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A part of him wanted to be reproached, accused, punished. Because he failed to bring the Greene's youngest back and return safely with his best friend. Carol was whisked away right in front of him, nothing he could do at that moment. He was useless, thoughtless. Worthless. He deserved a flood of criticism and punishment. It wasn't like he wasn't accustomed to take punishment and pain and he would never forget his lessons he'd learnt from stinging agony, pure terror, the cracks of a belt, the smell of his skin burned, the feeling of his blood trickling down his back.
So Daryl expected the ex-sheriff to yell at him openly, decry what he'd done without going into a huddle when he came back to the church, he wanted him to but Rick didn't. Of course he didn't look happy about his solitary act, remarking to him that he'd been worried as hell about the two of them. The news that some of their group including Glenn and Maggie had left already came as a shock to Daryl and made him feel even more guilty about being selfish; on the other hand, he couldn't describe how relieved he felt to see the others staying there with trust. Especially a permissive nod Rick gave to him was an indispensable reassurance for him.
Now he was in the small room in the church, pressed against the wooden wall, knees too weak from fatigue and thick pleasure engulfing his whole body. He would have collapsed already if there hadn't been Rick's firm body pressing his wholly to prop him up. Their harsh breaths mingled, sounding loud in the darkness of the room as Rick jigged up and down rapidly to rub their cocks together. At that sudden, excessive stimulation, Daryl's head was thrown back hard against the wall, his eyes shut tight, his breath ragged, his fingers dug into Rick's shoulders desperately. Daryl could feel the heat radiated from Rick's body through a few layers of their shirts and jackets, the pant escaping Rick's full, wet lips against the side of Daryl's neck. It's a whirlwind, intensive fuck like a lovesick teenager, like there was no tomorrow, but they hadn't had exempt time after being forced to flee the prison, so both of them didn't give a shit.
Rick's hand that had pressed the hunter's hip against the wall came down to give an awfully gentle squeeze to their cocks together, caressing them teasingly with their leaking precum, which made Daryl arch up and squirm in impatience. "Fuck, Rick, make it quick," he groaned as he slid up slightly to enclose Rick's prick between his inner thighs, clinching it with them sensually. That gained the sexiest gasp from Rick, who pulled away a bit to look at Daryl with his fevered eyes. "You sure? You're exhausted, don't need...,"
"Damn it, man, I need it," his voice was harsher than he'd intended, though it seemed to have remarkable effect on Rick, feeding the fire inside of him. Immediately his preparative touches groped the entrance of Daryl's and the first slick digit sliding inside him made his body go rigid against his will. It had been a few weeks or so since they had had a last, adequate sex and Daryl knew it was going to hurt, nonetheless he needed it in a relentless way. Because Rick didn't give him punishment that he deserved, which brought a sick wave of guilt and shame to him. It was too big of a burden to keep it between himself. And Daryl knew it was his cunningness and weakness that he was having Rick involved in his atonement, using Rick like this, but he was the only one Daryl could depend on in the entire universe.
So when Rick stretched his fingers apart and plunged the stiff tip of his cock into him without mercy, Daryl bit down tightly on the thick fabric of Rick's jacket to kill his cry, just whining quietly. The feeling of being opened up and stretched out was too much. And Daryl undeniably wanted to take more. As if to feel his want Rick's hand grabbed one of his legs, lifting it up as he penetrated deeper, which made Daryl's head hit against the wall again, his mouth part and his breath shudder. It hurt. And it felt right. Their bodies fitted as if they'd been made for each other.
Daryl was the one who had wanted this. Needed this. He coiled his leg around Rick's waist, clinging to him, whispering with a low, shaky voice against his ear. "Move."
Rick's reaction was instant and intent. He pulled out, slamming back in with one fierce thrust so that their bodies crashed together against the wall roughly. Daryl yelped in pleasure, in pain, gasping for air helplessly. They moved in a violent tempo, each thrust getting faster and deeper, threatening to bring about climax in no time. Daryl didn't know when he had started moaning too loudly but one of Rick's hands came up to cover his mouth, muffling his cries in a steady, sweet way as the other took a firm grip on Daryl's sobbing cock and stroked it with quick movements. After all Rick had made a wise decision because Daryl couldn't help but cry out louder into his palm. Daryl's vision was hazy from the onslaught of pleasure, though he could see Rick's eyes blazing with want, lust, demand, which knocked on his heart.
And it was when the tip of Rick's cock dragged against the sweetest spot inside of him and the heat of Daryl's flesh squeezed it tighter than ever that Daryl felt Rick exploding deep in him, Rick's seed gushing out and filling inside of him, his own cum spilling over their stomachs, the pleasure overwhelming them completely. Rick was still grunting and coming into him even when Daryl slumped against the wall, sliding down along it tiredly. Before he would crumble to the floor Rick wrapped his arm around Daryl's waist to support his weight and sighed blissfully against his flushed cheek. Their bodies were soaked in sweat, staying glued together for long moments as they just panted without words. Suddenly Daryl noticed how cursed and funny it was that he just fucked an ex-lawman in a church, and smirked at stupidity of the thought.
However he'd known the guilt would keep twisting his chest no matter what. When he ran to follow Rick with an assault rifle in his hand instead of his crossbow, his body was sore all over from almost daily exertion of running and fighting and the first quickie in a while. But it was not the time to pause and rest for a minute, they had caught the two persons in the cop uniforms who must have been at the hospital that Noah had talked about, and the car had made a raid on them to rescue the two. They chased the car, finding it abandoned in the middle distance, a lot of dead bodies and walkers that were melted and turned into red, disgusting, pulpy mess giving out a foul odor here and there.
Rick kept pursuing the runaways, taking the others with him as Daryl stayed there to scan the area carefully. He went over the car and trucks individually, vigilant about every single move and sound, the gun ready. Then something burst out behind the door of the truck and pounced on him.
It was a bald guy in the cop uniform, who had attacked them with the car. Daryl was thrown to the ground, his back crashing into the hard surface so violently it knocked the breath out of him. Nevertheless he managed to kick the man backward by sheer force, with everything he had, and got up immediately as the man stumbled. In a flash Daryl lunged at him and hurled a punch into his face, but the man tackled him again, taking advantage of his bulk to lift Daryl into the air, landing him hard on the ground so that he straddled Daryl. Before Daryl could shove the man away he pinned the hunter down with his full weight, hands around Daryl's neck to throttle him. Daryl fought back of course, fingers desperately trying to claw the man, to push him away, to do anything harmful to him, but not enough, not enough for the man to retreat, he even grinned down at Daryl savagely, in a way that reminded him so much of his old man, looming him, towering him. Tormenting him. He gagged, struggling to breathe, gasping and choking, the big hands clenching his throat, and there were incessant groans of the nasty walkers that were about to get closer to him and devour him. Daryl could hear the blood frantically pounding in his ears, his labored breathing filling the air, and feel himself on the verge of blacking out, numbly and limply. But he tried, refusing to give up, arm outstretched to grasp anything that could be a weapon, to strike the fucker down.
Fortunately his hand yanked the head of the walker without getting bit, tearing off it to batter the man with it. Two blows did enough damage to him and Daryl struggled to slip out beneath the man, panting and breathing heavily as the man staggered. But the solid fingers of the man shot up, grabbing Daryl's abused neck painfully, sending him back down to the ground, on his belly this time as he mounted the hunter's lower back. The heavy weight of the man oppressed Daryl viciously, the feeling making him cringe and panic. He felt trapped, vulnerable, helpless just like when he'd been a kid. He felt sick. Now he was lying face down on the muddy ground, the huge body on the top of him, the hand caressing the back of his neck and moving down to his spine.
"Easy, boy," the man's voice sent a chill of fear through Daryl as he couldn't help the tiny whimper that escaped his lips. "You can't win. No one's gonna come to help you. You can't do anything anymore," one hand into Daryl's hair in a painful grip the other rubbed across his flank, crawling under his wing vest, stroking his scarred skin through the thin shirt in a way that made his stomach churn sourly. Daryl seriously felt like he was going to vomit. He had to tell himself he wasn't scared, not afraid, not panicked, he could breathe, he could get rid of this, of the fear. And it pissed him off; he bristled at himself who couldn't do anything just like the man had said.
Gritting his teeth in anger he started thrashing around to free himself from under the heavy weight. But the man didn't loose the grips of his hand and legs, sneering at his desperate effort, the rough hand keeping fondling his hip. "Look at you. Pathetic. Gotta admit you have nice butt though, bet you've used it to elude cops. Redneck piece of trash," the scumbag let out his low husky voice as Daryl was so aware of the breath against the back of his neck, getting goose bumps all over. "Get the fuck off of me, you fuckin' pervert!" yelling without caring about the muddy dirt scratching on his face, Daryl floundered to harm the man rather than to crawl away even after having a fistful of his hair grabbed again and being bashed to the ground fiercely. He groaned in pain but didn't stop fighting back in wrath, not when the man grabbed Daryl's battered jeans, attempting to pull them down.
That was when a gunshot shattered the air all of a sudden, smacking the forehead of the walker near them. In a second Rick was standing there as his gun was pointed directly in the man's face. His face was an odd mixture of loathing, animosity and blankness. Silent rage emanated from his whole figure and eyes. It made Daryl catch his breath in his throat, probably harder than the man.
"Okay. You win, asshole," he raised both hands in surrender, yet his lips curled into a brash grin. In total, scary silence, Rick's eyes, which were as cold as ice, bored into the man, the wrinkles between his brows growing as the muzzle was following every single movement of the man thoroughly. Daryl looked up to Rick through his muddy, matted hair hanging down over his eyes, on his hands and knees. His head was throbbing, his body all aching, the limbs numb but his voice was more unfaltering than he had expected. "Rick," in a hoarse voice, with persevering eyes, he called out. "Rick!"
The ex-lawman didn't turn his eyes to him but Daryl was certain his voice had reached him. There was something that made him think so. Always had been. Getting himself upright, he stood behind the man to face Rick across him as his hand was raised as a gesture of a calm down with his eyes locked on Rick's face. "Rick, three is better than two."
Finally Rick looked at him. His icy stare was delving into Daryl's face to search the tiniest feelings flashing across it as he unwaveringly kept pointing the gun at the man's head. And it was a well-known fact that Daryl was as stubborn as Rick was. Eventually Rick lowered his gun as well as his gaze, letting Daryl bind the man's arms behind him before giving Daryl a look that implied something too complicated to be grasped.
The hunter frowned, holding the gaze of him. "What?"
Without warning Rick's hand grabbed his collar, dragging him closer until a surprised gasp Daryl let out was swallowed into Rick's mouth. It was a tyrannical kiss to make clear whom Daryl belonged to. He moaned at Rick's lips brushing on his, tongue dominating him, fingers tangling in his dirty, wet hair to forcibly angle his head as he liked. And the moment Daryl fastened on Rick's shirt he broke the kiss, staring intently at the hunter, his eyes as flaming as last night.
"Don't let anyone but me touch your ass," Rick groaned with a solemn face. It was so serious Daryl knew he meant it, still it was too ridiculous to declare and Daryl snorted at his dude. "Yeah, and right back at ya, dumbass."