So my plan for one chapter is now actually three 'cause it turns out I elaborate a lot….hehe! There is some uh adult themes in this one (As promised, though I'm still very new at them) so age-check yourself please xxx thank you to beautiful reviews, followers and favouriters :D
In all fairness to the man, my tantrums deterred him only long enough to sulk and laugh at my pitiful finds of schnapps and golf gear. Alcohol wasn't going to solve this bitterness inside my chest, the dark that had settled there for what felt like good. But the act of perusing something was keeping me sane at least, focused and together. I wondered if that's why Daryl stayed, I was his mission and keeping track of my stupid ass kept him unable to focus on all the death. Kind of hard when you put down the dead every day, and every time you think in that second before the blade falls- is someone doing this to Maggie? To Judith? To my father's decapitated head?
Oh shit, where was I? Not getting lost in thoughts like that is so difficult, particularly for the lack of other stimulation. Perhaps if I started to cosy up to Daryl again he would fuck the thoughts out of me- but the way he stayed so many paces in front not helping my struggling weariness told me to not even try for that. I could afford for his anger to get us killed because of me. I was promised a good drink, y'know? Daryl wove the woods and in that moment I knew he knew exactly where we were, he didn't want to find the others. It was his choice. And I resented him, but I understood because the crippling fear was enough for me to ignore the signs pointing to the rehabilitation facility to idly drag myself behind him instead.
Maybe I should have gone to find my sister. The optimism they held me in such esteem for was non-existent- I knew this, but acting on that disbelief made me feel like I was letting down tier expectations of me. Humans make mistakes, I tell myself that enough. One day it will become tangible I guess, having been echoed so oft there's no choice but to believe it like times tables. 2x2=4. Daryl and 'never have I ever' hit head first. Mistakes, so quickly they happen but so irreparable the damage.
When I said Daryl got any before, when he hacked a walker for eating a freaking bunny rabbit, this was nothing. I was the one being hacked to pieces, the words inflicting the little blows to tear me apart. He knew exactly what he was doing, weeks talking lead to my downfall- I had told his exactly how to get under my skin. That, or he was fucking good at reading weaknesses flitter across a person's face in the heat of a one sided row.
''I sure as hell never cut my wrists looking for attention-'' he used his own gestures to imitate, staring me dead in the eye. I thought how he had never acknowledged it before-not really.
That did it. The line had irreversibly been crossed with those simple words. I could brush off perhaps the faker elements of my personality, not caring about being seen by him as a child of Saint Nick's or his distain at the false optimism of singing. A switch had been flicked, I lost my grip there wanting him to shut up and leave me to calm down and cry somewhere.
The vicious tone in his voice and the bitter way he spat at me left no question of his total hatred for me in that moment. And I hated him too. But I couldn't move, my mind was reeling still from the disbelief of is cruelty. I wanted to cry, but part of me relished the aggression I already had for myself. It felt good to have someone on my side at last. He hated me as much as I hated myself. So I sat there and took it, my hand loosely around the fuzzy warmth of a plastic glass of moonshine and large eyes staring disbelievingly up at him.
We locked gaze. The radiating warmth of that sheer uncontrollable rage made my stomach clench familiarly and I knew that moment we were going to fuck or fight. It was the only response and way to end this. To this day I won't be able to say if I regret not taking that moment to start the forceful kisses or if I'm glad what then transpired was necessary for what we would then later be. Instead he dragged me up by my arm, the skin pulling awkwardly as if he knew that twisting his wrists would make it just that bit more uncomfortable for me . I was dragged outside, the dreadful promise of lessons and facing the monster head on.
If the majority of my body was struggling with worried need to control my own limbs, there was admittedly a tiny bit that wanted to cry. Cry because I missed the feel of his warmth against mine, holding me like he once did. But I said I wouldn't think about that now. More fighting, seemed that was all we were good for in the end, shouting at each other as I wriggled free. I don't know why I had to put the poor walker out of its misery, but I figured being dead was bad luck enough for the man. Fucking hell did that send the ball rolling- him screaming at me and somehow my own mind retorted before I had really caught up with what was being said.
''If it were my dad-'' my voice stopped, but it didn't matter because he covered my pain with exclaiming his own protest. He had no right for his Achilles heel to be the father I couldn't mention until that moment, the one I was angry at. And childishly I knew I was only angry at him because he died.
Maybe it was sobbing Daryl, and that even though he had walked away from my continuous need for comfort, he had initially been there for me, to hug and hold though he hated it. Or perhaps it was entirely selfish once I realised my poor daddy was being vandalised by my bitter memories. So I couldn't just walk away. My arms wrapped around him, winding myself sharply on his back and trying to pull in his shaking shoulders as he tried to throw me off.
We held each other stronger for a small while, silently breaking down in some twisted haven of a fairy tale. Little red and the woodsman holding each other and crying over the fate of poor granny. He only moved to turn around in my arms, sliding his own to me so we were chest to chest. My head on his shoulder and his arms gripping my back with the same need I had shown him. Clawing at the fabric we made it impossible to distinguish which of our limbs belonged to who or for the other to slip away. We may not be the ideal team, some days not even really a 'team' at all, but we needed one another for some unknown jigsaw to be finished.
His breathing slowed, the slight flutter of his heart fading slowly back to normal rhythm against my cheek. I knew he was back to his normal frame of mind the second his entire body stiffened in my own. Leaning back I trepidaticiously looked up at his face. The worry and anxiety from one simple movement never shook me so much. The moment couldn't end, as soon as it did I was going to be a lone again. He'd shut me out. He'd walk away. He'd let me stay here alone.
It wasn't right what I did. To kiss him so suddenly was only going to lead to more heart break, but it was me who started the flame once again.
My hands were on his face, pulling his to arch painfully, practically forcing myself into his mouth ignoring the grunts of pleasure or protest. When he kissed back I could have cried for the sheer joy of it all. Like an addict getting my fix, I curled my fingers into loose strands of his hair so he couldn't weave himself out and denounce this as a mistake.
The trail of his ghosting fingers down my arms before they settled just above the jutting hipbones made me shiver in the cool want for release, as his hot mouth kept urging at mine for more. And I would give him everything, even if he wouldn't give it back. Though it was by no means my first time, nor did he think it was, after all he was the main perpetrator- there was a definite sense of awkward care. His movements though strong and palpable, each fingertip deliciously stinging in its own way, lacked the full haphazard nature of full passion. Critiquing Daryl Dixon's intimate prowess are we?
His lips softened on mine, pulling away a fraction so he could leave sloppily hot kisses across my jaw. Taking my ear lobe between his teeth, waiting for my back to arch and press myself against him hungrily, I heard his primal grin to himself. The lion had the lamb in its mouth. Moaning distinctly, I pushed myself against his firm body, enjoying the evident arousal and knowing I had some element of control over him for the next half hour.
My clothes were clawed off, things disappearing from us as a path was made into that stupid wooden cabin. My knees buckled upon hitting the edge of the reclining chair, his heavy weight hurting but the feel of his roaming and kneading hands left little to complain about. It hand been too long, far too much time had elapsed since this passionate sin overshadowed all my other senses. Who needed logic and passion anyway?
His nails dragged down my thighs with perfect pressure as they removed my knickers with them, the material soon to land on the floor, a place I'm sad to say they would never be found from. Like a wanton little slut I melted to his touch, surrendering myself in a manner my father would've been ashamed to see in anyone unrelated, let alone baby Greene. His filthy muttering about my nether regions tightening my stomach muscles and pulling out long groans from him too. Exquisite torture, far too long in the coming but satiating every human urge and instinct I had ever known. Fixing every solution with his filling nature and hot hands across my naked body. His lips panting out and eyes rolling back, the end was nearing.
Moonshine and getting dressed. No words, no speaking- just that. Dutch courage and the heated rom left only of reminders of immature desire made us move outward. Huddling together on the small porch, the stars above so quickly that it seemed impossible today was the same day he told me I was a child for hurting.
My back was on the wooden porch, the air cooling quickly but my buzz was going so strong I didn't care. Post-coital endorphins and moonshine on an empty stomach did that to you. And all I wanted to do was smile and tilt my head from side to side in its uneven weightiness. But deeper down was the issue, the ones I was avoiding so I mumbled crazy things at Daryl. Sharing secrets of lower cost to save those that meant too much. He could never know that, even after I initiated it, I felt used. I felt cheap, and empty at being satisfied. Used, but I had used him after all- there was no claim but the feeling was still there.
I gave him my thoughts on him, paying back my dues simply with worded value. Then I told him how stupid I was, the thoughts I held onto to only have something to believe, not because I truly thought it was coherently possible. The price for them was higher, the cost of giving him another chance because it was me that it would backfire to. He could take my thoughts, those valuable nothings and along with it the physical comfort I forced him to partake in.
''You're gonna miss me so much when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon.'' I laughed as I said it, the glee in my eyes forced form alcoholic confusion and sensory overload. Masking the pain and overriding the self-censorship. He looked back with misted amusement, the long hair covering his soulless windows to it all. He could've ben thing anything, anything at all.
But it was true. To some extent I was the one who frustratingly pressed for intimacy he wasn't prepared for, the sex was nothing to the havoc I caused internally, and otherwise he would never have stopped. Where I had made my wormhole, I had never fully left his apple of a head, gaining me faster access back to my prize-old throne. Yet I barely had figured him out, only enough to precariously call sovereignty of chaos and know that I was an issue. His fingers twitched with lack of nicotine, the post-coital tipsy feeling wearing off.
The destructive element of personality comes out then. When I'm drunk and complaining how it makes me feel good, how I can't think how I could live another day without precious moonshine in my hands, it made the plan even weirder. Moonshine, the fuzzy fake joy I had in my gut and my new best friend, was going to be wasted. Poured on walls and ceiling to set ablaze and move on. The fall of a home left us alone in the wilderness, so the fall of homeliness would set us back out there for the world. Together, albeit bitterly.
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