READERS: Warning, smut ahead! Enjoy! Please review and tell me what you all think! Much love!
Chapter 7: Collide
By Cerafine
Henri was sitting on the railroad tracks, alone, waiting for Daryl to return. Once he was sure they had lost their tail, he had gone on ahead to scout the tracks a bit, making sure there were no surprises, and told her to stay put and "rest awhile." Which was another way of saying, "I don't trust you not to flip out after you got all cry-baby girly on me in that house."
Digging into the white rocks with her hunting knife, she blew a strand of hair out of her face. You know that isn't true, Henri. He just wanted to give you a little space. Our story is a tough one to hear, Will protested gently from her thoughts.
"Tough to hear, Will? I fucking lived it." She threw a rock at the tracks and got a satisfying thock for her efforts. She picked up another to do it again. She was being sullen, she knew, and wasn't sure why. The only explanation she could think of was that she was mad at herself for telling Daryl about her painful past. She had summarized quite a bit, but he knew most of it. He still hadn't told her about his, and now he was acting odd. Odd? Yes, that was the right word. He wasn't really talking to her, and his eyes held a look of sadness mixed with pity, which they couldn't afford to have right now with someone following them. He needed to be able to trust her, and she had just thrown that out the window with her revelation in the house.
She looked up when she heard his crunching footsteps making their way back to her on the rock. Standing, she brushed herself off, resheathed her knife, and picked up her pack. "Ready?" She asked, meeting his eyes.
He was looking at her that way again. God-fucking-damn it.
"Stop fucking looking at me like that," she snapped, shoving him. She was fully aware of how hateful she sounded. "I'm still me, I'm still the person you've been surviving with. My past doesn't make me fragile, or girly, or weak. I'm a tough bitch, and I won't have you looking at me like I'm gonna start screaming my head off or shoot myself in the face out of grief. You're looking at me weird now." She glared at him.
She hadn't even budged him with her angry shove. It had felt a bit like pushing against a brick wall. He looked surprised for a moment, then it was gone and his face was passive as ever. "Hm. And how is it that I used to look at you?" He raised his eyebrows.
She faltered a bit. It had been a strange culmination of curiosity, irritation, and some type of need that had radiated from his stares before. She knew he tried to keep an "I don't give a damn about you" blankness to his expression when he looked her way, and the set of his jaw, his mouth, and his body posture did a good job of conveying that to her. His eyes, however, betrayed what he was thinking.
"You know what I'm talking about. I'm not some weakling. You did save me, and I'm sure you will again if you have to, but don't look at me like I'm a liability. I can take care of myself. I can take care of you." She stopped short as she heard what she was saying.
He was watching her carefully. "I don't know what you think you see when I look at you, but I'm tellin' you, it ain't like you said. I don't think you're weak, Henri. I think you've been through enough shit to break anyone. Enough to break me." He paused. "I'm just surprised at how well you handle it, that's all."
She gave a harsh, humorless laugh. "You wanna know how I handle it? I don't. I don't think about them, I don't talk about them. I pretend nothing ever happened. I act like my life started 8 months ago and nothing existed before that." She was toying with the locket at her throat. "I can think about Will and manage not to think about Hadley and Cade. If I do, I break. We can't have that now. I can keep it put away. I swear." She looked up at him, pleading with her eyes. "Please just give me a chance to prove to you that I'm fine."
He nodded, looking convinced. "I trust you. That never changed. But you're not fine, Henri. It's okay to admit that. Gotta let yourself feel it sometime, otherwise shit happens like what happened in that house."
She looked up at him, sad that he was pissed about her opening up to him. She sat down slowly, feeling like a total asshole. "I'm sorry. I got too emotional, I cried, I... It won't happen again."
His eyes darkened. "Damn it, Henri, I wasn't talkin' about that. I was glad you told me. You were so upset you would've let that baby walker attack you. If I hadn't been right there to shoot him, he would've been on you. You let your guard down 'cause you don't let yourself think about things until it's right in front of your face and it hits you like a truck."
She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. He was right.
Daryl squatted down, bending his knees so that he was eye level with her. He rested his hands on her legs, making her tingle involuntarily at his touch, and looked at her earnestly. "Doubtin' yourself? That ain't you. Where's that fire?" He gave her a quick wink and stood, grabbing her hands and pulling her up with him. "You're tough, so fuckin' prove it. You already have, but keep it up."
"Pretty sure the crying hurt my rep."
He rolled his eyes. "Shut up."
They picked up their belongings, gave each other a long look full of unspoken thoughts, and picked up the trail along the tracks once again.
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"Ever wonder where the fuck that guy went?"
Joe was taking a piss. He turned and looked at Jeb, eyebrows raised. "What guy?"
Jeb spat on the ground. "The one who killed Lou. The one I saw under the bed right before Tony choked me out so he could sleep in that bed, selfish fucker..."
Joe gave him such a look of fury that Jeb trailed off. "Don't bring Tony up to me. That fucker is dead to me, and if I see him again he will be for sure." He zipped up his pants and began to pace. "How in the fuck did I end up with so many traitors in my group?" He snapped. "Len taking what was mine, Tony trying to do the same, Daryl killing a group member and running off with the whore that should've been brought to me in the first place. And now, Tony's a fuckin' deserter."
He put his hands on his hips and sighed. "And where in the fuck are Ray and Marty? I can only guess they're dead. They didn't meet back at the town with us, and we haven't seen or heard from 'em in days. I told 'em to be careful around Daryl." He sighed and ran a hand through his graying hair. "Down to three men. Three! We need to get back to tracking. Maybe we should just head back to the house where that asshole killed Lou, and go from there. Daryl and the bitch are still in this area, I know it. Maybe they went back to the railroad tracks- that's where we first found Daryl."
Joe wouldn't admit it to the group, but it had been a bad move on his part to follow the map to Aaronsville. They were low on supplies, and morale had been bad since Lou was bumped off. Finding Daryl, sitting exhausted and beat down in the middle of the road, had helped a bit; however, there had been friction between Daryl and Len from the jump and he should have known something like this would happen. He should've stayed on the trail to find the asshole who had killed Lou and then snuck out of the house like a coward. It had been so long now since it had happened, no way they would find him. He was long gone.
He had a thought, then. Daryl had asked him about Terminus, some damn place that had posted signs up and down the tracks leading people to it. Joe had told him to steer clear of it, but because of that fact, he was betting Daryl was heading straight for it. It offered sanctuary, and he had a hurt woman with him slowing him down. Most likely, he would go there. Hell, maybe the piece of shit that had been hiding under the bed in that house (and whoever else he was running with) would be headed there too.
I've let enough betrayal slip through my fingers unchecked, Joe thought, rage building up inside of his chest like a thunderhead.
It's time for all of them to fucking pay.
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The Georgia air smelled of rain. The air felt heavy with electricity and the impending storm.
The tracks seemed to have been entombed in a tunnel of trees for a long time, and Daryl and Henri took out more than a few walkers as they traveled down the rail line. Daryl could see that Henri was growing weary; truth be told, he was too. They were both covered in blood, sweat and dirt. They stank of walker guts and exhaustion. It was going to start coming down soon. It was time to get to a shelter and call it a day.
He wasn't going to risk putting her in danger by camping out close to the tracks. He was hoping to find a small residential area somewhere close to the tracks if he could. If he were up to it, they could have stayed on the tracks and he'd have watched all night for the motherfucker that was following them, but he was dead on his feet. He needed some real fucking sleep, the kind that only came when he was behind a locked, barricaded door.
"Ready to call it?" He asked gruffly, not wanting to seem too eager.
Henri looked over at him knowingly and grinned, her face a dirty mess of blood and grime. "You bet your ass I am. I'm starving, and I feel like I might need to lie down right here on the tracks and take a nap if we don't camp somewhere soon. Right here good?" She started to slip her pack off her shoulders, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.
"Not here," he said quickly. "Let's keep lookin'. I wanna get to a house, barn, shed, something with walls and a door between us and them." He trudged onward, motioning for her to follow. He heard her sigh and slowly pick up her pace behind him.
She was annoyed with him, he knew. She could tell he was being overly cautious because she was with him. It made her feel like a burden, or some shit. He didn't know why for sure. He just knew sleeping outside tonight was out of the question. He didn't really give a shit if she liked it or not, that's what was happening and he would have the final word.
He met her eyes and grunted, "See that?" He jerked his chin up at the sky off in the distance to the east. The white, cottonball clouds ran together in the distance, darkening into a black wall of thunderclouds. "That'll be here by this evening, and who knows how long it'll last. We can't be outside tonight and expect to sleep."
They walked for what seemed liked another hour, and finally the claustrophobic tunnel of trees opened up and spread out into a larger plained area of land. Looking back at Henri, he shielded his eyes from the sun. "Here. You see?" He lifted his right arm and pointed north.
About 200 yards off the tracks, Daryl could make out a couple of buildings but couldn't tell what they were for the overgrowth that had swallowed the surrounding land since the Turn. The buildings, whatever they were, were almost totally concealed from their position on the tracks. "Man, you must have great goddamn eyes," Henri said with a low whistle, impressed. "I would never have seen that. Let's go, Hawkeye," she jibed, winking at him as she pushed past him to walk in the tall grass. He cringed at the nickname and followed her, glowering at her shimmering red hair as it nearly disappeared ahead of him in the grass.
"Wait up," he called, picking up the pace to catch her.
They picked their way through the tall weeds and grass. "Let's hope we don't get lime disease," she said, only half-joking by her tone. "Wouldn't that be a hilarious way to go these days. Death by tick-bite." She was lifting her feet high and stretching her stride out farther than normal, trying to fight through the tall grass and thick, tangled brush.
Daryl had caught up and was walking right behind her. His eyes fell on her ass as she struggled to make her way through the dense overgrowth. He made himself look away. You look at her way too damn much, he thought. Watch it.
After twenty minutes of fighting through the grass, they came to a small rocky clearing. The grass was still tall here, but less so due to the intervention of the rocks. A brown, shuttered house stood off to their left, surrounded by pines. Straight ahead was a small red barn, the paint faded and chipped away to a faded pink. An old, rusty truck was parked in front of it, the tailgate down. A storage shed stood dilapidated and hulking off to the right. Daryl could see a well house in the back left corner of the house.
"What ya think?" he asked her, walking past her towards the house. "There's a well, so water for sure. I'ma check the house out, see if there's anything movin' around." He stopped to put an arrow in his crossbow and took the porch steps two at a time, then tried the front door knob. It easily swung open, and he disappeared inside in a high crouch, his weapon raised and ready.
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Henri followed him, pulling her Beretta out and keeping it in a low ready position. She knew Daryl had gone right once inside, so she went to the left, past the stairs and towards the living room. Nothing. The house was in good condition though, clean except for the thick layer of dust that coated the furniture and floor due to more than a year of emptiness. Making her way back to the front door, she turned left again and went up the stairs, which hit a small landing before taking a 180 degree turn and continuing up to the second floor.
Here, Henri found the master bedroom, a huge bed with a cast-iron frame dominating the main part of the room. Making her way over to it, she lifted the blue comforter and shook out the dust, then shook out the pillows as well. I know exactly where I'm sleeping tonight, she thought happily.
She heard a creak in the hardwood floor behind her and whirled, seeing Daryl standing behind her, one arm braced against the doorway as he leaned casually against it. He was dirty, and sweaty, but damn did he look good. She swallowed hard and said, "Dibs on the giant bed." I don't have to sleep in it alone, she thought a bit wistfully.
His intense blue eyes met her green ones and he gave her a lopsided smile. "Whatever you want, Princess," he drawled, putting emphasis on the last word because he knew it irritated her. "Wait'll you see what I found in the basement." Motioning backwards with a jerk of his chin, he let go of the door frame and went down the stairs. Puzzled, Henri followed him, staying close behind.
In the wall under the stairs was a big door. He swung it wide and put a hand on her wrist to keep track of her, because it was pitch black with no light in the stair way, even though it was still daylight outside. She cleared her throat nervously. "You sure there's nothing down here?" Creepy, dank, dark basements made her nervous.
Chuckling quietly, she heard his zippo strike and suddenly his face was lit up before her, the lighter between them and casting jumping, shifting shadows on their faces. "You scared of the dark, Henri?" he teased, giving her that smile again. "I already came down with a flashlight earlier, but this'll just take a second and we'll head back up. It's safe, don't worry." His hand was suddenly holding hers, and she gripped it tightly as they finished trekking down the remainder of the stairs. He led her a little ways to the right, and they stopped.
"Look right there," he said, holding the light out to illuminate the object he was drawing her attention to. "Ya see it?"
Henri squinted in the light, trying to make out what it was he wanted her to see. When it finally registered with her what she was seeing, she gasped in delight and laughed out loud. "No way!"
It was a generator.
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Daryl checked the genny to make sure it had gas. It had plenty. He wondered if there would be more in cans out in the barn or shed. It didn't really matter, they wouldn't be here for more than a night. Maybe two, he allowed. Seeing how stoked Henri had been over the genny had made him reconsider leaving tomorrow morning. You sure 'bout that? A voice sounding suspiciously like Merle spoke up. You been tryin' so hard to keep away from that fucker that's on your trail, and now you're just gonna stay put and let him find ya? Not a smart move, baby brother.
Daryl rubbed a hand over his chin, thinking. This house was barely able to be seen from the tracks, especially if you weren't looking. You could run right past it and never have any clue it was there. He had been searching for a place for an hour, and still almost missed it. He was almost positive they were safe here.
Henri said excitedly, "So I can have a hot shower? A hot one?" She was practically jumping up and down. "And I can wash my clothes in hot water?"
"I wouldn't try the washer and dryer here," he grunted. "Wash 'em in the damn sink if ya need to. You can use hot water and soap."
"I'm washing yours, too," she said, wrinkling her nose. "They need it."
Amused, he raised an eyebrow at her in the flickering light. "What's wrong with my clothes?"
She rolled her eyes and shook her head, pulling on his hand to hurry him. "Nothing, they just need a little TLC is all. Can we go? This basement is seriously creeping me out. It smells like it has snakes in it." She shuddered.
Snorting in disdain, he let her lead the way up the steps. "Damn woman."
Once they were back upstairs, she ran to get her pack and then took the stairs up to the master bathroom as quickly as she could, calling, "I'll be out in a few minutes!" as she went.
Deciding he'd wait in the master bedroom for her to get done, he put down his crossbow and sprawled across the top of the comforter on the king bed, closing his eyes. He was tired as fuck. He heard the shower start running from the bathroom, and heard a triumphant whoop from Henri a few seconds later. He tried to stay awake until she was done, then realized that she was probably going to take at least an hour in there. He drifted away and crashed into an exhausted sleep.
He was rudely awakened who knew how much later by drops of water on his face. His eyes shot open and he saw Henri leaning over him, grinning. Her long wet hair hung over his face, dripping water from the wet ends. She smelled of Irish Spring soap. "Wake up," she whispered. "Your turn!" She straightened and trotted back to the bathroom. He sat up and watched her go, a fluffy white towel wrapped around her body and ending at the tops of her long, muscled legs. She was brushing out her tangled hair in front of the bathroom mirror, which had a clear swipe across it through the steamy fog that had built up over it.
Smirking, he kicked off his boots and stripped off his vest, shirt, jeans and socks. The steamy air hit his bare skin as he walked past her into the bathroom, opened the shower door, turned on the water as hot as it would go, and finally stepped in. Out of the corner of his eye, just before he closed the frosted glass door on the stand-up shower, he saw Henri's face. She had been watching him get in. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was slightly open, her features a hilarious mix of shock, embarassment, and admiration.
The smirk still on his face, he looked up and let the hot jets of water pour over his face and head, then turned to let it beat on his bare back, erasing the tension that had been building there. He opened his eyes, looking down as the water ran over his aching neck, and saw the weeks of dirt, sweat and blood washing down the drain in a swirling, reddish brown mess. Reaching for the soap, he got to work washing himself, still smirking with his back to the shower door.
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Henri stood frozen by the sink, her toothbrush in hand. Had he really just stripped naked and walked right past her? Yep, he had. She had sensed his presence, turned to look at him, and what had greeted her was his bare ass as he walked casually to the shower. As he had turned sideways to get in, she had caught a glimpse of his manhood. Holy shit! He was as well-endowed as she had imagined.
She watched him in the shower through the cloudy glass for a few moments, then tore her eyes away and gripped the sides of the sink. She felt heat creeping up her neck, her ears and face burning. Her heart was pounding. Are you still trying to lie to yourself about how much you want him? She thought dryly. Because it's pretty goddamn obvious. She couldn't deny the fact that seeing him that way had given her a tingling, aching feeling between her legs, any more than she could deny the fact that her face was a burning red.
She shook her head hard once to clear it, splashed some cold water on her face to cool her down, and stared hard at herself in the mirror, setting her mouth back into a line, hardening her resolve. You're not some horny teenager, you're a widow who has had children and survived a rape. This is stupid. She was now able to think about what had happened to her that night without wanting to vomit or cry. She had thought she would never want to have sex with anyone ever again, not just because of her assault but because of Will. The fact that she wanted Daryl made her feel a crushing amount of guilt, even thought Will was dead. She felt like a bad wife for even considering sleeping with another man.
She glanced quickly at the shower door again, watching him lean his head back into the stream of hot water. He was just... such a man. The way Will had been. Only Will wasn't here and never would be again, and Daryl was here, right here, in front of her. He had saved her life more than once, and she knew from the looks he gave her sometimes that he wanted her too. He tried to hide it, and he hid it well, but she knew.
She was surprised to realize that she was actually thinking about dropping her towel, opening the shower door, and getting in with him right now. She wanted to so badly, she was imagining it in her head. She wanted to get in, run her hands through his long, wet hair, and kiss him. Wanted to feel his rough hunter's hands on her body, touching every inch of her skin.
I can't let him win, though, she thought stubbornly, tightening her towel around herself. Her vision of them in the shower had made the tingly ache between her legs grow into a tight, hot, throbbing need, and she knew she had to get out of there before she lost her tenuous control. She turned and fled the bathroom, grabbing up her pack from the bedroom and opting to get dressed downstairs.
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Daryl was dressed and scrubbing at his long, wet hair with a dry towel, looking for Henri as he walked barefoot through the house. Where'd she go? Maybe I scared her off, he thought ruefully as he made his way to the kitchen.
She was standing at the sink, scrubbing her clothes in the right side. She had found a kettle and a press in the cupboards, and he could smell the hot, fresh coffee she had made. She looked up quickly, then back down at her wet clothes, continuing to scrub them. "Grab your stuff and I'll wash it too," she said casually. "Want a cup?" she motioned to the coffee press. "I bet that coffee is stale, but it tastes pretty damn good to me after a year without it."
He took the empty cup she had left him on the counter and poured the piping hot coffee into it, inhaling deeply. Coffee was something he didn't realize he had missed until now. He took a sip, burning his tongue but enjoying the taste of it. "Thanks," he said, still watching her. Her cheeks looked pink, as if she were excited about something. He smiled to himself and leaned against the counter, looking out the kitchen window at the sky, which had darkened to an ominous charcoal gray. "Storm's almost here," he commented quietly, drinking more coffee.
"Looks like it's gonna be a bad one," Henri said, peering out at the sky with him.
"Ahh, it might be, but we'll survive. Look what I found in the nightstand upstairs." He held up a deck of cards and shook it.
She grinned and said, "You'd better watch out, I'm the rummy queen, buddy."
He huffed. "Maybe so, but how are ya at poker?"
She shrugged. "I don't have the best poker face. You're probably what, like a master player?"
He smiled. "The best."
"Damn it."
"Ahh, I'll go easy on ya." He winked at her, and she blushed and went back to washing her clothes.
He had started to head to the living room for a better look out of the bigger windows, and she stopped him. "Hey wait," she called. "Look what I found in the top cabinet earlier."
As she turned to dig it out from under the sink, he laughed shortly. "You? Did ya have to drag a chair in here? You're a midget."
She turned, scowling at him. "I climbed up on the counter, if you must know," she growled. "And I'm 5'2'', which is far from midget-status. Here it is," she said, bringing it to her chest to show him. It was a mostly-full bottle of Jack Daniels.
He cocked his head and gave her a long look. "Drinkin' card games?"
She raised her eyebrows. "Why not?"
He thought for a moment, then gave her a nod. "You're on. I'll drink your midget ass under the table."
She stamped her foot and said indignantly, "I am not a midget!"
He chuckled. "Did you just stamp your foot at me?"
Just then, a crash shook the house as a burst of thunder rolled from the clouds above the house. Henri jumped and nearly dropped the bottle of Jack, looking out the window again. "Whew," she exclaimed in a shaking voice. "That freaked me out. This is gonna be a big one, I haven't heard thunder like that in as long as I can remember."
Daryl gave her a shrewd look. "Whats'amatter? You afraid of storms?"
"Just the opposite, actually," she said, her green eyes lighting up. "I love them. I like to watch the lightning, hear the thunder. I love rain. Most people feel energized and awake on sunny, warm days; I feel that way when it's gray and overcast, with rain pouring down." She was smiling. "It's on my list of things left to enjoy. Rainy days."
"You have a list?"
She blushed again. "I mean... yeah, I guess. I just try to make a compilation of good things left to enjoy in life. Makes things... easier."
"Huh." he thought for a moment. "What do you got so far? Let's hear it."
She looked up at him, setting the Jack on the counter. Wiping her damp hands on her jeans, she cleared her throat. "You sure you wanna hear it?"
He gave her a twiddling 'go ahead' motion with his fingers, waiting with raised eyebrows.
She sighed. "Okay, um..." she thought for a second. "Sunrise. Sunset. Fresh air. No traffic. Cold water. Comfortable beds. Bagging your own food on a hunt. Food of any kind, really. Candy," she smiled, then continued. "Dry socks. Clean clothes. Cigarettes. Being able to pee after holding it for too long," she laughed. "A good night's sleep. Driving a car instead of hiking everywhere." She paused, then said, "And today we can add a few more. Generators. Hot showers. Soft towels. Coffee." Looking up at him, a little embarassed, she shook her head and blushed harder. "It's stupid, I know. I made it up... after." Her eyes darkened. "I was really contemplating ending it all. I needed to remind myself of something, anything, that was still good in life. It worked." She took a deep breath. "Honestly, it only helps a little bit. There are still times, once in awhile, that I think about killing myself. But I fight through it, and I know I'll never do it. It just... hurts me still." Her eyes were sad.
Daryl pushed away from the doorway, walked slowly to her, and put his index finger under her chin, making her look up at him. "Know why you never did it?" He asked. "'Cause you ain't a coward." You're one tough bitch, he thought. He dropped his hand and walked away, back to the living room. "You comin'? Let's play."
He watched her. She smiled, grabbed the Jack off the counter, and trailed behind him to the couch. "Yeah. Let's play," she said. They sat on the couch cross-legged, him on on end and her on the other, facing each other with a flat TV tray on the cushion between them for the cards.
They started out with her favorite game, rummy, then moved on to poker. They had both been taking occasional pulls of the bottle, Henri coughing nearly every time the harsh whiskey flowed down her throat, her eyes watering as she grinned through her coughs. "Goddamn," she would say.
After a few games, she suggested a drinking game. "Ever played Fuck the Dealer?" She asked, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.
"Does the dealer get fucked?" He asked, eyebrows raised.
"Not literally, if that's what you mean."
"Oh. Then nope, never played it." He smirked at her.
She rolled her green eyes at him and proceeded to explain the game rules. He watched her as she talked, how the corner of her mouth would quirk up to reveal a dimple in her cheek when she thought something in the game was funny or unfair. He was having hardcore deja vu. Remember the last time someone explained a drinkin' game to you? He did. It was when he and Beth had played 'I Never' with the 'shine that night at the abandoned still house. Maybe history really does repeat itself sometimes, a voice in his head warned. His eyes darkened.
Henri, done explaining the rules, seemed to sense something was amiss. "We don't have to play that one, if you don't want to," she said quickly, sitting back on the couch. "We could play something else."
"Nah, it's fine," he said slowly. "You go first." He watched her as she took her turn.
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Henri was trashed. She had taught him how to play this, and now he was literally beating her at her own game. The bottle of Jack was nearly gone, a few shots left at the bottom. She was the dealer, and she was definitely fucked now. Almost all the cards were visible, spread out on the tray, so there were only a few guesses left.
"Guess," she slurred, looking at him through a whiskey-induced haze.
Daryl squinted at her. He was drunk too, he'd had his fair share of drinks from the bottle as the dealer. After a cursory look at the cards spread out, he eyed her triumphantly and said, "King."
She swore loudly and said, "Higher," sullenly.
He laughed. "Ace," he said smugly.
She lifted the bottle and took a long swig of it. She didn't even flinch this time; the long drinking game session had apparently burned out not only her taste buds, but also her gag reflex. She swallowed, sighed loudly, and licked her lips, handing him the bottle. "Think I'm done," she said decisively, swinging her legs over the side of the couch and standing. She swayed a little. "I gotta pee."
Daryl put a hand out to steady her and stood up himself, still holding the bottle. "Steady, girl."
She smacked his hand away temperamentally and snorted. "Don't call me 'girl'. And I don't need your help, I can get to the dang bathroom all by my damn self," she said haughtily. Don't look at him don't look at him don't look at him, if you look in his eyes, it's all over and you'll fuck him, her apparently more coherent self warned. Avoiding his eyes, she stumbled a little over his feet and made her way to the doorway.
"Hope it all comes out all right," he said laughingly from the living room.
She made her way through the kitchen, stopping to gaze out the window as she went. The storm was in full form now, the trees outside bending with the wind and the rain coming down in torrents as the lightning lit up the yard.
Once in the downstairs bathroom, she realized she did not, in fact, have to actually pee. The urge left her as soon as she pulled down her jeans and nearly fell on top of the toilet. Shrugging, she stood unsteadily, buttoned her jeans, and looked at herself in the mirror.
"Holy hell, I look hot," she said in surprise as she examined her face and hair in the mirror. Her eyes, a little bloodshot, appeared to be more of a hazel color now. Her cheeks were full of color, no doubt a result of the strong whiskey coursing through her body. Her hair was curly, soft-looking, and falling at all the right angles around her face, giving her a sultry look. Her lips, red from the constant drinking, must have been stung a little by the stout Jack, because they appeared to be fuller, almost swollen. Nodding at her reflection, she wondered, Do I really look good, or am I looking at myself through whiskey goggles right now? She giggled and hiccuped lightly at the thought.
When she swung open the bathroom door, he was standing a few feet away, his intense sea-blue eyes gazing into hers. Fuck, she thought helplessly. Now you've done it.
He didn't smile, but the corners of his mouth hinted at one. "Wanna go outside?"
WATCHITBURNWATCHITBURNWATCHITBURNWATCHITBURNWATCHITBURN
When she got up to sway her cute ass drunkenly across the living room, he watched her go and thought, We should go have some fun if she's up for it. He looked out the window at the storm that was raging. It was still light outside, but just barely. The sun would be gone soon. The wind had mostly died down now, but the rain was heavy and the lightning and thunder were still putting on a good show. He smirked and made his way purposefully to the bathroom door. He waited.
When the door swung open and she stepped out, he was floored by how amazing she looked. Her hair, still wild, hung in curly red tendrils all around her face, which was red at her cheeks from the alcohol. Her eyes rested on his and for a moment she almost looked apprehensive, hanging back slightly in the doorway, biting her full bottom lip nervously.
He tried to soften his features, something that was hard for him to do on a whiskey drunk. He was, without doubt, an asshole when he drank. His attitude put Merle to shame sometimes. Usually all he wanted to do was fight, yell, and break shit. But not this time.
He asked, "Wanna go outside?" And before she could give him an answer, he had grabbed her hand and was pulling her to the front door. They stumbled out of it, onto the dry front porch, where the rain was pinging off the tin roof, a deafening roar. He looked over at her, grinning, and she grinned back. He still had the bottle of Jack; he took one big swig out of it, wiped his mouth, and handed the bottle to her. She almost protested, but he said, "C'mon, don't be a pussy." She relented and took another drink out of the bottle, which was almost empty, capping it and dropping it carelessly on the porch.
They both looked out at the rain, coming down in heavy sheets from the gray sky. She moved down onto the first step. "Come on, let's go," she said giddily. "I love being out in the rain."
He let her pull him down the steps, and the next thing he knew he was drenched. The rain was cold, but it felt good. He let go of her hand, closing his eyes and slicking his hair back, out of his face. When he opened his eyes, she was gone. Looking around quickly, he searched for her through the heavy rain, not seeing her anywhere. Where the fuck did she go?
"Hey," she called from behind him, close to the rusted-out truck that sat in front of the barn. He turned and took in the sight of her. Her curly hair was dark and clinging to her cheeks and neck. Her jeans, dark with water, clung wetly to her legs and her bare feet. Her light t-shirt was drenched and molded to her body, her peaked nipples standing out starkly against the thin pink material. His breath quickened.
"What are you doin'?" he shouted over the thunder, staring hard at her through the raindrops.
"Come here," she called, standing perfectly still. Her eyes glowed with something he couldn't identify.
He came, slowly walking towards her until he was about a foot away from her. She said nothing, only stared at him, blinking rain out of her eyes. She was still swaying a little, the effects of the Jack on her balance.
"Well?" He demanded. "What you want from me, girl?"
She hesitantly raised a hand to his face, as if she were afraid he would slap it away angrily or step back. Which, incidentally, was exactly what he had the urge to do. He didn't know why; he wanted her so badly it was slowly driving him mad. He fought it and held still, looking down into her fiery green eyes as her fingers brushed his cheek. She lifted her other hand and trailed it down the scruffy stubble on his jaw and chin, then wrapped her arm around his neck. She took a breath and said, "Do you wanna kiss me?"
He stopped breathing for a moment, surprised. Did she really ask me that?
He looked down at her. He didn't answer. She looked disappointed and he felt her hands slowly begin to slide away from him as she gave up.
Before he knew what he was doing, his arms were around her small waist, lifting her up, and his mouth was on hers, and they were kissing like it was the last thing they would ever do in their lives. Small, breathy sounds were coming from her as they kissed, driving him crazy. Her tongue encircled his and her lips moved against his, and he didn't even want to come up for air. He crushed her against his chest, not wanting to let her go. He could feel her hands running through his hair as the rain came down on them.
He eventually grasped her wrists, pulling them away from his head, and broke the kiss, pulling away from her. She made a small sound of protest. They were breathing hard, as if they had just run a marathon.
He grabbed her ass and lifted her up onto the tailgate of the truck behind her, then he put a hand on her chest, pushing her back until she was lying down with her legs hanging off. He tried to unbutton her jeans, but the rain had made the material swell. Frustrated, he took out his hunting knife and said, "Hold still," before he sliced through the denim with the deadly sharp blade. He made an effort to pull them down and off, but the rain had nearly glued them to her legs and they were stuck. Growling, "Fuck it," under his breath, he sliced down the legs of her jeans, holding them away from her skin to avoid cutting her. He ripped the destroyed garment away from her body and she sat up as he came close to her again, kissing him hard, her hands gripping tightly to his leather vest. Again, he pulled away from her and pushed her down onto her back. He looked into her eyes as he let his open mouth trail down her lower belly, sucking and kissing softly as he went. He found her scar and kissed along it lightly, causing her to stiffen, then relax. He moved lower and put his hands under her knees, pushing her legs up roughly. She cried out, her hands in his hair.
He looked between her legs and saw a small patch of strawberry-blonde hair. Groaning, he kissed it and began working on her with his tongue. She tasted like heaven. She was gasping, her hips rocking against his tongue, her hands knotting in his hair tightly as he took her closer to her orgasm. He kept going, relentlessly stroking her, until he felt her tense up and stop breathing, then she cried out his name as her orgasm rocked her, her body shuddering as she flooded his mouth.
When he stood up, she sat up and unbuckled his belt, trying to remove his clothing quickly as he had done with her. He gripped her arms and stopped her. She looked up at him, not understanding. "Can't I undress you?" She asked breathlessly, her body shaking. "You undressed me, and cut off my favorite jeans, so it's only fair-"
He cut her off. "We're not doin' that, Henri," he said sternly.
Her mouth dropped open. She was stunned. "And why the fuck not?" She demanded, hurt and confusion spreading across her face, her brow furrowed. She was still panting. "I don't get it... If you can do... what you just did to me, why can't I do the same to you? Why can't we have sex?"
He looked away from her. Once she finally understood, she grabbed his chin and pulled his face back to her, glaring hotly into his eyes. "You... You won't fuck me because of what happened to me, will you?" Her voice was soft but full of anger. "What, you think I'm gonna freak out and start telling you 'no' right in the middle of it? I won't, Daryl. I want you. I want you. I need you. What more can I say?" Her eyes had softened and she dropped her hand from his chin to his neck, raising her other arm to lace her fingers behind his neck. She pulled his head down, resting her forehead against his. "Do I have to beg? I could die tomorrow, and I don't want my last sexual memory with a man to be of when I was raped." She narrowed her eyes at him. "I want it to be with you. My rescuer, my fucking hero. I have wanted you since our first conversation, back at that house in Aaronsville, even though you had just knocked me out. I want you, forever."
She kissed his neck, leaving a hot trail of kisses up to his ear. He groaned quietly. He quickly shed his vest and shirt, and Henri finished undoing his pants. She put her foot at the top of them and pushed them down, freeing his erection. Breathing quickly in his ear, the rain running in rivulets between their hot faces, she wrapped her hand around him and stroked him slowly, feeling him respond to her touch. She whispered, "Don't hold back on me. Burn it away, what happened before, burn it away so you're all I will ever think about again."
He pulled her closer to him, grabbing the hem of her t-shirt and yanking it over her head, freeing her breasts. The rain was cold and she shivered as he lowered his head, sucking one hard nipple into his mouth and circling it with his tongue as his rough hand cupped her other breast, kneading it with his strong fingers. His other hand came up between her legs and she opened them for him eagerly. His fingers found her hot, wet opening and he stroked her, somehow knowing exactly where to touch her to make her cry out for more, almost whining for him to give it to her.
He brought his head up and his mouth took hers again, kissing her so hard it made him dizzy with desire. He pulled her towards him. Her hand was still on his cock, stroking him, and she guided him to her, angling her hips upward to meet him. When he could feel her, he slammed into her, the full length of him, and she let out a keening, satisfied growl, rocking her hips against his as he picked up a rhythm, grinding against her, filling her and pulling out, over and over. He wrapped one arm around her, his hand splayed across her lower back, and the other hand went behind her neck, gripping her hair, holding her completely still as he claimed her for his own, body and soul. She began to moan at this treatment and he felt her tighten around his cock, so he picked up his pace, slamming into her faster and harder until she screamed again and he felt that hot wetness explode around him as she reached her peak and fell over the edge.
Pulling her off the tailgate, he kissed her hard, then spun her around and pushed against her back, bending her over. She was short, so he had to widen his stance a little. "Don't bend your knees," he ordered gruffly, and then he positioned himself over her and slid into her again, slowly taking her this time. She groaned softly and he felt her shaking as she struggled to keep her legs straight. He sank slowly into her, all the way in, and stayed there for a few moments, drawing moans from both of them at the feeling. He felt her legs trying to buckle and he gave her a sharp slap on her thigh, barking the order at her again, "I said keep your legs straight, damn it."
She breathed, "Okay," sharply and held onto the tailgate for stability as he began his quick, deep, punishing rhythm again. He stroked her back with his rough hands, moving them around her body to cup her breasts as he pumped in and out of her.
She was close to bringing him to his release. It had been a long time for him. He was holding on to the edge for dear life, but he knew it was going to be too much to hang onto soon enough. She was so tight, so hot, so wet... He groaned softly again and pulled out of her, grabbing her upper arms and pulling her back against him. He grabbed her chin and pulled her face to the side, kissing her from behind.
She turned around and wrapped her wet arms around his neck, kissing him deeply and then pulling away from him, taking him by the hand. She pulled him over onto the porch out of the rain, pushed him back away from her, and said, "Lay down."
He did, waiting for her. She straddled him, lowering herself down onto his cock, and he growled deep in his throat when he felt her slippery, tight heat grip him when she lowered all the way on top of him. She sighed with ecstasy, putting her hands on his chest, and began to ride him, rolling her hips forward, then back, forward, then back. Her body was glistening with rain water, rain dripping from her eyelashes and the end of her nose. After just a few strokes, his breath caught and he grabbed her hips roughly, stopping her mid-stroke, and said, "Not yet," in a breathless tone.
She threw back her head and laughed, that purring, throaty laugh from the creek, and strained against his hands, trying to keep up her rhythm. "You think that's how this works, Dixon?" she said mockingly, her lips curving up into a triumphant smile. Her green eyes flashed defiantly as she strained against him. "You can just order me around, tell me to do whatever, and then you don't have to answer to me?" She leaned over him, her breasts brushing his chest, and came back holding the bottle of Jack in her hands. She uncapped it, tilted her head back, and drank from it, then leaned over him, tipping the bottle over his mouth. He drank it as it poured into his mouth, then she sat straight up and poured the last of it over her breasts. It ran down her stomach and onto his, filling the small crack where her skin met his.
She smiled down at him. "Lick it off of me," she demanded. He sat up, grabbing her ass with both hands, and did as she said, though he was thinking bitch tellin' me what to do the whole time. It was sexy, even if he bucked against it. She knew what she wanted from him and she wasn't afraid to tell him. After he was done licking the whiskey off of her breasts, he looked up at her, his eyes narrowed. Her face was impassive, but her eyes sparked, and she pushed him down onto his back again. "Now don't stop me again," she snapped, and she began her maddening rolling of her hips again, forward, then back, forward, then back. He groaned, enduring several minutes of it, feeling his orgasm building under her relentless stroking heat. He held on and suddenly gripped her arms and flipped her over onto her back, still inside of her, his jaw clenched, his blue eyes wild and staring into hers, challenging her to argue with him.
"Now," he said through gritted teeth, "You're done. My turn again." He took hold of her wrists and pinned them over her head, kissing her deeply. He began sliding his cock in and out of her, slowly, very slowly, all the way in, all the way out. Then he slid halfway in and slammed the rest of the way into her, filling her to the hilt. He was so deep inside of her that he was hitting a soft wall. She moaned each time he hit it and writhed beneath him. Her face was equal parts pleasure and pain.
Slowing down, he asked softly, "Does that hurt?"
She shook her head and looked up at him with bleary eyes. "It's a good pain," she said, giving him a half-smile. "Don't you dare fucking stop."
Obeying, he picked up a quick rhythm again, thrusting into her deep and hard, drawing sharp, loud cries from her. He let go of her wrists and she clung to his shoulders, wrapping her legs around his waist and holding on as they both neared the edge. He kept up his brutal pace until he felt her tighten around him once again and she arched her back underneath him, crying out and raking her short nails down his back. He groaned into her hair and came with her, feeling it roll through him like a building, crashing wave. He collapsed and rolled to the side to avoid crushing her, pulling her body against his and entwining his legs with hers. They lay still on the porch, fingers laced together, legs tangled, her head against his chest. He put his face in her wet, chaotic red hair again and breathed in the fresh, soapy scent of her.
"Three more things I can add to the list," she said breathlessly, looking up at him. "Whiskey and sex."
He smirked at her and said, "That's only two. What's the third?"
She kissed him slowly and pulled back, saying softly, "You."
The only sound besides their heavy, labored breathing was the rain crashing down onto the tin roof of the covered porch, that steady roar. The thunder rolled, rumbling through the charged air as night began to fall in the eastern sky.