Shame

He was already waiting down by the water when she arrived. It was nearly midnight but there was enough of a moon to make out his silhouette. She walked quietly, but as she drew closer the red cherry of his cigarette flared dully in the dark.

"Wondered when ya'd get here, woman," he said, exhaling the smoke into the warm night air. "Thought ya might not be comin'."

Andrea stared at him through the darkness. The pale glimmer of his skin told her he hadn't even bothered with a shirt, probably because the night was hot. Or he could just be eager. He wasn't the only one.

"Just shut your mouth and get those pants off, Dixon."

He didn't move and she could hear the smirk in his voice. "Don't ya wanna talk first? Get me ta talk up some shit about how ya hair looks in the moonlight…"

She strode over and grabbed his crotch. Though his eyes didn't waver from her face, she had the satisfaction of feeling him tense. This close she could smell the musky scent of his skin underneath the tang of tobacco smoke. Some water droplets clung to his broad shoulders; he must have swum in the lake while waiting for her.

"Take 'em off," she repeated.

He huffed what might have been a laugh. "I'm getting' to it, woman," he drawled, "thought mebbe I'd finish my smoke first…"

Andrea snatched the cigarette from his hand and threw it to the ground, before crushing her mouth to his. His unresponsive demeanour had clearly been a front, as immediately he grasped her upper arms and dragged her hard against him. She ground her hips against his as they kissed, her hands sliding up his ribs to run over the solid wall of his chest, and when his tongue probed along the seam of her lips she impatiently allowed him entry. He took her mouth aggressively, their teeth clicking slightly as she explored him with equal violence. Through the heat and wet she could still taste the tobacco, but there was also the underlying taste of something that was indefinably him. He traced the roof of her mouth and she supressed a slight moan as they drew apart to catch their breath.

Keeping her close, he ghosted his mouth along her jawline and up to her ear, the rasp of his stubble a delicious contrast to the surprising softness of his lips. "Now why," he whispered as he nibbled at her earlobe, "can't ya just ask me nice?" Andrea's mouth tightened and her eyes shut as though to ignore him, but she felt his rumble of laughter through her whole body. "Please, Mister Dixon," he mocked, "won't ya fuck me? Ya know I love it when ya fuck me hard..."

She snorted. "Then why don't you shut up and do it," she snapped, pushing on his shoulders. He allowed her to press him back down to the blanket lying on the soft mud.

He leaned back on his elbows, and she could still feel his amused gaze as she straddled his thighs and began the struggle with his belt. As she fumbled with the buckle, part of her mind wondered how she had ended up at this point. She hadn't given the Dixon brothers a thought when she first arrived, other than to dismiss them as redneck trash and to warn Amy not to be alone with either of them. You didn't need her experience as a lawyer to tell that they were trouble.

To think it only took a couple of weeks for her to ignore her own advice.

She'd noticed his arms first, though in fairness to herself they were always on display, and they were probably muscular and defined enough to be distracting for any woman. Too often she found herself watching them as he brought the heavier game back to the camp with that odd brother of his, or used his hunting knife with practiced ease, making the difficult job of skinning and butchering look simple. Later she realised this hadn't gone unobserved. She began to catch his eyes as they subtly followed her movements around the camp; they were small and bright and of the clearest crystal blue. They still hardly ever spoke, though that was nothing unusual since the Dixon's didn't mix well with the rest of the camp anyway.

Then one night, another hot one like this, she'd been unable to sleep, and decided to sneak away for a midnight swim in the quarry. Carrying a 6-inch hunting knife, she'd slipped silently past Dale on his night watch, unwilling to delay her adventure with explanations, and picked her way quietly down to the muddy shingle that passed for a beach. She soon found she wasn't the only one with the same idea.

He was walking out of the water buck naked and was clearly as stunned as she was; almost unbelievably given the situation, he had said absolutely nothing.

Once he'd hastily pulled on some pants, he'd taken her to task for being a dumb bitch with less common sense than a damn dog, wandering about in the dark with little more than a fucking penknife to protect her. Andrea didn't appreciate being spoken like that. As she'd spluttered out a justification of her behaviour… which she made clear was none of his fucking business anyway… he watched her with that patronising, self-righteous smirk that only antagonised her further. Attempting to avoid drawing attention with their argument, they moved closer so they could snipe at each other in hushed voices. Before she knew it she was flat on her back with her panties pushed aside and him thrusting roughly into her, fucking her hard enough to have her biting viciously down on his shoulder to stop herself from screaming as she came.

Somehow it had become a fairly regular thing. Occasionally she waited and he didn't show, and she assumed that it was the same for him. Sometimes he went off hunting for a few days. But every few nights she would find herself in a situation like this one, with her yanking open the fly of his jeans and palming his semi-hard cock through his worn boxers.

He grunted as she slipped her hand inside them and gripped him firmly, while she enjoyed the feel of him pulsing in her hand. As she began to slide her hand back and forth over his hardening cock, circling the head with her thumb, he exhaled loudly. "Fuuuck…," he breathed.

"See," she chuckled, "and you say I don't treat you nice." He frowned at her slightly. Suddenly her hand was knocked away and he was pulling at her own clothes, tugging her tank top over her head before dragging her shorts down her legs. She didn't wear panties at night anymore, and was now bare to his gaze except for her simple white bra.

He groaned and pushed her back onto the blanket, running his moist tongue along the top of the cups; she revelled in the cool trail left behind on her hot skin. "Fuckin' perfect," Andrea felt him mumble against her breast, before gently teasing one nipple though the fabric with his teeth. The sensation was electric, and she dug her work-blunted nails into the scarred skin of his back. She felt herself getting wet and arched towards him, seeking further satisfaction. Instead he threw one denim clad leg over hers to hold her still. She took the opportunity to buck and grind herself against his hard thigh, the coarseness of the warm fabric against her bringing her closer to the edge.

"Dammit woman, cut that shit out," he muttered as he placed a large hand on her stomach and pushed her down firmly. "I ain't planning on no five minute job."

She shot him an unrepentant grin. He returned an exasperated look as he took her mouth again, trying to assert his dominance. She wouldn't accept it however, and their tongues duelled as she raked her nails lightly up over his stomach to play with his nipples. She felt him almost sigh into her mouth with pleasure.

As they kissed, she managed to get him to shuck his jeans, leaving him in his boxers. She took the opportunity to give his firm ass a hard squeeze through the thinner fabric; dammit, but she did love having that solid flesh yield to her fingers. Breaking away, he sat up and pulled her to him, reaching behind her to undo the clasp of her bra. As he did so, he brushed the line of her collarbone with his mouth. "Ya know," he whispered, and she had to stop herself from shuddering as his lips tickled the thin skin there, "if ya didn't want to keep this such a big fuckin' secret, we could fuck in the tent on the bedrolls. Be more fuckin' comfortable. Wouldn't have ta sneak back neither. Be safer."

Irritated, she pulled him back down beside her. She scraped her teeth down his neck, nipping the sensitive skin over his jugular far harder than was necessary. She felt a twisted sense of satisfaction that it would be sore in the morning. "Why do you have to talk so much during sex?" she muttered, shrugging off her bra in hope that it would distract him. It did to an extent, but he only buried his face between her exposed breasts for a moment before roughly dragging his stubble over one tender peak, causing her to inhale sharply at the sting. It seemed two could play that game.

"If ya don't talk ta me in camp, when the fuck else am I meant to talk to ya?" He was still pressed closely against her side but sounded slightly pissed.

"I talk to you in camp," she replied, trying to drag his lips back to her nipple. It wasn't quite a lie.

"Uh huh," he said, sounding unconvinced. He dropped his head down her breast and suckled hard on the tender nub, while his hand toyed with its twin. She arched up towards him as he lifted his head, her fingers clawing at his hair and scalp. "Ya 'shamed a fuckin' a Dixon, tha's what it is." She felt his warm, rough hand leave her breast and begin trailing gently down her stomach, the tips of his fingers drifting through the curling hair between her legs. "Don't want the rest of 'em ta know ya like fuckin' redneck trash."

"No…," she tried to deny it, but his finger dipped into the slickness between her folds and she groaned as he began to stroke her, coating her with her own moisture. His other hand captured her wrists above her head, and he looked down at her as he continued.

"It's true," he affirmed, quickly slipping a thick, calloused finger inside her, continuing as she whimpered at the sensation. "Ya don't want them to know that this, this" he said, abruptly adding another finger as his thumb rubbed over her clit, "is what really get's ya off." She was writhing now; God, it felt so fucking good. "All that time ya wit' the others, playin' Miss Goody Two Shoes wit' that sister a yours, ya love that none of 'em know ya thinkin' 'bout me shovin' ya against one of them trees and fuckin' ya until ya can't hardly walk."

Her eyelids fluttered as his finger's curled inside her and the explicit images his gruff voice conjured up brought her close. "Mmm…God… please…" Her voice was hoarse. Just a few more seconds…

Suddenly he stopped, and she couldn't prevent a small mew of disappointment as she looked at him in confusion. "Say my name," he whispered. He was staring at her intently, his face closer to hers than she had realised and the words little more than breath against her lips.

"Say. My. Name," he repeated, as though daring her, knowing she couldn't. "Say the name of the man wit' his fingers inside ya. Say the name of the man ya beg to fuck ya."

She stared back at him but said nothing, simply arching against his hand, encouraging him without words to continue. He looked at her a moment longer. He was only a silhouette against the night sky for her, but even in the dark Andrea eventually turned her head away.

Because… it wasn't quite a lie.

It was true. All of it. Everything he said.

She was ashamed. Of herself. Of him. For who and what they were. What they did. She would never acknowledge what happened between them. She never wanted to see judgement in the eyes of the rest of the group, to see their prejudices laid bare… because a part of her shared them. And of that truth she was especially ashamed.

Even in a new world where she could imagine few people more likely, more fit, to survive, he could only ever be her dirty, guilty little secret.

He exhaled sharply, and if he been any other man she would have thought he sounded disappointed. "Fuck it…" he murmured before he began to move his hand again, albeit a little more roughly, and she was aware of little else.

She moaned louder as she neared her peak, and his other hand moved down from her wrists to lightly cover her mouth. She saw her chance to elude further conversation, and grasping his hand in both of hers she sucked two of his fingers into her mouth. She curled her tongue around the ridges and callouses, and felt him twitch and buck his hips against her side.

"Woman, ya best stop…" he warned, his voice strained, but Andrea only sucked harder, enjoying the salt taste of his skin. Through the threadbare fabric of his pants she could feel the heat of his cock grind harder against her hip, keeping pace with the movement of his fingers inside her until she went shuddering into an orgasm that left her lying breathless and limp against him.

She dropped his hand from her mouth to her breast, desperate to get more air to her lungs. After a few moments she felt him slide his hand from between her legs, watching his eyes glitter in the weak light as he placed it in his mouth. "Mmm," he said, sucking off her juices, "that's some sweet pussy." He leaned back over her and surprised her by kissing her softly, sharing the faint taste of herself on his tongue. She felt him pressed rock-hard against her thigh and the kiss quickly became more urgent; he rapidly stripped off his pants as own need took precedence, pulling her up onto her hands and knees.

As she felt him position himself behind her, he placed a long wet lick up between her shoulder blades, tasting the smooth skin of her back. God, he pressed all her fucking buttons. She didn't have time to do more than arch in response before they were both groaning in pleasure as he slid into her, burying himself right up to the hilt. Andrea loved the hot, heavy fullness of his thick cock stretching her wide.

He held himself still, his shuddering breath suggesting he was fighting for control, and she allowed him a few moments before pushing herself back into him. "Fucking move…," she begged, "need this…" She gasped when he made a few experimental thrusts, pulling out slowly before slamming back into her, seeking out the best angles. When one caused her to produce a rather throaty moan, he began to pumping into her hard, increasing his pace when her slick channel offered less resistance.

"Such a hot fuckin' bitch… so tight…fuck…" he ground out, his voice thick with desire.

His filthy phrasing turned her on even more, but just as she was working up to another orgasm he abruptly pulled her up onto just her knees, holding her back against his chest. The angle was shallower and his movements slower, but his hands now had better access to her body, and one kneaded a breast while the other reached between her folds again. His face was buried in her hair, his hot breath tickling the back of her neck, but she wanted so badly now to feel him lose control. Taking advantage of their change in position, she reached down awkwardly and cupped his balls in her hand, massaging them as best she could.

"Shit woman!" he barked, thrusting hard and wrapping his arms tight around her as he was lost to sensation. She continued until he dragged her hand away. Fisting his hand in her hair until it was almost painful, he yanked her head up and round into a sloppy kiss over her shoulder. Swiftly he pulled out of her, ignoring her whimper of protest as he flipped her over onto her back. Hooking her legs over his shoulders he entered her again, and she could hear the sound of their flesh slapping together as he fucked her. She was close, and she knew he was too by the growing urgency of his thrusts. His muscular chest pressed against her breasts, the coarse hair brushing her taut nipples, and she lifted up her head to taste him, sweeping her tongue into the salt-sweet hollow at the base of his throat. He made a strangled sound and looked down at her. Their faces were mere inches apart, and in the moonlight she could almost believe she saw the bright blue of his eyes before he lowered his face next to hers.

"C'mon, woman," he rasped, breath damp in her ear and his Southern drawl more pronounced, "cum fer me. Fuck… yer look so fuckin' beautiful when ya cum…"

The shock of hearing those words from him was enough to send her spiralling over the edge again, moaning incoherently. As she clenched around his cock she felt him tense, gripping her hips with bruising force as he spilt himself into her with a few jerky thrusts. Spent, he all but collapsed on top of her, remaining inside her with his face resting on her breasts. After a moment he pulled out and rolled over, working his way up the blanket before he drew her over so her head rested on his chest. She allowed herself a moment to listen to his heart returning to its normal steady thud beneath her ear, breathing in the scent of sweat and sex that seemed to permeate the air.

They lay that way for a few minutes before Andrea removed his arm and stood up. She walked down to the water and took a quick dip, washing away the evidence of her night-time adventures. Lucky she still had a few months' worth of contraceptive pills left.

He didn't try to stop her, simply sifting through his clothes for his cigarettes and watching from the shore, arms resting on his knees, apparently unconscious of his nakedness. She walked back to him and began to put on her clothes. Once she was dressed again, he silently offered her the cigarette he'd started, and she took a few deep puffs before handing it back to him.

"Ya didn't answer my question," he said abruptly. He was still looking calmly out over the lake, cigarette smoke curling around him.

She felt trapped, but saw no escape. "What question was that?"

He turned and looked towards her; from a few feet away his deep set eyes were just empty shadows. "Why can't ya just ask me nice?"

There were so many reasons, all of which she would be ashamed to say to his face.

"It's just… it's complicated." It wasn't quite a lie. And what did it matter? They would both be back here again, one night or another…

He continued to stare at her for a few moments, and then turned to look back out over the lake. He took a breath as though about to say something else, then closed his mouth tightly, flicked away the cigarette and stood up. "Gonna take a dip before heading back. Then mebbe get wasted. Ya wanna join me?" It hadn't been what he was going to say, she was sure. He still wasn't looking at her.

"I should probably go. Before they change watches."

His face twisted slightly, and he nodded. "Guess ya probably should then."

All the way back up the path she listened, but she never heard him enter the water.

…

As it turned out, they never had another midnight session at the quarry.

When Andrea looked back later, on that long journey to Herschel's farm, she realised just how much their relationship, especially the end of it, had changed her. The line had been crossed; she could never allow herself to feel ashamed again, to allow shame to make her weak again.

Now when she looked back on the other things she'd been ashamed of, she could almost laugh. Stupid things, which she had allowed too much significance in the new world they found themselves in. He had been right to be disappointed in her. But it didn't matter now, not since she carried the worst guilt of all, the one that would continue to lash her conscience in the months to come.

The terrible, crushing shame that she had done nothing when the group, the one she was so eager to be part of, left him to die, handcuffed to a roof in Atlanta.

... ... ...

Yep, it was Merle all along. Apologies to the Daryl shippers but Merle needs love too! Hope that was a surprise for most you, but if not I still hope you enjoyed. Reviews are much appreciated.

I have a longer story coming up but my computer is down at the moment. However, I felt I had to borrow a friend's to post this one-shot in time to celebrate Merle's return in S3!

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