Michonne's restored vitality allows her to bathe in erotic bliss. Evidently, it doesn't take long for the pent up tension to surge and impose itself insistently upon them. She feels her desire sharpen, overriding her senses. Rick's t-shirt is about to tear in her grip, he couldn't care less.
Between two brazen kisses, he snacks on her mint-flavored lip. He drops pecks on her mouth, down to her neck, and moans all the way to her earlobe. She sighs, delighted by his responsive disposition, then frowns with want, as she lets arousal take her along a stream of pleasure.
"Again. Do it again", she pleads. He gladly complies.
He's rewarded with her first whimpers, utterly fueled by pleasure. Nothing like what he'd heard along their unfortunate tribulations. Only the most explicit, melodic refrains to ever graze his ears. He's wondering if she's as wet as he is hard.
"Don't ever stop". His turn to plead. He'd beg for her to speak his name again. He needs to drown in her song.
"Oh, I'm not done", she asserts cheekily. It reads like a blessing and a warning, for what is about to come.
They sloppily kiss again. Rick revels in her thrilling purrs. He stirs for more, so much more, but self consciousness warns him to quiet his mind-boggling desire. It's almost scaring him.
Months ago, he'd been entertaining such improbable circumstances for the first time, long before his feelings sprang into his full awareness. But nothing could have prepared him to witness this side of her in the flesh.
More recently, he had crossed a shameful boundary of his, just this once, out of exhaustion, and sheer desperation. Current events are all the more tickling his ambitions, invoking even more inappropriate projections. Memories to be, he hopes.
Having expressed his feelings had not cured the looming worry that she might recoil at any moment. It lingered. Old wounds don't disappear, one only learns to live with them, and to stay alert.
It's all so real, and too good to be true. So very, very good.
Michonne is wondering why he's still holding back. A part of her is refraining herself from asking him to fuck her, plain and simple. Right here and there, in the open. Another reminds her that, given her current state, she still might. And probably should…
She would have him in all the ways she needs to. Itching to let him know how much, and for how long she's been yearning for him, she rationalizes.
There is no hurry. We might be here to stay. We've got time.
"Tighter, Rick…please," she punctuates with kisses, showing him how tight by crowding him.
An elbow bends around his neck, a hand claws at his lower spine. She's getting greedy, inebriated with her urges and a shameless goal: to ruin the barriers survival had erected between them.
A'right. He presses her body again, and diligently sips her whimpers.
She only feels him, -breath, skin, muscles-, and her pulse racing in response. Her hands fall on his ass, and she sways into him, further inciting his erection with more satisfying bodywaves. Her underwear is already damp with arousal. He rewards her efforts with more sultry sounds. Her pleasure is also his.
Michonne's spirit is floating away, with the trees, and the rest, swooped up in a maelstrom of lust and tenderness. At last, her typically busy mind is emptying. Almost at peace under the stars, she's forgetting to care about everything, everyone but themselves.
She's seen Rick fight for his loved ones with unparalleled devotion, until his face was bloody and swollen. Though she'd wonder sometimes. Would he bring this intensity in intimacy, would his vulnerability, his bravado follow him all the way there too?
He'd never seemed to be the one to commit to anything less than fully. How he leads, fights, mourns, loves… To hell and back. Was he always like this?
Michonne was raised to be straightforward, and considerate. As a girl, she was plagued with uncertainty, despite her cerebral nature. Her sister, known for her not so diplomatic but always relevant remarks, had suggested it was rather due to it.
Thinking and feeling too much, too deeply. Unable to share her musings, or to take action without mourning the choices she'd never get to make. She saw so many paths, precluded. Journeys aborted. It'd led her to immobility and anxiety, often worrying her loved ones.
"Think and speak clearly, young lady", she'd been told, innumerable times. Then one day, her Nana added "It might save your life baby, you'll see". It had fallen on inexperienced ears. But she trusted her Nana, more than anyone.
As a teenager, she'd become a master of this very craft, to the dismay of many a contradictor. Parents, teachers, strangers alike, and later, friends, boyfriends, colleagues and clients. All would get a glimpse of her strong will, her bright mind, of her precise analysis and sharp arguments. Sharp as her trusted blade in the new world.
She had learned a lot since then.
"Women aren't supposed to argue", she'd hear from elders.
"You better watch your tone", they would often say, among other dismissive remarks. "That's not a way to speak", she kept hearing from friends, especially about these wants or needs.
Michonne was not a lady then. Her Nana already knew. She made sure to let everyone else know. She certainly isn't one tonight either. Ladies don't have wants or needs, they suppress them.
Back then, she'd committed to improving her expression skills. After grueling efforts, and an excruciating struggle, her speech had turned crystal-clear, her opinions legible, solid. Words, though scarce, came easily in the service of her heart, and hers could not be bent, twisted by nefarious intent.
She'd make a career out of it, a successful one at that, and had never looked back since. Until Andre… Until Andrea…. Until earlier tonight.
Once Michonne knew what she wanted, she'd simply ask for it, confidently, or fight for it. And she would often get it, fair and square. A privilege she was not taking lightly as a Black woman in the South.
That was before. A lifetime ago.
To her satisfaction, Rick had been receptive to her directions. This wasn't new. Not as acquiescent as tonight though, hence her readiness for anything he would dare to offer.
Her trust is now brimming with myriads of cravings, as the throbbing pulse in her panties wouldn't miss to remind her. With every kiss, every breathtaking pause in between, she trusts that with time, he would show her the full depth of his desire, and she would honor hers too. Her patience and perseverance have always been among her most cherished qualities.
Nevertheless, he'll definitely get a few scratches and bruises from the way she's pulling on his back, neck and shoulders. It's been so long since either has let anybody be this dangerously close.
Looking back, Rick's last intimate encounter had left him worse than bitter. Michonne didn't want to remember hers, and had secretly devoted herself to forgetting.
Despite having met less than a year ago, he's now positive that he can't live without her. Until recently, admitting the whole truth was too much to ask. Deep down, he knew she was special. To the group, to the children. Carl had called it early on. She was "one of them".
Tonight, he'll be hers, if she wants.
At every terrible turn of their journey, there had been signs. Some obvious, and looking back, to the point of ridicule. Finally he can feel it, so can she. She is his home. Even though in this evermore treacherous world, nothing is granted, he can't fathom planning anything else for his family.
Her wit, wisdom, her presence at his side, as his equal, is non negotiable. He trusts her with his life, mind, and heart. With everything he's got, and lost. Rick is ready to shift gears, to share more of his need for her in every way.