"Daryl," I call with an unsteady voice, lingering outside his tent. I'm too afraid to go in. If I didn't respect Rick so much, I wouldn't bother with him... as much as I love the idea of having a survivalist Daryl in my presence. I call his name again, and again, and again - I even start shaking his tent a little - but he doesn't answer.

I reach for the metal zipper but stop when I hear, "The hell you goin' through my shit for, Chinaman?"

My heart races too fast for me to bother correcting his terminology. My body whips around and I lose my balance, falling on my ass and looking up at him. His crossbow rests on his shoulder, his shirt is different than yesterday - cleaner but more stained - and he looks at me with a straight face. I think for a second that maybe he'll laugh at my misfortune but his lips stay in place.

"N-... I-.. I was just.. um.. loo-looking for you..," I scramble over my words and he doesn't move a muscle. I wait for him to say something in return. Silence. "Uh, Rick, uh... wants me to, uh... I mean... You and I... uh..."

"Spit it out, boy." A wave of heat erupts from my ears and swims all the way to my toes. God, that voice.

"We have to go into the city," I speak quickly, suddenly noticing how quick I am to obey him.


"I have to get... uh.. get stuff, in the city, that they don't, uh, have in town. Rick wants you to... I mean, I need.. you.. to go with me..." my volume lowers with each passing word. There's silence again and before he speaks, I'm seconds from turning away.

"Guess I ain't got shit else to do... but I ain't no errand boy. I'm just goin' so you don't get yourself killed," he says and I push back a surprised expression.

Justify it any way you want, Daryl. If only I had enough guts to say that aloud. But I don't, and I never will. I only nod.

Driving a car and attempting to hide an erection is incredibly difficult. Something about being so close to him in such a small space, inhaling his scent, listening to his heavy breaths, thinking about what we did a day ago and how we completely disregard it as if it never happened... I can barely handle it. Daryl's window is cracked and the chilled wind increases my anxiety. I try to squirm as much as I can without being noticed but I know he knows. From the corner of my eye I can see him looking at me (am I imagining it?) with that same emotionless face he had at his tent. My throat runs dry but I'm afraid to make any noise so attempting to sooth it is out of the question.

"You're swervin'," he says harshly. The pressure of my tight jeans is to blame.

"Hurry the fuck up," I hear in a loud whisper. I can feel the heat of his body emanating from his skin. My back is to him and I fumble with everything in my hands. I have no concentration. He's so sweaty and worked up from taking out the walkers on the way over and my arousal hadn't subsided since we entered the city a couple hours ago.

"Okay, okay," I gasp. We make it back to the car and he's shifting on his feet as he walks, looking everywhere at once with his crossbow drawn and ready to fire. I put everything in the truck and almost fall over with the difference in weight (and all the blood rushing to my apparent hard-on), which earns a scoff from the man on guard.

"Fuckin' Asians." I've learned to ignore those comments, not that they bother me much anyway. I turn to him after silently shutting the trunk and he glares my way. There's no exchange of words as we stare at each other, our eye contact not breaking for even a second. Mostly because I'm too afraid to move. I can feel my heart beating through my ears. "Get in the back," he orders.

We get as far as Daryl being fully clothed while I'm the opposite. Again.

I pull at the neck of his shirt and he looks at me with a face that makes me stop. His intimidating demeanor is no match for me, no matter the amount of toughness I may muster. I look so needy of him. I can't see myself but I know I do.

"Please," I beg.

His eyes move to my lips and I feel his muscles relax. My God... was he listening to me?

Slowly - very slowly - I run my hands over his shoulders and down his chest. It's an odd change of pace from the feverish, roughstripping of my clothes we'd both took part in only moments ago, but I don't mind. My head is spinning too fast for me to think straight. I pull his shirt up to his neck, dreading this very movement. I thought he would change his mind when he'd have to actually remove it, but he just lifts his arms and assists with pulling it over. I keep my eyes on his face in fear that he might wall himself off again if they drift elsewhere.

"Bend over," his command is coarse. I do as I'm told, bending over and raising my ass to him. Our space is limited in the four-door car but we'll make do. We have to.

He does something I don't expect, leaning down and pressing his wet lips to my taut skin. A shuttering gasp is all I offer in response, but he accepts it and continues with batting his tongue against my entrance, which is admittedly still sore from yesterday's endeavor. It's almost like he can tell and knows the massage he's performing with his mouth's muscle helps loosen me - and it does.

Soon (but not soon enough) he's inside me again, both of us rocking back and forth to meet each other's thrusts. There's so much heat and friction, I can even feel his sweat every time he pushes his body into mine. I've subconsciously been having doubts as to why he's doing this; maybe because I'm all he can get in a post-apocalyptic world, but I don't think I care enough (my body certainly doesn't - already having come twice and near my third) to do or say anything about it. Between my random glances at the man behind me and down at what he's doing, my eyes shift outside... to the large group of walkers heading toward the shaking car.

"Daryl," I gasp breathlessly in a half-orgasmic, half-terrified tone as I look back at him. He's one step ahead of me and scrambles to the driver's seat, twisting in ways that should cause him pain, finally reaching his destination and peeling out of the area. He sits shirtless, hands ten and two on the steering wheel, his erection exposed. My mind is racing faster than the car.

"Fuckin' cockblockers," Daryl eventually slows, the crowd of walkers long behind us. Neither of us had spoken the entire ride but were simultaneously still aroused.

"Wanna, uh, finish?" I ask quietly, thinking that maybe if he doesn't want to, it won't be loud enough for him to hear.

"Yeah," he takes in a long breath after a moment. "Yeah."

My slight limping from Daryl's rough (so good) actions after speeding away from danger go unnoticed back at the farm. I deliver everything to Lori while he withdraws back to his own part of the property. It's still difficult for me to wrap my head around the situation we're in but regardless he has me wondering if it would happen again. I'm not a religious guy but I pray it happens again.