Day 64

Michonne woke up to the feel of Rick pressed against her, the soft pressure of his lips on the side of her neck and the delicious scratch of his stubble against her skin. She smiled as her sleep-logged brain caught up to the pleasure reality presented. Keeping her eyes closed and shifting the angle of her head as much as she could while laying on her side, she giggled as he gently rearranged her locks and exposed more territory to mark.

"Good morning," she whispered.

His slumber-rich voice mumbled something in reply, words that held no meaning and yet said everything all at once.

"Mmmm?," she intoned slowly, waiting for him to pause his progression. He pressed a flurry of kisses down her neck and across her clavicle before stopping, lifting his head and his torso slightly so she could roll over onto her back underneath him.

"Technically it's not morning yet," he said with a slow smile, his blue eyes taking her in.

"Good night," she whispered, acknowledging the predawn darkness outside their window as she brushed aside a wayward curl that was falling into his eyes.

Before, when they'd each been unaware of the other's feelings, back when she thought she was alone in a longing she couldn't put a name to, Michonne loved studying the curls that grew out of his head, but always from a distance. It wasn't as if she hadn't seen the texture before—he was hardly the first White man she'd come across in her life—but it was him. Everything about Rick Grimes was fascinating.

Back then, her breath always caught when they passed each other in the hallway between their rooms first thing in the morning. She looked forward to those moments, before they got ready for the day and he was just Rick—not a fighter, not a leader, just one of her best friends—because that's when Jheri, her favorite curl, was loose and running free (yes, she had a favorite curl and yes, she loved the silly irony of its name).

Once their partnership evolved into the physical, the intimacy of being able to touch Rick's hair was one of her favorite perks. It helped that he craved feeling her touch as much as she craved touching him and it was something she'd missed desperately over the years. One of the many things.

As of today, they'd been back in each other's arms for just over two months and if last night was any indication, they were both eager to make up for lost time. She knew that in any relationship, every day was an opportunity to relearn your partner, an opportunity to discover a new version of the person in front of you, but for them, it was different. How could it not be?

Now his hair was as long as she's ever seen it. It was one of the first things she noticed when she found him in the woods after shooting down his helicopter and almost slitting his throat.

I found you.

Inhaling deeply, thoughts and memories moving languidly through her mind, Michonne moved her hand from Jheri and the other curls to trace Rick's face, moving down his forehead, over his eyebrows, around his cheek, down his nose, and across his lips. He let her have her way, closing his eyes and melting into her touch, needing the caress as much as she did. Her eyes followed the path of her fingers, recognizing some lines as old friends and taking note of new ones she was still getting to know.

I found you.

Michonne's eyes scanned Rick's face once more before using both hands to pull his head down to press a gentle kiss on one cheek and then the other followed by one on his lips that quickly deepened.

They shifted in the bed, him maneuvering more fully on top of her, her feeling the weight of his body pressing her into their mattress. It was a dance they'd done many times before, but with updated choreography to account for his sacrifice and the result was still the same—delicious anticipation.

It was almost obscene how much she relinquished control in his arms, how she let him arrange her body like an artist in front of clay. It wasn't because he required it or even sought it out—it was simply the most natural thing because it was him, an invisible string pulling her open and closer and wider and tighter. Everything about Rick Grimes was stimulating.

Her lips still locked with his, Michonne ran her fingers through the back of his head, playing with the curls at his nape as she spread her legs so he could have more room to settle in. And he did, his thighs bumping against hers, his stiffness growing and moving closer to her warmth as their dance continued.

And they stayed like that, taking their time, rediscovering, remembering, reinventing. They whispered and giggled and shushed each other and groaned and felt and touched and when he pushed forward some time later, just a little at first and then all at once, he captured her cries with his mouth, swallowing the sounds and hoarding them like jewels. They were for his ears only.

She clung to him then, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her legs inching up his sides. He moved his mouth from hers to her ears, encouraging, worshiping, promising, begging. She couldn't respond, all the words she knew escaping her, so instead she showed him. Pulling, tightening, lifting, arching.

I found you.