I don't own the walking dead
this is probably going to stay a one-shot. I only need to clear my mind, and so I can focus on updates of my other story.
Please, review
PINK BUBBLE GUM
The situation is weird. He never thought it would happen, and yet, Rick stares at the evidence. Funny thing, how it begins and ends. He stares at the humongous glass windows of his office, and there is no higher point in the city. How odd it is to feel like this from his office.
The climb cost him everything and a heartbreak. Rick continues to stare at the window, and the view no longer holds charms. Rick draws a deep breath, and he moves away from the windows.
" Looking like the perfect cliché of a fucking idiot with a broken heart." Shane's voice fills Rick' office.
Rick sighs, and he throws the brown envelope on the table. He sinks in his chair, and his hands come to rest on the mahogany desk. Shane's steps consume silence. The sounds of clicking tumbler steal Rick's attention. He raises his head right on time to face Shane, who pushes a tumbler full of scotch toward him. The golden liquor pours on the expensive desk.
Rick does not react beyond a sigh, and any other day, he would have lost his mind. Now, he feels no pride in his accomplishment, and his desk is nothing, but expensive wood.
" Your first one?" Shane asks, and he is at his second one. However, the situations are different. " you will be over it before you take your next breath." He attempts to comfort Rick.
Rick looks at Shane, and he is different from his best friend. He understands what Shane endeavours to do, but Shane has no lived Rick's life. He will always fail to understand.
" sixteen fucking years," Rick points out with a poisonous bitterness, " Fuck, I thought we were doing okay at least and good at best." He stares at the brown envelope, " She said that she wanted time, and I gave it to her. Now, she is complaining that I picked my job over her. Fuck it." Rick picks the envelope, and he throws it to Shane, " Lori wants the downtown loft and the Hampton summer house. My fucking work paid for those houses, but that is not a problem."
Shane pulls the divorce paper from the envelope, and he quickly reads them. He carefully returns them to the table.
" Ironclad prenup," Shane replies, and he drains his tumbler, " and she is going to have what she brought to your relationship, nothing." He returns to the minibar and refills his glass.
Rick sighs, and he cannot believe that sixteen years of his life has come to a terrible end. Rick has scrapped his mind for a hint. Nothing of substance has come out of his search for a reason for their divorce. Neglect, he is a stockbroker, and working a lot comes with the territory. The money follows the extra hours of work. Lori did not complain about the money, and she has no qualms coming for what luxury the money afforded Rick.
" Maybe…" Shane's glare makes Rick stop, and he remains exhausted, " I don't want to begin a fight. Fuck…fuck… we were friends before we began to date. Never doubted that I would finish my life with her, and well…I don't want to fight over walls and roofs." Rick drinks a big gulp.
Shane looks at his best friend, and he always was a sceptic. He was never gullible enough to believe in perfect love. Therefore, he pushed Rick to allow him to draw a prenuptial contract. Perhaps, professional deformation leads him to see an expiration date on every marriage. Even his best friend and his childhood sweetheart had an expiration date.
" The entire point of the prenup is to protect your money, and Lori is going to get nothing. She wants to walk out of your marriage because of made-up excuses, and she will do so with nothing. Don't say fucking shit. You don't have children. She can fucking find a job and begin to understand why you cannot take a trip every week. I'm handling it." Shane announces with no intention to give many thoughts on the way to proceed.
" Do as you want," Rick has nothing to say, " going home." He gives up the game of pretence. " The one, which she is not trying to claim," He says and checks his watch, " nine to a quarter p.m. Never left this office so early." He draws a deep breath, and he passes the divorce paper to Shane. " At least I don't have to worry about finding an empty house. I was a dumbass to believe that a year of separation would not lead to divorce." Rick thinks aloud, " Well…"
Shane does not reply, and he rises as Rick does. He drags Rick into his arms, and he hugs him as tightly as he can. Rick was present for Shane's two divorces. With the experiences, Shane has developed a coping mechanism. Although, Shane's longest marriage lasted three years. Rick dated Lori for eleven years, and their marriage lasted five years.
" Perhaps, you need my way to get through a divorce," Shane asks, and he sounds concerned.
Slowly, he releases Rick. Shane waits for an answer.
" If it can make this thang all better, I'm willing to try anything. " Rick replies, and he only needs an emotional break.
"It works like a charm," Shane taps on Rick's shoulder, and they head out of the office.
Being at home does not stop Rick from working. As the hours have passed, he has concluded that Lori may be right. Rick throws the lighter on his couch, and he blows the first smoke with a sense of relief. He pushes his glasses back on his nose, and his eyes have reddened from the overexposure to the computer screen light.
At his sixth failing algorithm, Rick begins to understand that he has begun to obsess over his divorce. In truth, Rick's marriage died a year ago. However, he wanted to be naïve. Now, he has to face reality.
Rick draws more smoke of his cigarette, and he does not seem to find a way to relax. He sighs, and he walks to his bedroom. Rick drags the cupboard open, and he begins to search for his most potent emotional regulator. Between the sleeping pills and the stimulants, he manages to find the box of Xanax.
"Happy divorce to me," He dramatically raises an empty glass, and he begins to fill it with his oldest scotch.
He always believed that he would open the bottle to celebrate a special occasion like upcoming fatherhood. Now, children are a fading thought. Rick throws the Xanax pill in his mouth, and the scotch washes it. He returns to his couch, and he begins to wait for the pills to kick. Rick drains his cigarette, and he continues to stare at his numbers.
When he begins to make sense of his numbers, the bell of his apartment rings. Rick is not expecting anyone, and he has every intention to ignore the person behind his door. He refills his tumbler, and he immediately drains it.
The door begins to ring again, and Rick wonders who might feel the need to be so insistent. He takes his fourth glass of scotch. The world blurs a bit, and the Xanax offers it a different vibrancy. Rick recklessly rises from his seat, and he accidentally hits his bottle of liquor. The golden liquid spreads on the iron table, and the drops begin to stain the gorgeous ancient carpet. Rick could care less, and Lori was the one into interior design. He immediately regrets thinking of her. Rick forgets about the ringing door. He dugs the container for more pills, and the scotch follows to wash the foul taste away.
Rick's vision blurs more, and he searches for his glasses. They sit on his nose, and the big frame digs in his skin. A sheer layer of sweat begins to coat his skin. Rick draws a deep breath, and his sight falters once more. The ring at the door becomes unbearably loud. With sluggish movements, Rick manages to hit his table, and he stumbles to his door.
"Fucking what?" He hurls as soon as he opens the door.
A bed of sweat lies on his forehead, and Rick's curls stick to his pale skin. His blurry sight catches a flash of pink. It is pink so bright, and it hurts his eyes. Rick attempts to rub his eyes, and his fingers hit his glasses.
" Fuck," Rick grunts, and he pulls off his glasses, " What?" He asks in a voice, which he fails to recognise.
The answer comes with fingers digging into his arm and sharp nails tearing his skin. He has no time to react when the blurs of pink turn into an approximate shape. Rick feels the texture of soft skin pressed against his forehead.
" What?" He repeats with anger, and Rick fails to catch a breath, " Who are y…" His throat closes, and Rick struggles for the next breath, " wh…" He fails again, and the sweat becomes cold.
The pink blur is all Rick can see, but it begins to fade too. His blown pupil cannot hold the light, and Rick's knees buckle. He has a moment of panic, but arms close around his waist. Rick's face lands into a soft fabric of pink.
" Pretty boy," the pink blur is a she, and she has the voice of an angel, " I think you're overdosing, pretty boy." She continues with an odd calm. " Fucking don't die on me," She speaks with warmth, and he feels his body begins to move.
It takes a few minutes, or time is slow only for him. The same fingers drag the button of his shirt, and soon, his pants pool at his feet. The hands are now on his cheeks, and she cups his face between her soft palms.
" hold on, darling," She tells him with utter tenderness, " If you fucking die, my greedy ass is ending in jail." She shoves him in the bathtub.
Rick's bareback hit the cold surface, and his grip on the pink blur is unbreakable. She feels like life, and so she finishes in the bathtub with Rick. The water pours, and she pries his mouth open. Her long nails graze his tongue, and she pushes his face away from the cold bath.
Rick throws up until there is nothing to expel. He feels her weight on him. The pink bleeds in the water. Rick's hand comes to rest on her waist, and she straddles him. Cough shakes his body while the struggle for each new breath begins to slow.
The same manicured hands rest on his shoulder. Her palms are so warm, and her body is warmer. Rick rests his head in the centre of her chest. She is soft flesh and smooth skin. Slowly, the pink blur turns into a bleeding woman. She bleeds pink in his Italian bathtub, and the water looks like the juice from pink bubble gum.
"Pretty boy," She whispers with her hands on his cheek, and she keeps Rick's eyes on her.
" Hmmm," Rick groans, and speaking feels like an act of torture on his throat. The sensation of her finger digging in his throat has not disappeared.
Rick lies his head on the edge of the bathtub, and she rests her head on his chest. Her ear pressed to his cold skin, and she hears his heart roaring. Death has begun to walk away from Rick.
"pretty boy, " her thumb caresses Rick's jaws, " Wake up," her fingers dance on his chest, and Rick lazily opens his eyes, " Do I call an ambulance?" She asks because she has experience with men of Rick's calibre.
"No," Rick croaks.
She does not argue, nor does she panics. Once again, she taps his cheek to gain his attention. Rick moans, and he half-opens his eyes. Her face begins to come to a shape. Her full red lips move to speak, and Rick takes a hold of her face.
" What did you take?" She softly speaks, and Rick begins to form a thought.
He stares at her between slumber and awe. She has as gorgeous like an angel. Brown pupil steadily holds his sluggish mind. Rick holds on her face, and she smells like strawberry candy, cherries, and lemon. From her hair, the drops of water fall and hit Rick's visage.
" Xanax," Rick manages an answer, and her soft hands encouragingly brush his cheek.
" hold on, pretty boy." She says.
Rick watches her disappear, as his view begins to darken. The room continues to spin, and the water is pink bubble gum like her dress. Drops of pink follow her steps, and her dress bleeds all over his expensive marble.
Rick stares at the door frame, and he does not know if she will return. She may be a hallucination. He might be dying. His head hangs on the edge of the tub, and his fingers swing and dip in the pink water pooling by the bathtub. The world is slower, and his breaths are shallower by the minute. He coughs and fails to chuckle. A fitting end, Rick has a cynical sense of humour.
"Now, I'm not going to jail for accidental manslaughter, pretty boy." The wet sound of her steps is comforting.
Her hands grab his arms, and she begins to drag him out of the pool. His bare wet skin slips from her grip, and her pink bubble gum acrylic nails sink in his muscles. She pulls on a precarious balance on a slippery bathroom marble. Soon enough, she slips on the floor, and Rick's naked body comes to cover her like a blanket.
"I got you," She whispers out of breath, and with great effort, she stretches to grab her bag laying on the floor. " hold on, pretty boy." The bag is equally bubble gum pink.
She pours the bag contents on the floor, and she picks the syringe. Her job has odd requirements. She carefully reads the label on the syringe.
" Flumazenil," She reads aloud, " This shit better work," she adds as she pushes the syringe into Rick's arm. " It better work, or I'm calling an ambulance, pretty boy." She tells Rick, and he grabs her hand.
" No ambu…" Rick can barely finish or form a sentence.
She does not reply, but she threads her fingers in his wet curls. His weight is crushing, but she does no efforts to move him.
" Alright but promise me not to die on me," She whispers with a small smile, and Rick nuzzles her neck.
For half an hour, they lay on the cold marble of Rick's bathroom. Each of Rick's breaths is a stolen moment of life, and they begin to be stronger. Her body is warm, and she is wet too.
" Fucking cold," Rick croaks between coughs, and his weight might begin to suffocate her.
She pushes her hand between their body, and she begins to push her wet dress down her chest. She contorts and twists until she can kick the pink fabric with her foot. Her legs wrap around Rick's waist, and her bare breast presses against his chest where Rick's heart has begun to have a regular rhythm.
" I will be charging extra, pretty boy." Rick hears her say before her warmth and exhaustion claim his mind.
Rick wakes up in his bed and alone. The pounding headache and the dry throat are nothing out of the ordinary. To be truthful, a near overdose and hallucination are nothing out of the ordinary. As a high paid stockbroker, drugs and alcohol are a job requirement. As long as no ambulance arrives and no police involvement happens, there is nothing to lament.
He wipes the sleep from his eyes, and his leg feels like cotton. The wedding band on his hand scratch his skin, and Rick has yet to remove it. He sighs, and in reality, he has not been present in his marriage. There lies the reason for regrets.
Rick pushes away his bedsheets, and he did not imagine being naked. He scratches his head, and he carefully sits. Rick searches for his watch, and he cannot miss the market opening.
Four a.m is a decent hour, and he pushes on his legs, which feels weak. Rick barely stands, and he grabs the bedside table. He drags the cupboard open, and he begins to search for his stack. He does not have time to deal with the aftermath of an almost overdose. He has his work, and he has nothing left in his life.
Rick begins to search, and the cupboard is empty. Last night comes in small flashes, and he remembers pouring his stack on the couch to pick the Xanax. He is not a fan of the drug, but he is also not a fan of defeat. In a competitive profession, he has to match the concurrence. Stockbrokers do not sleep, they are not sick, and God forbid to take a break to eat.
Rick stumbles and staggers until his living room. He drags himself to the couch. The stack of different pills lies on the cream leather, and he picks it to begin his search for anything to help him boost his sluggish body.
" Do you have a death wish, pretty boy?" Her voice feels the living room.
Rick finally takes not of her approaching steps. He grabs a container of Adderall. Cautiously, he turns to face her. For a few seconds, he takes her appearance in, and the conclusion is easy to make. Loose bun sits on the crown of her head with loose strands of dreadlock frame a gorgeous visage. The red of her lips has faded into a vibrant pink. Her skin glistens as the lights of the city sneaking in his apartment reflect on it. However, what convinces Rick of the surrealism of the moment is the pink bubble gum fur laying on her skin.
Rick does not answer, and he has had his fair share of bad trips. She begins to walk toward him, and she has a tumbler of scotch in her hand. It becomes blatant that he is consoling himself with a fantasy.
"Odd silence," She replies, and she passes him to sit elegantly on his sofa. " No more Xanax, please. No cocaine or I will have to call an ambulance." She adds with a sign of annoyance.
" Fucking have to work," Rick replies, and he elects to ignore the figment of his imagination.
"Stockbroker?" She asks after picking a container of pills, " only your likes overdose on Xanax and wants to head to work on a Sunday." She adds with a knowing look, "Glenfiddich, you're one of the best I guess." She raises the tumbler half-filled with aged scotch.
Rick does not say much, and he opens the drug container. He picks the pills and takes the tumbler from her hand. His mind has concluded that she is not a hallucination. The sensuality and her flirty tone are beyond his brainpower. He throws the pills back, and he washes it with the scotch. Around the tumbler, a stain of her lips rests. Rick sighs, and he returns the tumbler. She takes a sip, and she watches him with a softness in those brilliant brown orbs.
" Sunday?" He asks as he sits by her, and Rick is oddly unfazed for a person with a stranger in his home.
However, he went to college, and he works in wall street. He is not out of his circle of oddities. She passes him the tumbler of scotch, and he takes a sip.
" You gave me a scare," She replies with her fingers disappearing in his curls, " two days unconscious, and I always call the ambulance on the third day. Lucky you." She adds as she takes back the tumbler to drain it.
" Lucky me…" He says with relativism. " Did I hire you or Shane did?" Rick asks after a few minutes of silence.
" Cannot tell. I'm standing in for Sasha." She replies, and she roses from the couch.
Her pink fur grazes the floor, and it opens enough to show her skin. She is as bare under as Rick is. He looks at her toned abdomen for a second, and his eyes return to her face. She does not appear to be bothered by his moment of ogling.
" Then Shane hired you," Rick notes, and only his best friend would believe an escort is a way to cheer anyone after a divorce.
" Should I take the bills for my dress and the extra nursing service to his tab," She asks with a cocked eyebrow.
" Your name?" Rick ignores her question, " I will handle it," he ultimately adds.
He does not want anyone to know, and Rick has no heart to explain how his emotions have begun to overwhelm him. His almost overdose is a one-time thing.
" Michonne," She replies with the same soft smile full of pearly white teeth.
" Your real name?" Rick corrects his previous question.
She looks at him with amusement. Michonne leans on the couch.
" That is my real name, pretty boy. I'm not letting the agency cash thirty per cent on my extra work." Michonne clarifies.
Rick looks at her, and she does look like a person to have a unique melodious name. She carries a touch of exoticism to make her already striking beauty unforgettable.
" cash or a new dress?" Rick asks while he pries the empty tumbler from Michonne's hand.
He stands with no care for his state of undress. Michonne does not think he should be ashamed. He is physically gorgeous, and she returns the favour of ogling him. She quietly watches him walk away from her with his bow-legged gate.
Rick returns with the scotch bottle and clad in pyjama pants. He takes a spot by Michonne, and he did not bother with the tumbler. He sits the bottle between them.
" Do you happen to have cigarettes?" Rick asks as he begins to open the bottle.
Michonne lies on her stomach, and she reaches for a bag, which Rick had not noticed. She drags a small box, and she pulls the cigarette. It is in the same pink than her fur. However, Rick does not comment.
" Fire?" He mumbles with the cigarette dangling from his mouth.
Michonne pulls a lighter, and she leans toward Rick. Her hand stands as a shield from the wind, and she lights the tip of his cigarette.
" Thank you," Rick blows the first smoke, and he takes a swing of the scotch. He extends the bottle toward Michonne, and she takes it.
" fucked up priorities," Michonne points out, and she takes a burning gulp until it fills the length of her throat. " Thanking me for lighting your cigarette, but no words for saving your life and nursing you back to health for two days." Her tone has a nonchalance, which soothes the harshness of her accusation.
Rick takes the bottle, and he takes a few sips between blowing smokes. He looks at Michonne, and he sighs with exhaustion.
" How much you charge by hours, and it should be a decent thank you," Rick asks, " also cash or wire." He adds.
" Cash," She replies while losing her mind to distraction.
" Same for the dress?" Rick continues to ask.
" another dress. Mind you it was a channel." Michonne announces, " I will take nothing less." She adds with a smile.
Rick looks at her. The small woman clad in a pink bubble gum fur. She is far too elegant for the job. She is almost an enigma needing a solution. However, he has no time to dwell on curiosity and its aftermath.
" The dress bled on my tub and bathroom floor," Rick replies with a cocked eyebrow and a knowing expression, " I doubt a channel would do that." He adds with his business tone, and the smoke crawls out his mouth to punctuate his statement.
Michonne softly laughs, and she picks the cigarette from Rick's hand. Her legs spread on the couch, and they are endless. Her feet ride Rick's lap. She closes her eyes while her head dangles from the armrest. She draws as much smoke as she can from one breath. She blows the smoke toward the ceiling and sighs with content.
"Stockbrokers and their needs to bargain. You make awful fools. Only lawyers are worse. They don't allow a lie to slide. Perhaps, the stockbrokers are worse. They don't buy any lie, and no one can overcharge you." Michonne explains, and another blow of smoke follows.
She extends her fingers for Rick to retake the cigarette, but he only puts his lips on it. He draws the smoke and blows it toward the ceiling.
" The dress was Ali express, but emotionally, it was a channel," Michonne argues.
Rick laughs, and she laughs too. His hand rests on her feet. He listens to her laugh, and it is so melodious. In the last year of solitude, Rick has forgotten how the company of a woman feels. It is warm and comforting.
" Do you want it in the same pink bubble gum," Rick asks, and the choice of colour is odd.
Michonne looks gorgeous in her fur, and she probably looked beautiful in her dress. Rick can only imagine. However, he does not think that she is the type of woman parading every day in the flashiest colour.
There is something about Michonne which speaks of softness. Her smile or her regular breath, everything is soft. He would picture her in a morning gardening or at night reading a book. Probably, she spends her day in a light pastel colour. Perhaps, Rick is only going with his first impression of Michonne. She looked like an angel.
"powder lavender or watered mint," Michonne replies, " A channel?" She smiles with her eyes more than she does with her lips.
" A Versace," Rick replies, and he takes another blow of the cigarette, which she holds toward him. " I'm generous enough to buy you a designer over a dollar dress, but a channel is a no for the sake of principle."
" It would be an emotional channel," Michonne replies.
For a few seconds, they share the silence and the cigarette. Her feet remain on Rick's lap, and his hand has found her thigh.
"your fee by the hour?" Rick shatters the silence.
She taps to remove the ash from the tip of the cigarette.
" seven hundred dollars and I don't bargain. Cash, I don't care to explain such incomes to uncle Sam. So far we are at two days and three nights. I heard math make a stockbroker orgasm, and so I will let you do the calculations." She says between cigarette smoke and sips of scotch.
" Do you charge the same with sex in the mix, or is it only for nursing skills," Rick asks with the tip of his fingers grazing her silky skin.
" a blow job is a thousand. On the other hand, if you will rather go down on me, I have deals for pretty boys. I don't do anal. BDSM gets messy when no feelings are involved. I do like to be choked, but I charge extra for it. Missionary is two thousand. A fuck, a good one is five thousand up front." Michonne replies without missing a beat or an ounce of shame.
There are a suaveness and rasp to her voice, which let intend that she might be giving a thought to a few sets of scenario. As if she has given it a thought, and she would gladly fall in bed with Rick.
Rick does not think she should be ashamed neither. She is not the first escort to have her feet on his lap, and with his new divorcee status, she won't be the last. However, he likes how sincere and upfront Michonne is.
"Okay…" Rick says without expanding on the topic.
Rick' hand spreads on her silky skin, and his fingers cling to the muscle. The tips of Rick's fingers flirt with the hem of Michonne's fur coat. Michonne's hand covers Rick's one, and she slides her fingers between his.
" Do you want to fuck me?" She asks in a breathy whisper.
" I have not given it a thought, and yet I have not thrown you out with a check." Rick sincerely replies, and he is on the fence, " I have received a demand for divorce last night." He adds with no thought to expand on the topic.
" I'm the celebratory present," Michonne inquires with an odd sense of humour.
Rick chuckles, and he looks at their joined hands resting on her thigh. Shane probably intended it to be that way.
" a consolation prize," Rick corrects Michonne.
" hard divorce," She musters the care to ask.
Rick stares at Michonne, and her expression speaks volume. Something is comforting about blunt truth, and after a year of subtle lies, Rick wants nothing more than blunt truth.
" How much do you charge for listening and faking to care?" He demands with complete detachment.
Michonne's thumb grazes Rick's palm, and she drags her feet closer to his groin.
" Slightly hurtful and judgmental." She notices with a raspy chuckle.
" Not in the best mindset for niceties," Rick replies, but he is in a better mindset than before he met Michonne.
" which include the need to fuck me..." She inquires, but her eyes issue the challenge.
" I will pay for the company." He pries his hand back from her hand.
"Until when," Michonne retrieves that harsh business aspect.
" Until silence does not drive me mad or as long as a meal last. I have not shared a meal with anyone since last year." Rick answers, and he again leaves the couch.
" There is only cracker and scotch in your home," Michonne calls for Rick as he walks to the kitchen, " hard to have a meal with that," she adds with a sigh.
Michonne rises from the couch, and she checks her watch. She has never spent so many hours in the company of a client. There is nothing healthy in extending her time in his presence. She senses deep issue, and Michonne is a sucker for broken-hearted individuals. She only has in mind to leave before the feeling of attachment sink in her mind.
" Are you taking the offer or not?" Rick asks with a form of authority mixed to raw neediness, which makes it impossible to refuse.
" seven hundred the hour, and if it ends on counselling, I will reevaluate." Michonne reluctantly agrees, and she mentions the money to maintain the distance, " Swedish salmon with crisped oven potato fries. Is it too early for a Kir Royale." She asks because he is ordering a meal to have an excuse to keep her longer.
" As early as it is for scotch, but here we are." Rick takes a sip from the bottle, and he passes it to Michonne.
She does not pray, and Rick begins to want her to be more than a silent company. Michonne's fork stills, and she drains her Kir royale. She waits for the unavoidable.
" Worked for Shane before?" Rick finds no other way to break the silence.
She cocks an eyebrow, and Michonne can think of a dozen ways to have a warm conversation. She is sure that Rick wants a warm conversation.
" You don't share your girl," she smiles with an ounce of mischief.
The salmon is ultimately a matter of the past. At least, she has eaten a piece of her food. Rick, on the other hand, has yet to give his excuse to keep Michonne around a glance. He needs the company more than he needs a meal.
" The last one ended up divorcing me, but irrelevant to the question," Rick replies with a bitter taste left on his tongue at the mention of his divorce.
Michonne searches for a cigarette, and Rick wonders what is the reason of her infatuation with the colour pink. The cigarette begins to burn, and Michonne blows the smoke. She passes the cigarette to Rick, and his lips cover the stain left by her lipstick.
" You are my first stockbroker if it can help with the insecurities." She replies with that same easy smile as if life is entertainment worth exploring every second.
Such ease is envious, and Rick almost wants to cling to it. He does not want to remember his divorce, and Michonne makes it easy to forget. She commands attention, and Rick is willing to offer it.
" Shane is lawyer," Rick announces, but there is an ounce of amusement in his voice.
" I guess it answers your question, pretty boy." She throws each word with nonchalance as if she could care less for the dance leading to the finality of them.
" Rick," He corrects, and he has the bitter impression that pretty boy is not a title of endearment.
There is a dismissive nature to it, and every other client must be a pretty boy.
" I'm aware." She takes the cigarette from his fingers, " I saved you from an overdose, and curiosity is a rightful thing in that situation." Michonne adds with a smile.
" Then used it," Rick says with a trace of slight irritation.
" Abrasiveness and aggressiveness, make sense." Michonne sounds unfazed, and she extends the cigarette for Rick to take.
" a psychology major," Rick questions, and he does not doubt that she must be a psychology student.
" Oh an escort," Michonne corrects his false assumption " I don't have the cliché story. I'm not paying my way through med school or any school for the matter. I'm escorting for living, and no we're not having a conversation that would lead you to believe that you can play a saviour." She says with amusement.
She looks at Rick, and he is easy to picture as someone with a hero complex. Michonne does not need a saviour.
" No need to worry and I'm not in the business of saving women." Rick replies, and she hears what lies beyond the words," It's not profitable."
"What did you save her from?" Michonne knowingly asks, and in a form, she subtly offers what Rick demands of her.
" I never said I saved anyone," He argues without a passion.
The cigarette's ashes accumulate on Rick's fingers. He has long forgotten that he was smoking, and his mind appears unable to multitask.
" Your bitterness heavily implied it. The entire nice guy feeling used angle is tacitly present." Michonne points out, and she is nothing but a truth-teller.
After a year of lies, Michonne is a breath of fresh air. Her truth has a sharpness to it, but Rick finds it comforting.
" Nice guy?" He laughs, and he does not think she has been wrong up until this instant.
" Isn't he who you are? The nice guy who deserves his nice home and his sweet wife." She asks in an almost rhetorical way, and she does not picture him as anything but a nice guy, " someone who should have been a sheriff in a small town."
" I have the nice home," Rick selects the truth in Michonne's statement, " the soon to be ex-wife is on her way to claim it in the divorce settlement."
" Tragic," She says with apathy, and it is an echo to how Rick feels.
Something about his divorce has left Rick numb. Perhaps, there lies the tragedy. He cares but without caring beyond a soft heartache.
" Oh, she can have it. I live in my office. Divorce reason by the way ?" He casually adds.
" So you're not the nice guy," Michonne concludes with a bit of disappointment, and being a nice guy would have made Rick so easy to write off her mind.
" Never claimed to be," He counters with a smirk.
" I wanted you to be," Michonne confesses, but she withholds the reason why " It is easier to pile the flaw on the leaving party."
" You're wasting your talent?" Rick sighs, and he is doing it.
Michonne smiles, and she once again closes her eyes to draw a deep breath. Rick watches her, and Michonne spellbinds him.
" What did I say about trying to save me?" She asks with a tone of disapproval.
" nothing of substance," Rick replies, and he did not listen when she spoke on the matter.
" Stubborn," Michonne acknowledges, and so she does not reiterate her words.
If Rick decides that he wants to save her, Michonne does not think her opinion on the rescue would count. However, she does not need saving of any form.
" What do you need saving from?" Rick demands, and Michonne can imagine the floating cape.
" Nothing," Michonne genuinely answers, and there is no horror behind her career as an escort, " You?" She returns the question. She is in the mood to be a hero too.
" I don't know," Rick breathes the words, but there is something worth exploring," I haven't sat to think beyond the next trade."
" Then you need saving from nothing," Michonne concludes," Accidental overdose?" She adds for certainty.
" I have not had one in years." Rick chuckles, and he has known the worse fate. A Xanax overdose is nothing on the scale of the debauchery attached to his job, " forgot how scary it was?"
" An awful way to meet a client," Michonne points out.
Generally, the client overdose while she is present. She works for men who gave the impression to be invincible, and drugs prolong the delusion. In other cases, drugs are the only way to recreate emotions. Rick falls nowhere in those categories. He is only too dedicated to his work.
"Not your first time," Rick briefly remembers Michonne's calm.
"maybe I should take your offer and retire before a client overdose on me. Jail is not an appealing option." She laughs, and the humour to such a statement is hard to find.
" I haven't made an offer," Rick makes the offer in his rush to argue.
" Yet," she knowingly corrects, " A nice guy terrified of staying alone," Michonne adds the reason why he will ask her to enter an odd contract with him.
" Will you take it?" Rick sounds hopeful
" Perhaps," for the first time, she lies, but Michonne cannot keep a lie for long," I don't hold on fairy tales. Pretty boys are not charming Princes. God forbid, you want to fight dragons or imaginary pimps for me."
" Is there a pimp?" Rick asks, and he is willing to save her.
" Do you want to hear a cliché sob story?" Michonne smiles, and she has the most expressive smile, " The truth is boring. I have bills, which I like to pay regularly. I have a degree that sits pretty in my living room, but it's not getting me a job with financial security." She bursts his hope, and she has no reason to entertain Rick beyond tonight, " but the sob story is better, and you can save me from my awful pimp." She laughs.
" Your laugh is beautiful…" Rick says, and he feels like he needs to say it to salvage the night.
" You're adorable," Michonne rises from the couch, and she stands in front of Rick." Let me guess. You never paid for sex before tonight." She pulls the cigarette from his hand. It is nothing but ashes now.
" been in a couple for seventeen years or sixteen years." He answers with an explanation of the why.
"Do you want to have sex with me?" She asks with a clear picture of the answer, and she takes his hand to place on the inch of her skin, which the pink bubble gum fur coat does not cover.
" Anyone has ever said no?" He replies while his fingers spread on her stomach, and his wedding band catches the light.
Rick's hands explore her toned stomach, and they disappear under the fabric of her coat. She looks at Rick, and on Michonne's lips, a sensual smile sits. Delicately, she begins to push down her coat. It slides from her shoulder and pool at her feet.
" I usually don't ask. You're one of many firsts." She replies as she climbs on his lap and straddles his waist.
Rick's hands ride from her back to her shoulders. He kisses the lines of her collarbone. His teeth sink in her flesh, and his hand tug on the tie holding her locks. The long tresses spill over her shoulders and cover his fingers.
Rick is gentle. He tastes sweeter than Michonne expected. His mouth is soft, and the taste of stronger alcohol layers the sweetness. Each of his kisses creates a thirst for more of that sickly sweet flavour. Rick's tongue knows how to establish a pace, which Michonne can follow.
It is overwhelming, and yet it is never enough. Her lungs scream for her, but Michonne wants so much of him. Michonne bites Rick's lower lip, and she cramped her body to his to get more of him. The fabric of his pyjama pants scratches her bare ass.
Teeth, tongue, more teeth, and lungs drove to suffocation. Blood almost was drawn with the virulence of demanding bites, and cool tongues easing the pain. Michonne has kissed Rick with all her being. Michonne has poured her passion into Rick.
Michonne feels his hand on her, and it digs in her waist. He lifts her with ease, and she clings on his shoulder. Her nails scrape his pale skin, and Rick moans. he pulls Michonne upper on his laps, and she rides his clothed manhood.
She likes how with every kiss, her skin burns. With every touch, electricity runs on every inch of her skin. He should never spot touching, and she should not have let him touch her. Michonne cannot stop to think about miscalculations.
Michonne's hands clasp Rick's visage, and her thumbs are trapped between their face. He kisses her in a bruising manner with teeth sinking in lips, and tongue grazing skin. Corner of mouth being pulled away too soon. Rick kisses Michonne, and she wants it never to end. However, they must breathe, and so they separate to breathe.
" Maybe…" Michonne has the word on the tip of her tongue, and it will be wiser to stop.
"Maybe?" Rick silences her with a kiss, and he only wants so much of her.
He lifts her ass to align Michonne with his manhood. She looks in Rick's eyes with a hunger. She smiles in a way so sensual, and she kisses his shoulder. Her lips cover a scar, which her teeth have made.
His chest is bare, and the rising sun dances on his translucent skin. Michonne's coat haphazardly scattered on the floor and Rick's pants stuck on his ankles speak of Michonne's urgency. The head of his cock presses in the warmth of her cunt, and she rises slightly to allow Rick to sheath his dick in her walls.
Michonne feels full, and she stills on his lap. The tingles on her skin are stronger. Rick presses a hand on Michonne's stomach above her navel, and he draws the path of her fire. She shivers, and his hands are better than hers are. Rick's thumb begins to rub her clitoris. Once again, he stares into the depth of her eyes. The brown has hardened and turned into onyx.
She bounces and rolls chasing after a sensation, which makes every inch of her body feel alive. She feels fire pull in her core. She clings on Rick's shoulder.
Rick's fingers slide along the curves of Michonne's body until he holds her waist. Longer fingers leave their print on the supple flesh of Michonne's breast. Sensual caresses drawn on a trembling skin and her lips drink at the fountain of his insanity. She moans, he moans, and there is a crushing need for more. She pries his lips from her neck, and she presses her mouth to his. She only wants her breath to arise from his lungs.
Rick begins to move. His fingers tightly hold Michonne's waist, and he moves her with vigour up and down his cock. She fails to take breaths, and she sinks her teeth on his shoulder. She does not know what to make of the odd thoughts.
Rick pushes deeper into her. Her breasts press on his chest. She cups his face, and she makes Rick face her. Her thumbs draw the contour of his delicate features. She bites his lower lip, and she nuzzles his neck.
Michonne's thighs frame Rick's narrow waist. Her back sinks in the couch and traps his hand. A glee lives into the laughs that follow. Her smile pressed against his kisses, Rick drives in Michonne's core, and her wet cunt sheaths his manhood to perfection. His tongue steals a taste of her skin along her collarbone. She cries in an increasingly raw voice as Rick thrusts, and Michonne claws at his back when he hits the right spots.
A few thrusts drive Michonne to the edge, and she wants to fall with him. From what height, it matters little to Michonne. Which she knows to be a stupid thought of the instant. Good dick will make you think of a way to recreate madness.
Her body and mind are in a little frenzy. Rick kisses her hard and bruising. La petite mort envelops her muscles, and Rick's name is a whisper on her lips. Rick joins Michonne in the bliss. He rests his head in the crook of her neck, and Michonne welcomes Rick's crushing weight.
The room is quiet aside from their breathing slowing down. Michonne lies on top of Rick, and their legs are intertwined in an intricate formation. Her fingers draw the line of his shoulders. She feels the heaviness of his look on her.
"They're not real," Michonne knowingly informs Rick.
He does not argue that she is making something else out of his look. His dreamy stare holds a deeper meaning.
" and how would you know?" He argues, but she has greater experience than he does.
" I simply know," she detangles her legs from his.
Michonne begins to rise, but Rick keeps her in place. She smiles tenderly at the face of his naivety. They first want to save her, and then they think that they love her. However, nothing is real.
" I could pay…" Rick thinks of a bargain or anything to cling to Michonne.
" I know and the money is not a problem." She clarifies.
" So what is the problem?" Rick insists, and pleading is not above him.
" I don't gamble my heart, Rick." She replies with softness, and Michonne already thinks of the hurt," your loneliness is bound to disappear, and then…" she does not add the fateful what about me if I fall for you.
" I thought you didn't believe in cliché." Rick subtly appeals to her.
" I don't, but I have a soft spot for pretty boy and nice guy with a broken heart. Those who will move on too fast." Michonne has no doubt Rick falls in that category, " men like you are quite the heartache. I don't like heartache."
" So this is a one-time thang," Rick demands, and he knows the answer.
" Maybe," she draws a deep breath " wisely," she caresses his cheek " In my best interest." Michonne leans close to Rick.
" Perhaps, don't be wise." His lips cover her lips.