Biker Bliss
Daryl Dixon had missed this. The wind rushing through him, the smell of the exhaust, the roar of the motor and the power that shivered from that engine through the bike's frame into his body. This is how he used to define bliss.
When they came across the motorcycle dealership, Daryl made no excuses. He was going to have one. Bikes were fast, could cover ground without utilizing much fuel and were good for scouting ahead of the main group. Besides, he missed Merle's Triumph. It had hurt to abandon it at the prison. This place was virtually untouched. Clear of walkers and essentially clean. Not that it mattered. Daryl would have cleared the showroom alone if he'd had to. Once inside he was like the proverbial kid in a candy shop. This dealership preferred off-road dirt bikes and crotch rockets, but in the rear of the showroom was the finest selection of Harley's Daryl had ever seen. Dusty after sitting unattended, but otherwise factory new. It didn't take him long to make a selection. Even less time to siphon a couple gallons of gas from their collection of vehicles. He could outrun them all with what he put in the tank. They'd be looking for fuel long before he began to even worry.
Yes, a bike and the open road used to be bliss. But now he had altered his way of defining joy with the addition of the slender arms encircling his waist, warm body pressed tight against his back, lean thighs parallel to his, and wisps of blonde hair, caught in the wind, ghosting around his face, tickling his cheek. Yeah, motorcycle plus Beth Greene. That equaled bliss. He could ride like this all day.
"Hey, Daryl?" Beth hollered in his ear. The first time she had tried to get his attention, she'd tapped him on the cheek and the contact had so startled him he swerved and almost dumped the bike. She learned in a hurry not to repeat that maneuver. "Can we stop?" she asked.
"What?" he shouted back. "You gotta pee again, girl?"
This time she did jab him in the ribs, and though he jerked he didn't swerve.
"No," she yelled back. "Just need a break."
Daryl checked the progress of the group of vehicles following him. If he put a mile or so between them they could take a few minutes break, and catch up after the line of cars passed. Accelerating he wound the engine up and raced ahead out of sight of Rick who was immediately behind them. The road was still clear, so he pulled to the side, killed the engine and let Beth slip off the back.
"What's the matter?" he asked as he dismounted and stretched himself, concerned that something might be wrong.
"I'm not used to this," Beth answered as she walked stiffly up and down the edge of the road. "My butt is numb. I'm gonna need a serious massage when we make camp tonight."
"I think I can handle that," he said softly as she passed.
"I expect you to," was her answer. "Or you won't get me on this bike again tomorrow without a pillow."