A/N: It's been a stretch since I've written anything, especially something Rick-centric, and I must say that it feels really good to come home. If this is your first time reading my work please know that the smut is truly explicit and rated so for a reason. Thanks in advance for anyone who takes the time to read, leave a kudos, or review.
And many, many thanks to ladypeck for being my beta reader/editor and always being my hype man too!
Three months. That was how long it had been since Michonne had buried yet another son, and just like the first time, the wound was touchy, bursting open even when she thought it was finally beginning to heal. A quarter of a year wasn't nearly enough time but Michonne pushed through each day anyway, collapsing at night next to the man who understood exactly how she was feeling. She'd never wanted him to understand.
"Rick?" she whispered, pulling back the covers to the bed they shared. "You asleep?"
He didn't answer but she'd known he wouldn't.
While Michonne was the type to try to literally wash her pain away, to scrub her skin raw then lotion it smooth again, Rick was working through it. Every night after they tucked Judy in, Michonne hit the shower, wasting precious water as she stood in the steam and allowed the stream to scald her skin. The days weren't as hard, they kept busy, but the quiet nights were almost unbearable. Carl was supposed to be there. But he was gone, their home forever short one voice.
It was typical to find Rick passed out after her nightly shower. He worked himself to the bone during the days and she understood that it was intentional. He wanted sleep to claim him the moment his head hit the pillow, so as to avoid being left alone with his thoughts, and who could blame him?
Michonne crawled into their bed and made quick work of curling up against Rick, as she did every night. Sometimes he was awake enough to pull her closer and cocoon her in the safety of his arms, but for the moment she made do with pressing herself against his back, her hands sliding under his shirt and exploring every nook and cranny of his warm flesh. The poor man was still completely dressed, he'd barely even remembered to kick off his boots, and it only made her love him more if such a thing was possible.
Michonne claimed his waist by wrapping herself around him and pressed her lips against his back in a quiet kiss.
"Goodnight," she whispered. "I love you."
One hand stayed put under the fabric so Michonne could feel his chest rise and fall, it always helped to draw her into sleep. On the nights when nothing else worked she'd match her breathing to his, until the relaxation he could only find in his sleep found her too. She gave him another squeeze, grateful for his warmth, and was surprised when Rick sighed in appreciation.
"Go back to sleep," she told him, planting a kiss on the nape of his neck. "I didn't mean to wake you."
Rick mumbled something she couldn't quite comprehend but his actions came through loud and clear, his fingers entangling with Michonne's until he brought her hand to his mouth in a slow, easy kiss.
"And I didn't mean to fall asleep," he managed to say.
"I know," she assured him.
She did know, Michonne knew better than anyone how hard Rick worked himself, trying his hardest to not only cope with the loss of Carl, but to honor the boy's legacy as well. Everyone questioned his handling of Negan, even Rick himself, and trying to make people see his vision of the future was just as stressful as physically building it. More than anything she wanted him to feel appreciated, for him to experience the same depth of love that he gave the world, even in his hardest moment.
Their bodies stretched and moved together as Rick came to. Michonne seized the opportunity in the movement to allow her hand to free itself and move south, settling on Rick's stomach. It used to be her quiet signal to him, a silent message for what she was craving, but she hadn't dared to do it lately. Meeting their most basic needs was still a struggle some days, much less the more primal ones. Michonne hadn't wanted to press Rick and she'd appreciated that he'd done the same for her.
The intimacy of grief had been sustaining them.
In the aftermath of Andre's death Michonne had been very much alone. She hadn't realized at the time how much harder it'd made losing him. Loss was somehow easier when shared, even if it was raw and repugnant at times. For every one of Michonne's ugly cries that stole her voice away with their ferocity, there had been Rick, just as lost in the storm. Her love for him had only grown as they shared their pain. For months that knowledge had been enough, comforting even, but Michonne wanted him to physically feel how deep her newfound love for him went. The man had earned some proper sustenance.
"You smell amazing."
Michonne knew his not-so-silent cues too. Like always, they were in sync.
"Same lotion as always," she mumbled into his back, kissing him again. "The one you brought me back on a run. Said it smelled almost as good as I tasted."
"That right?"
"Mhmm," she answered, imagining the grin she knew was taking shape on his face. The lazy sort that tugged at one side, his snow white stubble doing nothing to hide the boyishness of it. "You wanna test that theory out?"
Before she had time to second guess the suggestion, afraid it was still too soon, Rick was rolling over in her arms, his waist coming to rest right between Michonne's thighs. She gripped him just as tightly as before, her thigh claiming him and her hand exploring the stubble she'd just been imagining. The room was dark but thanks to the open window and the sparkling shade of white, Michonne could make it out with ease.
"I've missed this," he spoke into the small space between their lips.
"Me too."
His thumb stroked her jaw, slowly working its way towards her ready lips.
"I didn't want to push you," Rick went on.
"Me either."
Michonne felt him stiffening between her legs as he spoke and stroked, and in only a tank and underwear it was impossible for her not to tremble. With a throaty sigh Rick repositioned himself, drawing himself in tighter, adding a flash of pressure between her thighs.
"You're sure?" The question was posed in the dark but Michonne didn't need the light to feel the heat of his gaze when her eyes locked with his. Was she sure? She'd never been more positive of anything. Had there ever a better balm for her wounds than Rick's hands? "Hmm?"
He cocked his head ever so slightly to the side, tensing between her legs yet, and before he could bridge the tiny gap between them, Michonne did it instead.
More than anything she wanted to numb his suffering, to physically push his body so far into euphoria that his soul forgot it was aching.
Cradling his face, Michonne's lips captured his in a slow, patient kiss, just enough for her to feel every part of him, except one, relax against her. Even her own heartbeat slowed as she sucked his bottom lip, earning a half-moan, half-grunt from the man between her legs, an enchanting noise that painted her from shoulders to ankles in goosebumps, like she was nothing more than his personal canvas.
God, how she'd missed him. Her entire body ached with need, her hands shook as she rolled him onto his back, their lips only taking a break from each other long enough to whimper or sigh. Only once he completely surrendered control to her did Michonne break away to sit atop his lap, straddling his waist, and slip the tank top over her head. Again, his stare heated her skin, Michonne felt him pulse under her weight as his mind filled in all the blanks that the shadows hid. Rick's hands came forward to explore every inch of her chest, brushing her sides, massaging her breasts, when his fingers brushed a circle around her stiffened nipples Michonne's felt aflame, arching her back to add pressure and ease the hunger between their bodies.
Michonne allowed him to drink his fill - his eyes, his hands, even his hips, constantly rolling beneath her. Every time he rose off the mattress, Michonne pushed back, slickening when she felt how hard he'd become.
Leaning down, she kissed him again, slowly at first, until she deepened the kiss just as her hips rolled with all the might her strong legs could muster. The grunt that formed in his throat almost sent Michone over the edge. She moaned too, right into his neck, where the stubble scratched her lips raw. Despite the burn she laid a trail to his shoulder and savored his sweat.
The buttons of his shirt were unclasped with patience. Michonne took her time exposing each new inch of skin, her fingers tracing over every line, scar, and blemish, trying more than ever to tattoo them to her memory in case she were to ever lose him too. Just the thought almost brought tears to her eyes, causing her to freeze.
"Hey," Rick said, bringing her attention to his face, always the mind reader. Or had the intensity of her touches clued him in, the way her fingertips tried to absorb even the pores of his skin. "I'm not going anywhere."
Michonne simply nodded, barely replying. "I know."
"We don't have to-"
They most certainly did. She cut him off with another roll of her hips, one that stole the words right off his tongue. Never before had Michonne needed him more. The motion seemed to paralyze him, as pleasurable as it was unexpected, and only after he recovered did she help him ease out of his open shirt, tossing it carelessly on the floor just like the jeans that boxer briefs that quickly followed.
Once finished relieving Rick of his clothes, Michonne settled herself on his thighs yet again, and ran a hand from his stomach to his chest before leaning and giving him a kiss just below the belly button. Again, Rick froze from the action, no doubt imagining her wet mouth just a little more south. The scent of Rick's musky arousal mixed in the air with Michonne's, her nostrils full of their shared perfume as she did exactly what Rick wished of her - used her lips to journey down until she hovered over his hardened cock.
Before she even made contact, he grunted, a hand coming down and getting lost in Michonne's locs. His fingers massaged her scalp as she kissed down his length - wet, patient kisses that made him literally twitch and stiffen beneath her. Not a single inch of his taut, hot, veiny skin was left dry, she saturated him long before taking him entirely into her mouth and easing down his shaft.
Was it him or her that moaned? Did it matter?
It was both of them, their sounds combining to create the sweetest melody Michonne had heard in a very long time.
Each time he pulsed in her mouth Michonne had to clench her thighs because Rick wasn't the only one aching for a release. The moisture was collecting between her legs, just as wet as her mouth, just as desperate to feel him too.
Still, she took her time. Savoring his flavor, Michonne took him until he hit the back of her throat and she rewarded him with a whimper that was barely heard over the noises rolling off his lips. Rick clenched and rocked below her, his cock slowly trickling precum, all of which she happily lapped up. Slow at first, just like she would do if she were riding him, she sucked and hummed, until his skin burned and their thighs stuck together with sweat. She imagined he was inside of her as she tasted him, that it wasn't just her mouth that increased the speed and the friction, until she ground against his legs just like Michonne would've done the real thing. Judging by the sharp intake of breath Rick felt that moisture seeping through her fabric when she did it again, then again, faster and harder still.
She needed him to know what just tasting him did to her.
Judging by how hard he was, how desperate, Rick was very aware. Every rock of her hips or groan of pleasure made him literally pulse in her mouth, until he was impossibly hard and Michonne knew he was close, maybe too close. She gave his head a few more harsh, tight strokes, knowing that it was killing him to hold back, but for her he would do it.
Finally, she released him, but not without lowering her mouth one last time to give his head a final taste as she softly tugged his balls, just enough to force a deliciously vulnerable sigh out of him. It'd pushed him so torturously close to the edge that Michonne felt him shudder beneath her.
"C'mere."
Rick's voice was hoarse when he spoke and Michonne didn't have to be told twice. His eager hands pulled her closer, inching her up towards his waist, and not until they were chest to chest did Michonne stroke his jaw with one hand while pushing her underwear to the side and aligning him to her entrance with the other.
It was almost impossible to slow down and enjoy it, but Michonne forced herself to be disciplined. Not just for her sake but for Rick's too, she wanted him to have a reprieve from their real world for as long as possible. She kissed him again, her tongue slowly slipping inside of his mouth, just like he so anxiously waited to do to her.
Only once they'd shared his flavor that lingered on her lips did Michonnne finally slide down on his shaft, gasping from the shockwave of stretching around him until he bottomed out.
Yet, she refused to move.
At least at first. Michonne stayed put atop him, refusing to even sway her hips. She wanted Rick to really feel how wet he'd made her, to settle in, to truly absorb the moment as she kissed his lips and her fingers got lost in his hair. He jerked inside of her and as much as Michonne wanted to push him to the brink she just moaned into his mouth, her body electric, every sound and touch from him feeling like a literal spark inside of her.
The first grind of her hips forced a shared cry from their lips.
It was almost too much for her, after wanting it for so long, and Michonne made it last, rocking with as much slow force as possible. Her thighs shook around his waist and she pressed her face into his neck, working her hips in a hard, deep grind. Rick's hands were urgent in their journey to her ass, some things never changed, but he seemed content with just holding onto her sweaty flesh, allowing her to lead their quest for satisfaction. Maybe he understood how badly Michonne needed to empty her brain by focusing on nothing but him.
And focus she did.
Riding him slowly, Michonne didn't increase her rhythm until she was afraid waiting any longer might destroy him, until he was antsy and panting with every roll. Her eyes were fluttering as he pulsed within her, hitting places whose existence other women didn't even believe in. Every rock, every thrust, made the pressure in Michonne's abdomen build and threaten to boil over, until Rick's name was rolling off her lips, a more powerful aphrodisiac for him than any food or drug could ever be.
That was the moment he gripped control from her, quite literally, his hands digging into her ass as he thrusted into her hard and fast, striking her with blow after blow of blissful agony.
Their bodies were working over time, the sweat dripped, and Michonne knew his arms were probably flexed hard and tight from the force of his thrusts. Her lip quivered as the pressure built and she knew they wouldn't last much longer. Especially not Rick.
She recognized the sounds of him reaching his peak. How his breath hitched in his throat with every pump, the steady, purposeful rhythm of his strokes, how his sounds and scent freely filled the room.
Grabbing his face, Michonne steadied him, pulling him back to reality and forcing his eyes to connect with hers in the dark.
"Wait," she begged, rocking her hips with him. "Please."
She felt him nod in her palm even though she knew the effort to hold back was killing him. But he was the one man stubborn and capable enough to wait for her, Michonne had faith.
Shutting her eyes, Michonne focused on his efforts. Every time he rocked inside of her she knew he was painfully hard, hitting her in just the right spot, just as her clit ground down on him. The feeling was so intense that she felt like she might suffocate from it if such a thing was possible. Finally she remembered to breathe, to open the flood gates.
Rick didn't need to be told when it was okay to let go, not with her words, he understood her body.
She clenched around him, pulling him in tighter and deeper, small flutters that built almost violently to something that sent them both overboard.
Normally Michonne would've slid off from him, always just in the nick of time, but there was no time. Rick's grip on her was too urgent, too tight, and had he pulled out tears would've sprung to her eyes. He emptied himself inside of her, as deep as her body would allow, and Michonne clung to him as he unloaded, pulse after pulse.
There wasn't a sound to be heard over their labored breathing afterwards, not that Michonne would've wanted to hear them anyway.
Her mind was blissfully blank, her body clung to Rick's in the warm afterglow.
Why couldn't it always be like this? Why couldn't she always feel so content, so satisfied? Why couldn't their hearts forget to break? Michonne rested her head on Rick's chest, still on top of him, and felt that all too familiar sense of dread creep into her bones. By tomorrow morning the bliss of their night would be forgotten. It would be another day to embrace, more reality to face. No matter how good they made each other feel it wouldn't change the truth.
Rick seemed to notice when Michonne's mood shifted. He kissed her forehead, his arms pulling her to him in a tight hug, only letting go so his fingers could stroke down her spine with gentle comfort.
"It'll get better," he whispered. "I promise."
Michonne nodded, she knew what he said was true. The hurt would always sting but with a partner she could chip away at the grief, bit by bit, until it wasn't the biggest thing in the room anymore.
"I love you," she answered, never hearing him say it back.
Already her eyelids had closed, sleep coming to claim her more easily than it had in months.