Bringing the third installment of this story of growth and restoration to life is the astonishing comewithnattah. If you're familiar with her work, you know that she can lay you down softly with her eloquently sweet words, and then have you laid out hard and fast with her sizzling sweaty smut. She always has a treat in store for us when it comes to Rick and Michonne, and she does no less than that with this chapter.
Be sure to check out her other stories on her FF page.
-We're The Ones Who Write
Chapter 3
Rick took another ridiculous chug from the bottle of red wine. He had emptied his liquor cabinet of everything harder the first few nights of enduring his empty house. He couldn't ask Daryl for any of his supply without getting a lecture on how Michonne was right. So, Michonne's wine was all he had left and it wasn't doing the job. He wasn't as drunk as he needed to be and the smooth dark curves of the bottle only made him think about her more.
He closed his eyes and drained the last of the merlot. Bottoms up, he stumbled over her ankle boots sitting neatly on the staircase landing.
He muttered a mix of obscenities and snatched up the pair of size seven's.
A pretty memory of the first time he woke up to those boots on the side of his bed bloomed in his mind. It was the same day he realized his bed was now their bed. It was also the same morning Rick found that spot on Michonne's hip. The spot that was like the button on a nuke if he touched it lightly, squeezed it roughly, kissed it sweetly or sucked it slowly.
A morning when there was nothing more fascinating to Michonne than his gravity-defying hardon. Her fingernails lazily skated through the thin dark happy trail on his abdomen until she was handling him like an expert beneath the sheets. He was actually losing any credibility as a patient lover.
"It ain't a toy, Michonne," he had rasped on a edgy groan and tried to counter her control of him with a little smack-talk, "That's heavy machinery. You could end up hurt if you play around with it."
When he flipped her on her back and started on a focused track down her body with his mouth and fingers, it was strictly in the interest of self-preservation. His big flexing hands were clutching her waist, keeping her still while he distracted her with a bold and sloppy performance on her center stage. When he slid a hand away from the swell of her hip, her sharp inhale made him take more notice of the seemingly normal spot.
He re-assigned his fingers to stroking the tight walls of her perfect, pink canal while his tongue took over creating a map from her nipple to the underside of her breast to her ribcage to her hip. A tepid graze of his teeth made her shiver. An earnest bite made her bolt upright on reflex. And as his fingers worked in tandem with that chunk of suckled skin, she came on the curling pads of his middle and forefinger with an intensity that pushed her whole body to the brink of physical shock.
He found himself feeling similarly impacted when she said she was leaving. He couldn't know how his present expression matched her vacant stare from that morning as he stomped tragically up the steps. His shoulder sliding along the wall was all that kept him from toppling over. His fist holding on for dear life to the black satin of the panties she wore the day she left.
Every night, he did his best to prolong the trip upstairs in hopes that she'd walk through the front door before he got to their lonely bedroom even though he knew her well enough to know she wouldn't.
Reaching the top of the stairs, he turned down the hall and faced three open doors. The quiet in the house was eerie. No ball bouncing off the walls in Carl's room. No chatter from Judith rallying her dolls for battle. No sound of Michonne's nightly shower.
He stood over disheveled sheets and stared at her mis-shaped pillow. It was losing her smell and, though soft, the downy innards had no warmth or jiggle. He could squeeze as tight as he wanted and it wouldn't giggle like she used to. It was impossible to go on with such an inadequate stand in.
Rick woke up the next morning to the sight of the wire cat sculpture on her nightstand staring him down. It's scrap metal brow seemed to be bent with a judgemental scowl, wordlessly interrogating him on her whereabouts. He rolled over and was met with the white dress she wore to a birthday party two weeks ago, suspended from a hanger on the closet door. It too was staring him down. The deep plunge of the neckline grievously hallow.
She was a vision when she had it on. She floated in that lacey cream. She had danced so politely with him in the grass with everyone else around. But when they got home, the G-rated two-step she performed for community consumption and the silly bounce she did with Judith, morphed into the dirtiest, most erotic grind. The circles she made with the roundness under that flowy fabric had him so hard he was sure her backside would bruise.
Now a breeze from the open window lifted and swirled the skirt of the long garment like a wicked little spectre with a clear directive for Rick to wave the white flag. He sat up on the bed, feet on the floor.
"Fuck…" he grumbled as his head rocked from his irresponsible drinking last night. Squinting from the sunlight in the room, he took a step towards the bathroom and tripped again on the same shoes that he'd nearly killed himself with the night before.
Half amused that he could barely take a step without being reminded of her and wholly wrecked by her absence, Rick decided to put an end to his misery. He decided to laugh instead of curse or cry. It was a laugh that bordered on manic.
He grumbled about her affect on him, "...be the fuckin' death of me..." He scratched through his head and rubbed a frustrated hand over his bearded face as he turned on the faucet to shave and put his best face forward.
XXXXX
"Alexandria's noble protector! Welcome!"
"Ezekiel."
"I have been expecting your arrival. For the light of Alexandria's lady must surely beckon you to her glowing warmth." The king gave Rick a generous smile and an outstretched hand in greeting. "I must say, I thought to see you sooner."
Rick bristled at Ezekiel's words and adjusted the duffle bag strap on his shoulder as he returned a firm handshake. He would have been there sooner but ensuring Negan wouldn't be a problem took some time. He'd decided when he came, it wouldn't be for a visit. He'd be making amends and bringing his family home.
"Yeah, well, some important thangs had to be taken care of," Rick said without making eye contact.
"Indeed," Ezekiel extended his arm to the pathway ahead, inviting Rick to accompany him, presumably to Michonne. "But now that we have her, giving her up will be a Herculean task. She is such a boon to our walls. A most valuable asset. Pray, tell me, what would it take for you to let us keep her?" Ezekiel said in jest.
Rick did not find it funny. His face turned into a feral sneer, but Ezekiel didn't notice Rick narrowing his tempestuous blues. Before he could tell Ezekiel that keeping his wife would take the sequel to all out war and stepping over his cold dead body, a man younger than them both came jogging up.
"We're all done, Your Majesty. They sent me to bring you for a look."
"Ah, yes! As if on cue. Rick, come set your eyes upon the miracles our goddess has performed."
Irritated as he was by Ezekiel's out of pocket remarks, Rick was curious what Michonne had been doing during her stay there. He knew she was the MVP in Alexandria. But he wondered what "miracles" she could have performed in less than a week that made Ezekiel unknowingly risk his life to keep her there.
The first stop was the glass atrium of the old high school that now served as the Kingdom's main building. The light from the tall windows was partially blocked by a towering vertical garden. Little green buds and leaves grew out of empty plastic bottles hung from a trellis from the ceiling down. Tall ladders were placed between to cultivate and harvest the columns of herbs and healing plants. The sun filled the room from the other three walls of windows.
"Lift your gaze to our inspired installation. Impressive, is it not? A testament to a keen mind. Every bit of it is the lady Michonne's ingenuity. She oversaw it's construction and under her direction, our young Parker here and his team of willing laborers were able to complete this project in one day."
Ezekiel swept a grand hand toward a proud trio of strong good-looking citizens of the Kingdom. A little girl tugged at his shirttail and stole his attention as soon as he ended his sentence. He knelt to enjoy her company and left Rick to tour the new garden on his own.
"Oh yeah?" Rick replied, looking up at the makeshift "pots" of soil and greenery. He looked back at the group of men, whose eyes were also raised admiring their handiwork.
Each of the guys was literally more handsome than the last. Like an episode of the Dating Game, the three men in their 20's stood grinning with their straight white smiles and tanned skin. Rick narrowed his eyes at them, unnerved at the thought of Michonne spending all day with a bunch of, in his estimation, horny assholes. Rick wanted to make them spit out all those pearly whites.
"You guys did a good job," he told them instead and they brought their attention back to him.
"We just used these," one guy said, with more cockiness than Rick would've sanctioned, he pulled back his short sleeve tee from his solid flexed bicep. Rick seethed as the darker skinned guy joked innocently. "This was really all Michonne. She's something else," he said almost bashfully, as if trying hard to conceal a crush. "She's so beautiful it's kind of hard to keep focused on the task at hand."
The other men on the garden crew grinned and agreed and Rick took a deep breath to keep himself from lunging at all three of them in a rage.
"If she wasn't married," the white guy with blond dreadlocks began, "I would definitely see if I couldn't persuade her."
Before Rick could say anything the first man piped up, "She's married to Rick Grimes, buddy. You might want to rethink that. He's a killer." This man's race was a little more ambiguous. But what was strikingly clear was how his defined jaw and curly coif would be enough for any woman to drool over.
Rick began to realize that the men didn't recognize him clean shaven. They were ignoring him completely. His hands mindlessly became fists as he listened to them talk.
"So am I," said the blonde guy, claiming himself equal to the legend of Rick Grimes. "It's hard to find somebody that's not a killer, nowadays. I've seen him a couple times. He's a hundred years old! Face full of gray hair..." The other guys laughed. "Maybe he's got arthritis in his trigger finger. Maybe his gorgeous wife is tired of scavenging for Bengay…"
"Or maybe Rick Grimes shaved and his aim is still surgical." Rick spoke up, his Python cocked as he demonstrated his aim. "Maybe I got you right in my sights and there ain't a plant on that wall that'a heal you if I pull this trigger."
The men stood frozen and speechless. Ezekiel stood up to intervene when he noticed the little girl he'd been talking to was staring with wide eyes at the man with the menacing head tilt.
"Rick! Is everything okay, my friend?" The king asked, this time extending a nervous hand to steady his volatile comrade.
Rick didn't answer him. "Where the fuck is my wife?"
XxXxX
Rick could hear Michonne's instructions echoing off the wall of the brick courtyard as he approached. The reason Michonne had picked this spot for yoga was the fruity scent of the apple trees nearby. But such sweet aroma therapy did little to simmer Rick's boiling blood as he came upon her bent over on her mat in downward-facing dog. Her meaty behind in those bright orange yoga pants was being displayed to the other mostly male participants learning her early morning routine. Her white racerback sports bra was recklessly spilling her breasts as every man's eye kept vigil.
"Okay. Pack up your shit. Yoga is over for today," Rick announced flatly as he strode down the middle of a row of contorting pupils. Michonne shot up from her pose in surprise at the sound of his voice. She stood up and crossed her arms communicating her irritation with his brash appearance.
"Rick, what are you doing here?"
Before he could answer her, Jerry showed up with his lime green yoga mat under his arm. He was late as usual and making quick work of a large jellied biscuit sandwiching a thick cut of ham. He looked around at the other guys who were unhappily packing up to go on Rick's word.
"Sorry I'm late. No class today?" he asked, suppressing a relieved smile.
Rick cut his eyes toward the large man and answered him with a cold stare. Swallowing the copious contents of his cheeks, Jerry backed away without any arm-twisting or threats from Rick.
"Oh. Okay. Gotcha," the king's steward nodded, grasping the situation. Known for his lovable nature and his unworried disposition, most people had no idea how intuitive the big guy could be. He could nearly see smoke coming out of Rick's ears and he didn't want to be around when that smoke led to a full blown fire. "Deuces." He said, leaving them with the peace sign as he departed with a quick but heavy march.
Rick and Michonne watched him walk away in silence until Rick turned back to face her.
"What the hell, Michonne?" His tone made it evident that he hadn't calmed down a bit from the constant challenges just about every man had made to his position as her husband. "What do you think you're doin'? Gardenin' with Larry, Moe and Curly? And this fuckin' show your puttin' on out here… Is this what you've been doin' 'round here without me?"
She supplied him with the names of her garden laborers. "I did help PJ, Dennis and Sam with a vertical garden, but what 'show' are you referring to?"
"Oh, come on! 'What show?' The one where you wiggle in these tight pants showin' off all that ass… that belongs to me, by the way. Your top…" he said, looking down on the shapely summits of her breasts as he moved closer. He licked his lips and lowered his voice, his words came slower as he tried to concentrate on speaking and not on the handfuls of soft sweet cleavage rising and falling as she got more upset with what he was saying, "Your top is showin' way too much. Gotta be the only reason why Jerry, of all people, would be tryin' to do a warrior pose."
"Jerry is a warrior, as you are very well aware! He's here working on his chi because Ezekiel made him read The Art of War. And anyway, Rick, this is what I wear at home when I do yoga!"
"But you don't have an audience droolin' all over you in our living room… 'cept me."
"They asked me to teach a class! You never wanted to learn!" She reminded him. "What are you doing here anyway? What's in this bag?"
He was about to give her his usual excuse about his bad knee not being compatible with the child pose, until she reminded him that his whole plan was in the bag on his shoulder.
"You left a bunch of stuff at home. Thought you might want it."
She rolled her eyes, immediately sensing some ploy. She knew Rick Grimes too well, but she played along anyway.
"Thank you. You can bring it to my room." Michonne said as she picked up her mat and towel. "Did you see the kids?"
"Saw Judith. She wants to come home."
"She told you that?" Michonne asked, relinquishing her stern attitude for a smile at his brazen attempt to get at her through her baby girl.
"It was all in her eyes. She had a sad... like… homesick look on her face."
"Uh huh." She paid him no mind, knowing Judith woke up with excitement everyday in the Kingdom like they were on vacation.
"Still gotta talk to Carl about Negan. But don't worry. Even if he wanted to talk to him now, he couldn't." Rick promised, "He won't be seein' anyone again."
"Really?"
"Yeah. He's out of the picture until his times up."
"That's good to hear," she commended him. "Thank you, Rick."
"And what about all the anger?" she asked while searching his face for tells.
"I worked through it."
"I wonder if my yoga class is convinced that you worked through it?" She threw up air quotes and turned to walk.
He sighed, following behind her, hoping she wasn't too put off by the entrance he'd made.
"They all walked outta there. Call that a miracle." He caught a glimpse of the apple of her cheek raised in amusement. He smiled too, relieved to be doing better than he'd thought.
Michonne brought him to the room Ezekiel had put her and the kids up in. The temporary lodging was well-appointed, bunk beds for Carl and Judith on one side of the room, a queen sized bed for Michonne on the other and a four person dining table in the middle. Spacious and inviting, the king had been quick to provide her with every comfort and her luxurious quarters made that obvious to Rick.
"Lotta flowers," he commented with annoyance as he looked around the airy accommodations. There were at least a dozen crystal vases displaying various bouquets of pinks, greens, blues and purples.
Michonne rolled her eyes again, recognizing his tone.
"Yes, people gave me flowers. To welcome me. To say 'thank you for helping out'. The people here are very sweet. The atmosphere here is a lot more relaxed. They allow me to be an asset here, like I used to be in Alexandria."
Rick ignored that loaded comment pointed directly at his overprotectiveness with an imperceptible shrug. He plucked out an elegantly handwritten note from one of the larger arrangements. It read: A thousand petals for a thousand thanks. You are truly a comfort to my lovesick soul.
The note was clearly from Ezekiel and Rick saw red, and not from the tiger lillies adorning the bouquet. He restrained himself from balling up the small card in his hand.
"Yeah. You're an asset… for Ezekiel's 'lovesick soul', apparently," Rick said sarcastically as he held the message up between his fingers. "Exactly how are you comfortin' him, Chonne?"
Michonne snatched the card from his hand with a scoff, "Please, Rick. Don't be ridiculous. He wanted to discuss his feelings about Carol. I just gave him a little advice. He's got it bad for her."
"You know, I'm a lovesick soul, too," he said, "Where's my comfort?"
"Rick…" She just scoffed, not knowing what to say. "What's in the bag?" She asked impatiently. He crudely pushed the vases out of the way with his bag as he dropped it on the table. Michonne jumped to keep the water-filled glass vessels from toppling and spilling their contents.
He unzipped the bag with a frown and pulled out her shoes and dropped them at her feet.
"You left these," he said without looking up. "I keep trippin' over 'em. So I brought 'em to you before they break my neck…" He watched her stoop to pick them up in a huff. "The sight of 'em already breaks my heart."
Michonne softened her demeanor when she caught the pain in his voice, but she didn't respond to that loaded comment pointed directly at her cold absence in the home they'd made with each other. But he knew Michonne Grimes too well. When he dared to look into her eyes, he saw a hint of remorse. It wasn't the time to go in for the kill yet, though. He tore his eyes away from her sad, regretful browns and went back to the items in the bag.
"This." He pulled the long white dress out and laid it lovingly over the bag and the table. He caressed the lace longingly and waited for a moment before he spoke again. "Remember when you wore this?"
Michonne touched the fabric too.
"I do," she whispered, avoiding his sky blue eyes. She remembered how hard he made her cum after he got it off her. She held the dress up to her body and smoothed it over her front as she reminisced. She remembered how she deliberately hung the dress out in the open before she left, just to keep him focused.
He pulled out the pièce de résistance of his plan and sat it on the table.
"You brought Catmandu?"
"She's yours. I gave 'er to you. Remember? Remember how you kept me alive that day?" he said softly as he put a hand on her hip and slid it past that magic spot of hers around to the small of her back. "Remember how bad I needed you that day? How I literally could not live without you there to help me."
Michonne remained silent though her thoughts blared with everything that happened that day. The panic she felt when Jadis pushed Rick from her view and she ran to get him in her sights again. She remembered how the relief she felt when she saw him unharmed at the foot of that mountain of trash was so fleeting. She remembered how she was engulfed with dread when she saw the spiked walker he had to fight.
"I remember," she confirmed as her emotions got the better of her. Looking at him now, he was so damn gorgeous and she was missing him so much. She remembered why she fell in love with him while they starved out on the road. She remembered being hungry everyday but full from the sound of his voice and any accidental brush of his body then. She remembered how she trusted him enough to tie her hopes and dreams to him.
"I remember I believed in you. I knew you'd come out alive. Because we're the ones who live, Rick. I had your back but that was your win that day. You did it. And now I need you to let me have my wins. I'm a big girl, Rick."
"I know you are. But if I can't protect you, what kind of man am I?" He begged her understanding.
"You're the one who said we could go on without each other. What kind of man were you when you said that?"
He answered quickly, having scolded himself many times for that statement.
"Full'a shit," he swore. "I realized that when you were in the infirmary instead of in our bed. I never wanted to sleep without you again but I am sleeping all alone again and this time it's my fault. I'm beggin' for mercy, here, Chonne. Come back home."
She was ready to be merciful and more, as long as he could see her side. "I don't need you to hold my hand."
He took her hand in his and kissed her fingertips as he angled his head to search for her downcast eyes with his blazing ice blues, "I can't hold your hand, Chonne?" He teased her, taking her statement literally as he pulled her closer against his body.
"Not if I…" She paused, remembering to breathe. She blew out a long breath as he nuzzled and kissed her neck and collarbone. "Not when I don't need you to." She panted, feeling his wet tongue move slowly over her skin and the moisture trickling from her center.
"But I need somethin' to hold." Rick countered with a sexy gruffness to his voice. It paraded down her spine and made her knees weak. Her woozy state did not go unnoticed by him. He whispered, "A man's gotta be able to hold onto somethin'."
"Rick…" she did her best to protest, but she wanted him in a terrible way. As much as she didn't want to be coddled and cordoned off away from danger, she did need him to hold her in his arms. She actually wanted him to do everything she was telling him not to. But there had to be a time and a place. This was that time. This was that place.
Her feeble objection crumbled into a mighty consent when she captured the front of his shirt in her fists and pulled his lips to collide with hers. The taste of his mouth was such a comfort, she forgot her prepared rant. She didn't care that this is what she left to avoid- the way he consumed her. All she wanted was to feel him inside her. Maybe, she thought, once she collapsed from one of those blinding orgasms that he so easily gave her, she could regain her focus and make a proper stand for her independence.
"Give me somethin' to hold onto," he said one more time. He was momentarily taken aback when his wife placed her palms on the planes of his chest and pushed his ready body away from hers.
She stood there with him an arm's length away, eyes closed, head down. Her body was quickly overriding her mind as she fell to his control of her. She lifted her arms to remove her top. Rick's face betrayed none of the elation he felt. He simply stood there waiting for her to wave him in as his eyes took in the swell of her perky breasts and pert ebony nipples. He was sketching out a mental plan of all the places he would drop his lips as soon as she called him to feast.
Michonne set her dark insistent eyes on his and engulfed in her coppery wonton gaze. Her fingers slowly slipped between the elastic waistband of her pants and the quivering skin of her midriff. In one motion she had everything off and stood before him completely naked. The gossamer shock of curls between her thighs glistened with her arousal.
"Come here," she commanded him as she pulled herself to sit her bare bottom on the edge of the table, jostling the delicate containers of fresh cut flowers behind her. Rick took a step toward her, his engorged manhood nearly burning a lengthwise hole in his slim fit jeans. Michonne took his hand now and sucked her two favorite digits on his right hand. She moaned as her eyes rolled back tasting the salty sweetness of his trigger finger.
Her left ankle went to his shoulder and she pulled his rough, long fingers wet from her tongue. They grazed a nipple as she moved them to her opening and leaned back to watch him deposit them in her heat. His well-trained fingers went right to the seat of nerves inside her and she drew in a hissing breath over her tongue when he began to stroke her there ever so gently.
"You can hold me… but… you don't have to," she told him before she was interrupted by an stray cry of pleasure when she felt herself clenching on his knuckles. He leaned forward and seized her drawn nipple between his teeth, then lapped at it with conviction. "You don't have to," her breathing went ragged, "When I'm wrapped around your finger."
She was close and she pushed him down by his shoulders between her wide open legs. Her fist gripped his hair and she pulled his face to the feast. "I'm about to cum," she told him. "Make it good."
Her orders were followed as he unleashed his tongue on her clit. The rapid feather-light licks made her legs tense and she pitched herself harder against the friction and called his name. He knew the faint touch of his tongue would make her crazy. He was setting up the power move he made next, thirstily sucking her tender bud through the sound of his gratified moans. He felt her fall into that endless moment and wash his fingers, palm and wrist with a divine splash.
"Yes! Rick! It's so good! You make it so good… feels so… so good," she mewled as she deflated under his touch.
He continued his tactile ministrations as he stood tall over her breathless body until she rode out every bit of her climax. He finally removed his fingers, then his shirt.
"Michonne…" he uttered her name like it was the only word he'd ever known as he visited all the invisible monuments he'd dedicated to his love- the curve of her upper lip, a small, scratched depression of the skin on her cheekbone, the rounded tip of her adorable nose.
He unbuckled his belt with one hand as his other caressed the dark damp skin of her stripped breasts and torso. Stunned by her beauty, he paused, stroking his marbled length and anticipating the absolute paradise he was set to raid. Smearing the thin, translucent issuance from the head of his cock along his hefty shaft, he situated himself at her entrance and deliberately pushed no further than an inch past her slick petals.
His hips pumped, gliding so little of his dick's reach in and out of her. He watched his blushed member be swallowed up by her silken folds over and over until she begged him for more. When he was finally satisfied with the quality of her petitions, Rick took his seat solidly engulfed inside her. Every thrust he gave her was all she could take.
Her climax was as fragile as the unluckily placed vases behind her. The gifted bouquets crashed one by one to the floor while she hurtled closer and closer to the delicious end she'd been without for too many days. The exquisite tingle she felt turned into a throbbing, glowing fever deep in the seclusion of her womb and there she found another release take over her just in time to welcome her husband's hot gushing seed to spill against her swollen sensitive walls.
Their foreheads touched for a long moment of silence as they regarded each other in a starry gaze, trying to catch their breaths. He finally took a step back to collect himself.
"So glad you're comin' home, honey," he said as he zipped his pants.
"I was always coming home, Rick," she said as she slowly sat up and looked around for her clothes. Rick gave her a kiss on the forehead and an infinitely happy smile. He picked up his shirt and pulled it over his head, lost for a moment in the veil of white cotton and even more lost by her next words. "I was always coming home, Rick. But not today."
