more now, but the thought of stretching himself open again sends a twinge of something that almost feels like loss down his spine, a fingernail dragging across the vertebrae and digging into the gaps.
"It ain't right," he whispers to himself with a hard shake of his head. He shouldn't need lube. He shouldn't be using it like this. He grabs the bottle and holds it too tightly, squirts too much onto his hand as he crawls back into the hidden corner of the hayloft and stretches himself open again, and grits his teeth at the feeling of his ass stretching to accommodate his fingers.
Rick will hurt more, he's sure, but at least it'll feel somewhat right. It's what his body is made for, mating with an Alpha, knotting with an Alpha, and Daryl knows that even if they make it out of the other side of this, unscathed and Rick still wanting him with that desperate, aching desire he'd shown in the forest, he'll never want to touch himself again without Rick there. Daryl's fingers leave him aching and empty-feeling and he hates it.
Rick snarls at him again as he climbs down, his eyes that bright red once more. "Rick," Daryl says, his voice quiet, shaky, and the Alpha curls his upper lip back, "c'mon, man, what're you gettin' so worked up for?"
He'd left the flashlight down next to Rick and he flicks it on again, highlighting the Alpha's face. Rick looks worse, if that's possible. The branch has splintered enough that there are visible shards of it in Rick's gums and lips, the corners of his mouth shine with fresh blood, and his skin looks sickly and pale. He looks like the ferals they've had to put down on the side of the road and Daryl swallows down the feeling of failure that's already starting to settle in the back of his head.
"I ain't lettin' you turn, Rick," he says, his voice hard as he reaches for the Alpha's sweaty hair and smooths it away from his face. "I ain't losin' you."
He lowers himself down until he's straddling Rick's lap, able to feel the Alpha's erection rubbing up between his legs. 'It ain't right', he tells himself again, biting his lower lip and running his fingers across Rick's slick neck. He tilts his head and lets Rick smell him, smell the mess Rick made of him before, and it seems to make Rick settle somewhat, the low rumbling growl turning into something more like a purr.
Rick's heels shift and scrape against the concrete floor, unnaturally loud as the Alpha fights to get closer to Daryl, his eyes wide and his breathing heavy and uneven through his nose. It's like he's trying to soak himself into Daryl, rubbing his face against Daryl's sticky, dirty neck like it's the best thing he's ever touched.
Daryl tilts his head back, staring up at the ceiling and swallowing hard. Part of him wants to fight it with all his might, but that part is small and bitter and succumbs easily to the rest of him – the Omega in him that's reacting to the feeling of an Alpha's scent on his skin, an Alpha purring so prettily below him, and with such obvious desire rubbing between his legs.
If the world was normal, if things were fair and right anymore, Daryl knows this would be so different. Even Rick's single attempt to mate with him in the woods had shown him that – the Alpha was passionate before, selfless and desperate, but now he's ravenous. He's greedy and possessed by his hunger and Daryl knows Rick isn't capable of stopping, of keeping calm and going slow, and honestly some part of Daryl likes that. Because he knows he can take it. He knows he can beat Rick in a fair enough fight, knows he's not some simpering Omega who'll roll over and whine to someone who hasn't earned it.
People like Beth, like Herschel and Lori and the whole damn group – they'd never be able to handle Rick like this. And that thought sends a flash of hot, possessive pride straight through Daryl and, with a sharp breath, he finds the strength to pull away from Rick just enough that he can look into the Alpha's eyes.
"You're mine," he rumbles, tries to match Rick's low growl but he can't, his throat isn't built for that shit. Rick blinks at him, his upper lip trembling in a snarl and Daryl shows his teeth right back, pushes his fingers through Rick's hair and feels the rope slide just an inch back, pulling at the corners of his mouth and forcing the Alpha's head back against the wooden beam. "Been mine since the moment I metcha, huh? That why you're losing your shit so bad?"
Rick just growls again, his eyes flashing a darker red as his eyes move to Daryl's mouth. Like this, with his head tilted back, he looks almost submissive, eyes narrowed to slits and jaw working to swallow the saliva and blood leaking down his throat. Daryl wants to bite him, and maybe in the before world that wouldn't be fucking acceptable, but this isn't the before world anymore and this is about giving Rick what he needs but Daryl has needs too and he feels the want, now, leaching into him like water through his boots, crawling up his spine as he lets himself be pulled under. He's lulled in and drowning and he lets Rick's head go and shoves himself back.
Rick's anger washes over him like a tidal wave, silent but strong, and Daryl shudders and hunches his shoulders in but doesn't lift his eyes, because if he reads the orders there he'll obey them and then they'll be in worse shit than they already are.
He shoves his jacket off his shoulders along with his vest and tosses it over a small half-wall to his right. His hands hesitate at his shirt and, biting the inside of his lip, he slides his hands to his belt instead. Rick doesn't need to see his scars again – this is about showing Rick that his Omega is alive and well and that won't do either of them any favors.
Rick shifts again, pulling on the ropes with small grunts, his nostrils flaring wide as he breathes Daryl in. His eyes feel like a physical touch on Daryl's shoulders, sliding up the back of his neck and urging him down onto his hands and knees and God how badly Daryl wants to obey that, but to mate that way he'll have to let Rick go and he still can't risk that. Not yet.
He shoves his jeans off in one movement, kicking off his boots as he stands. Rick lets out a sound that is way too sinful for the situation, his eyes hooded and the ropes are creaking like it's taking everything in them to hold Rick back.
"Calm down, 'fore you hurt yourself," Daryl scolds, his voice too breathy and soft. He steps forward and kneels over Rick's thighs again, drags his hands down Rick's chest like he's dreamed about doing ever since the Alpha shoved him against a tree and he felt just how strong Rick actually was, how much muscle he was hiding behind that baggy cop's uniform, how much he's filled out and thickened since he recovered from his coma.
It's more difficult with the ropes but Daryl is nothing if not adaptive, and he closes his eyes and grits his teeth, feeling the slick branch in Rick's mouth rubbing against his collarbone in a way that aches and splinters, and focuses his touch on pulling Rick's jeans apart again enough to pull his cock out. Rick is already hard, his erection a pretty, dark red like his eyes, and twitches in Daryl's hand.
Rick grunts at the touch, his hips arching up and his voice growling out the word 'Daryl', and it definitely sounds like Daryl's name now, which makes it dangerous, and Daryl freezes.
"Rick," he whispers, pulling back, his eyes wide, and he puts his free hand against Rick's face. His palm aches dully from the glass he'd broken into his hand, and if there are still pieces of glass in there Rick doesn't seem to notice when Daryl touches him. "Gotta be quiet, okay?" His words are rough and pleading. "I'll do anythin' you want, Alpha, but you gotta be quiet."
Rick's eyes narrow and he lets out a low sound, but seems to accept whatever Daryl has said – or maybe he hasn't heard a thing and has decided that Daryl's neck is more interesting – because he bows his head and rubs his damaged mouth against Daryl's throat and Daryl knows that if his hands were free he'd be clawing at Daryl's back, trying to get him closer.
Daryl bites his lower lip and pulls his hand away from Rick's face to reach behind himself, testing the stretch and the slickness. Well, he's certainly wet enough thanks to the lube, but there's no two ways about it – fucking Rick is going to hurt, taking Rick's knot, fuck, there's no way he's going to be able to without pain.
But he's been through a lot worse for a lot less. There's no turning back now.
With the way Rick is tied up there's no way for him to slouch enough for Daryl to sit on his lap and face him while they do this. Daryl sighs, rolling his shoulders, and gets up just enough that he can turn around. It's a stupid move for a lot of reasons, least of all because now he can't see Rick and make sure he's not cracking his teeth on that branch in his mouth and he can't see if Rick somehow manages to get out of his bindings and lunges for Daryl with all the aggression he has, but it's the only choice he's got.
And Daryl swallows back a hurt, quiet sound at the thought that he hates it most of all because he can't see Rick, can't watch the Alpha's eyes flutter and fly open when Rick first starts to sink into him, can't see if the feeling will make his head fall back against the wooden beam or fly forward until he chokes on the rope around his neck.
Daryl closes his eyes and reaches back, angling Rick's cock so that it presses against his hole. He's tense as a tripwire and he knows it's going to just make everything worse but he can't help it. Part of him hopes that Rick just takes the initiative and shoves, because at least then it will be done and Daryl's choice, his action, will get taken away and then all he'll have to do is move.
But he knows he should control it, make sure he doesn't fuck himself up more than he already has, so he takes a deep, heavy breath and tells himself to man the fuck up, and slowly starts to sink down until he feels the head of Rick's cock slip inside.
"Godfuckin-." He grits his teeth, his free hand forming a fist tight enough that the glass wounds scream back to life at him, but it gives him something to focus on. He throws his head back, heaving another deep breath through his nose and forces himself not to stop. His jaw aches and his whole body is trembling, but eventually he manages to sit fully on Rick's lap, and he gasps when he feels the backs of his bare thighs touching Rick's jean-covered legs. "Shit."
His voice is wrecked and the sound he makes is like a whimpering pup, and he takes in another deep breath and tries to breathe past the warm, burning pain of Rick inside of him. Nothing tears because Daryl made damn sure that nothing wouldn't, but even so his body has never had anything so big inside of it before and he didn't give it time to adjust, didn't warm it up enough first and now it's bitching at him like a jilted prom date and he aches.
He wipes at his eyes with the back of his wrist and growls at himself, forces himself to direct his attention outward, away from what exactly is inside of him, to the man that thing belongs to.
Rick has gone very still, even his breathing is shallow and slow now. Daryl winces, but forces himself to turn to look over his shoulder, and Rick's eyes meet his like they're magnets snapping together. Fresh blood is leaking down from the corners of his mouth and his eyes are a dull red like a dead fire. He doesn't look as wild as he did before and Daryl swallows and lets himself hope, just for a brief second, that what he's doing is at least working.
Rick hasn't tried to speak again, but after a moment too long of stillness, he blinks and his eyes sharpen, predatory and proud, and he rumbles deep in his chest, a vibration that Daryl feels intimately, and Daryl feels himself shiver and drop his gaze before he can even think about it.
He pulls his feet closer together, framing Rick's thighs, and braces his hands on the Alpha's knees and starts to move. He doesn't waste time with going slow because if Rick lasts as long as he did last time then Daryl will have to keep at this for a while, and the more he moves the faster his body starts to loosen up and the sharp pain dulls to a constant throb.
Rick makes the wildest, darkest sounds behind him, all low growls and purrs that remind Daryl of hunting jungle cats and must have been what their kind used to sound like, back when they'd just crawled from the mud, covered in dust and sweat and fused together by simple, basic instinct. Next to them the flashlight dims, fritzes out and dies, and Daryl lets out a low sound of pleasure as Rick bucks his hips up, and it feels like they're back in those times before Walkers, before society, when they were wild and knew only hunger and lust and weren't clouded by things like culture and politeness and civilization.
Daryl likes it. He likes when he finally manages to bow his back, lean against Rick's chest because Rick has finally caught up with the program and moves under him like a man possessed, driving his hips up into Daryl like he can will himself deeper than he's already going. Daryl wonders if Alphas can sense virginity, smell inexperience, tell when they've penetrated deeper than a rival has ever gotten. It feels like Rick can; Daryl can hear, every now again, a word that's just a little too clear to be safe, deep commands of 'Mine' and 'Daryl' and 'Yes', but Rick seems too far gone to care, to notice he's still tied up, so Daryl focuses on making his body move smoothly with his Alpha's, puts all the effort he can into the strain of his thighs and the even rise and fall of his chest.
His knees are scraped raw and his back burns from catching on the rope even through his shirt, but he's with Rick and even as fucked up as this situation is, it feels better than Daryl thought sex could feel – it's old and primal and just as he'd known no Omega, no woman, could handle Rick like this, no Alpha could stand to own Daryl like Rick is doing right now. None. Daryl would not bow and bend and move like this for Shane, or T-Dog, or any of Merle's friends. Not even for his father did Daryl ever so willingly give himself up.
"Rick," he whines, feels the Alpha's mouth scraping against his neck, hears the branch crack a little more. Rick's close, his breathing is coming faster now, his hips stuttering and starting that slow, dirty grind that Daryl has never felt before but understands as much as he understands the need for water or air. "Alpha, please."
Rick makes another low sound, this one louder than those he's made before like he's reveling in his conquest for all the other Alphas to hear, a challenge and a claim to all rivals, and Daryl tilts his head to one side as Rick shoves his forehead against Daryl's temple, rope and stick and stubble rubbing against him, and Daryl forces himself to relax with a sigh as he feels the knot start to grow. It hurts like a bitch, stretching already abused muscle to accommodate it, but Daryl forces himself to be still and let it happen because even though it hurts him, he burns for it, his mind flooded with the need to be so tied to his Alpha and filled to the brim.
Rick throws his head back and the sound he makes is definitely a howl, Daryl is certain it would echo all around the farm if he wasn't gagged. Daryl hisses, shifting his weight as he tries to get comfortable around the knot as it stops stretching and sits in him, ready to plug him full of Rick's seed, and he knows as soon as Rick starts to come because the Alpha collapses underneath him, boneless and spent, and Daryl startles as he feels the warmth of Rick's come flood into him.
Fuck, he'd thought Omegas and women were full of shit when they'd talked about feeling it. Truthfully, even if they normally could, he was sure he'd fucked himself up enough to rob himself of that feeling. But no, he's here, sitting in Rick's lap, and he feels so fucking owned that he's finding it hard to breathe.
Rick moves underneath him, chasing the aftershocks that Daryl is sure are arcing down his spine, and Daryl hisses, leaning his head back as he feels Rick's knot move around inside of him. He hadn't given much thought to his own pleasure, since this was about getting Rick off and getting Rick sane, but he can't deny the flood of everything rushing through him – the revelation about owning Rick, the way Rick feels all hot and sweaty and spent underneath him, the ragged, wet breathing in his ear and the way Rick's knot is rubbing over something inside of him that feels fucking incredible.
Daryl moans, dropping his hand down to his cock, finding it thickening quickly from half-hard to full in no time. He spits into his hand and starts to stroke, glad he hadn't shattered his glass with his dominant hand and doesn't have to worry about glass shards on his dick.
Even the thought makes him shudder.
Rick perks up under him as Daryl lets out another low, soft sound, the Alpha rumbling curiously, his hips moving with something that feels like intent and rhythm now. Daryl leans back against him, feeling curiously safe. It's probably the fucking hormones – Alpha and Omega, bonded and mated for life, protecting each other and guarding each other. That must be what it is and fuck if Daryl doesn't know that he's pretty much screwed if this is how he's feeling after one knot, but right now he can't bring himself to care. He's earned, this, damn it, and if he wants to get himself off to being knotted to his Alpha and pretend that they're happy and in love and not fucking Rutting, then he's damn well gonna.
Rick groans when Daryl twists his hand around the head of his cock, Daryl letting out a soft 'Fuck' when he feels his body give an answering clench. It makes Rick's knot throb inside of him, sore muscles protesting the exercise, but it also feels so good, relaxed against Rick and using him like a fucking Alpha toy.
Daryl turns his head, shoves his nose against Rick's throat and breathes in his scent; hay and sweat and blood and it's so much like them, the Apocalypse and the world before humanity and Rick, and Daryl squeezes the head of his cock tightly, the fingers of his other hand lightly teasing the place where he feels Rick's knot pressing against him, his rim tender and sore and slick, and he comes with another low sound, and he can feel Rick's knot pulse in answer to every judder of Daryl's body.
"Rick," Daryl moans, his eyelids fluttering closed, and every part of him wants to mold himself to his Alpha, bare his throat and spread his legs again and coat Rick in his come like he did before with Rick's, so that any other Omega would know that they can't have this Alpha, that this Alpha's virility and his power and his dominance belongs to Daryl. "Mm, Rick, fuck."
Rick's growl has morphed into a purr now, settled low in his chest, and it's soothing and soft instead of the angry thing it was before. Daryl smiles and his chest feels too tight and he doesn't know what else to do except wait Rick's knot out, so he pushes with his heels until he's sitting a little more comfortably and busies himself idly drawing lines with his come-sticky hand across Rick's neck.
