AN: Non-Marol and Merle smut warning. This does not paint Woodbury women in a good light, and some might consider this non-consensual. I don't—well not the first incident anyway— but maybe I'm weird.

Part Five

Merle

When Phil sends him to find Martinez, he knows exactly where to look. Up behind the storage sheds, right by the back wall but tucked out of view of those on watch. Merle takes his time, hears the groans and pants and grins sadistically, rubbing his own crotch as it gives a little twitch in memory.

Some bitch is slurping around Martinez's dick as Merle rounds the corner, her back to him, hair dishevelled from the Mexican's fingers getting a good grip as he thrusts carefully into her mouth. He's grunting, head reared back and eyes clenched shut, his cock glistening with spit every time he pulls out, and right before he's about to blow, Merle's there to interrupt.

"Hey, Martinez. Gov'ner's askin' for ya. Says it's time for some shit or another."

Merle props himself against the wall, arms and feet crossed and enjoys the show. He knows the girl wants to stop, the bare flash of her cheek coloured crimson, but Martinez doesn't release her hair, a sinister grin splitting his face as sweat soaks his skin. He jerks his hips, plunging deeper into her mouth despite her garbled objections and when he's ready to finish, he pulls back and his jizz spurts all over her face. She's horrified, finally standing up and swirling slightly in his direction and Merle sees it's that girl Hayley, the one that totes around a crossbow even though she doesn't know shit what to do with it. He wishes he could thieve it and give it to his brother so the weapon could actually get a bit of a workout. She's also the bitch that was warming Phil's bed only last week.

"Hey, Merle. You wanna go? Hayles has a sweet little mouth," Martinez offers, tossing her a do rag to clean her face.

"Mighty temptin'," Merle says, eyeing her tits and the flushed, ashamed look on her face. "Haveta say no, though. Pity. Phil said she's got a tight pussy an' an even tighter ass."

Martinez's eyes pop wide open and Merle can see the gears in his brain churning overtime.

"Really?" He drags Hailey up from where she's still kneeling, rips her shirt up and over her head to expose her tits, before thrusting his hand down the front of her jeans to finger her snatch. She's moaning before Merle even has the energy to chuckle. "You jealous, Merle?"

"Oh man, completely," he admits, though really he's feeling slightly nauseated. He's a badass, though, so there's no way he's walking away while some pussy like Martinez tries to fake him out. "Shit, man. Even with one hand I'da had her pants round her ankles by now, pumpin' into her some sweet, sweet love."

Her jeans hit the dirt and the Mexican's rapidly recovered cock slams into her, her back impacting hard with the wall. Merle winces, wonders if she's going to end up with splinters in her bare ass. The look on her face is one of shock, though it's warring with something else, and before too long Merle realises she's enjoying putting on a show. She's mortified but turned on as well, arching her tits into Martinez's face as her eyes lock on Merle's. He licks his lips and leers at her, enjoying the loud moans that elicit from her throat as she gives in to being totally fucked in a back alley. It gives him the best laugh he's had in months.

"I'll jus' tell the Gov'nor you're busy then?"

Martinez grunts like an angry bull, his dick banging into her pussy so fast Merle's afraid the dipshit's going to break something.

"Or maybe you'll get done in under thirty seconds," he taunts, barely getting the insult out of his mouth before his usual watch partner gallops home like a racehorse, thrusting brutally into her as he spills another load all over her.

He sniggers as he steps away, knees weak from his double effort, and refastens his pants.

"Thanks, Hayles," Martinez tosses over his shoulder as he looks back at her with disgust. "Get some fucking clothes on. You want to get caught looking like that? Shit. Some women, yeah, Merle?"

Merle nods at her, almost feeling sorry for how she's summarily dismissed, especially when a single tear starts to slide down her cheek. It's a harsh world they all live in now, and the fairer sex really are in a position of fragility now that men have no laws to hold them in check. Merle wonders if any of them even have morality left. Not many of the men that walk the wall do, and not for the first time does he feel ashamed of all the women he's fucked without a care over the years. All the skanks he's probably treated as poorly as Martinez just has with Hailey. It isn't that he's given up on pussy these days, just that he doesn't like the way it's offered up like it's barter for protection. Hailey, he knows, is full of tough talk, eager to stand on the wall to protect those within, but given half a chance her fucking arrows still wouldn't hit a walker in the head.

They meet up with the Governor around the front of the main building where he is gathered with two others, waiting for them. The truck is all loaded up and they're ready to head out, just waiting impatiently for Martinez. Merle's staying behind this time. He hasn't worked out yet if his exclusion is some form of punishment for fuck knows what or selfless consideration for the fact that he was out hunting meat all day yesterday and will be again all day tomorrow. Doesn't know if the Governor is off on a mission that he wants to keep Merle in the dark about, or if it's nothing more than a routine run. As long as the prick hasn't found Daryl and the Atlanta group, Merle doesn't think he half cares. Looks forward to the break, in fact. Looks forward to not being stuck in the middle of some moral ambiguity that Phil seems to thrive on.

Merle breathes a little easier as he stands at the gate, swinging it shut as the truck drives on through. He can literally sense the bugs falling from his back, the skittering pinch of eyes always on him finally absent and he wonders what fun he can get up to while the cat's away. He wants to play, the hot little scene from earlier having his blood thundering straight through his veins on a straight path North to his dick. Before he finds anything else to do in this little slice of anti-paradise, he needs to release some tension. Flinging a careless wave at the boys left on watch, he strides across the street to his place, already reliving the scene between Martinez and Hailey. His fingers are fiddling with the top button of his pants, ready to pop it open the second his door comes into sight, but waiting right in front of it is Ava and he's fucked if he's going to put up with her shit right now. He's already hard, straining against his pants and her eyes have zeroed in on his need like a torpedo seeking its target.

"For fuck's sake, girly. Go home."

She doesn't listen and instead, as he unlocks his door and shoves it open with his shoulder, the little bitch follows. His temper swells as tight and hard as his dick and before he's even swung the door closed, her hand is grasping for her prize down his pants.

His first impulse is a wild one, the image of his metal stump colliding with her head vaguely making him swell anew, but then he feels the draft from his open window as his pants slump around his ankles and her hot, silken mouth has opened up wide and taken him in. He clenches his jaw against the pleasure, gets lost in it for a brief minute before the anger steals away any enjoyment he could get from her. He's warned her off many times, pushed her away as bluntly as he knows how, and still she doesn't get it. He refuses to be indebted to anyone in this place. As soon as he finds Daryl, he's gone, and he's not going to waste a second thinking about any of them. Especially not her. No woman has ever forced him when he's told them to fuck off; admittedly he's not told many to fuck off in the past. Pussy is pussy, he's always thought, but now, when there's less skanks to choose from and less doctors to cure the burning dick the bitches give him, he's forced to be more careful. Forced to care more.

She hums against his cock as his fingers thread through her long hair. He almost loses his determination when her hand snakes up under him and cups his sack. She's working her mouth up and down his shaft and just as she hits bottom and his tip brushes the back of her throat, he roars and rips her head back, flinging her to the side. He pulls his pants back up and throws her a vicious glare.

"You must have real shit for brains, darlin'. When a man does all he can to tell you to fuck off, an' that man's got a knife extended from his arm, you best be listenin' real clear to the words." He knows he looks dangerous and he's gratified by the fear that now makes her shake as she stands slowly and backs away.

"Hailey told me if I had any chance at all, it was now."

And now he's imagining the gory satisfaction of skewering Hailey's foul mouth with his knife.

"This town ain't nothin' but full o' damn whores. Get the fuck out. Now."

He's breathing hard, his nostrils flared, his eyes narrowed as he watches her run, his dick still jutting up out of his pants as he kicks the door after she's gone. It's still wet from her spit so Merle falls back against the door and with his left hand, finishes what Hailey and Martinez started. The release isn't half as satisfying as he thinks it would have been if he'd done the whole job himself.

He's completely bored out of his fucking mind by late morning. He's due on the wall late afternoon, so he has nothing to do but wait. There's nothing but shit to do around the town anyway and after Ava's failed attempt to buy his protection with an impromptu blow job, he feels antsy and tense.

He's walked around the perimeter three times when he realises he's stopped at Mr. Coleman's door. He walks in without knocking, takes a seat at the old man's bedside and nods dismissively at the old woman who has been nursing him. She leaves quietly, and as the old man catches his eye and smiles behind all the pain he must be in, Merle reaches his good hand beneath the bed and pulls out a book and starts to read Moby Dick.

"Chapter Four: The Counterpane," Merle starts, his voice immediately dropping to a soft, husky southern drawl that lulls the old man into a cancer-riddled sleep before his words die on the last page of the chapter. Merle replaces the book under the bed, knowing that no one knows who is reading it to the old man and that it will sit there, untouched, until the next time he calls by.

He visits Mr. Coleman to remind himself that not everyone dies at the hands of biters. He knows that everyone turns, no matter how they leave this world, and it shocks and saddens him that this is the case. This old man has volunteered to be one of the Governor's experiments—one of Milton Mamet's experiments—and Merle's lip curls in disgust. It's a waste of time, studying the biters. A body dies and they turn, nothing left to remind anyone of who they might have been before it happens. He's seen it too many times to doubt it now, but Milty feels the need to see it first hand, like he can't trust anyone else's say so on the matter.

He's on the wall when the Governor drives back through the front gate. Nothing seems unusual or different, no one is looking at him oddly, and so he dismisses the run as nothing special, barely even registering as the boys unpack, bid Phil a goodnight, and then head to opposite directions. His day has been so fucking pathetic he wants to puke. He almost wishes he'd gone with them on whatever pointless mission Phil had invented, but then the thought that the next time he's bound to leave these walls might be the time he encounters his brother's group and be forced to slaughter people with faces he's known fills him with dread, and Merle is smart enough these days to know that those nightmares might not be so easily banished.

When he returns to his place in the middle of the night, flops on his bed with boots still laced and eyes that stare at the ceiling, he remembers back to the last time he saw Daryl at the quarry, heading off to hunt in the woods while Merle went into the city with the others. He hates that pig for cuffing him to the pipe, hates that motherfucker nigger that was going to leave him there before a crisis of conscience had him tripping back and dropping the key down a drain anyway. But most of all, he hates himself for getting high and letting a situation get so out of control that he may never see Daryl again.

It's not tears in his eyes as he closes them to force himself to sleep. It's just dust.

AN: Now, interested to know, are you all sick of the little building up chapters and want me to just get them to Woodbury or do you think there is still more to explore before we get there?