Chapter One

"Me? You-" Rick cut himself off with a laugh. Incredulous, hysterical. "You mean- you mean me?"

His lips split into the cracked smile of a man at his breaking point. "Your way is gonna destroy this place. It's gonna get people killed. It's already gotten people killed. And I'm not gonna stand by and just let it happen. If you don't fight, you die. I'm not gonna stand by-"

"Rick." said a voice like glass shattering, sharp and lethal. It cut through the mess of Rick's mind, and his words choked in his throat.

The Alexandrians were silent, watching the man with the leather vest who most had avoided the last few weeks slowly approach. He stepped out from behind Deanna, moving towards Rick's kneeling form with the steady ferocity of a tornado nipping its way towards the ground. The gun still dangled from Rick's fingers, forgotten from the moment those icy blue eyes locked onto his.

Daryl stopped in front of him, held out his hand. "Give it to me."

It took Rick a moment to realize to what Daryl was referring. A moment where he couldn't help but lick his lips, and consider his position, kneeling before his best friend. But Rick didn't hesitate. He handed over the gun, maintaining Daryl's fierce gaze.

"Stand up."

It was not a request. And Rick obeyed without thinking, coming to his feet shakily and clenching his hands in fists. He moved as if to sidestep Daryl, eyes flicking towards Deanna briefly, but the archer immediately cut him off.

"No," Daryl growled, more animal than man. It was the first time Rick had heard that tone out of him. It was dominating, bit through him like an icy chill but thrilled him all the same.

And even though Rick wanted to stoke the flames of his angry heart- shout in Daryl's face that this was not how they did things and how fucking dare he- Rick did nothing of the sort. He blinked. Allowed Daryl to trap him in his gaze, acute eyes seeming to track his every thought. Their audience melted into the background, until all Rick knew was Daryl's broad form crowding into his space.

"You're gonna go back to the house. And you're gonna wait for me there," Daryl drawled, soft and slow.

The archer's fingers twitched, wary for the first sign of defiance. But even as rage and madness pressed at the seams of Rick's soul, Daryl's words pushed every thought of resistance back from whence it came. A weight lifted off his chest, and Rick took a long, full breath.

Then Rick nodded, abruptly, and the cogs of his mind finally fell into place. He turned on his heel and headed straight for the house, keeping his eyes trained on the ground and focusing only on the searing sensation of Daryl's gaze on his back.

Daryl watched until Rick rounded the corner. He held out the gun to the Alexandrians' leader in the most nonthreatening way he could manage.

"Here," he rasped, face still stony. "That… that there won't happen again. M'takin' care of it."

It was the most he'd said to her since they'd arrived, and the ex-congresswoman seemed to recognize the significance. She nodded gratefully, and began to shoo the onlookers away.

Daryl started on Rick's trail, stopping only to mutter in Michonne's ear, "Keep everyone clear of the house for the next few hours. Clear of the whole damn block would be better, but I'll take what I can get."

She murmured her assent, if not her understanding, and relayed the message to the rest of their people. When she turned back to question just what Daryl planned to do, the archer was already gone.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

Daryl walked through the front door of the house and found Rick hovering in the center of the kitchen. He was wiping compulsively at the blood on his shirt, and looked as if he might vibrate out of his skin.

"You didn't need to do that," were the first words out of RIck's mouth, "I had it under control."

Daryl didn't respond. But as Rick watched, he slowly pulled off his crossbow and set it down on the counter. His hunting knife came next, left parallel to his quiver, arranged with care.

"You risked our chance here…" Daryl said slowly, venomously quiet, "You risked your kid's chance at someplace safe...for what? To get your dick wet?"

He'd crowded into Rick's space again, eyes predatory and hard. The ex-Sheriff tried, but failed, to recollect a single time Daryl had spoken to him with such calm, sexual aggression. In fact, he couldn't remember a time he and Daryl had even talked around the concept of sex, let alone tackled it directly.

"Yeah," Daryl murmured, making a slow circle around Rick's prone body. "That's exactly why you did it, huh Rick? Knocked your own kid to the ground 'cuz ya couldn't wait one more minute 'fore gettin' laid."

Rick was stunned, breathless; watching Daryl out of his periphery and so thrown by the entire situation that all he could do was stare.

"What did you think was gonna happen, man?" Daryl asked him. "You'd beat that guy to death in front of everyone. And then, what? Take Jessie right there in the street? Bet that's what you wanted. Wanted to fuck her in front of everyone. Had to bring your fuckin' dick into it, show 'em who's boss-"

Rick swung at Daryl before his mind had registered the flash of rage. And even quicker than that, Daryl had grabbed him by the wrist and spun him around, forcing him to his knees.

The ex-Sheriff let out a startled grunt, trying once to break free. But Daryl had one arm twisted around his back painfully, and the other pinned underneath the same bicep that could load a 150-lb. draw bow in three seconds flat.

Rick hung his head and panted.

"You think I wanna hurt you, man?" Daryl growled, flexing his arms around RIck's body just to prove he could. "What the hell are you doin' to yourself?"

The older man simply shook his head at the ground, trying to beat back the growing ball of heat settling in his stomach. This couldn't happen. Not now.

"This has to stop, Rick," Daryl rasped in his ear. "Your people need you. Your kids need you. And you can't go flyin' off the deep end…"

Daryl trailed off, eyes finally travelling far enough down Rick's torso to understand why the other man had so abruptly gone lax in his arms.

"The fuck?" Daryl whispered, awestruck and confused but not nearly as disgusted as Rick had expected. The archer released him suddenly, and Rick stumbled to his feet, grasping the counter for support and refusing to turn around.

The silence went on too long. Rick darted for the front door. "M'sorry," he gasped, "Jesus, m'sorry, I-"

Daryl shoved him back hard, pinning him to the countertop.

"Did I say we were done?" Daryl spat. Rick's voice caught in his throat and his cock twitched noticeably. He swallowed hard as Daryl eyed him up and down. "That's what you need, huh?" Daryl finally assessed. "Need someone to make it hurt. Take the rest away."

Rick flushed and continued to shake his head, more out of humiliation than denial. Back at the prison, and even on the road the winter before, the older man had figured that one day he'd be found out. Eyes on Daryl just a beat too long, expression too heated for friendship, and the archer would read it all over him.

But now his hand had been forced.

Rick sucked in a shuddering breath. "Need it to be you," he muttered towards the floor.

Daryl squinted at him and ran his fingers through the scruff on his chin.

"That's what you want," Daryl said slowly, appraising him. And when Rick didn't answer, couldn't answer, "Hey- look at me."

Rick finally met his eyes, cheeks flushed, shame-faced. Daryl moved in closer still.

"You know what you're askin' for, Rick?"

Rick nodded, even though he was beginning to believe that he didn't know, not with the way Daryl's pupils had blown into deep navy pools, utterly fixed on him.

"Please."

A sharp wheeze was startled from the ex-Sheriff's chest as his body was manipulated without his consent. Rick's face was pressed up against the cool granite of the island, and one of Daryl's hands was at the back of his neck, holding him steady, bending him to his will. Rick blinked his eyes open and stared out the front window of the house at the empty street. His cock strained against the zipper of his jeans.

"The- the window," Rick rasped, hardly able to form words. "Someone could see."

Daryl smirked to himself. Their house was the last inhabited one on the block, and none of their people would be coming down this way for another hour or two, at least. He could have told Rick just that, and settled his nerves. Instead, Daryl replied, "Let 'em."

The archer grabbed ahold of Rick by either wrist and placed his hands palm-down on the counter. He stepped back to survey his handiwork, nodding in satisfaction when Rick stayed exactly as Daryl had arranged him. There was a click as Daryl flicked open Rick's belt, whisking it off of his body and folding it seamlessly into one hand.

Daryl ran the leather down the length of Rick's back, watching the man shiver.

"Ain't holdin' you here," Daryl said pointedly, providing one last chance for his friend to change his mind. But the man bent over the island didn't move a muscle.

Without Daryl's touch, Rick felt vulnerable. Alone and drifting. He closed his eyes.

"What do you think I'm gonna do?" Daryl asked from somewhere behind him. "You think I'm gonna hurt you?"

There was an edge to Daryl's rasp that made the hairs on Rick's arms stand on end. But he couldn't predict where Daryl was going with this, couldn't predict much at all about the archer, apparently. Rick shuddered, but stayed silent.

"Know you've seen the scars," Daryl continued quietly, "Never wanted ya to, but ya have. S'that why it's gotta be me? Ya figured I'd want to hurt you? Figured I'm the guy who'd know how?"

"No." Rick asserted, voice too sharp and rough to be anything but the truth.

"Why, then?" Daryl asked lowly, "Why's it gotta be me?"

"Because…" Rick swallowed hard, "Because I trust you. Because I wanted it to be you. Since- since-" But Rick couldn't say it. Couldn't admit just how long he'd been watching Daryl with feelings that were a lot more than friendly.

To Rick's immense relief, Daryl ignored the latter part of his statement.

"You trust me," Daryl repeated, shaking his head, "But I'm not the only one you trust."

Rick found it in him to look back at Daryl over his shoulder. "Yes. You are." The only one I'd trust with this. The only one I'd ever let see me this raw. The only one I could give myself away to, and know I was in good hands. He could see the conflict in Daryl's knitted brow. That, and something much darker. Rick hoped to God it was lust.

Daryl's fist tightened around the belt. And before Rick had gathered the wherewithal to brace himself, the leather strap came down hard against the fleshy part of his ass. The constable jolted forwards with a gasp, fingers clenching against the smooth surface of the counter. There was a rush of air, and another harsh crack. Then, another.

One of Daryl's hands seized Rick's shoulder, while the other brought down the belt against Rick's body in a steady rhythm. Fleetingly, Rick considered that he knew much less about Daryl than he'd thought. The archer wielded his belt like it was the most natural thing in the world, muscle memory that couldn't be faked.

More than that, it was clear that this confident aggression had been idling inside Daryl all along. He could have been the group's leader. Could have bent Rick to his will, and whipped the others into line. Instead, the archer had elected to follow Rick's lead. Shown him loyalty and obedience when he was more than capable of the opposite. And now that same man, powerful in a way Rick had never fully realized, had the ex-Sheriff shuddering and panting at his hand.

"God," Rick groaned at a particularly brutal strike. He could hardly disentangle the sting and burn of each lash from the steady, blissful throb of his neglected length. It was an amalgam of overwhelming sensation that he never would have expected to want, let alone need. But each slap was bringing Rick closer to something bright and hot that he couldn't quite put his finger on. More than release. Freedom, maybe.

"Daryl," Rick moaned, feeling his cock rubbing hot and heavy against the rough denim of his jeans. Knowing that he couldn't stop himself if he tried. "Daryl. Daryl. Daryl…." He chanted the man's name like a prayer, only realizing much later that what he was really asking for was permission.

The hits were coming harder, faster. Rick tensed every muscle of his body, desperate, trying-

"G'wan, Rick," Daryl said, molten honey dripping from his tongue. "Let go. S'okay, I want you to."

With a moan much too high-pitched for Rick to claim as his own, the ex-Sheriff came like it was being punched out of him. He shot off in his jeans, soaking the fabric and writhing helplessly against the countertop. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. There was nothing but overpowering relief, and the catharsis of having Daryl wring all the anger and tension right out of him.

Still bent over the island at the center of the kitchen, it took Rick several long minutes to realize that Daryl's fingers were carding through his hair. Soft, gentle.

"Did good, Rick," Daryl was telling him quietly, with something like affection in his voice. "Just breathe, now, you're alright. Did so good for me."

It was easily the longest Daryl had ever touched him of his own volition. Rick allowed the younger man to help him stand up straight, and turn his body to face him. He couldn't quite meet Daryl's eyes, but was relieved nonetheless when he noticed the clear outline of the younger man's erection through his cargos.

The archer stepped between Rick's legs, and dragged his thumb feather-light over the dark patch at the crotch of the ex-Sheriff's jeans.

"Made a mess of yourself," Daryl drawled, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. "Ain't much of a punishment if ya go and enjoy it like that."

Rick's cheeks flared searing hot.

"Never figured you the type," Daryl continued, but Rick thought he seemed downright pleased.

"I didn't know I was," Rick finally replied. "Maybe...maybe just with you."

Daryl nodded slowly, "Nothin' wrong with that." He said it in a way that made it okay, and Rick let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Daryl jerked his head towards the back of the house. "Get upstairs, then. Ain't gonna want an audience for what comes next."

Rick's eyes went wide, mouth dropping open at what Daryl was implying.

"What, ya thought I was done with you?" Daryl asked him lowly, eyes going dark again, "Thought you'd get off that easy, after the shit you pulled today?"

"What-" Rick floundered, "What are you going to-?"

"Did I say you could talk?" Daryl cut him off, voice taking on that sharp quality that made Rick's body thrum. The constable's mouth fell shut, and Daryl grinned. "That's more like it. Now, you're gonna go upstairs and get into the shower. Get the come off of ya. The blood off of ya. And in a while, I'm gonna come up there and join ya, and we'll see 'bout that punishment of yours. Clear?"

There was only one thing Daryl wanted to hear out of Rick's mouth at the moment. And when he heard it, he had to sink his teeth into his lower lip to keep from bending Rick back over the kitchen counter and taking him right then and there.

"Yes."