AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I think this is the first Mandrea chapter that I've done in this story. I do enjoy writing Mandrea, and there will be some Mandrea chapters throughout (for anyone who may be unfamiliar with my stories). If you're unfamiliar with my Mandrea writing, you should also know that I almost always write them as a couple with some consistent kinks throughout my fics. Some of that is mentioned here, though there's no explicit smut. There is some teasing, though, and some hints as to their particular likes as a couple.

I hope you enjoy the chapter. Let me know what you think!

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"You real stuck on gettin' every damn thing unpacked today, Sugar? Or you reckon that a fuckin' box or two could keep 'til tomorrow?"

Merle was lying in the bed, entirely naked, after his shower. Andrea had showered at least a couple of hours ago. Her hair was already drying with the curled strands of her hair knotting around each other as it tumbled over her shoulders. She'd been as careful as she could be to keep the bandages on her cheek from getting wet, but they were at least a little damp in places—mostly drying now.

She'd been carefully and meticulously folding their clothes as she unpacked them. They'd brought so little from Woodbury, and they'd been allowed to select some clothing from the storage at the prison. Andrea wanted to care for the clothing to preserve it. Her feelings, now, about possessions were much different than they had been when she'd been at the height of her career as a lawyer and had some money to burn.

Her feelings about a lot of things were different than they'd once been. And, she'd noticed that, lately, they seemed to be in an almost constant state of flux.

Her feelings about the man in the bed, for instance, were dramatically different than they'd once been—and they changed a little more with each passing day. Perhaps they even changed with each passing hour.

Andrea carefully finished folding the cotton shirt in her hand, and delicately placed it in the drawer with the other clothes before she pushed the drawer closed and turned around. Just seeing her close the drawer and turn around made Merle smile. He patted the bed beside him—his body resting on the elbow of his right arm. The cover was already pulled back on the bed to reveal the space left for Andrea, and Merle rubbed his hand over the sheet where he intended for her to lie down.

He liked for her to be on that side—where he could rest his body on his right arm and touch her with his left hand.

Andrea had often wondered what kind of lover he would be if he still had two hands to work with, because he already knew how to hit all the right buttons with just the one to work with.

She crossed her arms across her chest and leaned back against the dresser. Merle's smile fell, slightly, and his brow furrowed.

"I don't like that look, Sugar," he offered. He patted the bed again. "Come on over here. Lemme get a taste of that sweet little pussy of yours. See if I can't change that expression on your pretty face."

If anyone had told Andrea that she'd find Merle's particular brand of sweet-talking flattering or appealing, she would have called them crazy. Of course, that was among the many things that she felt changing about herself each day.

Andrea relaxed her position, but only slightly. She heard Merle grunt. His smile dropped again.

"You don't want your pussy eat," Merle offered, "then we could talk about what the hell you do want, Sugar, but I ain't never known you to turn down a real good fuckin'."

"I didn't say I was turning it down," Andrea offered. The smile came back, curling up just one side of Merle's mouth.

"Then come on over here and let's talk about the specifics," Merle said. "Ain't every day I see your ass tangled up an' set to beat a bitch to death. My damn dick got hard just watchin' you kick her ass." He laughed to himself. He lifted up the blanket and looked under it. He whistled to himself and laughed. "Would you look at that—fuckin' hard just thinkin' about it. And I been seein' your ass bent over, searching through that box. If I'da knowed you would've appreciated it, and wouldn'ta slugged me like you done that bitch Olive Oyl? I'da come over there and slipped it to you real good, Sugar, while you were sortin' through that box of clothes."

Andrea was surprised at her body's reaction to Merle's mention of coming up behind her, unannounced, and fucking her while she attempted to put their clothing away. She was surprised, really, at the way her body responded to most things Merle did—particularly in the bedroom.

Andrea had never met a man, before, who had been comfortable letting her explore parts of her sexuality that she hadn't even known were there—parts that she might be a little ashamed of outside of the spaces they'd shared together. Merle didn't make her feel ashamed, though. Even when he called her a whore or, choking her some way she'd asked him to, told her that she was nothing but a dirty little slut, he still made her feel like he approved of even her darkest desires. As a show of appreciation, perhaps, for him allowing her to get in touch with a side of herself that she'd pretended didn't exist and that she had buried for most of her life, Andrea was generous with her body and was forgiving of Merle's own twisted desires.

No matter what happened, Andrea had to admit that Merle stopped when he was asked to stop, and he never hurt her beyond that which she requested and allowed.

The freedom he'd given her, really, had her body ready to respond, almost immediately, to even the most passing suggestion from Merle.

"You were going to—fuck me against the dresser?" Andrea asked. "While my back was turned to you?"

The smirk on Merle's face only widened and he sat up in the bed. Andrea let her eyes flick down far enough. Merle was the most well-endowed man she'd ever known—enough so that there were still times that she found tolerating his size, itself, as the biggest test of her sexual stamina. The sheet that hung loosely over his lap did nothing to hide his arousal. He wasn't too concerned with it, though, because he could last long enough to make Andrea tag out—and she had from time to time—and he knew it. Casually, he reached for a cigarette on the bedside table. He lit it, showing off the many abilities he'd adapted in his once lesser hand.

"Sugar—I'll still fuck you against that dresser," Merle said. "If that gets your pussy wet. Hmmm? That what you want?"

"It wouldn't be a surprise, now," Andrea offered.

Merle laughed to himself.

"Then I'll blindfold you," Merle offered. "Let you wander through the apartment blind. Fuck with you a little bit before I decide where and how I'ma fuck you. Take you by surprise, then. That get you wet?" Andrea's pulse picked up. Like he could hear it across the room, Merle smiled to himself. "You like that shit. I don't care. I like that shit. If that's what the hell you want—I'll give it to you. Real good. Just like I know you like it."

"We need to talk, Merle," Andrea said. "I've been—thinking."

"Fuck," Merle muttered, blowing out smoke with an almost choking sound. "People can say it's fuckin' bears, or alligators, or great fuckin' white sharks, but the fact remains that the most dangerous fuckin' thing to a man is a woman that's been thinkin'." Andrea couldn't help but frown to herself. "Out with it," Merle said after a moment, crushing out his cigarette and somewhat tossing the ashtray back at the bedside table with an emotion that seemed to be a mix between disgust and anger. "What the hell is it? You want me to fuck off now? Pack the shit you done put in them drawers an' go find me some fuckin' place of my own—away from you? That it? That what you want?"

Andrea laughed to herself, even though her chest suddenly felt tight like she might cry. She felt her throat tighten, and she felt the prickling behind her eyes of unwanted tears. She shook her head.

"That's the last thing I want, Merle," Andrea admitted.

Merle shifted around. He sat further up in the bed, moved his pillow against the headboard, and sat straight up. His face was drawn up in a frown, but it appeared to be more from concern than anything else.

"The hell is wrong with you, Andrea?" Merle asked.

Andrea touched her face and realized that the unwanted tears prickling behind her eyes had escaped. She had less control over them than she'd imagined she had. They were trailing down her face. She pulled the bottom of the cotton pajama shirt up and used it to mop at her face.

"Come here," Merle said, patting the bed again. This time, the invitation had an entirely different feel about it. The whole room had an entirely different feel about it. Andrea walked over and sat on the bed. She didn't crawl over to Merle immediately, and she kept her back to him for a moment. A strong and familiar arm hooked around her waist and dragged her backward as surely as if she'd been caught by a giant fishing hook. Merle tugged her body backward, sliding her in a seemingly effortless manner across the mattress, until she was resting against him. He moved her hair out of the way, and he kissed her neck, shoulders, and the only part of her back that the cotton night shirt would have made visible to him.

Merle could be tender—he could be remarkably tender—but he kept that side of himself very much under wraps until even Andrea could sometimes forget that it was hidden there, beneath the surface.

Andrea sighed, though, appreciating the soft kisses on her skin and the gentle groping of the strong hand that worked at her muscles to try to relieve a tension that Merle didn't even know how to identify.

"You gonna tell me what the hell it is, Andrea?" Merle asked, resting his mouth next to her ear.

Andrea turned around to face him, and Merle passed his thumb under her eye. He smiled at her—a crooked smile, but a sincere one.

"That salt's gonna burn your cuts, Sugar," Merle said. "Try not to make no more of it."

"It was you that—Lori was talking about today," Andrea said. "When we fought. That was why."

Merle laughed to himself.

"What the hell she want with me?" Merle asked. "I don't give that bitch the time of day."

"She said you weren't reliable," Andrea said. "She said—you were the kind of man that I couldn't count on. That you'd run off as soon as we got here and you saw someone better. Younger. Someone…you wanted more."

"Kittens," Merle offered.

"What?"

Merle laughed to himself and shook his head.

"Kittens," he said. "Like—they ain't even the full-grown pussies. These lil' kittens that's been runnin' around the prison and all. Half haired over an' doin' their best to get someone's attention. Thinkin' they want some war-worn old Tom to come after 'em."

"Do you want a kitten, Merle?" Andrea asked.

Merle laughed to himself. He was balanced back on his elbow, now, as he'd slid down to relax again. Andrea relaxed next to him and watched him as he scratched at the back of his head, his neck, and the stubble where he hadn't shaved that day. The scratching, Andrea knew, had less to do with actual itching and more with releasing nervous energy. Merle had a great deal of nervous energy, and it had to come out some way. She wasn't letting him fuck it out right now, so it had to come out some other way.

"You ain't gonna like to hear this, Sugar, but I wasn't lookin' for a kitten or a full-grown pussy," Merle said. "Not to hang around like a damn house cat. I mean—I'm that war-worn old Tom. I prowl around. I don't curl up in front of the damn fireplace with some lady cat and a whole litter of kittens all my own."

Andrea felt like she'd been punched, hard, in the gut. The sensation made her feel a little nauseous, just as if she'd actually been slugged. She sucked in a breath, but found that the punch to her gut had also been a punch to the sternum, because she couldn't draw air in like she once had. She attempted to scramble from the bed, but she didn't make it far because Merle caught her arm.

In that moment, she realized that every time Merle Dixon let her go when the games between them got too rough and she requested freedom, he'd done so with intention. He was far stronger than she was. She would never escape him if that wasn't what he wanted.

This time, he pinned her down, but Andrea didn't feel threatened. He used his body to hold her onto the bed. To make sure she didn't move away from him. He hovered over her, and shook his head at her.

"That wasn't who the hell I was, Andrea," Merle said. "It weren't. But even old Toms—when they find somethin' good? They hang around. Can't run their asses off from a good damn thing, Andrea. It weren't what the hell I was lookin' for, but that don't mean I'm pissed off I found it. Now you can't run me off—so I hope to hell it was what the hell you was lookin' for. But it weren't no kitten that could do that shit. And there ain't no kitten that could handle this old scraggly asshole." He laughed to himself. Andrea felt him relax. He still had her pinned, but not with the same determination as before. He trusted that she wasn't going to wriggle from beneath him and run away. "You can tell Lori that—if she still don't know." He winked at Andrea. "Don't want me no kitten. Not when I got me a fuckin' hellcat."

He let up a little, when Andrea panted for air, realizing that his body weight pressing fully against her was more than she could handle long-term.

"If I tell you that—I love you," Andrea said. "Are you gonna run, Merle?"

He moved enough to support his body weight on his knees. The only thing that kept Andrea pinned there was her decision not to move, now. He brushed her hair back and caressed her face with his rough fingertips. He kissed her, and she enjoyed the kiss. She did her best to make sure that he knew that she did. He smiled at her, sincerely, when the kiss broke.

"I love you," Merle said, so sincerely that it made Andrea's chest ache again, this time in a different way. "I'ma say it just 'cause it seems to matter to you right now, Sugar. But don't go thinkin' I'ma be some kinda fuckin' sap all the time that goes skippin' through damn streets singin' you love songs and shit."

Andrea smiled at him. She shook her head.

"I'd never expect that," she said. "Though—maybe I'd appreciate hearing it, every now and again, when there's nobody around."

Merle just laughed to himself and sat up.

"We'll see about it," he mused. "You got any damn thing else you been thinkin' about?"

Andrea smiled to herself.

"Just—that there's an extra pillowcase in there that ought to make a pretty decent blindfold," Andrea said. "If you were serious. But I'll need you to tie it on for me."

Merle smiled and reached for his cigarettes.

"Hurry up and go get it, Sugar," he said. "And old Merle'll even give your ass a head start to try an' get away. I'ma go ahead and tell you, though. If I chase pussy? I always catch it." He winked at her and Andrea's heart drummed in her chest.

"I'm counting on it, Merle," she assured him, as she went for the pillowcase so their game could begin.