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Negan was intent and hell-bound to have Daryl Dixon.
But Negan hadn’t taken him just for his looks—He was easy on the eyes, sure, but so were quite a few of his companions.
No, it was the actually the sucker punch that sealed Daryl’s fate. Some would’ve called Negan a sick fuck for the way he saw stars and heard an angels' chorus when the archer’s fist connected with his jaw, but it was the lack of hesitation he’d shown in uppercutting a lunatic with a steel-laden bat—dripping with his friend’s blood, mind you—thrown over his shoulder that had Negan so very enthralled. Such a fucking badass, man!
Negan was not the type of man to look a gift horse in mouth or analyze the reasoning behind his impulses. So, on a whim, he didn’t kill Daryl, but he got his point across the messy, informative way. The way that turns skeptics to believers and leaves a bloody trail.
If Negan’s men had any idea what he had planned when he plucked the archer from Rick and the rest of his friends, they knew better than to question it—He liked what he liked.
And what Negan liked, he took for himself.
And, oh, he really liked Daryl from the very beginning. Liked that slim but muscular build, the heavy shoulders and slender hips. Liked that smooth tan skin, darken up by a layer of dirt. Those icy seafoam eyes shining with unbridled fury beneath a curtain greasy brunette bangs.
And Negan downright loved the fleeting glint of genuine fear and sheer regret in his eyes when he turned Lucille on the asian. He knew then Daryl could be broken. His ties to his people ran too deep, and Negan knew exactly how to use that, how to bring a man trembling to his knees.
It shouldn’t take too much now, he reasons, having seen two of his friends murdered, but the saviors didn’t take it easy on him.
Negan waits only two days before he tests the waters.
Daryl’s cell is small, dark, and embedded with a speaker that could and most likely does damage ear drums at close proximity. An awful song echos down the hall, on repeat as it had been for days as Negan approaches, whistling a less annoying tune to himself.
We're on easy street—
He pushes open the door with a rather dramatic kick, Lucille slung lazily over his shoulder. Daryl eyes him warily from his cross-legged position in the corner of the room.
“How we feeling Daryl?”
Daryl just stares blankly, brows furrowed.
“I guess I get the silent treatment. Grieve all you want. You’ll come around.” Negan prods at his foot with Lucille, smiling. “You’re gonna make me one hell of a solider.”
Daryl isn’t much of a talker. It might have been more infuriating from a weaker, less enticing man, but Negan finds himself more amused than anything else.
“See, you’re one of the lucky ones, Daryl,” Negan begins, dropping into a squat beside his captive. Daryl recoils away from the proximity, shoving his lithe body further into the corner, but shows no further reaction to the invasion of his personal space.
“I’m giving you a chance here, a damn good chance. You could live like a king here. But…” Daryl’s eyes follow the motion of Negan’s hand as he twirls it dismissively. “I might have some different…expectations for someone like you.”
Daryl is too prideful to breakdown and ask what that might mean. His eyes flicker with suspicion as Negan leans in, smiling wickedly, but he has no room to push any further into the corner.
And it feels so sweet—
“I have special plans for you, yes indeed,” Negan drawls slowly, dragging a leather clad thumb pad down the side of Daryl's cheek. He was tense and avoiding eye contact up until now, clearly uncomfortable but still resistant, but freezes in place as realization suddenly dawns. Those sea-foam eyes snap to Negan’s, then immediately retreat from the lecherous intent they find there and Daryl audibly swallows down a lump in his throat. Negan watches the swell of his adam’s apple jut out from his throat and resists the urge to dig his teeth into the tanned flesh. He cups a hand over a stubbled cheek and drops his voice to a whisper, “Play your cards right, and you might just have the potential to one of my favorites.”
'Cause the world is but a treat, when you're on easy street—
No response comes, only the quickening of Daryl’s breath and nervous eyes reveal his anxiety.
“Look, I have made you one hell of a deal here, man. You just need a little more time in the hole to clear that ditzy little skull of yours.”
As per usual, Daryl has nothing to say to that. Negan sighs.
“Unfortunately for you, Daryl, that means no clothes for a while,” Negan tuts with a smile, tugging unceremoniously at Daryl’s filthy, tattered shirt. “Maybe you can have them back when you learn to play fucking ball.”
And we're breaking out the good champagne—
He instructs Dwight to remove Daryl’s disgusting clothes for him, and he stays nude from then on out unless he’s out of his cell, partially as a punishment but mostly just because Negan wants to see him naked. Negan finds himself a bit peeved as he goes about his day, but bids his time. That was part of the fun of it all, though, wasn’t it? It would cheapen the thrill if his toys made it too easy.
He would have Daryl, eventually.
Negan waits patiently—at least by his own standards—through another few days of straight up torture. Beatings, constant sensory overload, isolation, shit food, before he decides it’s time to try his hand again.
But Daryl was confounding, the pretty little suntanned sack of shit. Not a fast learner, just like stupid fucking Rick.
”Who are you?”
Such a simple question, and yet Daryl still got it wrong, the stubborn bitch. It crossed Negan’s mind to just jack him up against the wall and take what he wanted right then and there, fuck the bystanders and his own rules. Hell, he could make them hold the pretty little shit down if he really wanted to.
But Negan needed to uphold the order of things. He was the only thing maintaining it, after all. So he waited until the early hours of the morning to dismiss Dwighty-boy from his post. Dwight looks hesitant but doesn’t bother to protest. He likely has an idea what Negan is there to do, but has learned from experience it’s in his best interest not to comment on Negan’s flights of fancy.
Negan wrinkles his nose. Fuck, did this man need a shower on the double—the room smells pungently of musk and sweat. He makes a mental notice to make Dwight or Fat Joey hose Daryl’s filthy ass down.
Daryl curls into himself when Negan enters the room, tucking his modesty between his legs in a bashful display that makes Negan’s cock twitch despite Daryl’s squalid condition. Sea-foam eyes flutter wildly as they adjust to the light.
“Good morning!” Negan bellows, loud enough he can be heard over that god-awful candy ass song that had been blasting non-stop the last week. He fucking hates it. Usually, he would turn it off so he doesn’t have to suffer through it, but the music provided cover for certain unsightly noises. “You had time to consider my offer?”
We're sittin' pretty on the gravy train—
Daryl offers only a sideways glance in response, but Negan remains calm for the moment.
“Still nothing to say?”
Daryl stares straight ahead, gnawing at the already raw skin of his lip. He looks a little worse every time Negan sees him—dirtier, darker bags under his eyes, skinnier. It’s a shame Daryl won’t just give in. He’s making Negan ruin that pretty face of his, and that’s the last thing he wants.
”You really aren’t much for intelligent conversation, Daryl. Got me thinking—your mouth could better serve me in…other ways.”
Much to Negan’s satisfaction, that finally catches Daryl's attention. His gaze jumps from his face, down to his crotch and back to the floor.
And when we sing every sweet refrain repeats—
“Ain’a fag,” Daryl spits defiantly, his voice hoarse from lack of use and defensive, but his eyes flit anxiously over the room again.
Negan just smiles, unfazed. “See, I’m having some trouble believing that, Daryl. I saw the way you looked at Rick when we hauled your fine lil’ ass into the truck.” And he wasn’t alone—Negan could almost see the cracks in Rick’s psyche chip deeper when he lost his precious hunter. “Ya ain’t in Kansas any more Dorothy! It’s okay to admit you got a lil’ sugar in your tank.” Negan laughs, slapping his captive’s broad shoulder.
Daryl flinches, though at the mention of Rick or the accusation isn’t clear to Negan, but refuses to speak. Truly a man of few words.
Negan doesn’t appreciate being ignored. The switch in his mind between friendly intimidation and erratic rage flips and his admittedly false smile disappears. He grabs the smaller man by the chin, digging his thumb into his cheek so deeply he could feel the ridges and valleys of his teeth. “Look at me.”
Right here on easy street—
Daryl refuses, training his gaze on the floor. It takes a hard slap to the face with Negan’s free hand to set his head on straight, but Daryl finally looks him in the eye, albeit through that veil of tangled hair he tries so fruitlessly to hide beneath.
“Let me make this crystal clear for you. Doesn’t really matter much to me if you like men or not. I’m going fuck you like a bitch in heat.” Daryl bristles something damn fierce at those words, shoulders jumping towards his ears. Negan finds his innocent reactions strangely endearing. “Now as much as I’d prefer to go about that like a gentlemen, you’re making the diplomatic approach real fuckin’ difficult, Daryl.”
“Fuck off.” It’s subtle, and slurred by the pressure of Negan’s grip, but his voice wavers.
A malicious laugh rips from Negan. “Fuck, do you have a set of balls! I don’t think you’re understanding the power dynamic here, my boy. I own you.”
Negan waits for a moment, building the tension before he plays the hand that always works. “Or wait—maybe you’d rather it be someone else?”
Daryl’s narrow eyes widen at that, his lips folding into a thin line.
It's our moment in the sun—
“You had a couple of pretty ladies with ya,” Negan continues, releasing his vice grip. “They’d put up less of a fight, that’s for damn sure. Or maybe Rick—that’d put him in his fucking place and quit that nasty ass side-eye he likes to send my way. Maybe I should take you back on home and find someone more…” Negan lifts his brows and gestures at nothing, “agreeable.”
A tense silence follows. Negan lets his threat percolate for a few seconds before he makes a show of heading for the door.
“Leave ‘em ‘lone.”
Negan stops, turning back towards his captive with a glowing, victorious smile. “I knew you’d see it my way sooner or later. I’m gonna need you on your knees.”
And it's only just begun—
Negan doesn’t miss the disgust on Daryl’s face as he unbuckles his belt, but still he complies, shifting his weight onto his knees. Negan positions himself with a smirk, one hand slides his pants down to his knees, and the other pulls his half-hard cock free from his boxers. He enjoys this dynamic a bit too much—Daryl completely naked, at his mercy, while he remains almost fully clothed.
He abruptly jabs a finger in Daryl’s cheek. “I feel a single fucking tooth, you will regret it. Life as you know it will become a living hell. You might think you’ve had it hard knock so far, but let me assure you, it can get so much worse.”
“Wuten gonna bite,” Daryl mutters in that thick drawl, nudging away from his finger with a scowl and taking the base into a fist. Much to Negan's surprise—and delight— he wastes no time, lips stretching obscenely around the head before swallowing halfway down the length. Negan bucks forward with a startled groan.
It's time to have a little fun—
“Oh, someone’s done this before,” Negan taunts with a breathless edge of laughter. Questioning who would ruin his own fun, so Negan doesn’t bother. Daryl was too occupied with the cock in his windpipe to answer anyways. “And here I thought you weren’t a fag, Daryl.”
Daryl glances up at him, hatred in his eyes as he moves down, letting his throat adjust until he noses Negan’s stomach. The euphoric, slippery heat engulfing his cock draws a heavy groan from Negan, dissolving his thoughts and leaving primal desire in their place. He starts to bob up and down, moving his fist in time with his mouth.
Negan throws his head back and loses the ability to throw any more jabs. His hands slide into Daryl’s hair, gripping at the roots and holding him in place as he thrusts into the squishy padding at the back of his throat. The passage seizes beautifully as Daryl gags over the intrusion, arms flailing about helplessly as Negan hammers into that delicious wet heat. He tries to pull away enough to breathe, but Negan doesn’t relent, holding him still as his pace becomes increasingly ruthless.
Soon Daryl wilts entirely, falls limp and submits to the onslaught, holding his mouth open as Negan uses his throat as he pleases. Tears stream down his cheeks, eyes bright red and screwed closed, and drool dribbles from his stretched mouth down his chin. Daryl’s muffled retching as he chokes and lewd squelching rings out loudly in cell, even with that goddamned song blasting, and echos in Negan’s ears until it’s all he hears.
We're inviting you to come and see—
Negan’s thrusts become erratic, enchanted by the rise and fall of the bulge his cock creates in Daryl's windpipe, until suddenly he stills with a groan, tugging Daryl down to the base by his overgrown hair. Calloused hands fly up to claw desperately at his thighs, outright begging for oxygen, but Negan holds him there until he’s sure his come is dripping too far down Daryl’s throat for him to spit it back up.
When he finally releases his hold, Daryl flys backward, wheezing and sputtering as much-needed oxygen returns to his lungs.
Why you should be on Easy Street!
Negan gasps for breath before his hands find Daryl’s shoulders and urge him to lay flat with an uncharacteristic gentleness caused by the afterglow of his orgasm and a strange, irrational fondness, but in typical Daryl fashion, the dumbass resists.
“Get offa me, ya fucker!” Daryl snaps, unable to hide his panic.
What little extra patience his orgasm bought on dries up. “Just shut the fuck up already!” Negan hisses, shoving Daryl violently against the floor and pinning him there. “So fucking tired of your shit.”
Yeah, we got a front row seat—
Negan very abruptly pulls a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and clicks one side over Daryl’s wrist. Daryl jolts and attempts to pull away, but Negan snatches him back down by the shoulder and snaps the other in place, securing Daryl’s hands behind his back.
With a strained grunt, Negan flings Daryl on his back. Roughly pulling his leather glove off with his teeth, he takes Daryl’s mostly soft— how disappointing— cock into his now bare hand. Daryl loses his ever-loving shit, the ungrateful asshole. His hips jolt instinctively towards the contact, but he thrashes and kicks like his life depends on it.
The smallest of groans begin to escape from Daryl’s clenched jaw in a hiss, but he continues to fight to no end as Negan strokes him to semi-hardness. Pressing his weight into his forearm, Negan shoves against Daryl’s stomach to keep him in place and drops below the waist to take Daryl’s length into his mouth.
The gasp that follows sounds both pained and relieved somehow. Negan focuses on the head, sucking hard, and in seconds, the appendage in his mouth is rock solid—no exaggeration. That shit is harder than a fucking brick despite all his vigorous protests. Some small part of Negan he’d never admit to is a bit jealous— his own cock doesn’t often get that engorged and certainly not that fast. Plus, he has to admit the little shit has an impressive cock. Veiny, slightly curved, girthy enough he’d be nervous to take it anywhere but his mouth.
Explains all the fucking attitude on this one.
Negan flattens his tongue and falls into a familiar rythum with that perfect pressure that would send himself over the fastest, takes Daryl apart with his mouth until he is a flushed, writhing mess beneath him. He doesn’t even have to apply force to keep him pinned anymore, Negan realizes with a swelling ego.
Oh, to a life that can't be beat—
Surprisingly quickly, Daryl twitches and jerks, and Negan knows he’s about to finish. Either he must be fucking awesome at sucking dick, or Daryl hasn’t gotten laid in quite a while. He wonders for the umpteenth time whether or not Rick had been making use of this fine piece of ass he so obviously had at his disposal should he bat that way.
He ignores the way the idea he might have— despite evidence to the contrary—sparks a scalding jealousy in his chest.
Negan waits until the very last second before he pulls away. Daryl arches upwards with a ragged gasp, chasing after the lost heat of the other man’s mouth. His wide eyes find Negan’s as his chest heaves, the confusion written on his face clear as day, silently asking him why?
Right here on easy street!
Negan leans over him, tucking his chin into the crook of his neck and running both hands over his hips. Daryl shudders in his hold.
“I’m a reasonable man, Daryl. You can come, when—and only when— you let me fuck you.”
And with that, he pats Daryl’s shoulder and leaves him to suffer, that stupid fucking song still ringing in his ears halfway down the hall.
And it's only just begun!
It's time to have a little fun—
And we're inviting you to come, come, come, come!
…………..
The next day, Daryl made a run for freedom. He was caught, of course, but the rage Negan experienced surprised even him. He might have gotten a bit too attached to this filthy little sewer rat—his vision was white-hot at the edges.
How can one man be such a pain in the ass? Time after time, Negan asked the question, and even though Daryl knew the answer, he didn’t submit.
But Negan didn’t punish him for his insolence. Well… other than his men kicking the utter shit out of him, and he had to do that just to keep the status quo. No, other than that, he just pinned him down, played with his cock up until that pivotal moment, and left him in the cuffs to simmer.
For several days, Negan did this every chance he got. It never took much—his hand was enough to have other man leaking in minutes. Negan used Daryl’s mouth, too, whenever he had time and the privacy, but he took too long to finish and the last thing he wanted was one of his men walking in with his pants around his ankles, cock in an unwilling man’s throat. He himself had murdered others for less.
Every single time, Daryl fought against his touch. Even managed to land a few punches here and there, and Negan was increasingly frustrated with his lack of progress.
On the fifth day, Negan made two visits to Daryl. After he got punched twice on the first go-round, Daryl earned himself a full day in the cuffs, and yet still managed to thrash and kick during the second. Negan was in a foul mood by night. He made sure most of the sanctuary was sound asleep before he took over from Dwight.
Daryl is curled up in a ball in the corner, head on his knees and arms still cuffed behind his back. Negan flips on the light and shuts off that godawful candy-ass song that’s been rattling his captive’s ears—no one will hear anything at this hour and that shit is ob-fucking-noxious. Daryl’s a tougher bastard than he realized.
Daryl knows by now the only reason behind his visits. He locks his legs together, trying to hide from what he must know deep down to be inevitable. It takes Negan a moment to realize he's trembling.
“On your knees.”
Daryl ignores him. Negan sees red—he isn’t in the fucking mood for Daryl’s bullshit. He’s frustrated, and he fully intends to take it out on the source. “Fine. Have it your way.”
Negan moves on Daryl, intent on pinning him in the corner and ravishing his mouth like it was the only reason for his existence—shit, might as well be at this point— but he notices Daryl seems oddly determined to keep his legs to his chest.
Intrigued, Negan crouches down to push his thighs apart. Daryl hisses and fidgets in place despite his restraints, but in the end, Negan pries his legs open and catches sight of exactly what Daryl didn’t want him to see. He screws his eyes shut with shame, his breathing turning rapid and shallow.
Daryl is already hard. Flushed, straining, and leaking pre-come all over himself.
Negan smiles more genuinely than he has in days, his mood skyrocketing with satisfaction. He lets out a long wolf-whistle.
“Oh my—would you look at that. Someone’s happy to see me.” Negan prods his thumb against the weeping head. Daryl thrusts mindlessly into the touch and lets out a low whine, the sound so sweet Negan can taste it. “How long you been like this?”
Daryl swallows. “Since ya las left,” he croaks, his voice pathetic and strained. He sounds like he’s been crying.
“You wanna come, don’t you sweetness?” Negan purrs, almost intimately pushing Daryl’s bangs from his face. He opens those gorgeous seafoam eyes, and just stares for a long moment. He doesn’t quite seem lucid, his eyes glossy and unfocused.
He closes his eyes again, takes a deep breath, and nods. A small, quick, stiff motion.
Negan is beyond pleased, all the hard feelings he had dissipating in his excitement. “Hands and knees. Or face and knees, in your case.”
Daryl sways when he stands, and he hesitates before he turns away from Negan to assume the desired position. When he finally faces away, Negan realizes why. He catches Daryl by the arm to stop him so he can take a closer look.
Negan had seen Daryl’s backside nude before, forcing him into the handcuffs, but never taken much notice in the midst of the struggles. Now, staring at the criss-cross of scars that mar Daryl’s back, Negan suddenly understands why he couldn’t be broken with physical abuse, and despite himself, feels a pang of remorse burst in his chest. He runs his fingers over two long, parallel scars just above his captive’s tailbone. Daryl jerks like he had been tased.
“You don’t like people seein’ this, do you?” Negan speculates, recalling all the times Daryl has refused to turn his back on him and the way he fought when forced with newfound significance.
There’s silence for a beat, and then, dripping with venom, “Wou’d yew?”
In an oddly placed show of compassion, Negan pulls the keys to the handcuffs from his pocket and frees Daryl’s hands. He half-expects an attack, but Daryl merely stretches aching muscles and rubs gratefully at the inflamed hot pink indentions on his wrists. Negan sheds his jacket and tugs off his undershirt, offering it as something of a truce. Daryl glances apprehensively at the shirt before he snatches it out of his hand and pulls it on with an awkward nod of thanks.
And then, slowly, Daryl drops to his hands and knees, and Jesus Christ, what a fucking sight. Negan’s pants tighten something awful. He stands to discard his pants and boxers entirely; he doesn’t want them slowing him down for this. He fetches the lube he’s been keeping for this very moment from his jacket pocket and drops to his own knees, mesmerized by this show of submission.
Just to scare the piss out of him, Negan spits lewdly into the cleft of Daryl’s ass and lines his cock up with the puckered entrance. With a cruel grin, he prods around the rim like he intended to shove in here and now.
Daryl takes a deep, shaky breath, bracing himself. He had considered the possibility of being taken unprepared, with spit or worse yet, dry—among other things—long before he accepted Negan’s terms, but he had dared to hope for better regardless of his experiences proving he shouldn’t. Daryl grits his teeth and prays, prays adamantly to a god he doesn’t believe in. He starts to panic as the tension threatens to break and allow Negan inside.
His thoughts race as fear peaks. Maybe—if he begged, on his knees—Would it make it worse? Would Negan enjoy his pleading and do it anyway? Maybe not… Maybe Negan would have mercy. The tight shirt covering Daryl's back was testament that he was capable of some degree of empathy— Begging might get him off enough he would let Daryl suck it first, at least—He wouldn’t even fight this time, he would be still and compliant and good, no matter how much he choked— Anything but this—
Negan’s laughter interrupts Daryl’s silent struggle with his wounded pride and his aching cock. ”You really weren’t gonna say a god-damn thing, were you? I appreciate you getting with the program, but Jesus, Daryl.” He pushes more firmly and feels tense muscles begin to give, and the way Daryl’s body stiffens brings him a sense of mean-spirited joy. “Bet you’d be so tight this way…but I’d have all the fun then, wouldn’t I?”
Negan wasn’t expecting a reply, thankfully unaware how close Daryl had come to downright pleading for his cock in his mouth. Negan’s hand pushes on Daryl’s muscled shoulder, urging his face to the floor so his ass juts out that much further. The pressure prodding against his entrance disappears, but Daryl still isn’t sure he can trust the words, waiting anxiously for the the other boot to drop. He finally relaxes slightly at the cold, slick feeling of actual lube and fingers nudging into his entrance instead of a cockhead.
Negan takes his time with the effort to stretch the elastic band gripping his fingers. It would probably surprise his captive but Negan is invested in making sure Daryl enjoys taking his cock. There is atleast a slight chance he hadn't ever been on the receiving end. It’s a struggle for him—even though he’s been purposely avoiding Daryl’s prostate, the ragged gasps, mewls, and throaty groans his fingers are punching out of the suntanned beauty are driving him batshit insane. His cock is painfully swollen, the way Daryl’s always gets, and standing proud and flushed against his stomach.
Once three fingers move back and forth with ease, Negan loses his patience. Daryl whines as he removes his fingers and wipes them across the shirt he’d offered. Negan savors the moment has he pushes the head of his cock against the flexing muscle of Daryl’s entrance. He pushes inside slowly, drawing a delicious gasp from Daryl, then draws back out to watch the hole open and close around his tip. He does it twice more just to be a tease, but soon, he can’t take it anymore, and slides halfway into the tightness of Daryl’s body with a hearty groan.
And holy fuck, is it tight. Negan’s cock aches as it sinks deeper, the silken walls splitting open inch by inch. His eyes roll backwards into his head. The desperate little whimpers and hissed curses that escape from Daryl make it almost impossible, but Negan slows to a complete stop once he’s fully seated, giving Daryl time to adjust to the size. The seconds tick by, the sound of both men’s heavy panting fills the air. He isn’t quite sure how long to wait to ensure it will be painless—he hasn’t taken much dick himself—but Daryl makes it clear when he rocks his hips backwards, impaling himself deeper on the base of Negan’s cock with an airy moan.
Taking the hint, Negan starts to move, folding himself forward and dropping his head against his back. Daryl whines and huffs beneath him as he slowly pistons in and out, arching his back like the perfect little vixen he is, and Negan forgives every single disrespectful action the sun-kissed angel has committed thus far. It only makes sense something so awe-inspiring would require a little elbow grease to break in. Like a stallion— half the fun of riding a wild beast was in the challenge of domestication.
His hands find the firm swell of Daryl’s ass as he straightens and squeeze, spreading him wide so he can force himself that much deeper. Negan picks up speed, holding Daryl open so he doesn’t have to sacrifice depth to his merciless pace. The hunter doesn’t tilt his hips to run away like his wives do when he reaches this tempo or depth. No, Daryl moans like a paid whore and rocks his hips back to meet his thrusts, so Negan’s veined cockhead hits that sweet spot just right.
Negan swoons. “Hoo-lllly fuck—You take it so fucking good.”
Negan falls in love, just a bit, not quite with Daryl himself, but with the way his ass squeezes so perfectly over his cock, the way he obviously loves getting wrecked, the sight of his rim stretched taut around the base. He pulls out slowly, watching the abused hole shrink as his cock thins and then close back instantly when the head pops out. He pushes back in slow, and fucks lazily into the ring of muscle with just the first few inches, letting this cock slip in and back out to tighten up the passage only to force his way back inside with renewed resistance suckling at the head.
It must be uncomfortable, but Daryl just prines and whines, words utterly lost on him. Negan knows there’s a good chance he might be sensitive enough to get off on the prostate stimulation alone after the way he’s been depriving him. Negan drops his head next to Daryl’s ear and runs his tongue along the shell before he bites down, earning himself a wonderful chorus of sinful noises. He laps sloppily at the bitemark, all but lost in so much sensation, thoughtlessly prodding at the flushed flesh with the tip of his tongue. He pulls back until he’s barely breaching the ring.
“Who are you?” Negan snaps his hips forward, fully sheathing himself in one smooth thrust.
Daryl nearly shrieks. “D-Daryl!”
The way Daryl’s walls clamp down around his cock has lulled Negan into a docile state where anger doesn’t exist even in the most trying of moments. Negan isn’t a man accustomed to any kind of compromise, but for his pretty little Daryl, he could make an exception. He needs to hear it.
He grasps at a handful of Daryl’s brunette locks, shoves inside deep and fast repeatedly, only pulling back halfway to pile drive himself inside at a break-neck pace. Daryl yelps and grasps helplessly at nothing on the cement floor. Negan pulls his head backwards to his lips with his grip on those greasy locks, rhythm never faltering.
“Who’s fucking open your tight little ass, Daryl?”
“N-Ne—gan,” comes out somewhere between a croak and a sob, and every damned drop of blood in Negan’s body is redistributed to his cock. Finally, the right fucking answer, even if it was the wrong question. The sound of his name on Daryl’s lips ignites fireworks in Negan’s mind and sends heat pooling rapidly in his groin.
“That’s my good boy,” he coos breathlessly, shocked he can still vocalize more than one word at a time buried in the heaven he’s found, but he can’t stop babbling now. He wants to hear that deep, rugged voice. Wants to push his luck. “You like my cock up your ass, don’t you?”
“Yea!” Daryl is out of his mind delirious, willing to say almost anything to find relief from the unwanted tension Negan has been forcing upon him and then denying release from for days. He’s so, so close, but the idea Negan might cuff him and leave again if he tried to finish the job himself is enough to keep his hands planted firmly on the ground.
It’s a hell of a start, but not nearly enough in Negan’s mind. “Fuckin’ say it,” he rasps, his voice sounding distorted even to his own ears.
“I like yer cock in m’ ass!”
Negan growls low in his throat. One hand tightens on the swell of Daryl’s hip while the other finally snakes in between Daryl’s legs to grasp at his weeping cock. He doesn’t even have to stroke it—Daryl bucks against his fist like a man possessed, once, twice, and tenses, pure need embodied, and like throwing an angry punch, comes hard all over the floor and Negan’s hand with a desperate, guttural scream. His body goes utterly limp as thick ropes of come turn thin, his walls tensing and constricting with force around Negan’s cock, and that’s the end of the line.
Negan’s pace turns maddened and painfully selfish at Daryl’s expense, holding his spend body in place and sheathing himself balls deep with each burst forward as he mindlessly chases his high. Sensitive from his orgasm and overstimulated, Daryl cries out with each thrust, the most vocal Negan’s ever heard him. If he’d been in his right mind, he would’ve shut him up but Negan currently couldn’t give a fuck who might overhear. It’s way too satisfying to finally draw such enticing sounds from the ever stoic man.
The rush of ecstasy is blinding when it comes. Negan fucking ascends— his muscles ripple and quake with raw pleasure. His fingernails dig into Daryl’s hips as he rides out his mind-shattering orgasm, squirting ropes of come as deeply as he physically can. His incessant, crazed rut results in obscene, wet sounds as he fucks his come down even further until ultimately causing some to spill out and ooze from Daryl’s abused hole.
Negan basks in the glory of it all. It was worth the effort. So, so worth it.
Then he collapses, and because he was the only thing holding them upwards, both men fall flat against the floor. Finally content, Negan hums happily in Daryl’s ear between pants.
“You did good today. Real good. Tomorrow, how about we get you some decent food, some clothes so nobody has to see those nasty scars, yeah?”
Daryl has fallen back into his default silence, but Negan is too pleased to let it offend him. He places a chaste peck to Daryl’s stubbled cheek that sharply contrasts the barbaric act he just committed.
“Pretty soon, you’ll be begging me for this, gorgeous.”
Before Negan leaves, he retakes his shirt and collects himself. Daryl folds himself back into the corner, tucking his back out of sight. He won’t look at Negan now, but it hardly matters.
Daryl was his now, his and only his, whether he wanted to be or not. Rick could suck it— he was never getting this lovely piece of ass back.
Feeling vilified and victorious, he mulls over how long it will take before Daryl calls himself Negan, too. It couldn’t be long. Not after this. Soon, Daryl would be whatever he wanted— a tracker, a warrior, a shameless little slut.
Deciding he needs a fucking cigarette or three, like right now, Negan heads outside. But before he does, he stops to turn on the speaker with a smirk.
We're on easy street!
This last small injustice sends Daryl over the edge. Misery racks through his downtrodden body, and, finally, he breaks down.
Dwight is thankfully the only one around to hear Daryl’s sobs that night, discernible even over the deafening sound of music.
The scarred man hangs his head.
Yeah, we got a front row seat,
Oh, to a life that can't be beat!
Right here on eassyyy street!