Disclaimer: Very much not mine.
Summary: AU for 2x06. She'd kicked ass earlier, and she's just starting to realize that it had felt damn good.
Note: Rewriting history, because really, Andrea? Shane?
She rides back to the Greene house in the passenger seat next to Shane.
The car's silent and she's thankful for it, needing to process what the hell had just happened. Their mission, if it could be called that, had started out easily enough. One minute, it'd been quiet as they searched the little housing development, and the next, they'd been surrounded by a hoard of the undead. She'd struggled with her weapon, scared out of her mind and wishing Shane would just step up to the plate, and then something had clicked and she'd gone into a zen-like state, picking off walkers one by one.
She stares straight ahead, watching the road rush up and pondering her newly found skill set. Had it just been a fluke? Will she be able to put down a group of walkers again, if she has to?
She thinks about where she'd been before, so broken and weak, about the fact that she'd almost shot Daryl just a day earlier, that she'd hated herself for it, that maybe she'd be able to come out of the experience stronger and more useful to the group. Maybe, she thinks, she could finally be an asset instead of a liability.
She thinks about how close the geeks had gotten, and vows to herself to never freeze up like that again.
They're back at the farm before she even realizes it. Carol greets her as soon as they pull up, looking disappointed but trying not to let it show. "Let's get you cleaned up," she says quietly.
By the time she's showered and changed and has a hot meal in her stomach, though, Andrea's wired, practically buzzing from head to toe. She'd kicked ass earlier, and she's just starting to realize that it had felt damn good. What had started out as numb uncertainty rattling around her head had become a ball of pent-up energy running through her veins, just begging to be released. She knows exactly where she wants to go to deal with it, and suddenly her feet can't carry her fast enough.
She walks purposely through the house to the porch, taking a mental inventory of the rest of the group. Shane's in the den with the Grimes family, laughing with Rick about old times. Carol and Dale are sitting on top of the RV, watching the perimeter. Glenn and Maggie are who knows where. T-Dog's nowhere in sight, but she guesses he's asleep in the RV.
She heads to Daryl's tent. "Hey," she says, inviting herself in.
"Hey." He's sprawled out and bare-chested, and she catches a glimpse of the tattoo under his right arm. Turning, she zips up the flap, and he squints at her in the darkness. "Heard you saw some action out there today." He tosses aside the arrow he'd been fiddling with.
She folds her legs up and sits on the floor next to him, her knee pressed against his leg. "Shane and I ran into some walkers at the housing development. Took them down and got away."
"You hit your target this time?"
"Yeah." She grins wide. "Yeah, I did."
Her enthusiasm makes him smile back at her. "How'd it feel?"
"Pretty damn good," she tells him. Her fingers drum a steady pattern on her knees as she talks. "I think I'm actually just starting to feel it, you know? I'm… I don't know. I think I liked it. I'm all amped up right now."
He chuckles. "Look at you. Little Miss Badass Sharpshooter, all of a sudden."
"Yeah," she says. "And I wanted to tell you… I've finally got an answer to your question."
"I do want to live. I'm sure of it now." She blows out a breath. "I feel like I can help, you know? Like I don't have to be a victim."
He observes her for a moment, searching her face, and gives a slight nod of his head. "Good."
"I'm glad you think so."
With that, she reaches over and grabs his crotch, caressing him through his pants. Startled, he bucks against her, not unlike a frightened horse.
"Whoa! Fuck," he gasps. She removes her hand, placing it on his thigh instead. He stares at her, confused and suspicious. "The hell was that?"
"Keep your voice down. It's just… I'm feeling pretty good tonight."
"Yeah," she says, a flirty tone to her voice. She taps her fingers on his leg.
"You sure this is a good idea?"
She shrugs. "Think of it as an apology, if that helps."
At that, his eyes turn cold. "I don't need your fucking charity," he spits. "Or your sympathy, for that matter. We talked about this. We're good here."
"Forget I said it," she sighs. She waves her hands as if to erase her previous statement. "It's bullshit, anyway. The truth is, I'm wired, and I'm happy, and if we're being really honest, I am incredibly hot and bothered. And you were the first person I thought of going to."
"Oh," he says dumbly, like he doesn't quite know what to do with that information.
She starts massaging his thigh, rubbing the muscle there gently, working her way to the inside of his leg. He shifts slightly, giving her better access. Their eyes lock, and she smiles before cupping him again.
His head hits the pillow he'd been leaning on as she works him through the fabric, feeling him grow hard under her ministrations. He breathes hard and clenches his fists over his eyes.
She undoes his belt and fly and clears her throat to get his attention. "Do you want to keep going?" she asks, quirking an eyebrow at him.
"Yeah, what the hell," he says, his voice sounding odd and strangled as he watches her. She shifts his pants down a bit and pulls him free, then quickly ducks her head to lick along his length. "Oh, fuck me!" he cries.
"I'm planning on it," she laughs. "And shh! Someone's going to hear."
"Someone's going to see," he says quietly. "Damn tent's half see-through."
She eyes the mesh windows and considers this for a moment. "It's dark out," she finally says. "And it's dark in here. We'll be fine. Just stay quiet."
"Oh, I can be quiet," he says. "I'd be concerned about yourself, blondie."
"Challenge accepted," she grins.
She strokes him, applying just the right amount of pressure to make his eyes roll back. Dipping her head, she takes him into her mouth again, her tongue swirling around his head. His hand tangles in her hair.
"Shit," he groans after a minute. "You have to stop."
She strokes him again, once. Satisfied that he's ready to go, she hops up and discards her jeans and underwear. He shoves his pants down and kicks out of them, then watches through lidded eyes as she straddles him and sinks down onto his cock.
There's a string of curses muttered under his breath, and she grins as she settles herself in his lap. He tugs her shirt up, wanting it gone, so she grabs the hem and pulls it over her head, tossing it in the general direction of her jeans. She unhooks her bra and does the same, then leans down to kiss him.
He groans into her mouth as her bare chest brushes against his. She kisses his jaw, his neck, the scars on his chest, and he palms her breasts with gentle hands.
She starts to rock her hips on top of him, slowly at first, but gradually gaining speed. His fingers press into her skin, steadying her while she leans back and rides him with her hands on his thighs.
"Fuck," he says, far too loudly.
"You talk a big game, Dixon," she pants. "But you're the one making all the noise."
He grunts and flips them without warning, making her squeal in surprise. He chuckles into her ear when she slaps at his shoulder, then kisses her to stop the low moan that escapes when he starts driving into her.
"Now who's making noise?" he whispers.
"Shut up," she breathes. She wraps a leg around his back, taking him deeper.
The rhythm he sets is fast and intense, almost frantic, and she matches him thrust for thrust. They're each desperate for release, and she's starting to care less and less about how much noise either of them makes.
He comes first, shouting into the skin at the base of her neck. The feeling of him jerking his hips against hers, of him hot and throbbing inside of her, is too much, and she follows suit, biting down his shoulder.
After a minute, he disengages and flops down next to her. "Shit," he says, blowing out a breath.
"Yeah." She turns her head to look at his profile and grins. "Thanks."
"You get it all out of your system?" he mumbles, half asleep.
"Hmm," she hums, stretching lazily against him. "Not even close."