I do not own or claim to own The Walking Dead or any of its concepts or characters
Certain events are altered, but overall I tried to preserve each character's personality. (Just go with it people! :P)
Merle begrudgingly made his way back to Woodbury after getting his ass handed to him by Michonne. Not only was he going to have to explain the loss of his men to the dogmatic Governor; he'd have to explain why he hadnt come back with her head.
"Shit. That bitch can really go," The pretentious Merle muttered, rubbing at his aching groin. "And I thought I could get roll in the mud dirty," He shook his head as he walked the path back to Woodbury. He was still pissed. Michonne was an annoyance to him more than anything. However, he did as the Governor asked. Though he couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of her going toe-to-toe with him. He couldn't recall having a decent brawl like that in a while. Merle did his share of fighting and drinking, but he was also a survivor. Taking orders from a little pretty boy would suffice if it meant surviving and living to see his baby brother again.
The trip home was unusually calm, not many walkers. They were either gunned down or migrated elsewhere, which suited old Merle just fine. The sun slowly began to set, the air was crisp but not relaxing. Small beauties such as that couldn't be forgotten. After the grueling walk Merle finally made it into town, minutes before curfew. The Governor dutifully stood under a nearby streetlight a few feet away from the front wall; waiting for him.
"Well?" The Governor inquired impatiently, his arms folded.
Merle sighed, running his hand over her face. "She killed the men I had with me and put a hurtin' on me."
His eyes widened in dismay, a smirk appearing on his face after. "Is she that tough?- -" He inquired.
Merle chuckled. "Well- -"
"That you, Merle Dixon, my right hand cannot take out a lone woman?" The Governor asked, irritated.
A coy smile appeared on Merle's face. "Well, the bitch is made of spikes and barbed wire."
"Enough of your good ol' boy routine!," The Governor hissed. "Bring me that woman tomorrow or i'll have Martinez on the job."
"The beaner?" Merle asked in amusement.
The Governor sighed.
A raspy laugh escaped Merle. "I'll get fresh on her trail tomorrow morning." He replied, walking to his apartment. "Huh, I guess the good ol' Governor ain't too fond of my sense of humor." He said with a laugh as he made his way into his apartment. He shut the door and immediately fell onto his plush mattress. His apartment was of meager means, barely the bare necessities but that did Merle just fine. He was a survivor. A bed, bath and kitchen sufficed. He reached under his mattress, snagging a Playboy magazine. A big grin appeared on his face as he flipped open the flimsy pages of the playboy. "Have mercy," He mused, licking his lips. "The only thing I hate about havin' one hand is that I can't rub one off while I'm holding the magazine-"
Suddenly he jumped up at the sound of shattering glass. "What the hell- -?" He looked in the kitchen and saw Michonne staring dead at him, her sword drawn. He laughed. "Oh, it's you. You must not be too bright! Breaking into this fine town where the Governor wants your head on a pike."
"You must not be too bright," Michonne retorted coldly. "Being the right hand to a man who doesn't respect you."
"Just what the hell do you know," Merle retorted, walking towards her and staring down her sword. "Sweetheart?
"Darryl misses his big brother and Rick could use another hand. We all could. Think about it. Similar interests."
"Put that toy away and we can talk then." Merle said with a wink. After their previous encounter Michonne didn't trust him.
"Not a chance." She scowled.
He chuckled, quickly swatting her sword away with his right arm. He lunged for her, unsuccessfully as she kicked him back; knocking him on his ass. He huffed. "My Nubian queen, I"m a lot of things but I can't hit a woman directly. You come here to talk and you draw your sword on me," He said, putting his hand on his hip. "I'm tryin' to be somewhat of a gentleman."
"Bullshit." She hissed. "I'm only here on behalf of the group. we need more muscle."
"Oh? Do you like what you see?" He inquired playfully, flashing his trademark grin. Merle was an arrogant son of a bitch. But despite his prejudices he was still a red-blooded male with physical needs and desires.
"Don't get your hopes up." She scanned the bare room, cringing as she saw his PlayBoy magazine.
"What? You women are so stingy even though this world has gone to shit," He huffed. "Who doesn't want a farewell fuck?"
"Disgusting." Michonne said, repulsed.
"Well maybe you wouldn't be so uptight if you'd get some." Merle teased, licking his lips
"That should be the last thing on anyone's mind." She muttered as she rolled her eyes.
"Why's that?," He inquired, walking towards her. She backed up against the counter, her sword was on the other side of the room. Hand-to-hand combat was a must. "Survive and live for today, right?," He asked, gently pushing her back against the counter. Each of his arms were on the side of her. He was so close to her but she didn't flinch. "Shit. You're as cold as ice," He mused, gazing into her vacuous brown eyes. He firmly grasped her arms, feeling his urges build. "But you can bet your sweet chocolate ass that I can warm you up." He said softly into her ear.
She flinched at his boldness. Surely he wasn't afraid that she would gnaw off his nose or side of his face. She wasn't a walker, but she was feral and combative. He sensed it; hell, he relished in that. "You're the racist, degenerate redneck, am I right?" She asked,
"Oh, I have quite a reputation, huh?" He snorted in a sense of false pride.
"Yeah," She mused. "The inbreed redneck that tried to kill everyone up in Atlanta."
He paused, taken aback by her words. "Did Officer Friendly tell you that?" He probed, looking her up and down. He faintly remembered his PlayBoy; how he hadn't had a woman in so long. But come on, she was a black woman. Fucking a tree stump would be more practical.
"People talk," She replied coldly. "Doesn't matter who."
He snorted. "Well aren't you a sweetheart, protecting the little chicks from big, bad Merle."
"That's not so, those little chicks need your expertise." She went on, looking him square in the eyes. As imposing and intimidating that Merle could be she hadn't budged.
"Enough of those little chicks," He said softly, his southern drawl becoming more pronounced. "Why don't you tell me something good, sweetheart?" He cajoled.
"Okay," She whispered, leaning into his ear. At that moment he could feel it, his slow and hot desire building. "Should I kill you now or later?" She asked sweetly.
"That talk kinda turns me on..." He mused. Merle was hot and bothered and didn't mind the knock down drag out fight.
She immediately headbutted him, his staggered back. He saw red but didn't do anything about it. "I"m in the mood for somethin' else besides fightin'," He paused. "Though both acts are akin."
"Drop dead, will you?" She spat, turning her nose up at him.
A part of him liked her callousness, however; a part of him loathed her authority to deny him. Without warning yanked her into his arms. He registered the sensation of her body against his. She squirmed and fought his embrace, she was pretty strong too. But he was stronger, he would assert his male dominance and make her want him. He wasn't the candlelight and dinner type. He wanted what he wanted, and when he wanted it. In his mind he had no problem with getting a woman. She nearly hissed as she kneed him in the stomach and grabbed her sword. "I knew you were a racist prick, but I didn't know that you were a rapist."
Rapist? That word pissed Merle off. "No. NO. I'd never- -" He paused, staring down at Michonne's katana once more. He was insulted that she'd even think that, he had just touched her, not taken her. He was a lot of things, but a rapist wasn't it. despite his ruthless tactics and degenerate ways the thought never crossed his mind. The thoughts and desire to touch her was alive and well. But Merle Dixon would feel no pleasure or sense of manhood from raping a woman, it was no point in it.
"You sick bastard. Do you like this?" She sneered, taking notice of his arousal. She caught herself admiring the masculine bulge in his pants, her mouth watered as she realized that she hadn't done it in a very long time; probably like him.
"You like to stare, huh?" Merle asked, raising his brow in intrigue.
"Not at a racist, inbreed redneck." She spat.
"You must want this racist, inbreed redneck's cock in your wet pussy," He winced as he acknowledged his body's reaction to Michonne's presence. "There's no shame in that." He said, his voice low and primal.
She scowled. Damn. He could sense it, he was a damn hound after all. "How about I kill you?" It would be best if she just thought about killing him. Not the size of his cock, or how he tastes. He probably tasted like chewing tobacco and regret for all she knew. It would be best if she didn't think about his sturdy body, the view of it underneath his clothes- -
"And have my beloved baby brother on your sweet, chocolate ass?" He mentioned in a matter of fact way, his thin lips fixing into a wanton smile.
She shrugged. "It would be worth it. He's not as tough as you," A smirk appeared on her face. "Besides, your blood supply is only one way," She added, rubbing the cool metal against the bulge in his pants. "You will be way easier," She paused. "I'll enjoy killing you."
"You're in my house, in enemy territory...," He muttered. "And you are going to attempt to kill me." He chuckled.
"There's no attempting," She shot back coldly. "I will."
He sighed, shrugging out of his shirt. "I"m not fittin' to fight you," He paused to get a quick look at her. "Not fittin' to rape you neither," He assured, expelling any type of preconceived judgement or fear on Michonne's part. He pushed his dirty white tank-top over his head. Women had teased him all his life, but this one was easy to read. They were alike, outsiders. But more importantly, they were both hot and horny. One touch from him and that chocolate bunny would melt. "How about we help each other get off?"
"Go to hell!," She snapped. "I'm no prostitute." She was fuming, her hotheadedness was going into overdrive.
"If I thought that you were a prostitute I'd only ask you to service me," He corrected. She cooled down immediately. "I said that we could help get each other off," He flashed his sadistic smile. "You black gals must not be all that bright."
Shit. Merle did look delicious standing there, his chest was bare and strong. There was no mistaking. Merle was the predator, wanton and brutish and she secretly enjoyed it. His top half looked amazing, she could only imagine what his bottom half looked like. She ignored his little backhanded comment.
"Come here, girl," He demanded, grabbing her and pulling her to him. "Now are we gonna fight or are we gonna knock some uglies tonight?"
Michonne scowled and slapped him in the face, he fell back with a thud. "Surely I should let a man as articulate and as graceful with words as you be my fuck buddy." She said in annoyance, not wanting to give in to his crudeness.
He stood up. "Shit, that hurt..." He mused, clenching his jaw. Merle certainly did have a way with words, he wasn't foreign to those types of reactions.
She looked back at him as she opened the window. "I'm too grossed out to kill you at this point," He watched her intently. "But it's your choice whether or not that you want to come back with the group."
He flashed his trademark smile. "Well I wanted to come with you tonight but you won't let me."
She rolled her eyes. "Goodbye, Merle." She said, then making her exit out the back window.
He snarled as he watched her go. "That bitch broke my window," He snorted. "I'm definitely gonna make her black ass pay for that." He muttered, running his hand over his face.