Arena
Merle/OC. Started writing this as a one shot but it got longer than I expected so I split it into a few chapters so you lot didn't have to trudge through a big long mess all at once. Third and final chapter will be posted tonight or tomorrow. OC is Ada as we know her from Servitude, but with the two of them having met in different circumstances. Don't know if I'll write more one off stories but if I do I'll always use Ada as my OC with Merle, simply because I really like her and every extra bit of writing rounds her out as a character in my head, and I'm too lazy to make more than one. Lol. This popped into my head yesterday. Liked the idea of angry, bitter Ada and asshat Merle. Also works as a little trial run to see how I feel about writing in the first person; something I haven't done yet.
Explicit, most definitely M.
Chapter 01
Ada POV
I stalked past him without a glance, not letting my eyes drop to the hand that rested on the waist of Woodbury's sluttiest barkeep, Cyndi, although my lip curled in a sneer of disgust anyway. Why she didn't object to the lewd comments he fired at me every time he saw me I have no idea. Today was no different. She grinned and laughed like a moron while he eye-fucked and propositioned me for the umpteenth time.
"Hey, sugartits, when're you gonna put that sweet little mouth of yours all over me?" In my peripheral vision I could see his hips thrust toward me purposefully.
"Next time you piss me off enough for me to bite you, you fucking asshat," I snarled, knocking his shoulder aside without breaking my stride. I didn't have time for his shit right now. Or, you know, ever.
This was the three hundred and nineteenth time in the four months since I brought his ass to Woodbury that I had tried and failed to ignore Merle Dixon. Or maybe three hundred and twentieth. No…let's face it, I didn't even try to not punch him for licking me. And although I didn't utter a word, my fist said plenty. It didn't wipe the lascivious smirk from his face, though, or shield my ears from the fact that he thought I tasted like candy. On the contrary, his grin only seemed to grow wider.
That was nothing new, though. From the moment he'd regained consciousness just over a week after sawing off his own hand, he'd done nothing but try to get in my pants. I did, on occasion, find myself yearning nostalgically for the peace I'd have had if I hadn't spent eight days shovelling antibiotics into a dying man.
I had bitten him before, too, just as I'd implied. And kicked him, and broken one of his fingers, and kneed him in the balls, and dug thumbs into various pressure points. The pressure points were particularly fun; a man his size makes a very satisfying thump when he hits the ground. I'd even shot him in the ass once, out on a run, the only time I've heard him squeal like a girl. He still takes a little longer to sit down than he used to; it's almost healed but not quite.
I've learnt many new curse words thanks to my violence against his person. All of this in the service of keeping his goddamn wandering hands off me. Or, should I say, hand. He might as well have four of the damn things for the amount of time he spends trying to grope me, or threatening to. That man gets entirely too much enjoyment out of seeing me squirm.
"Ada, when are you going to stop putting the hurt on that poor man? I'm trying to run a peaceful town here." The Governor smiled softly. I still couldn't figure out whether he was the toad or the prince but at least he kept his hands, and eyes, to himself.
"When he lets go of the notion that I'm his personal goddamn popsicle," I huffed. "He licked me the other day. Licked me. Who the hell does that?"
"Dixon is…an original, I'll give you that."
"You're a born diplomat, Governor. Even if you are a shitty judge of a winning horse." It was the town joke. The Governor staged fights every other night except Sundays - I figure he didn't want to piss off the churchy types. Without fail, he always picked the loser. Sometimes I thought it was because they were the underdog and he wanted them to see someone betting on them. Other times I figured he had so much that he could afford to lose in order to make himself look magnanimous. Either way, with money long obsolete, you'd be surprised how excited people could get over gambling for grain and hops. More than one lucky streak had ousted the previous prize beer maker from their coveted position.
"Speaking of, are you on your way to the arena? I know Martinez is using his opportunity as first challenger to teach. Poor Milton." He shook his head ruefully.
The arena was the Governor's way of keeping us all fighting fit; participation was not optional. The rules were simple: the fights last until someone is unconscious or taps out, the victor chooses their next opponent, and when you're chosen to fight you can't refuse. Oh yeah, and you don't talk about Fight Club. Kidding. There's kinda an unwritten rule, though, that if there's been a disagreement the person you argued with has to be your first challenger. Some choose their opponents based on who they think needs the most help with their fighting, or advancement in the case of the more experienced and skilled fighters. Some choose because they want to beat the crap out of someone, others just because they like the adrenaline rush.
"Yup. I'll probably be about his…" I counted mentally. "Fifth challenger. He still can't get out of the headlock."
As per the rules, the victor chooses their next opponent, and all of the people he'd be teaching would lose. Martinez would do that a few times in succession for a handful of the less skilled fighters and use their rounds to teach them better form or a new move. Until he got tired, when he would then pick someone he couldn't beat. Namely me. Occasionally Dixon or Tyreese, but he chose me more often than not. Said he liked my footwork. He sure didn't like my headlock, but that served the motherfucker right for knocking me out the day I dragged an unconscious Merle Dixon up to their walls. Well, our walls now, I guess.
As I reached the top of the bleachers, Martinez was already nearing the end of his first round. Milton looked terrified and exhausted, but you could always count on him to try harder than anyone. He was like the Little Engine that Could. As I watched him fall on his back when Martinez took his legs out from underneath him, I felt a hard shove from behind me. I turned to find Cyndi looking anything but apologetic, although her ragged, blonde beehive looked pretty fucking sorry. Her arm was looped around Merle's waist and he looked a great deal more entertained than I was.
"Excuse you. You're in my way," Cyndi bitched in her annoying, nasal voice. The malicious look in her eyes made me think she wasn't talking about where I was standing and that maybe she minded Dixon's wandering attention span more than she'd let on.
"Hardly," I sneered. As fucking if. "Ten foot pole…million years…last man on Earth." I counted each on a finger, then dropped them and gave her just the middle one. "Pack up your shit, bar-ho. I'm not in the mood for it." I went to move past her and felt her foot hook mine, trying to trip me up. I turned my step forward into a swift kick to her shin and chuckled when she yelped. It amused me even more that Merle did nothing to help her, just laughed gruffly and waggled his eyebrows at me suggestively. But for some reason that pissed me off a hell of a lot more than what she'd done.
"You sure about that, sweet thing? Way things are going, I'm closer to being the last man on Earth than you might think." He took his hand from around Cyndi and made a grab for me, which I only just avoided. I narrowed my eyes at him.
"How many times do you need to be told to keep your hand to yourself?" I swatted it away as hard as I could, feeling some small satisfaction that he winced just a little.
"Once more, Blondie, always once more." He grinned and wandered off, leaving me and bar-ho both fuming. She gave me a dirty look and hurried after him. I stomped down the bleachers, my fists clenched by my sides and my jaw tight. Martinez caught my eye from the middle of the arena. He'd seen the exchange and raised an eyebrow in question. I shook my head. He nodded, knowing that although I may have calmed down a little by the time we fought, I'd not be able to pull my punches. He looked thoughtful for a second, then gave me an evil little smile and turned to pick his next pupil out of the cheering crowd. He was up to something.
I couldn't sit, wound up as I was, so I stood in the space between the benches, tensing and flexing the muscles in my legs and arms, fists opening and closing. Martinez went through two more challengers, moving slow enough that he could correct their aim and show them what they were doing wrong. He'd speed up gradually, making them combine more and more of the moves he'd shown them, until he could let them practice taking him down with them. Then he'd turn around and take them down with the same combination, to show them why the moves worked. That was be his win, and a new choice to make.
As he took down Sasha with the combo they'd practiced, I started to bounce on the balls of my feet, knowing I'd be after the next one. I shook my head as he brought Cyndi down from the crowd, wondering at the brief glance that passed between he and Merle, who nodded in understanding, looking immensely amused. It didn't matter, soon I could take my anger out in the ring. And Cyndi was handy enough that Martinez would be a little worn out by then. I didn't plan going easy, though.
They started an easy spar before moving things up a notch. She span to kick him and he didn't duck quickly enough, finding himself sat on his ass nursing a solid crack to his jaw. He smiled and took her proffered hand, but knocked her away with a kick to the stomach. He'd pulled it, so it didn't hurt her much, but it did annoy her. She landed five or six pointless blows before he'd had enough of her tantrum and got her in a clinch, which resulted in her dropping to the floor bent over him. Something must have gone wrong, though, as he didn't flip out from underneath her like I'd expected. My jaw dropped when, from among their tangle of limbs, his hand stuck out and slapped three times on the floor of the arena.
He'd tapped out. Sonofabitch tapped out. How in hell am I supposed to get my workout in now? As they both stood, Martinez turned to me and winked, mouthing 'you're welcome'. I had no idea what to do with that until he lifted Cyndi's arm in the air.
"Winner!" Everyone cheered and whistled, making her toothy grin stretch the limits of her face. As was customary, the Governor stepped down from his seat.
"You are the victor. Choose!" He swept his arm over the crowd but Cyndi knew exactly who she was looking for as she swung round to look straight at me.
"I choose…Ada." I looked from her to Martinez to Dixon. Her sneer told me she clearly thought she had some kind of chance at kicking my ass. Martinez was bent almost double clutching his belly as he laughed. So that's what he meant by 'you're welcome'. And Merle, he just facepalmed and chuckled, then rubbed his hand over his face and looked at me with an encouraging smile. Anyone would think he wanted me to win. I shrugged and jogged down into the arena, having already warmed up in the stands.
Cyndi was popping back and forth from one foot to the other, working herself up a good head of steam. She strode forward and pushed my shoulders with her hands and whispered harshly.
"Now we'll see who gets Merle. You should have stayed out of my way, you stupid bitch. Let's see who he wants more when you don't have a fucking face."
"I'm sorry?" I was gobsmacked. "Are you actually high right now? Have you paid no attention to the hundreds of times I've told him I don't want his goddamn hands…hand on me? I'm not fighting you for him, you fucking idiot. I'm fighting because you picked me." And it's the last bad idea you'll be having today. I shoved her back to her side of the ring.
"Whatever you say, bitch." Cyndi started towards me before the Governor could even announce the fight. From the corner of my eye I saw him shrug and sit down again. She'd thrown away all of the finesse she'd shown in her fight with Martinez and instead charged me like a demented windmill, fists weaving widely.
Different fights flashed through my mind as she lurched up to me: taking the defence position and letting her tire herself out; going on the offence and parrying her clumsy swings with tight, controlled blows to the torso and head; I even considered letting her win to fit in with her godforsaken who gets Merle idea, hoping that Merle would follow suit. But in the end I just didn't have the patience for it. I spun, kicking high and hard.
I looked down at her. She looked a lot less angry unconscious. I, on the other hand, was just getting started. This was all his fault. If Merle Motherfucking Dixon had left well enough alone even half of the times I'd told him to fuck off I wouldn't have just had to fight some jealous bitch who now would likely have it in for me forever. Goddamn him. Icy anger flooded me and I retreated behind a wave of intense focus. I. Have. Had. Enough.
"Ada, you are the victor. CHOOSE!" I only heard the Governor's voice vaguely through the white noise of my concentrated rage. I didn't hesitate.
"I choose Dixon." The room went silent and Merle's eye went wide. In our four months here, he was the only person I hadn't fought. I'd never chosen him, and he'd been wise enough to never pick me. He knew that if he forced the issue of putting his hands on me, even masquerading as battle, I'd have shot him for real once we were done, and that would have been the end of his particular line of entertainment. And, you know, breathing and stuff.
He made his way slowly down between the benches, not taking his eyes off me. His face gave nothing away, but he wasn't even close to being stupid. I was going to serve him his ass on a plate. And he knew it. His only defence…try to rattle me before we started.
"What, you won't fuck me so you figure fighting me will take the edge off?" I tilted my head but said nothing. "Why don't you just admit you wanna put your hands on me, sugar?"
"Oh I do, Merle. Believe me. I do." He looked disconcerted for all of a second before the smirk was back.
"Well, I won't enjoy it as much as I would the other, but it'll be close," he said with a wink. For the first time in our stay at Woodbury, I was successful in ignoring him.
"Move to your sides." The Governor's voice rang out and we moved away from each other.
There was a certain beauty in the way he moved. He was built like a boxer, thick through the chest and shoulders, balanced out with strong legs and a broad back. His brother and he were hunters, I knew that much. But he was more than that; he was a predator. I could see it in the grace and ease of gait, the way his arms hung loose and ready. His economy of movement was absolute.
I was the better fighter. Both of us knew that already. But I wanted to prove a point, not just beat him. If any of the students from my former dojo had been here to see this fight, most would have been surprised at the path I now chose, although some of the ones I'd been teaching the longest would not. They knew how adaptable I was. Sure I could take him out with speed, with grace, with a brevity even more impressive than his own. But it wouldn't taste as sweet. Despite his military training, Merle was a brawler. He'd grown up beaten and turned into a streetfighter. I would beat him not only thoroughly, but in his own style.
I was going to fight dirty.
The surprise showed on his face when I attacked his knees first, the audible crack echoing through the wide space. More so when in quick succession I jabbed four different pressure points and continued with a bevy of open handed smacks on his ears and neck. He roared and charged, realising what I was doing. But his approach wasn't sloppy like Cyndi's had been. He knew exactly where and how he wanted to hit me and did so as brutally and numerously as possible.
I landed my next four blows without breathing, my solar plexus stunned from his flat footed kick.
I couldn't beat his brute strength, but I didn't have to. I kept my hands up close to my face and blocked his next half dozen swipes, sending straight punches at his neck and jaw. He shook his head to clear his vision but I was already attacking the insides of his legs. Tempted as I was to kick him in the nuts, I slipped around him and went for a kidney instead, sending him to one knee briefly. And it was brief; he moved up and around so quickly that he caught me off guard, landing a heavy blow over my heart.
I staggered backward, clutching my chest, only just moving my hands away from my body in time to sweep his leg to the side as his foot came up to land in the same spot.
My advantage was in speed, both moving around him and the number of blows I could land in comparison to how many he could get inside my defence. He must have come to the same conclusion, because he changed tactics and grabbed me in a massive bear hug, picking me up and slamming me to the ground before diving on me with an elbow in my stomach. That shit hurt, I have to admit. And I couldn't afford for this to become a wrestling match.
As he leant across me to grab my wrist up for an armlock, I twisted under him and pushed my hips upwards to throw my legs over his shoulders, dragging him down close to me where I could squeeze his neck between my thighs. He reared up, dragging the bottom half of me off the ground, and it took immense effort to pull my top half up in the air. But it was worth it.
Now in an aerial sitting position I battled to keep his hand and prosthetic from jabbing my ribs. I didn't manage to block them all, feeling a couple crack as the metal stump of his right arm landed solidly in two places. I looked at his face, red with effort and the restriction of blood and oxygen caused by the vicelike grip I had on his neck.
"I can smell you," he growled. His eyes were feral and he brought his arms up behind my hips instead, crushing me against him as he bared his teeth and bit down on a mouthful of the soft flesh between my legs. The heat of his mouth and the sharp pain from his teeth was buffered only by the thin fabric of my pants. I found myself wishing I'd worn jeans, even though they'd have limited my movement.
I released my hold on his neck enough to slip further down his body, swinging forward in one last burst of energy to bring the dome of my forehead to his face. His nose broken, cupped instinctively by one hand and bumped accidentally by what was left of the other, I dropped to my feet to hook a leg through his and grab his good arm, bringing it up behind him. I kept it tight as I bore him to the ground, straddling him in about the same place I'd shot him a couple months earlier.
He was snarling incoherently at me at this point, his hips bucking beneath me like a rodeo bull. He couldn't get any kind of purchase with his stump or his legs, and his only good arm was under tremendous pressure. Not to mention it probably felt like his face was splitting in two. I brought his damaged arm round behind him, too, and placed the blade of my wrist in the middle of the upper arm, using leverage to snap it cleanly through the humerus, then ended the fight with enough pressure on his throat to put him out of it for five minutes.
I rolled off him when he went limp, panting while he lay there breathing as evenly as his broken nose would allow him. I stood and raised my arms above my head, not really feeling like smiling at the cheers and whistles but doing it anyway for their sake.
"Ada, you are the victor…again. If your next choice is not to get the hell out of here and get some rest I'll have someone put you in handcuffs." The Governor smiled widely and I chuckled, dragging my weary carcass across the arena and out through the gate.
I sat on a bench in the middle of the deserted street, listening to the occasional low calls between the guards on the wall. They were far away and I rested my elbows on my knees while my breathing got back to normal. I hurt a good deal; there weren't many places Dixon hadn't hit me. The soft tissue between my legs in particular was feeling bruised. He finally got his wish, I guess…kinda.
I stood and could feel my anger still spiralling inside, calmer now, or at least less…noisy. I was shaking, and my head was going a million miles an hour as it played and replayed every move of the fight. After twenty minutes I heard deliberate footsteps approach me from the direction of the arena. They stopped directly behind me and I hoped they wouldn't be accompanied by their owner's usual crass remarks. I'd done what I needed, and didn't have the energy or composure for more right now.
"Thanks for not breaking my good arm." His deep, rasping voice was loud in the dark street and sounded remarkably sincere. If he'd grabbed me as usual I probably could have found the reserves to handle it. Likewise if he'd made some vile suggestion involving leather and pudding. Or even if he'd licked me again. But the slow, soft kiss he placed on the exposed skin of my neck, no other part of him touching me, was more than I could take. The bottom dropped out of me and I spun around to stare at him, horrified, before hauling back and slapping him across the face as hard as I could.
He said nothing and his expression was blank, but he raised his hand to lay his palm over the angry red hand print on his cheek. I'd done god knows how much violence to this man in the last four months, but I'd never slapped him. I spun around and ran to the wall, slipping out through one of the few hidden weak spots I knew.
The road gave way quickly to dirt track and trees, then thick forest as I hurried along, feeling his mouth on me like a brand still. My breath was coming in frantic gasps and I pushed my legs faster until I reached the clearing I had aimed for. This was mine, just mine, the one place I could come to be without everyone else, without even the sound of them. The moonlight illuminated the deep pool in foxfire and I heard the gurgle of the water falling from a short drop at its edge.
I knelt to slip off my boots and socks, feeling the slippery rock under my bare feet as I walked carefully down to the edge of the pool. I stood with just the very tips of my toes in the water, the difference between its chill and the hot night air making me shiver in delight. At least, I managed to kid myself for a whole two minutes that that's what had made me shiver.
But, in reality, I still couldn't dispel the feeling of Merle's hands, my skin burning where every hit had landed, more so in places he had grasped…and bitten. I crouched on my haunches for a while, trying not to think about it, just running my fingers through my reflection, distorting it until it looked about the same as I felt inside my head. I stood slowly, easing out the aches in every muscle, testing each one individually. My knuckles and the palms of my hands could still feel him under them.
Maybe the water would help.
I stripped off my top and unbuttoned my pants, slipping them down my legs and stepping out of them. Loosing my hair and placing one foot carefully in front of the other, I made my way into the water until it reached just above my knees. This was a natural shelf of submerged rock, and it gave way to the much deeper water of the pool. I took a deep breath and leant forwards, pushing off from my feet to spear into the water hands and headfirst, my hips following last.
It nearly knocked the breath out of me, as did the small flicker against one thigh, a fish that was probably even more surprised than I was. I submerged then rose again with my head leant back, letting my hair stream away from my face. I was an idiot. The cold water didn't numb any of the places where he'd touched me, if anything it brought them out in stark relief. I could feel them embossed on my skin in burning detail. I scrubbed my hands over my face and floated on my back for a while, trying to find the control I needed to let them go.
He wasn't even here and I still couldn't ignore him.
I huffed in irritation and stroked lazily over to the outcropping of round boulders, flattened and smoothed over centuries by the small waterfall. My arms shuddered with the effort of heaving myself out of the water but I managed it in one go, hearing the flat slap as my backside met wet rock. My hair shook silver streams of water into the air and I swung my head around, settling in cold tendrils that plastered themselves around my shoulders.
My hand went unconsciously to the side of my neck as I lay back with my feet poking through the gentle curtain of water that fell the eight or so feet from above. Closing my eyes was a bad idea because, as always, regular Merle with his suggestive smirk and his lecherous comments was replaced by an other. Not another, but an other. The other version of him who'd existed in my mind since the moment he'd opened his eyes after eight days of fever and delirious ravings.
I thought of this other as Hidden-Merle, and he came unbidden every time I closed my eyes, surrounding and invading me in the dark. It wasn't that he was everything the real one wasn't, because he was all of that, too. But where Real would leer and try to grab me, Hidden looked at me like I was the only woman on Earth and worshipped my body with every touch. Those eyes…those eyes were the most soulful thing I'd ever seen. The moment he'd opened them my covetous heart had proclaimed him a sovereign kingdom, body and soul, that belonged only to me.
Unfortunately, shortly after that, he opened his mouth and spoke.
So began four months of torture and abject misery. I avoided his touch at all costs because I couldn't trust my traitorous body not to give in to him, leaving my heart to be laid waste to by his inability for finer feelings or any kind of fidelity. It hurt, god it hurt, not to have his touch, but if he broke me I'd never recover. And that was something I couldn't afford in this new world of ours. And so was born Hidden-Merle, my mind's way of giving my heart what it craved without the pain. In my mind's eye, my hand morphed into his as it inched slowly across my skin, stroking down toward the part of me that ached for him every moment of the day.
In the fantasy, I was an Other-Ada, one who welcomed his touch, who pulled him closer instead of knocking him away, whose heart swelled as he plundered her body with rough strokes and tender touches, showing her over and over and over that he belonged to her and only her. On the rocks I rolled my hips beneath a steady trickle of water; in my mind, Hidden-Merle dipped his tongue deep into the secret heart of me, tasting that which was his and his alone, always.
It helped that that part of me now knew the exact temperature of his mouth.