The second half of this is a bit darker than the first. But I think it really helps explain why BDSM works for these two characters. It helps show how the 'playroom' is where they let their guard down with each other totally.

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Oh, the reason I hold on

Oh, is I need this hole gone

Funny, you're the broken one

But I'm the only one that needed saving

Cause when you never see the light

It's hard to know which one of us is caving

-Stay by Rihanna featuring Mikki Echo

Daryl dumped Carol onto the single bunk of the solitary cell wordlessly. He had grown quiet as they had gotten further down into the tombs. She pushed up a little on the bunk. He had lit the oil lantern before snatching her and the room was cast in flickering light and shadows.

"So, whose..." Carol began, but it was already obvious what roles they were each going to fill this time. Daryl was hurriedly stripping, taking his place against the wall. Once he was naked he faced the cinder block, but not touching, inches away. He reached his arms up and slipped his hands through the loops of rope that hung from the eye bolts, his arms outstretched at forty five degree angles instead of straight up. Carol sat up and watched him. The muscles in his back rippled as he moved. This was part of it, him preparing himself. After a moment of near silence, the only sound his breath as it hitched out of his chest, he gave her what she was waiting on.

"M'ready."

Carol stood and undressed slowly until she was clad only in her bra and panties, the black set that was his favorite when he was like this. She had changed into them when she woke up, knowing they were headed here. She slowly walked over to stand just under where one of his wrists hung in a loop. Daryl had taken to tying the knots himself, using different ones for him, crueler ones that bit into his skin instead of the more lax ones that spared her body marks. All she had to do was pull on the loop that hung next to his hand to tighten it. She did and the rope closed around his wrist. She hesitated, watching Daryl. His head hung down, his now longer hair hiding his face. He was already there, in that place in his head that he went when they did this. He shook his head once, and she pulled harder on the loop until it bit into his skin. He grunted and she had her answer, it was good.

Carol did the same to the other side and she took a second to look at him in the dimness. His face was obscured by his hair, his chest nearly heaving, arms and shoulders strained. Feet shoulder width apart as his cock already jutted up hard and pulsing. She wanted to touch it, stroke it so bad that her hand ached but she couldn't yet. That would be breaking the rules, there were things that had to be done first or else his release wouldn't be complete.

"Do you trust me?" Carol asked quietly as she reached to pick up the whip where it hung from the bolt.

"Yes'm." Daryl murmured, voice as close to baritone as it ever got. He didn't look up from the concrete at his feet.

"Do you know that I won't hurt you?" The meaning of the question was understood. To inflict pain was one thing, that was what he wanted her to do. But hurting him was another, to cause actual injury to him, body or soul.

"Yes'm."

Carol stood a little straighter, her shoulders squaring as she gripped the whip. The thing that had scared her so badly two months ago now felt like an extension of her own body as she held it in her hand. Daryl wasn't the only one who went somewhere else in their head during these times.

"What happened yesterday?" she asked, taking her place behind him easily. She already knew exactly where to stand so her arm would reach perfectly as her arm lashed out.

"I fucked up tha run. Sasha died and it was m'fault." Daryl said, voice flat. This wasn't a time for emotion. It was for pure need, a time to tear down and rebuild.

Carol knew what he said wasn't the truth, Michonne had told her that the death was unavoidable. But Daryl didn't see it that way and would carry the burden until she cleansed him of it.

"That's not true, Daryl." She adjusted her stance a bit and readied her arm.

"M'fault." he mumbled and she brought the whip down across his back. He grunted when it made contact, his body jerking. Her core flooded with wet warmth, the absolute power she wielded over him nearly overwhelming.

Carol brought it down twice more, knowing one stroke wouldn't be enough to absolve his mind of the death of one of their own. After the third one, his head hung between his shoulders, the whelps on his back red even in the dim light of the lamp. That had been the only thing she had refused to do for him. Whelps were allowed, they faded as did bruises and bite marks. But a scarring wound was beyond her, he was marked enough.

"It wasn't your fault Daryl." she said with a tone of grim finality. She waited and finally got her answer.

"Yes'm."

She wouldn't make him speak anymore, make him confess. That part was the hardest for him, more difficult to bear than the lash against his skin. She could do the rest, the others had told her enough, and she knew the broken man in front of her nearly as well as she knew herself.

"I know about the fight. You didn't hurt Tyreese because you knew he wasn't in his right mind. You could have killed him but you didn't." She brought the whip down and it cracked across his lower back. This part wasn't for his perceived wrongs. It was releasing the tension of being a man he believed he wasn't worthy to be.

Daryl nodded, telling her to continue, it was enough.

"You're leading the defense team, speaking on your own in the meetings. You are a man of honor." The whip came down again and he groaned.

"You brought back the whole team from the run for medical supplies, despite being caught in a herd. You are a brave man, a strong man." The whip cracked again, this time over his ass and the muscles tensed and bunched. She nearly moaned in her own need, glad this part was nearly over but afraid of the bit that lie ahead. The first part was where he thought he had failed their family. The second where he thought he was failing himself.

The last was where Daryl thought he had failed her.

Carol swallowed, willing her voice not to crack. "You weren't here when I was caught at the creek. It wasn't your fault." He shuddered at her words and she moved quickly, unable to watch him. The buckskin bit into the flesh of his ass and thighs.

"Shoulda been here." She almost didn't hear him. A second later the whip cracked a bit louder, she wouldn't let him bear that burden.

"No, Daryl. It wasn't your fault." Her arm came down again.

"Almost lost ya, like I lose everythin." His voice wavered and she strained her arm, bringing it down and across harder than she ever had, afraid of her own tears now. He cried out this time, a wordless noise that told her he had been absolved.

"It's not your fault. And I'm still here with you."

He nodded slowly, hair swinging in the shadows. Carol dropped the whip on the floor, it was no longer needed. She moved toward him as his chest heaved his breath into the damp air of the room. She moved her hands behind her to undo her bra and then let it fall to press her breasts against his back. She knew the coolness of her against his fevered and red skin soothed the sting. When he felt her he hissed between clenched teeth.

"Hurt s'good." he murmured and Carol nodded against him.

"You did so good, baby. It's all gone now." she whispered before pressing her lips against a whelp high on his back. He sighed and pulled against his bonds, pressing back against her. After a moment Carol moved around him, to stand in the space between his body and the wall. The concrete was cool against her back but Daryl was so hot against her front that he almost seemed to scald her. His cock pressed huge and purple against her belly, a bead of pre-cum on the head. One time he had come while she wielded the whip, but he had taught himself to wait it out, until he could touch her. She brought her index finger down to catch the wet and then brought it to her lips. He watched through half lidded eyes as she sucked him off her finger and he groaned deep in his chest. As soon as she pulled her finger from between her lips he ducked his head and she met him as his arms strained on either side of them.

This wasn't a kiss, it was too animalistic. It was a claiming, a declaration of a mate. His tongue shoved itself into every corner of her mouth and she gave it up gladly. Her time of domination was over, now it was her turn to be dominated.

Carol shoved her hand down in her panties, fingers sliding between soaked folds as her other hand gripped his cock and tugged. Daryl's hips bucked forward, brushing against where her other hand worked her clit. She could have come and come fast that way but she pulled away before she did. She would give him that honor today, of making her go over. Instead, she pulled her fingers out from between the soaked fabric and her pussy to bring them up, hesitating between their faces. Daryl's nostrils flared and she knew he was smelling her. He growled, letting her know that she better not dare put those fingers in her own mouth.

That was his, and his only.

They pushed between his lips and he sucked her off them greedily, making deep noises of appreciation in his chest. His hips bucked forward, pinning her against the wall. His need was immediate and he wasn't thinking, just trying to find relief in friction. Carol pulled her fingers from his mouth and tangled them in his hair pulling his face to hers. He bit her lip hard before he took her mouth again. Her free hand shot out and reached for the release on the knot at his wrist but the way he had her pinned she couldn't reach it. He was already straining so hard against his bonds that his shoulders were stone against her. She broke the kiss, gasping out.

"Daryl...you gotta...gonna hurt yourself..."

He wasn't listening, just snarling as his teeth bit into her ear. He growled loudly and she heard a screech of metal against cinder block. Then a metallic snap and his right hand came down to punish her hip in a bruising grip. Carol's eyes widened and she nearly came in her panties when she realized what he had done.

Daryl had ripped the bolt out of the wall.

She didn't have a lot of time to process it because a second later he did the same on the left. Carol cried out, her eyes rolling back in her head at the image. Daryl bit her shoulder hard and then her feet left the floor as he hitched her up on his shoulders where he stood, her legs dangling over his back. He took a quick half step back instinctively, letting her tilt back against the wall to balance. But then he made a guttural noise of frustration. A scant scrap of silk separated him from his goal.

Not for long though, because he brought one hand up to grab the g-string where it looped over her hip and ripped it away with a grunt of satisfaction. Daryl buried his mouth in her, drinking her down. His tongue was merciless, assaulting her clit and then driving as deeply into her as he could push before doing it all again.

He didn't give her an orgasm, he ripped it from her body. The only thing Carol could do was pull at his hair from where she was suspended on his shoulders while screaming and it only spurred him on. Her wet flooded his mouth, encouraging him with her taste and smell.

Only when her screams stopped bouncing off the walls did Carol feel him jerk her down from his shoulders roughly. Her feet only hit the floor for a half a second before a rough hand on the back of her neck forced her onto her knees. She let him have it, this control. Daryl had let her have him under her command, so now Carol was his to do with as he wished, as he needed. Even when (sometimes especially when) he was like this, she was always satisfied. Daryl needed her, like no other man ever had. She was the only one who could satisfy this drive in him, and it was in that she had the true power. It was no matter who had the upper hand at the moment.

He pushed her forward and then she was on her hands and knees. Daryl pulled her thighs apart roughly as he fell to his knees behind her. Then he grunted, thrusting into her primally, with no thought for restraint or rhythm. This wasn't sex. This wasn't even fucking. This was animal rutting and he had just mounted her.

Daryl was hitting her harder than he ever had, the head of his cock hitting the end her a little. It hurt, but only enough to cause another orgasm to surprise her, leaving Carol so weak that her arms collapsed under her, pressing her chest to the floor. Daryl growled behind her at the new angle and then roared, his knees digging into the concrete as he ground his hips against her ass. It was instinct for him to plant his seed as deeply as he could. He fell forward with the exertion and when his face contacted her neck he bit her so hard he tasted copper. She moaned even though she was spent beneath him, knowing she was marked as his. There would be no hiding this.

Carol came to herself with Daryl still laying half over her in the concrete floor. He was dead weight, telling her he was still in that away place that it sometimes took him a while to come back from. She slipped out from under him and then pushed on his hip to roll him onto his back. Daryl flopped over, body loose and spent. These were the only times she ever saw him truly relaxed. He stared ahead through half lidded eyes, looking at nothing. She looked at his body in the flickering of the lamp flame. Daryl's wrists were still bound in the rope, the bolts tied to the ends, traces of blood showing where the rope had bit through the skin. His knees were scraped and she knew his back was a criss cross of whelps over twisted scars. He was glorious and perfect, a war god.

Carol crawled over to his bag that he must have set in the corner before he snatched her and dug out a bottle of water and the ibuprofen she had started stashing there for times like these. She propped his head in her lap, putting the pills in his mouth before coaxing him to swallow them with some water. It took a minute to get him to understand what she was wanting, but then he got them down. Even with the meds, she may have to make up a story to explain to Herschel why he had strained his arms and cut up his wrists. Daryl nodded his thanks after guzzling half the bottle of water. It always took a while for his speech to return afterward but that was okay. She understood his silent language long before he ever really talked with her. They were the same, forged in pain. Made strong by what had hurt them. And freed by what had once had kept them captive.