So, here's a random oneshot. Post "Arrow on the Doorpost", Merle is fuming over the fact that he didn't get the chance to kill the Governor when he should have. He needs a distraction but, as it turns out, said distraction doesn't even see it coming. And, worst of all, she might actually like it.
I own nothing.
I Do Not Hook Up
"You must be out of your mind," Michonne smirked, shaking her head in disagreement. She glanced back at the elder Dixon brother, who just leaned against the cell bars like he was king of the world. Bastard was always so damn smug, it was liable to make Michonne sick.
"I'm not out of my mind, sugar," Merle told her, his tone only gaining volume as she walked further away from him. "I'm just a man that knows what I want." He paused for a minute, going to catch up with her. The elder Dixon had been trying to get into Michonne's pants for the past hour now. It was actually quite entertaining, come to think of it. Hell, even she thought it was.
"Well," the katana-wielding survivor spun around on her heels to face Merle, "you just keep on trying. You're not gonna get to me that easily."
Merle stepped up into her personal space, and he couldn't wipe that snide smirk off of his face. "C'mon, ain't nothin' wrong with a li'l playtime, huh?" Michonne quirked an eyebrow, but she stayed silent. "So, what'dya say we head off an' distract each other from this damn shithole?"
"I don't think so," she breathed, crossing her arms. "You're gonna have to try a lot harder than that, Merle."
The redneck chuckled and raked his eyes up and down Michonne's retreating form. "Oh, darlin', ya jus' don't know me all that well. I love a good challenge," he called back to her, his body still booming with laughter.
Unfortunately, for Michonne, she knew that she was in for a rude awakening. Merle wasn't going to take no for an answer.
o—o—o
Merle wasn't experienced with courting women, in the least. Usually, when he offered himself, they practically just threw themselves at him. With Michonne, it was different. She, obviously, wanted to play hard to get. And, oddly enough, the redneck didn't have a problem with playing this game.
He had left his Nubian Queen alone for a while. He even had time to sit down and think about the woman in question. She could deny him all that she wanted to, but sooner or later she would realize that there was no one better'n good ol' Merle Dixon. The farmer was too old, Officer Friendly was nuttier than a bedbug more times than not, Glenn was taken, and everyone knew that Daryl and Carol were too shy to admit their feelings towards each other. Either way, though, the younger Dixon was still off limits.
Michonne didn't see it the same way. She saw Merle as a candidate, sure, but she actually thought more of them than a couple of one-night-stands. She knew that they had quite a bit in common: they were both very skilled fighters, and they didn't think twice about spilling a little blood for the right cause.
Merle left his cell, on the hunt for some whiskey, or just anything to drown out his thoughts. If he couldn't get his Nubian Queen into bed quite yet, then he just needed to do something to keep himself occupied. A man could go stir crazy bein' cooped up in this place. No wonder Rick wasn't exactly there very often.
When the redneck approached the common room leading to the C-Block, the place appeared to be abandoned. Merle just shrugged, not really giving much thought as to where anyone else was. The only one that really mattered was Daryl, and the elder Dixon had just seen him not too long ago. He was going on a supply run with Carol, not that that much surprised Merle anyways. They were practically attached at the hip, those two.
Who he did see, though, was none other than Michonne herself. She was still steadily packing that bag of hers. Finally, the redneck just decided to ask her what she was doing.
"Well, look who it is!" Merle grinned, closing up on the dark-skinned survivor's personal space. He came up from behind her, drinking in her wonderful scent.
"Mmm," was all Michonne could reply, a ghost of a smile tracing her lips. "Back again, are we?" she asked again, refusing to glance back at him.
"Always, darlin', always," the redneck began, closing the gap between them even further. He noticed her nearly full bag and just chuckled, baring his yellowing teeth. "We plannin' on goin' somewhere, sugar?"
Michonne sighed and finally turned around to face Merle. "To kill the Governor," she paused briefly, and had to stop Merle from interrupting her. "When the time is right."
The elder Dixon laughed even harder at that. He was practically bending over laughing at this point. "When the time's right? Girl, if we wait until the time is right, it'll be too damn late."
"And if we go in too fast, innocent people will die," Michonne began, abandoning her bag to give Merle her complete attention. She crossed her arms over her chest defiantly and just waited for the other survivor to respond.
Merle's laughter finally died down a moment or so later. Oh, this was too good. "Darlin', this is war. And what's war without a li'l bloodshed, huh?"
The younger survivor shook her head and turned her back on him to grab her bag again. "Andrea is still out there. If anything happens to her—" she finally confessed, struggling for the right words.
"If Blondie is smart enough, she'll make the right choice and come wit' us. But if she keeps on thinkin' with that pussy o' hers—" Merle took Michonne by surprise when he grabbed her hand and spun her around, so that they were face to face once again. "Yer friend'll come around, or she won't."
The katana-wielding survivor's brown eyes bored a hole right into the redneck's blue eyes. Merle couldn't help but continue to laugh. Michonne was actually starting to get annoyed.
"What's so funny?" she asked, putting her best frown in place.
"You are. So worried about the blonde bitch that left you high an' dry, jus' to get a piece of ass," Merle explained, wiping the corner of his eyes as his laughter died down. "Especially after you spent eight goddamn months lookin' after her…"
"Andrea is like my sister," the dark-skinned survivor told the redneck. "If there's anything that you understand, it's about siblings. You would do anything for Daryl."
"I would," Merle agreed, all playfulness aside. "Still, though, Daryl ain't done nothin' that I hadn't done to him before. I was an ass an' left him when he needed me most. Our mama hadn't been too long gone, an' I couldn't deal wit' our abusive ol' man." He nodded towards Michonne, who stood there shell shocked at how open he was with her. "You're a good person. Ya ain't gonna leave no one like that."
Michonne glanced down at the ground, trying to process that revelation, as well as that compliment. Merle decided that he couldn't wait much longer, and he hooked the front of her vest with his bayonet and yanked her over to him. He closed the remaining gap between them, and Michonne just went along with it. Her lips fit over his perfectly. Her hips locked tightly against his, fitting together like missing puzzle pieces when the two of them started kissing. Merle kept his bayonet arm wrapped tightly around her supple waist, whereas the other moved freely to cup Michonne's face and trail irresistibly down her body.
The younger survivor smirked as she felt her counterpart's tongue skating across her lips. She allowed him access, and just continued kissing him with all of her might. Michonne pulled herself closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. For a moment, she had to pull away to get a deep breath of air. Merle just took that time to trail kisses down her jaw.
"Nice distraction, redneck," Michonne snorted. She, surprisingly so, received a tender kiss on the lips for that. "Thought that I told you that you can't get in my pants that easily—"
"Girl, yer jus' lucky that ya ain't wearing a skirt," Merle chuckled. He still had her in his arms, and neither of them looked ready to move.
"Is that a threat, Dixon?" Michonne asked, quirking an eyebrow of her own.
"More like a bet, sweetheart," the redneck winked, letting her out of his arms. His good hand smacked her on the bottom and sent her on her own way.
"You're not even going to try, after all of that?" Michonne tilted her head to the side, her nose crinkling in the slightest. Merle started to laugh again.
"You actually sound disappointed, darlin'—"
The katana-wielding survivor let out a breath that she hadn't been aware that she was holding as Merle headed off on his own venture for alcohol.
Oh, this was going to be a problem.
o—o—o
Michonne couldn't get a thought in edge-wise without thinking about what had happened between her and Merle back in the common room. The way he made her feel… God, it just made her feel like she was about to implode at any given second. When she had first met Merle, he hadn't been her most favorite person in the whole world. He had tried to kill her for crying out loud! But then he had told the Governor that lie about killing her. Now, here they were, stuck in the prison together.
At the very least, though, it gave Michonne the opportunity to get to know Merle better. He had been through quite a bit, but now all he cared about was his brother. And that, along with his skill, made her have respect for Merle. This whole attraction thing was just the icing on the cake. If it hadn't been for his damn charm…
The dark-skinned survivor was busily trying to finish packing her bag when she realized that she couldn't hold it in any longer. She had spent the last few hours trying to be productive, but it had all blown up in her face. Michonne couldn't shake Merle out of her head.
She found him drinking away in his cell, something that didn't surprise her in the slightest. The redneck grinned back at Michonne as she shut the cell door behind her. He slammed the bottle down and directed all of his attention onto her.
"There's my Nubian Queen," Merle partially slurred, patting his lap for her to sit down. "What're ya up to? Finally come to yer senses?"
"The question is: have you?" Michonne asked, choosing to sit down next to him on the bed, and not in his lap.
"The fuck is ya talkin' 'bout, woman?" the redneck asked, that nervous demeanor of his beginning to show. Whenever he liked a woman, an' she wasn't exactly asking or saying what he wanted her to say, he tended to get nervous and get that whole "guppy" effect. He was even starting to sound disgruntled.
"I'm not here for a one-night thing. If it doesn't last that long 'cause we can't stand each other's guts for that long, then fine. But I want to at least try something more," Michonne explained, stepping closer to a surprised Merle.
"I—I guess we could. Just ain't much for datin', that's all," the redneck confessed, staring up into her eyes. He wrapped his both of his arms around her this time, though he really wasn't quite sure of what to do next.
"I don't hook up," she told him matter-of-factly, kissing him on the forehead. "I told you, redneck, it'll take a lot more to make me spread my legs for you."
"Well," Merle grinned, finally feeling more himself again, "I'll just have to try that much harder, huh?"
Michonne let him kiss her again, as the two fell back into the same pattern from before. Only, this time, they could care less about who saw them together. They were in a confined cell—just who consenting adults who had a thicker history than most textbooks. The others would have something to say, but that much didn't matter to either of them.
And I'm back! Yay, thank you Merle and Michonne for finally cooperating! I've had so much trouble writing this past week, with some heavy interruptions for RL. Reviews would be lovely.