There was something about survival that did it to them. Plunged into the flame of combat, they formed an unspoken trinity—the sword, the crossbow and the holy rifle. Warrior, hunter, and the tactician. Without words they defended each other, so ritualistic and synchronized it nearly qualified as its own religion. Tessellating in perfect formation, apart and together, they staked a claim for their home: "Don't fuck with us;" bullets and slit throats in the dead of night.
He felt closest to them then. But even at its worst points, war was transient—the fighting had to end some time, the status quo returned. So when it did—Michonne and Rick discovered by Jesus, stumbling half-naked only to discover the whole group was in their home—Daryl was forced to admit it. While glad for both of them, he was jealous.
"You alright?" quizzed Rick. They were in the car back to Alexandria—he caught himself. Home.
"Mhm," grunted Daryl, not trusting himself to speak. Granted, there wasn't much to be said. Rick was his brother, having protected, befriended, and proved his loyalty better than his biological one ever could. No matter how much he wanted to, Daryl couldn't begrudge him happiness. "Jus' tired."
Rick nodded, placated. And why wouldn't they be tired? They'd just returned from a fierce battle with The Saviors, Maggie and Carol in the second car with Glenn and the others. It'd been bloody, fierce, but they'd won.
"Why don't you sleep then? We're not far from home. I'll be alright," drawled Rick; Daryl could hear the yawn he was struggling to keep down.
He peeked behind him to get a glimpse of Michonne, who'd sprawled out on the back seat, asleep. Even in rest she was beautiful, with long curves that flared at her waist and hewn arms in the darkest shade of brown. "Nah, Michonne's out. It's not safe with jus' one person up."
Rick gave him an appreciative nod and the two fell into silence for the remainder of the ride. Daryl fought to keep his eyes open, not only because Rick needed someone to stay up with him, but because he was afraid of what his dreams might bring. Lately they'd been wild, mirages of Michonne—her plush lips against his, black skin glistening as her slick walls trembled against his fingers—memories of their old encounters.
And the not so old days, he thought, questioning his feelings for the man beside him. Ever since the group found them on the stairs, Daryl's imagination had sparked up fantasies of Michonne; that much was normal. What struck him as odd (and in many ways, disconcerting) was the dreams he'd had about Rick. They were flashes—the post-sex sheen on his shirtless chest, the wisp of hair that trailed below his navel to the treasure below, blue eyes crazed with pleasure.
Daryl took a stilling breath, fighting to keep his stirring erection from growing any more than it had. He shifted his legs and subtly adjusted himself, silently swearing when Rick looked over. And though he'd never be able to prove it, Daryl could've sworn he saw the ghost of a smile on Rick's face.
-X-
They soon arrived at Alexandria, and the gang unloaded. Daryl woke Michonne while Rick went to hug Carl and Judith. Tears and hugs were exchanged, with Tara embracing Denise, Tobin catching Carol in a tight hug, and everyone flocking around in the sheer reliefof a safe return.
Daryl smirked at the sight, nodding his hellos to Carl and holding Little Asskicker. Home.
Little by little they dispersed, everyone retreating to their separate houses. Daryl stood awkwardly, unsure of where exactly to go. Carl had taken Judith with him to hang out with Enid, and all the separate couplings had left. Even Aaron—who usually had time to talk to him—left with Eric.
Just when he'd resigned to go patrolling at the guard towers, Michonne appeared beside him. "You hungry?"
Daryl drank her in, savoring the sight. Damn she's fine, he thought, watching the heave of her breasts with each breath she took. Even streaked in dirt and blood, she was the hottest thing he'd ever seen, the hottest woman he'd ever been with.
"I could eat, "he answered, tearing his gaze away. She nodded toward the house and started off, hips switching. Temporarily hypnotized sway of her ass, Daryl shook himself out of his stupor and caught up. She's Rick's, he thought, chiding himself for the sharp yearning that kicked up as he remembered how that ass used to feel against him.
They entered the house and found Rick, who was pouring himself a glass of lemonade from a pitcher; upon seeing Daryl and Michonne walk in, he grabbed two more cups. "You stayin' to eat, Daryl?"
"Only if you want me to," said Daryl, suddenly sheepish. He'd been in their house countless times without a second thought—taking Carl hunting, watching Judith, or even just to lounge and read books from Michonne's growing collection. But now everything seemed charged, magnetically drawing him toward the staircase.
Rick only arched a brow, an are-you-kidding sort of look; Daryl didn't like the subsequent flutter in his stomach.
"Michonne, you hear that?" asked Rick. The two shared a playful look as she scooted by him to get some food from the fridge. "If I want him to."
"Like he doesn't practically live here already," she said, eyeing Daryl with the same thoughtfulness she always did.
Michonne had the uncanny ability to read him like a damn book, bypassing the defenses he put up and exposing the raw truth of what was hidden away. This was no exception. She studied him, watching the way he squirmed under her gaze—he swallowed hard, chewing his lip the way he used to when they were together. It dawned on her, and she knew immediately what was wrong with him.
She said nothing on the subject, only started making plates of leftover mac and cheese.
"Guess that's a yes then," said Daryl, sipping from his glass.
"Sit your ass down and eat," snorted Rick, sitting at the counter. There was something vaguely possessive in the way he said it, as if Daryl actually belonged to him. To his great surprise, it didn't bother him, so he obeyed and had a seat.
Michonne brought the food over, taking the opportunity to cruelly test her theory. She leaned over when she handed Rick his plate, arching her back just a tad more than necessary. It was subtle, but Daryl leaned back just the slightest bit, reflexively scratching at his stubble.
Michonne suppressed a grin. Gotcha.
It wasn't that she didn't know Daryl found her attractive. They'd screwed around for months before she'd gotten with Rick, and she knew which of his buttons to press. Even so, she assumed he would've found someone else by now. Carol seemed the obvious choice. They lived together, and she used to buzz around him like a bee around honey. But Tobin came along, and Daryl seemed otherwise unmotivated. With everyone else taken, she suspected he was left with only his hand for relief. Poor guy's pent up.
Daryl tensed, praying that Michonne hadn't caught onto his current predicament. She gave him his food and patted his shoulder; he resisted the urge to lean into her hand. Rick looked over at him, and Daryl offered a quick grunt, trying to stem the heat in his cheeks—Rick had that look on his face again.
They ate in comfortable silence, too hungry and too tired to say very much. Rick watched Daryl between bites, trying his damndest not to laugh. Given the day they'd all had, it wasn't too difficult, but his amusement was undissipated. On his patrol last week, he and Glenn were joking about Daryl's conspicuous dry spell. Glenn wondered if he and Carol were finally screwing. But if today was any indication, he wasn't. The poor guy had spent the ride home adjusting and trying not to glance in the rearview mirror at a sleeping Michonne, whose tank top had fallen ever so slightly. Must be really bad...
Truth be told, Rick wasn't mad. In fact, it was almost...cute, the way Daryl tried so hard to act unaffected. He'd seen the way he looked at him, timid but hungry. Different from the envy he'd seen so long ago with Shane, it was gentler, almost perplexed by itself. Michonne had told Rick about their fling, how it'd started as stress relief and progressed to a friends-with-benefits situation. And while he had absolutely no doubts about the bond between himself and Michonne, Rick wondered if the three of them weren't fused into something greater when together.
He also wondered why he enjoyed the not-so-subtle once over Daryl gave him in the car, or the thought of him lusting after both him and Michonne. I need to get some goddamn sleep, he thought, swiping a hand across his face as he finished the last of his food.
"I'm gonna get some rest. Y'all need anything?" announced Rick, taking Daryl's empty plate. He was temporarily startled by the split-second of unbridled thirst on Daryl's face, but not unnerved. Rick's throat went dry, and he suddenly had the overwhelming desire for some alone time with his girlfriend.
"You need to shower before you lay anywhere upstairs. Or did you not notice that we're three days' deep in dirt?" mused Michonne, a coy smirk on her face. She'd been watching the exchange between Rick and Daryl, the early stages of the same dance she and Rick had done. Both of them had their eyes riveted to her, both of them wanted her (and could have her, if they asked nicely). But she was more intrigued by the dominant tone Rick assumed with Daryl.
Michonne could see it everywhere—in the way they all fought together, the way they moved around each other. Rick called the shots until she silently declared herself co-ruler, effectively ending his dictatorship; Daryl followed, soaking up their energy and emitting one all his own. It was effortless, an organic, harmonious partnership that honored the existing relationships while forming something new.
That'd be interesting, Michonne mused silently, briefly entertaining the idea of both of them to herself. She wasn't greedy, but there was a marked appeal in both her favorite men baring themselves for her, with her. But considering the sheer improbability, she shook the thought away.
"You're always worryin' about dirt," smirked Daryl, mischief in his eye.
"If you had white sofas and a kid who left M&Ms in the seat cushions, you would too," she laughed, happy to see that his stormy disposition had lifted a little. "But Rick, seriously—"
"I know, I know," he assured, already retreating to the back hall where the bathroom was. Michonne bit her lip and watched the muscles of his back ripple under his t-shirt—she'd never tire of that view. "I'll be in the shower."
She smiled. The unspoken invitation was clear: You're welcome to join.
Though every fiber of her wanted to take him up on it, she didn't want to single Daryl out so she stayed. The water ran, and Rick stripped his shirt off before cracking the door, giving both Michonne and Daryl a generous view of his shirtless body.
Tease. Still, there was no denying it's effectiveness. With a simple shedding of the shirt, he'd sparked a telltale spark between her legs. Desperate for a way to stem her lust, she contented to lie her head on Daryl's hewn shoulder, smiling when he offered more of it to her.
But it was Daryl who had the worst of it, now on fire for both the temptress who'd pressed herself against him, and for the man who'd virtually stripped for was in the devil's den, conscious that he was one shed article of clothing away from devouring them, whatever the cost. Don't move, it'll be over soon, he thought. They'd let him go, and he'd be free of the suffocating desire for a few hours, or at least until they called him back for another round of temptation.
Any and all hopes of freedom were dashed when Michonne whispered in his ear.
"You're next," she said. Daryl knew full well she wasn't talking about the shower.
Michonne knew what she was doing, knew that it was an incredibly bold move she was making. If this doesn't work out...she thought, calculating the devastating effect it'd have on all three of them. She and Rick at odds, Daryl ostracized—a regular fucking disaster. But if she succeeded, they'd only be closer—three halves of the same whole.
"Now if you'll excuse me," she said, slowly getting up from her seat. Her butt grazed his arm and she heard a barely-audible "damn" leave his pursed lips. Perfect, thought Michonne, all too giddy for the prospects if she pulled this off. "I have business to attend to."
Before he could react, she sauntered off toward the bathroom and entered, cracking it behind her. Daryl only stared, purely dumbfounded.
What the fuck? He knew he'd heard Michonne properly, but the intention behind the words gave him pause. Essentially she admitted that she'd left him to go fuck Rick, and that was usually a cue for a guest to leave. Right? But the expression on her pretty face was carnal, almost pleading—the same look she used to give him before they went at it in the prison or up against some old tree.
That very uncertainty—rather, curiosity—bade him stay, glued him to the seat. His mind burned with what he'd find if he walked in on them. Michonne's midnight tits pressed against the shower wall as Rick took her with full force; Rick drunk with pleasure as she blew him with the expertise Daryl knew she possessed.
Left unchecked, his body betrayed him, dick hardening faster than his mind could halt it. It throbbed angrily within its denim confines, aching for some sort of release. Daryl resolved to tend it elsewhere.
He started for the front door, proud of himself for having the smarts to leave, when he heard it—the final nail in the coffin. High-pitched and guttural all at once, he knew it right away. Michonne's moan.
Daryl turned heel and headed for the bathroom door, lying to himself all the while. Just one look, he thought. Just one taste of them, one glimpse of their heightened closeness and he'd be whole. Standing at the threshold, the realization struck him like a ton of bricks. It wasn't that he couldn't find someone to love, or that he was incapable of it like he so often believed.
Simply put, he was in love with the two of them—his warrior queen and his bold leader. Their presence filled the hollow pit in his stomach, made him feel like he was part of something greater. They protected each other—laughed, ate, and at times, even slept in the same space together. It felt exclusionary, almost unnatural for him not to share himself with them in this way, especially given his history with Michonne.
And it was that very yearning that spurred to him to quietly push the door open, to take the first step into the unknown.
-X-
Michonne had barely brushed her teeth and gotten in the shower before Rick was all over her, kissing her with fervor that bordered on frenzy, toying with her clit and sucking on her nipples like a starved man. There was no two ways around it—the man was skilled to have her moaning harder than she thought humanly possible. She'd pushed him away with a giggle and advanced on him, determined to repay his teasing in kind—and return she did. Stroking her water-slick fingers along his cock, she only smirked when she heard the door squeak, knowing Daryl had caught her drift. She looked up at Rick, whose eyes were shut tight as he bucked into her hand. Fortunately, he hadn't noticed.
Or so she thought. Rick wasn't stupid. He knew damn well that Daryl had pushed the bathroom door open, given away by his heavy footsteps; he also knew that Michonne had probably teased him to death before she got in the shower. And though her hand felt downright amazing, he suspected that their heightened thirst was due to the third party's presence in the room.
He pulled away and leaned down to kiss her, tongue tangling with hers as he pulled her flush against him. Curiosity kills, he thought, wondering exactly what would happen if he finally called Daryl on his shit.
"Let's make this interesting," he said, winking at Michonne. The surprise on her face was priceless; incredulous first, then amused as she understood that he was on the same page.
"You knew?" said Michonne, slapping his shoulder. Makes my life easier, she thought. It was no longer her job to play intermediary.
"You thought I didn't?" challenged Rick, with his signature side eye; she rolled her eyes. Of course he knew.
Then, before she could object, he slid the frosted shower door open and found a pantsless Daryl in the doorway.
Daryl's heart stopped. He stared at them, horrified, dick in hand—there was absolutely no way to explain this. His pants were around his ankles, and they'd caught him mid-stroke. It occurred to him to yank his clothes back on, to get the fuck out of there before any more damage could be done, but he was too stunned to do much besides stare.
Despite the sheer terror and shame that burned in his chest, he was floored by the sight of them. Washed clean of the grime, they were perfection of the highest kind. Michonne glistened like a damn jewel, water droplets dripping from her sodden dreads to her breasts, toned torso, down to her round ass and thick thighs. Rick looked like something out of a movie, with a modest six-pack, wet curls plastered to his neck, and cock hard at attention.
"What the fuck, Daryl?" shouted Rick, absolutely irate. Daryl flinched, unprepared for the wrath about to be rained on him. "You some kind of pervert, sneakin' in people's bedrooms to get a peek of their goodies?"
"Rick, I didn't—" stumbled Daryl, feeling wildly inadequate. Even worse, his cock hadn't deflated at all, only twitching harder in his hand.
Of course, Daryl wasn't really paying attention to anything but his own predicament at that moment. If he had, perhaps he would've noticed that Michonne had a sly grin on her face. Or that she'd begun to play with herself, too delighted by the turn of events. He's good, she thought, shivering when Rick raised his voice in mock outrage.
"This is what you wanted, ain't it? To see me and Michonne screwin'? See my dick pounding her?" Those words made her twitch, the wetness between her legs growing.
Daryl snapped his gaze to Rick, who was having far too much fun torturing the hunter. Rick glanced over at Michonne, who'd taken to entertaining herself and felt a swell of pride in his chest.
All the while, Daryl attempted to make amends. "I wasn't even—"
"Don't lie, Daryl," said Michonne, assuming an authority of her own. She got out of the tub and walked towards him with the utmost confidence, demanding that he look her in the eye. Stopping just inches away from him, she flashed a mischievous smile. "You wanted us—you've got us."
Daryl stared at her, too turned around to know whether she was serious. Sensing his hesitance, she gave him a slight nod, and he breathed a sigh of relief. They don't hate me. Honestly, he knew it was ludicrous to think that they ever could, but it hadn't prevented the fear. Michonne leaned in and he happily met her halfway, desperate to feel her against him again. He grabbed her ass tight and reveled, kissing her like a man who hadn't had water in weeks. She tasted of mint toothpaste and smelled of lavender, lithe arms wrapped around his neck.
He didn't know how long they stayed like that, only that it took Rick clearing his throat to bring him back. The trepidation instantly returned as he broke from Michonne, Rick's appraising eyes on him. Daryl started toward him, unsure of what to say. Luckily, Rick already had a plan in mind.
"Here's how this is gonna go," he said, lifting Daryl's chin with his finger. Rick was breathing harder than he wanted to admit, enjoying Daryl's newfound submission. "You're gonna get in that shower and wash all this shit off of you. Then, if you're a good boy, I might let you play with us. Got it?"
Daryl nodded dumbly, jumping when Rick stroked his cock playfully and nodded to the glass-doored bathtub. While he had no trouble with the lower half of his clothes, Daryl's hands were shaking too badly to undo the buttons of his vest. Rick watched him struggle for a minute, Daryl's frustration mounting with each passing second.
"Come here," said Rick, pulling Daryl to him. He saw the hesitance in the hunter's eyes and countered it with a reassuring look of his own. Rick's steady hand made quick work of the buttons, revealing the slashed, tattooed skin underneath.
Daryl was tense, still prepared to turn heel and run if need be. It all seemed too good, like a fever dream he had yet to wake up from. Rick's fingers brushed his skin and he shivered, unsure he wanted either of them to see his marred chest. Michonne already had, even leaving one or two of her own scratchmarks as a reminder they'd been together. Rick was another story. He was supposed to be strong with him, unbreakable.
At least that's what he thought. Yet as Rick undid the last button and pushed the vest off his shoulders, Daryl saw a new tenderness in his eyes, a side he'd only witnessed between him and Michonne.
"There you go," husked Rick, planting a lingering kiss on Daryl's lips. To his grand surprise, the stubble felt good, a reminder that the hunter was now his. Still reeling from the feeling of Rick's mouth, Daryl followed orders and finally got in the shower. There was no need to overthink it, to wonder what it all meant. He knew it fully now—they loved him back.
Michonne watched the scene with joy so strong she thought her heart might burst. They were hers, the two men who made her whole—the two who would defend and die for her if need be. Rick turned back to her, that telltale determination on his face that told her she was in for something good.
"Thought I forgot about you?" he asked, pulling her to him.
She smiled wide and shook her head, telling him what she knew to be true. "Never."
Michonne gasped as Rick brushed his hand against her slit and came away slick. He grinned, the same smug one he always did when he knew he had her. Too flustered to call him on it, she merely squirmed against his fingers and hopped onto the cabinet counter, bracing her back against the wall. Body ablaze, she stroked herself, aware of both Rick and Daryl's eyes on her.
Holy shit, he thought, brain momentarily going blank. Regardless of how many times they'd done this, he never got used to seeing her spread for him. Wasting no time, he crossed the distance between them and eased himself into her, growling as her warmth threatened to undo him right then.
"Yes," whined Michonne, suddenly stuffed. She locked Rick in place with her legs and bucked against him, heart pounding a thousand miles per minute. He pulled out slowly, blue eyes watching intently for her reaction. And react she did, thrashing beneath him and grabbing his arms for fear she'd lose herself. Desperate for more of him, she wound her hips to meet his thrusts, both of them finding a rhythm.
Michonne hissed as Rick tweaked one of her nipples, taking her breast in hand. She looked in his eyes and was almost overwhelmed by what she saw in them. There was pleasure, even lust as he bottomed out inside of her. But what got her was the sheer love that radiated from him, the "I need you" that so often went unsaid between them.
I need you too, she admitted silently, hoping that her touch conveyed it better than her words could. And as he leaned in for a passionate kiss, she knew he understood.
Daryl watched the scene impatiently, showering as fast as humanly possible. Though he wasn't in a hurry to break them up, he yearned for that same closeness. Standing under the water, he shampooed his hair, frowning when the dirt ran off him in rivers—it'd definitely been a rough few days. He ran a washcloth along his arms first, scrubbing his skin clean and working his way down until he reached his cock, which was stubbornly demanding attention.
As if reading his mind, Rick paused mid-thrust and looked over at him, an impish glint in his eye. "You plannin' on joining us or what?"
Daryl's throat went dry and he set to rinsing off his sud-covered body. He shut the water off and damn near tripped onto Michonne in his excitement; she stifled a snicker and settled for a quick kiss to calm him down. Rick only shook his head, doing his best not to smile. Much to her disappointment, he abruptly pulled out of Michonne. Fortunately he made up for it, nodding over to her and giving Daryl one rule.
"Her first." Daryl nodded, happy to oblige. Drunk with desire, he approached her and dropped to his knees. Michonne held her breath in anticipation, lacing her hands in his sodden hair. He teased her with a single, languid lick before latching his mouth on to her mound, slurping at her greedily.
Michonne cried out, the building flame in her core flaring to a full-on inferno. She'd forgotten how fucking talented Daryl was with his tongue, helpless as he entered her with one finger, then another. He had her beyond words, clawing at him in hopes he'd continue this way forever. She felt him smile against her and huffed, half-annoyed. Asshole.
"You taste good," he said, pulling away for a moment. He'd missed this—her dark skin and shining eyes, her moans.
"Damn right she does," chimed Rick, stealing a taste of her from Daryl's lips. Michonne whimpered, nearly crazed by the sight. Sensing her impatience, Daryl resumed and Rick lavished his attention on her upper half, taking a rock-hard nipple into his mouth. Michonne surrendered herself to them, losing all control as they drove her closer to the edge. Her limbs felt weak, body tingling as she tried to keep a grip on her sanity—they weren't making it easy on her.
Rick hadn't let up, taking her other nipple in his fingers; Daryl sped up, fingers plunged her mercilessly, striking her spot with every thrust. Seeing she was close, Rick brought his mouth to her ear and whispered.
"Come for us, Mich," he cooed, sending a nasty shiver down her spine. "We wanna see you lose it."
It was too much. With a few more thrusts from Daryl and Rick's tongue on her skin, Michonne was gone, trembling beneath them as white-hot pleasure brought her to tears. She tried to say something—anything—but could only manage strangled cries and broken "fucks" as her climax curled her toes and razed her body of all rational thought. By slow degrees she came down, recovering some control over her limbs. Spent, she slumped against Rick, who was standing by to steady her.
Daryl wiped the sheen from his face and went to stand, only to be stopped by Rick who stood before him, dick-in-hand. It wasn't an aggressive stance; rather it was pleading, an only-if-you want to. Willing but daunted by the task, Daryl hesitated for a moment before reaching a hand out to grab hold of Rick's cock. At least as long as his and fairly thick, he was at an absolute loss for how to go about this.
Rick gave a slight hum, a sign to continue. Though eager to feel Daryl's mouth, he was patient, not wanting to rush things. Daryl jerked him slowly, grip tight and strokes clumsy; Rick flinched a little, but said nothing, grateful Daryl had even thought to do this for him. Thankfully, Michonne had regained herself an came to Daryl's aid.
Sitting back on her feet, she replaced Daryl's hand with her own and took Rick into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks and bobbing her head to take all of him in one pass. Rick threw his head back and seized her dreads in his fingers, swearing under his breath. Too easy, thought Michonne. Of all the men she'd dated, he was the easiest to orally unravel.
Pulling back, she licked her glistening lips and smirked at Daryl. "Like that."
Daryl glared at her and Michonne chuckled, its message all too clear. "How the fuck am I supposed to do that?"
She pulled Rick forward, his cock now mere inches from Daryl's face. "Think of ice cream."
Intent on following Michonne's advice, Daryl took Rick in hand and licked the tip of his cock, heartened when his efforts elicited a moan. He lapped at it again, this time trailing his tongue along the length.
"Shit, Daryl," teased Rick, bucking slightly. "Never knew you were a natural."
"Shut up 'fore you don't get any," said Daryl, a sly smirk on his face—Rick was instantly quiet.
Emboldened, he sucked on Rick, flicking his tongue out and bobbing his head the way he'd seen Michonne perform. It was oddly arousing, the hard member twitching obscenely in his mouth and Rick telling him how good it felt. Granted, he'd always had a certain fondness for all things oral, often pleasuring Michonne with only his mouth and hands. But as he tried different combinations—stroking and lapping at the head, trying (and failing) to take Rick's length in one go, jerking when his mouth grew tired—Daryl suspected that he'd just found his new fixation.
Michonne had taken to cheering Daryl on, petting his half-dry hair and talking dirty for the benefit of all involved. She could see Rick growing closer—his movements more desperate, brow knitted in concentration. My turn, she thought, easing Daryl aside.
"Can't let you have all the fun," she joked, jerking Rick's spit-slick cock with one hand and rubbing Daryl's half-mast with the other. Determined to undo him, Michonne worked Rick over the way she knew he loved. Tireless, she swirled her tongue from base to tip and sucked with expert precision.
Rick was in absolute heaven, relishing the view of both his hunter and warrior below. They were good in different ways—Michonne confident in herself, having done this for him several times; Daryl was somewhat insecure, but eager to please. Lucky. That was the only way to describe what he had with them.
But he had little time to ponder that, his body coiling in on itself with every touch from Michonne.
"I—I'm close," whined Rick, voice cracking. She answered him with doubled efforts, interspersed with some from Daryl. When her mouth wasn't lavishing him, his hands were hard at work, both wringing him with their own rhythms. His orgasm snuck up on him, the wave breaking before he could properly announce it.
"Fuck—" he managed, the first of his load landing somewhere between Daryl and Michonne. In no mood for a mess, she clamped her mouth over his cockhead, swallowing it with practiced grace. Her hands gripped the back of Rick's legs, holding him steady as he finished. It was gratifying for her to see him like this, vulnerable for no one else but them.
"Damn you're loud," said Daryl, swiping a dribble of Rick's cum from the corner of Michonne's mouth and licking it off his thumb. It was unexpected—salty, but not unpleasant. He got to his feet and offered a hand out to her.
"You're not any better," replied Michonne, kissing his cheek.
"Oh yeah?" challenged Daryl, knowing full well she was telling the truth. "Prove it."
She turned to face the sink, wiggling her ass in front of him. Don't have to tell me twice, he thought, positioning himself behind her. He'd been patient, gotten them both off first, but it was his turn now—he needed to feel her. He slid in, grunting nastily as he took her hips in hand. There were no words to describe her besides heavenly.
Michonne was in her glee, nerves already sensitive from the fit she'd weathered from his tongue just minutes ago; he had her in pleasure-pain, at once overheated and wanting more. Glutton for punishment and eager to see him come, she egged him on. Determination in her eyes, she looked at him in the mirror.
"Harder," she gasped. Daryl obliged, marveling at how good they looked. His shoulders coiled as he pistoned out of her, her near-black tits bouncing in time, and face contorted in sweet torture. He abandoned all semblance of gentleness and drilled her, slapping her ass and relishing the way it jiggled beneath him.
Just when he thought it couldn't get any better, Rick appeared behind him, peppering his neck with lazy kisses. Crazed with lust, Daryl took Rick with abandon, passionately probing his mouth in an attempt to quiet his own moans. Rick matched his efforts, finding that he liked a frenzied Daryl, whose whimpers were far off from the gruff voice he usually spoke with.
"You like that ass?" asked Rick, taking Daryl's chin in hand.
"Yes," hissed Daryl, watching as Michonne threw it back against him.
"I can't hear you," she said, staring him down in the mirror. He was trying so hard to keep it together, brow furrowed and arms quivering. Michonne smiled, relishing the slightly-panicked look in his eyes.
"Yes!" cried Daryl, dropping his quiet nature. His cock twitched inside of her, and he knew it wouldn't be long before he burst—apparently Rick knew that too.
"Then show her."
Daryl picked up his pace, thrusting a few more times and grabbing her ass in a vice before he shouted—a loud, violent cry that echoed through the hall. "I— I'm gonna fucking come!"
And come he did, burying himself deep within Michonne and trembling as he unloaded inside of her. Mind razed of anything but the sensation, wind knocked from his lungs, he could scarcely breathe as his climax drowned him in bliss. As he finally came down, he looked in the mirror to see both of them smiling at him—bashful, but overjoyed. He smirked back, unable to stop the surge of happiness that rushed him.
Dislodging from Michonne, he spun her around and planted a kiss on her head.
"Thank you," he said, looking from her to Rick and back. Michonne only winked, finding a comfy spot between them.
"For what?" asked Rick, planting a gentle kiss on his lips. "You're with us, aren't you?"
Daryl thought about it for a minute, then realized there was no reason to think at all. "Yeah."
"I don't know about you two, but I still need a damn nap," piped Michonne, starting out of the bathroom. Rick nodded his agreement and trailed after her, playfully smacking her butt. Daryl hung back for a moment, unclear on where he was supposed to go.
"I'll be in the guest room," he said, somewhat deflated.
"The hell you will," said Rick, padding through the living room to the stairs. Michonne was already halfway up, turning back to check whether Daryl was behind them. "Come on."
"Will we all fit?" asked Daryl, still apprehensive.
"It's a big bed," said Michonne, the final voice on the matter. And so they all trudged up to the master bedroom to settle beneath the sheets, exhausted and satisfied. Rick took the right, Daryl the left and Michonne the middle; she swung her leg over Daryl's, a makeshift big spoon despite the height difference. Rick was content to cradle her, looping his arm around her waist. All three were fast asleep within minutes of hitting their pillows, fully spent with sleepy smiles on their faces.
So, when Carl returned home with Judith and happened upon the bedroom to find them snoring, he only had one thing to say.
"Finally."
A/N: After I saw all three of them in "Not Tomorrow Yet", my mind flew right to fluffy smut. Lemme know what you guys thought!
~L.L.