Author's Note: I apologize to anyone who was unfortunate enough to read the unedited version. *embarrassed look* I got a sudden burst of inspiration when I got home from work, but by the time I had finished, I was half-brain dead and my sleeping pill was kicking in. I made some ugly mistakes. I've gone back and fixed hopefully all of them.
My Daryl-muse wasn't terribly cooperative, and would only tell me a little, so there isn't as much backstory in this chapter as I had originally planned. My apologies for that, as well.
This chapter has warnings for graphic language and graphic situations of the 'kissy-kissy sexy-sex' kind (as Norman Reedus would say). Warnings for power play, hints of knife play, dirty talk, and drunken sex.
OOOOOO
She did not let go, as much as he wanted her to. She stared at their hands, fingers intertwined and locked together, her other hand reaching out, wrapping around the back of his. She swallowed, looked embarrassed, but still did not release him.
"You have nice hands," she said, after a moment, turning his hand over in her own, running her fingers from his wrist down to his fingertips. He stifled a shiver, pressed the energy into a look of contempt.
"They're beat to shit, always have been."
She smiled softly.
"Working man's hands. Men are 'sposed to have scars, less they some pussy little city boy. Shouldn't be ashamed of them. You got any idea what it's like for a woman, have hands like that run all over them?"
He scoffed again, tried to pull back but did not press the issue as she ignored the movement, turning his hand over again, running her fingertips over his knuckles. In the lamplight, he saw her own hands were not much different, the knuckles mottled with white and pink scarring, her right hand puffy and bruised.
"Like fucking sandpaper. Believe me, I've heard enough complaints."
She laughed.
"That's your problem then. You must have a taste for them delicate little bitches, don't you?"
He glared at her, but she met the offended expression with a shit-eating grin.
"You like making assumptions," he grumbled, but he followed her movements this time, let her tug him close enough again to return to his seat. She let go of him finally, squeezing his hand hard as though she did not want to let go. He sat reluctantly, staring at his boots. "Being as you don't know shit about me."
"Well, it's a logical conclusion. You see? A real woman? She knows what to look for. Big, rough hands like that? Do make you feel delicate… make you feel like you're… made o' glass, like he could tear you to pieces with those hands if he really wanted to."
"Why the hell would you want that?" He thought of his mother, how truly small and delicate she had been, how easy it had been for her to bruise, to bleed, how she could barely get one injury healed before he put another one on her body. Dinner was too hot, or too cold, she was talking too much, Merle and he were making too much noise… Daryl was in sight at all. The reasons were myriad, and sometimes he didn't need a reason. Sometimes he just liked to hurt her.
"It's the dichotomy."
"The what?" He drew himself out of his thoughts quickly, thoughts he didn't want to have in the first place.
He waited for it, for the look of disdain, but she only smiled at him, looked more than overjoyed for him to ask the question at all.
"The contrast. Like… leather and lace. His roughness makes you feel soft, desirable, like a real woman. His strength makes you feel—"
"Weak?" Daryl cut in, another frown pulling at his lips.
She laughed at him, and he bristled at the sound of it.
"Weak? No, my strength is something I pride myself on. Makes it that much more important to me that the man I'm with is stronger. I wanted someone soft and delicate and gentle? I'd be with a woman myself. Any woman that's got any sense feels the same way. You're gonna do well for yourself, here."
He shook his head, glowering at her, annoyed.
"What in the hell are you babbling about?"
"With the women. I give it about a week, then you gonna have ten or twelve of 'em trailing after you like a hound on a 'coon." She grinned.
"They that damn desperate around here?" He arched his brows, and it was she that shook her head this time.
"Vincenzo didn't issue you a mirror?"
"What the hell's that got to do with anything?"
She smirked, tilted her head and he swore he could feel it, as she lazily ran her gaze across him, drunk enough to be unable to disguise it, or drunk enough not to care, he did not know.
"Cause apparently you ain't looked in a mirror lately. I hate to tell you, son, but you as fine as fucking frog's hair."
"Now I know you're drunk. Ain't never seen no hair on a frog, cause they ain't got hair." Stupid bitch, he added to himself.
Her grin was ear to ear.
"Course you ain't never seen it. Cause it's so damned fine."
He laughed, the sound tearing out of him before he ever had the chance to suppress it. She grinned at him again.
"You oughta laugh more. Smile more. You got a beautiful smile… makes your eyes light up. And you got yourself some beautiful blue eyes, boy. I noticed all this I first met you, but boy… you stop a bitch in her tracks now. You clean up right nice… mmm-mmm." She shook her head exaggeratedly, giggled, digging into a side pocket in the chair, pulling out a pack of her cigars.
He couldn't help but laugh, running a hand across his eyes quickly.
"You're stupid," he shook his head and he was answered by another peal of her laughter.
"I am, on occasion. Ain't nothing wrong with having a bit of fun, specially nowadays. We stay grim and serious, we're gonna think ourselves right into an earlier grave. Say you die six months from now? You wanna look back in the last moment and realize how miserable you been? Or you wanna look back and think 'I made the best of it, what time I had.'"
He reached out for the bottle, and she grinned, taking a swig straight out of it before she passed it to him. He took a quick gulp, another after it as soon as he thought himself capable of it.
"Never exactly been a ball of sunshine." He said quietly.
She nodded, lifting one foot back into the chair, reaching out with the other to kick him lightly in the knee.
"I do get that feeling about you. You've had a hard life, haven't you?"
"Every life is hard. Ain't about to sit here and whine about it like some little bitch."
"No, you're gonna push it down and let it eat you, let you rot from the inside out."
He took another drink, and he heard the slur in his own voice this time.
"Boy, you just a fucking expert on everything about me, ain't you?"
She shrugged.
"Yeah, I'm a know-it-all. It's a flaw, and I'll admit to it. I ain't perfect. But if I'm so wrong about you, why don't you show me where I'm wrong?"
"Cause it ain't none of your damned business."
She grinned again, tongue curling over her bottom lip as she raised an eyebrow at him.
"And what if I make it my business? What the hell you gonna do about it?"
His gaze snapped back to her, the anger boiling up quickly at the challenge. He opened his mouth-
"Anybody ever tell you how sexy you are when you pissed off?"
And nearly choked on his own tongue.
She laughed loudly, self-satisfied.
"Oh yeah, you gonna do just fine around here. You gonna have them bitches eating right out your hand."
"The last damn thing I need is a fucking woman always under my feet." He groused, taking another shot from the bottle. They'd brought it down to just below the edge of the label.
"So, what, you celibate? Like, a fucking priest or something?" She arched an eyebrow at him, reached out for the bottle, wrapped her hand half around his before she finally found the correct grip, hiccupping a little, giggling again before she took her next shot.
"Fuck you."
She laughed louder.
"Nah, maybe somebody needs to fuck you. Maybe you wouldn't be so mad all the time." She stuck her tongue out, and he shook his head, flabbergasted.
"Jesus Christ, you say your prayers with that mouth?"
She nearly dropped the bottle as she handed it back to him, doubling over in laughter.
"Ain't the only thing I can do with this mouth," she smirked at him, licking her lips again.
His mouth fell open, reduced to half pushing it shut as he covered it with his hand. It was the bourbon, the bourbon that made his face feel so hot. He strictly ignored the rush of heat he felt lower in his body.
"You about damned… blatant, I tell you that."
"Anything about me strike you as bashful, Mr. Dixon?"
His eyes snapped up at the words, a flood of images, sounds, sensations accompanying them, the desperate press of her lips against his, the taste of her tongue in his mouth, how her hands had gripped him sure, rough, full of want. But it was just a dream, he insisted.
He didn't want it to be, he knew, drawing a trembling breath as her foot brushed his calf again, hooking behind his knee.
"Whatcha thinking about?"
He looked up quickly, shifting in the chair and carefully placed an arm over his lap, knowing there was no chance at discretion in such close quarters.
"What?"
She smirked.
"You a million miles away right now. You gonna tell me what's so interesting you sitting there ignoring me?"
If she only knew, he thought, maybe she'd shut the hell up. She'd probably be shocked, offended enough to kick him out. Probably never talk to him again. The idea sounded better and better the more he thought of it.
"You can't mind your own business five minutes, can you?"
"I wanted to sit in silence, I could do that by myself."
She was distracted herself, grinning absently as she traced the curve of his calf down to his boot top. He jerked his leg away, finally.
"Jesus Christ, will you stop that?"
She laughed at him again, pulling her leg beneath her and away from him.
"Kept your attention that time though…"
He glared at her, but she only grinned in return.
"Oh come on. You can't blame me… It's been a shitty night. I'm having me a good time, got me a good looking man to talk to. You think I'm bad, but I'm being courteous. When's the last time you just let go? Relaxed?"
He frowned, and the expression seemed to find its way onto her face.
"Not for a long time, huh?"
"Last time I did… we all almost died."
"You keep thinking something else bad's gonna happen?"
He shook his head, denying the worry, but she continued anyway.
"You're safe here. And I'm… I'm being serious. You need somebody to talk to… you need… company… I'm here for you."
"You do this with every random asshole that wanders into camp?"
"No, I don't." she said simply and he looked up, gauging the truth of her statement.
"So, why me?"
"Why not? You think you don't deserve a little attention? Or maybe you already getting it?" She tilted her head, eyeing him as he watched the gears turn in her head. "Maybe you and that blonde, huh?"
His forehead wrinkled, staring at her as though she'd just insisted the sky was green.
"Andrea? Are you insane?"
She shrugged.
"I wouldn't know one way or the other. I just know that there's two options… either you already getting some, or you can't imagine anybody being willing to give you any… and I just can't imagine you'd be stupid enough to think that."
"Stupid? What the… who the fuck do you think you are?"
She ignored his anger, kept talking as though he himself never had.
"And you don't strike me as that stupid... or stupid at all, for that matter. So what is it? Why you so surprised that anybody'd want you?"
"Cause nobody ever has." He blurted out, regretted it instantly.
"What?"
It was too late now, he realized, and took another gulp of bourbon.
"Cause nobody ever has," he repeated, refusing to meet her eyes. "Any bitch ever came my way it was for one of two reasons… cause they thought they could get to my brother through me… or because Merle didn't want them, and I was better than nothin'."
"Well…" she said, after a long moment. "Either your brother was the most gorgeous fucking man to ever walk the earth, or he had a taste for dumb bitches."
"I ain't thirteen. You ain't gotta sit here and lie to me, try to make me feel better. It's bullshit," he snapped at her, glaring again.
She glared right back at him.
"That's what you think about me? I pity you, I'm telling you a bunch of pretty little lies cause I feel sorry for you? If you were half as stupid, and worthless, as you seem to think about yourself, I wouldn't be wasting my fucking breath on you. You think I can't find somebody better, that be the case?"
She snatched the bottle back from him, took a rough gulp, setting it down on her knee hard enough that the liquor sloshed about.
"Cause let me tell you, motherfucker, I know what I am, and I know what I'm capable of. I can have any man I want. I ain't got to take second best."
He opened his mouth, closed it again, the alcohol muddling his brain. He didn't know how to answer.
"You so full of bullshit, you ain't got no idea about yourself. I only hope that you've been unfortunate enough to have this beat into your head, cause if you actually, willingly believe these things about yourself, then you are the dumbest motherfucker I have ever met."
"Fuck you," he said weakly.
"You're hell on wheels. You're a fucking hurricane. You're fucking… fascinating. You... you draw people like a moth to a flame, and burn them up just as quick. You might have been alone up until now, but if you continue to stay alone, it'll be by your own choice. The world has changed, Dixon. Women ain't looking for who's got the nicest car, or who's wearing the most expensive clothes. They're looking at who's strongest, fastest, smartest, who's gonna be able to think on their feet, protect and feed them, and the children they father in the future. Way I see it, that puts you head and shoulders above 90% of the men in this camp. You think you're just backwoods trash, but whoever made you believe that? What the hell is wrong with being a hillbilly? Ain't nothing more than that myself. Would it kill you to have a little pride in yourself and your talents?"
"Talents?"
She scoffed, rolled her eyes, the anger boiling up in her, he could see.
"You think everybody can do what you do? Hunt an animal, track it, clean it, cook it? You think everybody knows how to forage in the woods, know which tubers and plants are edible? You think that's just common knowledge?"
"It's not knowledge… it's just necessity."
"So you think you stupid, just cause what you know is practical, and not writ up in some schoolbook somewhere?"
He shook his head, again could not find the words.
"Somebody has lied to you, boy, and you believed them. You're a force of fucking nature, Daryl Dixon, and anybody'd be lucky to have you on their side, and any woman'd be privileged to have you in their bed. You don't think that's true, then you just as stupid as you think you are."
She shook her head, looked pissed enough to chew nails, taking another shot from the bottle.
"You don't understand," he said softly, and she looked up at him, her expression softening. He felt weak because of it. "It's all I've ever known. My father… I was a mistake. He had his one boy, and he was done with it. Mama got pregnant with me… and he blamed her. Said she'd done it on purpose, just to spite him. He pushed her down a flight of stairs, beat the shit out of her, but… she still had me. And he never… ever let me forget it… That I was never wanted."
Her jaw hardened, the fury flashing in her eyes, and it felt so strange, knowing the anger was for him.
"You had a purpose. Don't you ever forget that, Dixon. Just because that worthless bastard never saw it, God had a plan for you."
"I don't believe in all that bullshit. I used to pray when I was little, pray for anything…. For release, for death, for some peace… sometimes just for him to love me, stupid little pussy that I was. God's never done anything for me. Only person ever loved me he took away."
"Your Mama?" she asked quietly, and he thought he saw the glitter of tears in her eyes.
"She killed herself… I was 12. I knew… I knew something was wrong that morning. Merle was.. in the Army, by then. He'd gotten busted again, and they gave him a choice… prison or the service. It was just me left, and she… she made the best lunch... waited till Daddy was gone, took me to school late... And she hugged me… Hugged me, and kissed me, and told me she loved me, over and over again. But it wasn't enough… She didn't love me enough to stay. I came home that afternoon, and there she was. She'd… hung herself, from the banister, jumped over the edge, and there she was, head all crooked, neck broke, so…so dead. I couldn't… couldn't reach her, tried to get her down, kept begging for it not to be real, prayed for it. Neighbors heard me screaming, came for me, called the police. My father came home, and they were there already. He wasn't happy.
"When they left… he was drunk already. They told him to have a drink, soften his loss. They wanted me to see a counselor, but he ran them off the property, and I… I wanted to beg them to stay, because I knew.. I knew what would happen. And it did. He beat me… till I was pissing blood, till my skin was swoll' and split… He broke my cheekbone, my jaw, my arm, my ribs… He made me strip, and he tore pieces out of my back with that… fucking belt buckle of his… Big ole chunks out of my arms, my legs. I was bleeding everywhere, God… I thought I was gonna die right there. I never… never hurt so bad in my life."
She looked horrified, and he couldn't stand it, couldn't stand the pity in her gaze and looked away from her quickly. She didn't allow it, and he found her between his knees, forced to look into her eyes, forced to allow her touch again as she grabbed for his hands, held so tightly he felt the bones grinding together.
"Didn't anybody help you?" she whispered.
"Who'd help me? I was just… poor white trash. Everybody knew my father. The town drunk. Everybody knew my brother, everybody knew I was just like him, knew he already had me selling for him on the street… just a fucking dopehead, a drug dealer. Who the hell would care if I got a little bit of what I deserved?"
"Only person I see that deserved that was your fucking sperm donor. Man like that don't deserve to be called a father."
She reached up to him, forced him to look at her as her hands cupped around his face.
"You didn't deserve that. I understand. Now. Why you feel the way you do. Why you feel like you're better off alone, cause you deserve nothing more. But it's a lie. You're a good man, Daryl Dixon, and worthy of every good thing that will ever come your way. And I'll make sure of it. You gonna hate me." She grinned softly at him, even as the tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. "But you shit outta luck. Cause I like you. You ain't gonna be rid of me now. I'll not stop till you see the truth about yourself."
He moved, stopped, moved again, finally gave up and did what he had wanted to do since early this morning, reaching out and pulling a strand of hair out of her face. Her eyes closed, her head tilting into his hand, and he licked his lips nervously, the rough of his palm finding the silk of her cheek.
"You're beautiful," the words sprang unbidden from his lips, and he felt the heat in his face. What a fucking sap, Merle spat in his mind.
She opened her eyes, looking up at him, smiling softly, and his hand moved without thought, his thumb brushing over her full bottom lip.
"You oughta know." She whispered, her lips brushing over his skin. He let his hand cup around her chin, and her lips opened, closing around the pad of his thumb, the shock of it coursing straight to his groin.
His jaw went slack, the intake of his breath shuddering. Her eyes still on his, she moved to his index, pressing another kiss to his fingertip. Her hands slid down either side of his throat, down over his chest, his arms, and he could feel her fingers flexing as she felt for the firmness of his flesh. They finally found his hand, wrapping lightly around his wrist as he ran his fingertip across the gentle flush of her lips again.
She opened her mouth, pink tip of her tongue finding his skin, her lips finally closing around him, the gentle suction as she pulled back again. Without thought, he offered another finger to her, watching as she took it in again, tongue swirling around it. God, what would that mouth feel like wrapped around his cock?
She opened her eyes, to gauge his reaction, perhaps, seemed to find more than enough of what she was looking for. Her hands left his, palms running up over his thighs. His erection jumped as her hand passed but inches from it. He was convinced she would feel the steady throb of it even through the fabric of his pants. Her hands sought out his hips, squeezing them, and he imagined her legs locked around him, squeezing just as tight. He could not maintain his breathing, panting as he leaned his head back, eyes squeezing shut as he parted his legs further, felt her slide in closer between them, felt her hands move closer inward, his erection straining for the contact.
God, he thought, god, please touch me.
Why, why would she want to, the voice whispered in his mind, she knows what a pitiful little sap you are. A weepy little faggot. She needs a real man, like me.
"May I touch you?" she whispered, and the pleading, the true nature of the request hit him like a truck, the need and desire in her voice, her hands held stiff, and he knew that she would walk away and suffer, if he said no, rather than disobey him. Knew that in this moment she looked to him for a command. His cock jumped again, he felt the cloth dampening as the pre-cum began to leak.
"Yes, you may." His voice was husky, he could barely find the breath to speak.
Her eyes looked pleased, darting from his own down to his lap, licking her lips eagerly. His hands gripped the flimsy arms of the chair, felt he could bend the metal in two as her hands found the button of his pants, moved the zipper down slowly and carefully, his erection springing out eagerly, the head nearly purple, gleaming with wetness.
She laughed, and his eyes darted to hers, ready to take offense, but she licked her lips once more, meeting his gaze again.
"My, my, my, Mr. Dixon. Ain't no wonder you wear pants so loose. You need the extra room, don't you?"
He adjusted himself, sliding down in the chair, pressing his knees wider, and she moaned appreciatively, the vibration of her voice sending a shock through him as she leaned forward, sucking him into her mouth quickly.
His breath caught, trying to stifle the moan. His hands were in the air, reaching for her, but he stopped. She did not let him. She pulled back quickly, the suction hard as she pulled away with a snap of her lips. She tilted her head back, pushing the hair back from her face, and reached for his hand. He let himself be directed, and she wound his fingers tightly into her hair, tight enough it had to hurt Daryl thought, but he thought no more as her mouth closed around him once more. Her tongue swirled about the head of his cock, her head bobbing quickly, taking him in deeper each time.
The moan escaped this time, his head falling back, staring blindly at the ceiling. Her grip tightened on his hand, pressing on it. His head snapped up again, staring raptly as he tightened his grip, knowing what she wanted but only half-believing it. He pressed harder on the back of her head, watched her jaw open wider as she took more and more of him in.
"Oh my god," he groaned, hissing as he felt her lips wrapped firmly around the base of his cock, the muscles in her throat trembling around him as she swallowed, tongue darting out, flicking teasingly against his balls. "Take it all… suck it." He opened his legs wider, his eyes glued on her face, her cheeks drawing in as she sucked hard, neck twisting as she pulled back, rotating her mouth around him. She drew a quick breath through her nose before she sank down on him again, head bobbing in earnest as his hand twisted tight in her hair.
"You like this, don't you?" He watched her, cheeks flushed red, lips parted, air escaping in harsh pants, and she moaned affirmatively, his head jerking back again as the vibrations shook him to his core. "Yeah, you do."
She wrapped one hand around the root of his shaft, pumping him as her mouth lavished attention on the tip, her other hand cupping his balls lightly, rolling them in her palm. His hips jumped, found himself most satisfied to hear and feel her choke as his cock drove up quick into her mouth, the muscles clamping around him exquisitely.
He pushed her back, the alcohol, the evidence of her desire fueling his confidence. He wrapped a hand around her throat, dragged her upward. She made it to her feet awkwardly, choking, but he watched her pupils dilate further, and he dragged her close, her legs straddling one of his, claiming her mouth, forcing his tongue deep within it as she moaned and clung to his shoulders for balance.
"You want me?" he growled, and she nodded, but he tightened his grip. "Say it," he commanded, and she gasped, and he felt the wet heat between her legs even through the cloth separating them. She was eating this shit up, he thought, half sure he was going to wake again anytime soon.
"I want you… I want you to fuck me…"
The power felt like a drug, coursing through his veins, a sensation he never wanted to lose again.
"And how do good little girls ask nicely? What do you say?"
Her eyes were wide, and he knew in that moment, this was a game she enjoyed, one she seldom got to play.
"Please. Please. I want you to fuck me."
"I can do that," he whispered, face close to hers, and she darted forward, mouth closing around his, and he tasted the slight saltiness of his fluid on her tongue, thought it tasted like ownership, like a brand.
His hand dug between them, found the hilt of his knife and withdrew it from his sheath. She hissed and jumped and he broke the kiss, lowered his gaze to find the blade had left a fine line of blood on her inner thigh. She trembled as she stared at the knife, but did not pull away, the trust visible in her eyes, and he felt his desire growing like gasoline thrown on a fire. He was more careful this time, slipping the blade in between the cloth and her skin, cutting away her shorts and underwear, the sports bra after that.
She trembled in his arms, shook like a leaf, her lips dark and full of blood.
"I want you," she repeated, "I want to feel all of you. I want you inside of me… Now."
He stood, taking her with him, finding it little more than a strain to lift her to her feet. Her hands tore at his clothing, the wifebeater flying away first, and she dropped quickly to her knees, unlacing his boots. He smirked at her, hand lazily pumping his cock as she removed his socks and shoes, tugging his pants down. He kicked them away as she sprang to her feet again, arms clinging about his shoulders.
His hands splayed over her back, flattening her breasts across his chest, wanting to feel every curve and line of her body pressed into his. His hands moved over her body possessively, smoothing over her back, grasping her hips and grinding his bare erection into her stomach, gripping her ass and pulling her in closer. She moaned, her hands fluttering just like her eyes as she struggled to keep them open, the expression on her face ecstatic.
He gripped her hips, squeezed hard enough to bruise, and shoved her back. She stumbled for a moment, bare breasts bobbing enticingly.
"Open it up," he grinned, watching her hop to. God, when was the last time his lover had been so eager? She zipped the partition open, revealing the bedroom, several more plastic totes and more milk crates. It was a real bed, a mattress and box springs sat on the floor of the tent, and he shoved her onto it roughly, pushing her onto her back.
She gasped, stopped breathing altogether as he crawled over top of her. Her legs parted easily, eagerly as he slid between them, her hips tilting up and, oh, he had been right. Everything was so easy with her. He barely had to guide himself before he began to press in slowly. He groaned loudly, eyes rolling back in his head as her muscles clamped around him. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she squirmed beneath him, muscles rolling and clenching around him, forcing another moan from him.
"Oh, you are so fucking tight," he whispered into her ear, and she clung to his shoulders, legs raising to wrap around his hips, lowering again to press her heels into the mattress, lifting herself up, adjusting her hips, bringing him deeper than before. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, thrusting harshly, his body demanding it.
She whimpered quietly, but did not fight him, and he slowed, for all that he did not want to.
"You alright?"
Her face was flushed as she nodded.
"It's… it's been a long time…Just… have to get used to you."
He smiled to himself, wondered if it was sick to take pleasure in the fact he was hurting her right now.
He pulled out slowly, thrust in again, watched her grimace. His fingers found her clit, rubbing and pinching at it. He felt a warm rush of liquid around his cock, felt the muscles loosening, and he pumped into her again, sinking himself in to the hilt.
"Fuck," he whispered as he thrust again, felt his balls tightening, drawing up. No, he thought, no, not yet. She clung to his shoulders, nails digging in, moaned against his throat, and he felt her hips raising to meet each thrust, harder, and harder.
"Harder," she moaned, pleading. "Give it to me… please, Daryl, please, harder."
He could do little more than obey, wanted to do nothing else, and obliged her, thrusts rough and quick. She clung to his shoulders, nails digging into his back as she panted, moaned in his ear.
"Touch me," she begged, and his hand wedged itself between them again, plucking at her hard little clit, and she moaned, hips jumping, pushing his cock in deeper.
"Fuck," he muttered again, and she moaned, rocking her hips up into his, meeting his thrusts. He could feel her her clit pulsing, her cunt throbbing around him, felt the tremors in her body as her orgasm approached.
Her eyes squeezed shut, breath escaping her lungs in shallow bursts. She undulated against him, and for a moment he wondered what it would be like to have her ride him.
It was too late though, for he heard the high-pitch in her breaths, felt the erratic movement of her hips. She was close, and he felt very proud of himself, having worked her so quickly. But he felt it then, the tightening in his lower stomach. God, not now, he pleaded. He had to finish her, had to see her shatter, break, give it all up to him.
His fingers worked faster, his other hand grasped tight in the sheets, and she gasped loudly, head thrashing as her heels dug into his back.
"I'm gonna come," she muttered, the words barely escaping through her teeth.
He rubbed harder at her clit, hips pounding into her as his own orgasm finally hit, his whole world going white, feeling as though he had emptied out everything within him in that moment.
She moaned, thrashing beneath him, the tremors of her orgasm, her pussy tightening and shifting and gripping, milking every last drop from him.
His arms shook as he propped himself over her but finally she pulled him down, and wrapped her legs tight around him. Her muscles still shook and clenched around his slowly softening cock.
"I ain't never pulled that off without trying." She whispered in his ear, hands splayed over his back. For once he did not think to hide the scars her hands sought out, smoothing over them as though she could smooth them away.
"Don't think I've ever pulled that off," he whispered back, slowly rolling off of her. He felt hot and sweaty, saw that she was as well as she made it to her knees, leaning over him and quickly unzipping a window in the tent. Her breasts dangled before his face, and he took the time to lift his head, sucking quickly on a nipple, drawing it out from between his teeth.
She giggled quietly, looked down at him.
"Well, hell, you was good, boy, and you didn't even know it."
He grinned at her, and he did feel sated, comfortable, and content.
She curled up next to him, laying her head on his stomach. His hand found her hair again, threading through it, leisurely.
He never remembered falling asleep.
OOOOOO
Author's Note: Norman Reedus, in a second season interview, said that Daryl was 'definitely a virgin' and he'd probably run away screaming if anyone tried to kiss him, so I'm basing this more on one of the first season interviews, in which he said with a brother like Merle, Daryl probably had plenty of girls on his arm. Also, this is partially based on the fact that I agree with one comment on the internet, in which someone said that they couldn't believe that Daryl could possibly be a virgin, because some woman would have gotten his ass drunk and taken advantage of him… which is pretty much what my Aleda-muse demanded.
Next chapter, Aleda and Daryl deal with the consequences of their impulsivity.