Michonne placed her sword on the left bedside table while Rick placed his Colt on the left one. She stared at him from across the bed like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Are you sure?" he asked her.

After an intense make-out session downstairs, with wandering hands and exploratory mouths, Michonne broke them out of their love-induced haze with one word—

"Daryl."

Rick looked up at her with a furrowed brow, eyes in askance as his mouth was still firmly attached to her left nipple.

She shook her head. "No, I meant…he's coming home, at some point. We should…" She looked at him, uncertain, fingers still lazily massaging his scalp. Rick released her, lifting his head up, smiling. Then—

"Do you want to go upstairs?" he asked her softly—shyly.

"Yeah," she replied, just as soft. She pulled her top down as he grabbed his gun belt off of the coffee table. She paused, then said, "I'll be right back."

When she returned, Rick nodded in understanding when he saw her sword. In silence, they went up the stairs, Michonne leading the way. Rick couldn't help but stare as he followed behind her—she was so full—so deliciously round. Rick breathed out a silent exhalation of breath; he couldn't believe this was finally happening.

"Are you sure?" He cocked his head to the side, staring at her, trying to read her. She didn't respond, but her face was so open and full of emotion—happiness—like right after their first kiss. Slowly, but with certainty, she walked over to him. For a moment, all they did was just stare at each other, not touching, but so close; so incredibly close.

Rick exhaled in relief—she was here. This was real. Eyes still boring into his, she began to unbutton his denim shirt, taking it off of him shoulder by shoulder. She gave a light chuckle, touching the smooth skin of his chest.

"Did you shave?" she asked, her voice light with humor.

He flushed a bit, looking away, but kept holding her hand as it rested above his heart. "It's not as hot when…um."

She cut him off with a kiss to said chest, then cupped his face, kissing his lips with a reverence he hadn't ever experienced before. He kissed her back, hands at her waist, then lower to her zipper.

As each piece of clothing came off, they explored a different part of each other with feather kisses or delicate caresses. This had been a long time coming, but they both wanted to savor the moment. Even when they were bare before each other, they stood there for a moment, quietly taking the other in.

"You're beautiful," Rick murmured, pulling her to him. He wrapped his arms low on her waist, squeezing her. The back of her knees bumped against the bed, making her lose her balance, and she fell to the mattress, taking him with her.

They laughed, staring into each other's eyes. Then something shifted—

Michonne's legs fell open, cradling Rick. He caressed the apple of her cheek as he rubbed himself against her, each pass creating a new wave of moisture, glazing him. He positioned himself at her entrance, and with a restraint he was surprised he possessed after all this time, ever so slowly he nudged his way inside, his eyes staring into her lovely brown ones all the while.

"This…this is home," he murmured.

Michonne's hands gravitated to his neck, his face, his hair, a single tear rolling from the corner of her eye. She nodded with a roll of her hips, giving him that brilliant smile again.

"Yes," she whispered. "Home."

Note:

I wrote the tail end of this to Justin Timberlake's "Blue Ocean Floor." Check it out if you haven't.

I've analyzed that screencap of them in bed (the first time so much) that I've come to the conclusion Rick had her riding cowgirl before they finished and passed out. It's the only way to properly explain how she's laying on her arm so awkwardly while having her leg on his. But this story was more a sweet, honey love thing, and I am not so much with the writing of smut (but if someone's got an idea for a hot cowgirl ficlet, please…)

I've bled for this ship. Literally. When I saw the Sneak Peek for "East," I freaked out, and then my dog was jumping on me to be let out, so I ran to let her out the back, tripped, and sliced my hand on something. There may even be a scar. Messed up, right? The last time I was that excited (for fandom), I scraped my knuckles on my basement ceiling after leaping up in pure joy after watching The Rock when a championship. Good times.

Anyway, if you liked this, please check out some of my original work here [particularly my second novel, THE GOOD SOLDIER] on under Jill Robi. Shameless self-pimp? I think I've proven I have no shame...