If any woman needed to be fucked, it was her. It was a moral imperative. She'd been pissy in camp for days now. Questioning. Complaining. Whining. No, not really whining, whining wasn't her style. Just...bitching. She had an attitude from the start, defensive, cautious, distrusting, but lately, Christ, she was just snarly. Daryl rubbed his dirty hands over his equally-dirty face and peered down from the makeshift tree-stand. Holy shit, he thought, a bead of sweat dripping down the side of his temple. I'm tryin' ta' hunt n' thinkin' 'bout cooze at tha' same time. I'm really off my game.
Truth be told, Daryl had been off his game since she arrived. She wasn't anything special, he kept trying to tell himself, his mind wandering again. Short. Not particularly stunningly beautiful in any movie-star kind-of way, but cute enough. Nice skin, kinda pale like she'd not been out in the sun too awful much. Her eyes were the first thing you'd notice when you looked at her face. Big, sort of greenish-goldish. Hazel, he thought that's what they'd be called. She had nice tits and a nice round ass, probably had been on the chunky side before the epidemic, but now with the lack of food and the constant physical stress, she was thinner, leaner. Do-able. Her hair was a sort-of dark brown and kinda wavy, although Daryl hadn't gotten to see much of it down, she usually kept it up in a twisty low bun. Smart on her part, he'd assessed, walkers can grab hair easy. He'd like to grab that hair and give it a good yank.
Daryl had been watching her closely, more closely than he had even realized. Definitely more than he would have cared to admit to anyone. She had a foul mouth and an equally foul temper, blowing up at Shane at the mere suggestion that she didn't know how to handle a gun the other day. Calling him everything but a white woman. He had to cover his mouth with his hand to keep from laughing out loud as Shane just stood there, proverbial dick in his hand. It was funny and scary at the same time. The words that came out of that mouth didn't match the rest of the package. He looked at her and the first thing he'd thought was "kindergarten teacher." She kinda' looked like somebody that would be good with kids. Mild-tempered, meek. The kind of woman that wouldn't say shit if she had a mouthful. She was good with Carl and Sophia, treated them nice enough, but holy shit, did that woman go off like a bomb when provoked and lately, she provoked real easy. She was like a badger with a toothache...and a nice rack. His mind wandered back to her rack for a second.
Daryl smiled to himself when he imagined what Merle would have done if he'd been with them now. He would have been merciless. Typical Merle. Rude. Crude. Fuck, he woulda' had a field day trying to get her goat. Casting his vile net of racism and lewdness like a fisherman, just to see what kind of catch he hauled in. Boy would he have been surprised at this fish.
He imagined them, eyeball to belly-button. Merle was taller than he was and she was really short. Daryl surmised she would have held her own though, not backed down one bit. Merle would have, of course, upped the ante, talking about her tits, telling her just what all he'd like to do to her ass, just to see where her limit was. That was the thing about her, though, he didn't think this chick had a limit. She would have matched Merle, insult for insult. Suggestive, gross, downright filthy-dirty comment, throwing them back at him without batting an eye. Daryl knew she had it in her, just by the way she cussed, they way her face instantly flushed beet red when she got pissed off, by the way she looked at him once.
Daryl closed his eyes and remembered that look. He'd never seen a woman look so...hungry. Not even in the best of the worst of Merle's extensive porn collection. It had startled him a bit, her stare, the way she sucked in her lower lip and bit it, letting it out slowly, as her head lowered and she looked at him from under those eyes.
He had been hunting and had to hurry to skin and gut the deer he'd shot. He returned covered in muck and blood, not an especially good aroma, given walkers' apparently keen sense of smell. He'd jogged back to camp, sweating like a mother between the muggy Georgia afternoon and the desperation to finish with the deer and get back to safety. He'd started to change outside his tent, peeling his sticky shirt off as he walked through camp, grabbing a clean one from the basket Carol had deposited outside his tent.
He didn't normally think about taking his shirt off in front of anybody in camp. He wasn't self-conscious. The women just weren't interested in looking at him. They acted like he was just one step above a walker and avoided him like the plague. Guilt by association, thank you, Merle. Until now. Until she looked up at him.
Daryl had started towards the narrow path to the lake to clean himself up and rinse the metallic, sweet-sick scent off of him, out of his shirt. He had his crossbow and a clean shirt and pants in one hand and his dirty shirt and a bar of soap in the other. She had been sitting by the fire ring, folding a basket of clothes when she saw him. He noticed she froze, mid-fold, paused for a second then slowly lowered the pair of kids' shorts to her lap, her movements in slow motion, autopilot. Distracted to the point that she would probably eventually look down and wonder what the hell the shorts were doing on her lap.
Her eyes followed his every step, head swiveling slowly with his every move through camp, dry lips slightly parted as she looked him up and down, eyes drinking him in. Daryl would have given anything to crawl inside her head right then, to know what it was she was exactly thinking because one look at her eyes told him whatever it was, it was downright n-a-s-t-y.
He saw her inhale deeply, her breasts swell in her tank top as she stopped mid-breath and then exhale ever so slowly, almost painfully. Had he been closer, he probably would have heard the tiny whine she made in the back of her throat as she let out that breath. It was her eyes that gave her away, though. Narrowing for just a split second, one outside corner twitching, following him, roaming over him like she was trying to memorize every muscle, every inch of skin. Needful, wanton. A look of uninhibited, unconscionable desire. If he could bottle the look, he'd could only have called it lust.
Daryl shook his head and tried to focus, surveying the grassy field that stretched out before him. Nothing moving except the spindly tops of the long weeds swaying the afternoon breeze. His mind wandered again.
They had been talking about the need for supplies. Rick's assessment of the situation was that they were running low, especially on food and medicine. The men were making plans which didn't include women.
"What the hell, Rick?" she said, adjusting her dirty blue baseball cap. "We supposed to just stay back and knit? Sit around camp waiting for our men-folk to return?" She spit out the word "men-folk" with a good amount of disdain.
Daryl shot her a glance and scratched his head, smirking, one eyebrow raised.
"Bit me, Cracker." she looked at him, narrowing her eyes. She turned back to Rick. "I'm going with and so is Andrea."
"I don't think that's a good idea." Rick started to say. His voice was calm, sheriff-like. Apparently it crawled up her spine just like it did Dary'ls. "You and Andrea need to stay here, guard camp, help-" she cut him off mid-sentence.
"Help who? Help Dale? Dale doesn't need any help. He's fine on top of his camper there with his lil' rifle. Fuck this, Rick. We're going with you guys."
"No." Daryl said quietly.
"Watch us, asshole." she said, turning to him. "We're going and you ain't stoppin' us." she said, taking a step towards him.
Daryl looked at her and grinned. "What, you gonna kick me in the shins, H-O?"
"What the fuck did you just say to me?" she said, her voice rising.
"Ya' heard me. You ain't goin.' You two 'll slow us down n' be one more thing we gotta worry about. Ain't got time ta' hold yer' hand 'n keep ya' from cryin' when a heard a' walkers comes by or if ya' break a nail."
"As if you're ever gonna get to fucking hold anything of mine! Dream on, Hilljack" she glowered. "Just keep your hands on your dick where they belong" She had taken another step in Daryl's direction and paused, her hands on her hips, feet apart, knees locked.
"Watch it, there, H.O.," he grinned again, baiting her some more. "They'll kick you outta' the Lollipop Guild for language like that."
She took another step towards him. "You son of a BITCH!" she said. "We're going and you ain't stopping us. You'll be lucky if you get back and not have that fucking crossbow of yours up your ass sideways."
"Ooooh. Big talk from a lil' girlie." he teased. "You kiss yer' Mama with that mouth?" She was so close he could smell the soap on her skin. She drew back her fist quickly and pulled her arm back, throwing a punch that he caught with one hand, holding her fist mid-air. "Naa-aah-ahhh!" he said. "I'll put ya' in time out."
"You mother fucker!" she yelled, grabbing at Daryl's hand with her other hand. "Who the hell are you to say we can't go? You're not the God-damned boss. If we want to go, you're sure as shit not gonna stop us." Daryl grabbed her wrist. "Let me go, you asshole." she hissed.
"Don't think so." he said, pulling her one step closer to remind her of their size difference. "I don't want ya' ta' punch my kneecaps."
She let loose with a string of cusswords that would have made Merle fall in love, the whole time, Daryl held her fist and her wrist, hot in his hands. She was so angry she was shaking. Daryl thought it was a cliche' that people's nostrils flared when they were pissed off, but she was close enough he could see hers move with every breath she took between the cuss words.
"Let me go, cocksucker!" she yelled, trying to twist out of his grip. Daryl just clamped down tighter.
"Now, listen, both of you, just let's calm down." Rick said, walking towards the two, adjusting his hat. Her eyes burned into Daryl like embers. Daryl was looking at her with a bemused grin on his face If looks could kill he'd a' been dead with the first 'mother fucker.' "You and Andrea are staying here. It's too dangerous. We've not been there before and we don't know what we'll find. Besides, two more people will take up valuable space and we don't have the gas to take another vehicle. Maybe next time, but not now. Just wouldn't be a good idea."
She looked at Daryl, eyes flashing, darting between he and Rick. He watched her shoulders fall and some of the color drain from her beet-red cheeks. "Fuck you both. The pair of you." she said, defeated. Daryl loosened his grip and she pulled her hands back. "Assholes!" she hissed as she turned and walked away from the vehicles, disappearing into her tent.
Daryl caught himself grinning and chastised himself for thinking about anything other than catching dinner. He watched as a buck came cautiously through the tree line and into the clearing. He waited patiently, silently, not drawing a breath until it came into range and let loose with a bolt, hitting the animal in the heart, dropping it instantly.
XXXXX
She slapped the can of beer into his hand and glared at him. He cocked his head sideways, trying to figure out what he'd done now to piss her off. He ran through a mental checklist and came empty handed in the category of things he'd done or not done to get her Irish up. Fucking women, he thought, ain't no pleasing them. No wonder he never paid them much attention. More trouble than they're worth. Screw 'em. Well, yeah, there is THAT, he smiled.
He sat down next to the fire and watched her out of the corner of her eye. She sat there, one foot on her knee, balancing a plate on her lap. Sullen, eating a piece of venison with her fingers. She looked at him and looked away quickly, tossing the half-eaten meat back onto her plate, wiping her fingers on a rag. She sat the plate on the ground in front of her. As she leaned over, he could see all the way down her shirt to the bare skin between the cups of her bra. She sat up quickly when she realized that she'd bent over too far, looking around, their eyes meeting again. She pursed her lips and scowled. "Like the view, dillweed?" she said, her jaw clenched.
"Seen better, act'ully." Daryl said, a half grin on his face.
She stood up and brushed past him. "Fuck you, Redneck." she said in a low voice, throwing her dirty dishes in the tub with a rattle. She took off for her tent, not looking back.
Jesus, he thought, that girl's got a mouth on her. He then started to feel a little guilty about what he'd said. She did have a pretty nice rack and he did kinda' enjoy the view. A lot. A whole lot. Daryl didn't want to admit it to himself but he was dying to get his hands on those tits. For the first time in a long time, Daryl Dixon had allowed himself, albeit not consciously, to get good and horny. Dick-aching, rub-one-out-in-the-middle-of-the-day, toss-and-turn all night, ball-throbbing horny. Problem was, the only woman he wanted to do something about it didn't much act like she'd give him the courtesy to piss on him if he was on fire.