No more hiding. Even if he wanted to…
The engine roaring in his groin wouldn't let him. His kisses are beyond ravenous, his bulge is knocking at her front.
She knows.
Even so, he needs to tell her. After almost losing her to the void this evening, he'll speak, listen, and wait, for as long as she needs. He'll share, for her to be sure.
"Mhh…Michonne…" he's panting, gathering his courage more than ever.
"Huh?" she answers, as if expelled from her sensual reverie, still distracted by the feel of his hands all over her.
"I've been loving you…. for some time now," he confesses, leaving a loving bite here and there, then under her ear. "For a long while…"
"Have you now?" she asks from the crook of his neck, leaving a trail of petals up to his chin.
"Tell me all about it", she humors, then kisses him provocatively, preventing him from complying. It takes all he's got to retreat.
"I'm dead serious, 'Chonne", he holds her face. Eyes fixed on her plump, glossy lips, he gives each of them a stroke with his tongue, then proceeds to slow down their efforts.
She moans in protest, and he stands floored by his current dilemma. So much left to taste… to say. For a few seconds, he's confused and reevaluates his motives.
"Tell me", she looks at him earnestly, listening carefully. He wouldn't interrupt their loving if it wasn't important.
"When we met… at the fence…" he starts, "I was a mess". She traces his jawline with her fingertips. They slide up to his hair.
"Hmm-hmm", she nods, encouraging him to continue. He has her full attention and she's not the one getting distracted.
"I… I thought you were a vision," he resumes, "I…"
She opts to help him again, understanding how difficult of a task he has initiated, for both of their sakes.
"I wasn't myself either." Equalizing the playing field.
"I thought…" he grabs hold of her hand and kisses it, "you were calling me?"
"Maybe I was…" a facetious smile lights up her face.
"I was so out of it, I couldn't trust anyone new", he's back on her mouth for an instant, "but it didn't take me long to figure out how special you were."
Unable to refrain from kissing a moment longer, they share their breathless affection again. They try to keep the conversation going as they restlessly make out.
She dives under his loose, worn down t-shirt, and her fingers spread wide on his back. Still warm under her touch.
"You saved me that day, remember?" She's in his ear, his neck, back and forth. Both of her hands are under the greyish brown cotton, massaging his brawn and dragging down towards his abs and ass. Their pelvises react to her explorations.
"Uh-huh…" His fingers dig deeper in her waist and upper back. His t-shirt is ruined, hers raised high enough for their exposed abs to brush against each other. They sigh at the sensation.
"You were seeing things", she pushes back, "you still took me in, had your people heal me."
"Mmmmh…True…" he's losing himself in her touch. The goosebumps start to hurt a little.
"And you talk about special?" She brings him closer.
"Rick, I was unconscious," she retells very seriously, "lying half dead on the cold concrete floor," she kisses him, "and you poured water on my breasts… to wake me up."
Facetious smile and eyebrows high.
"I knew right away that you were…special", she laughs. Honey to his ears.
"Guilty as charged", he laughs along, and both dwell in the pleasure of their mutual warmth. They were mad, now outwardly madly in love. It was a long time coming.
They keep kissing, blissfully unaware of the set of eyes catching up to their secret tryst in the garden.
Rick still wasn't back, and Daryl had not seen Michonne since her subtle exit as Deanna was leaving. Despite his fatigue, he couldn't let slumber take him while he still had no idea of what was going on. He had a hunch, of course, and he'd wished for the best, but he'd never been an optimist.
It was getting late. Even though they weren't in hostile territory so to speak, he was ready to find anything, or anyone, when he got up for a midnight round throughout the house, knife in hand.
The moonlight was bright enough for his hunter eyesight to make out two wobbling figures outside. Rick and Michonne were passionately and very publicly going at each other out there. He puffed, unclenched his grip on the handle.
" 'Bout damn time…" he mumbled, amused.
He took a minute to consider staying a little bit longer. Entertainment was scarce, and he'd wondered about them for a while now. He'd witnessed their silent conversations since the prison.
Daryl too knew how to talk without speaking, a very useful skill, especially when the three of them were out there scouting new grounds. He knew a plethora of bird whistles, and expressive looks were among his weapons of choice to try to communicate with most people.
His closest friends were not most people, thankfully. Daryl was grateful to have found a handful of folk who let him be, who understood him, most of the time, at least.
Carol and Lil'AssKicker, along with the sexy deadly duo outside, were more than accepting of the brooding temperament that life had bestowed upon him. So was Beth… Poor Beth. Daryl wasn't always like this, she knew it. From this point forward, he didn't know what he would become, especially here, on this side of the wall.
It always felt as if Rick and Michonne shared an intimate language of their own, something he or anyone in the group had not been privy to, nor had he ever experienced it with anyone. Something tense, magnetic, somewhat otherworldly.
He is now watching them freely kiss and grab at each other, and could tell a lot from their swaying bodies. It didn't look like a casual hook up to release pent up tension. It would, obviously, as much as it was a long time coming, and he'd been the quiet audience in the front row all the way from the start. Since Lori.
Don't you ever touch me again! He remembers Michonne's sharp words and her defensive implicit threat at the prison.
Yeah, righ'... he muses. He recalls his crossbow, aimed at her, from less than a meter away. Rick had him disengage from his wounded target, before trying to get intel from the reluctant newcomer.
They now seem so in tune, and more importantly, they appear to be talking. A lot. More than he'd seen them do. What a curious, lovely sight.
Rick often waited for Michonne, sometimes forgetting Daryl's elusive presence, and let his hungry stare follow her when she'd come and go about the prison.
She is a beauty, no doubt about it. Kind, efficient, funny and ferocious whenever necessary. Definitely a catch. Though he'd wish good luck to the next delusional soul who would dare to think for a minute that Michonne would be the one to be caught again. The last one had tasted her blade, with his heart.
They were alike in that way, which had made him appreciate her even more when she joined them. How wrong he was... She got caught alright. So much has changed, so fast. He doesn't know what to make of it.
He remembers how Rick had almost traded her in, to an evil, perverted, maniacal piece of shit. How he went along with it, for a while. He'd been unconvinced, but complicit.
Merle had beaten them to the dishonorable deed, but Daryl had gathered that Michonne might have also found a way to speak to whatever was left of his asshole brother's honor. Maybe even inspiring his unlikely sacrifice, in order to buy them time in the war with Woodbury.
This woman really was a spirit to behold, they both were, and certainly not the kind of fighters to meddle with. A fuzzy feeling arises in his cheeks. Maybe he could stay a little longer.
No one would know, he thinks, trying to rationalize his inappropriate impulse, but he couldn't bring himself to it. His chosen brother is in love with the fiercest survivor they'd ever met. He is glad, more curious than envious, and wouldn't stray that far from the precious trust they had built.
So he leaves his friends to their private moment, thinking that maybe, at least something good would come out of their arrival in Alexandria.
Someone's cage might be someone else's nest.
Daryl slides the knife back in his belt and goes back to bed, keeping his ears peeled, and a cautious, tired eye open.