Behind Bars


It's the next day that Rick announces that he, Daryl, and Hershel will be heading out past Yellow Creek River towards an old factory, which is basically the midpoint between the prison, and Woodbury.

Michonne understands mediation very well, and it's no shock to her that Andrea's the one behind it, but such tactics only work with an intermediary present that has nothing to gain or lose from the session, and that's not Andrea. She doesn't know all the facts, and even if she did, her idealistic views of things are not how you deal with men like the Governor.

Men like the Governor need a bullet right between the eyes.

God, when did she become such a vigilante?

Michonne sighs at the revelation because there's nothing she can do about it now. She's adapted to the world she lives in, and that's all there is to it.

She's also adapted to the fact that whenever Daryl has to do something, and Merle isn't included, he throws a temper tantrum and paces around the cellblock like a barely restrained animal in a cage, or leans against the bars, watching everyone in a predatory way.

Or maybe that's just her.

She loads the magazine in her assault rifle and locks the chamber. "Don't you have something you could be doing?"

"You mean, while my brother heads out to a bloodbath courtesy of Rick? No, not really." Merle frowns, hand on his hip. "We should go."

"We have to stay," Michonne reasons, but it's not as if the offer isn't tempting. It is. But there's Andrea to think about, and Rick, and Hershel, and Daryl. And in a way, more than she would like to admit, there's Merle too, who would be kicked out of the group or killed in the crossfire, both being a death sentence.

Michonne looks up at him when he grabs her wrist, and the grip is loose, like he's giving her the option to leave at any time. "Don't tell me you haven't thought about it."

And she honestly can't because she has. Far too much to be considered a passing thought.

"Think about it," Merle continues. "You and me go while they're gone, we know the layout. We wait for him to show up, you bum rush the Governor, I'll take care of Martinez, and we end this," he ends gruffly, and she didn't realize that he moved in so close until she feels his breath tickling the shell of her ear. The thought of taking out the Governor is more than tempting, it's damn seductive. The thought of her katana impaling his deceitful face the way it did with his walker daughter…

"It's too much of a risk," she finds herself saying. "Not that I think a negotiation will work, but… there are too many people in this." Too many lives on the line. She messed up last time they did anything like that, and while she doesn't have regrets, she'd prefer not having a repeat performance.

Later, she has to hold him back with Maggie because Glenn stood in his way, and she finds herself reminding him of the possible repercussions of it all. Other people. Other casualties.

She still hears his voice like a caress in her head, urging her on, her katana sliding straight through the Governor's maxilla, blood coming away in erratic gushes as she pulls it out of his head. The thought excites her. It also frightens her down to her core because she shouldn't be feeling such a thrill at the thought.

She's killed to protect herself. But it doesn't seem like the same thing when she finds herself fantasizing about it, so she keeps herself busy. She organizes weapons and makes sure that they're all loaded. She'll reach behind herself, ensuring that her sword is in its scabbard even though there is no other place it could be.

Michonne keeps calm on the outside, but inside there's a twitch that's she's sure if Merle pressed hard enough, she'd implode. Which is why she tries to keep to herself for the remainder of the day.

Tries, being the operative word.

He watches her in the jamb of the cellblock door as she loads an M-7 and he watches her when she heads out on patrol and she feels this tingle down her spine provided from his eyes, his callous fingers down her back, and he's yards away from her.

Her fingers twitch in anticipation, remembering the feeling of him so wholly and completely in her control in her hands. The careless power she felt when he yielded to her touch. She feels warmth pooling between her thighs and clenches her legs together as she scrubs her blade in an attempt to get the dried blood off. Being restless, she finds herself aching for it when all she wants to do is acknowledge that it didn't happen in the first place.

…It was Merle, after all. But he was warm under her touch. Alive.

She frowns at the thought because it was like she was actually considering a repeat performance. An asshole was still an asshole no matter how they were in the cover of night. In that sense it wouldn't make her any better than Andrea.

She stops wiping her blade and takes a breath.

Looking over her left shoulder, he's there, silently watching, and she keeps hoping he'll say something, anything, that will convince her once again that he's nothing but a redneck bastard that would endanger the lives of everyone else for his brother.

But then she can't. Because it occurs to her that this anger isn't really at him, and more at the Governor. If she was still on her own, she wouldn't have hesitated to go kill him. And now she is.
So she thinks about it some more.

And when Rick heads back and tells them that they're now in a war, she knows what she must do.


The creak of the cell block door loudly fills the room and he looks up from Hershel's Bible to see her leaning inconspicuously against the bar. "You're right," she murmurs when he doesn't speak. "I should go kill the Governor."

Closing the holy book, he sets it face down beside his bunk, a roguish grin darkening his face. "So when are we headin' out? Now?"

"We're not doing anything," She locks eyes with him then, pushing herself off from the jamb. "I'm going to go kill the Governor," she emphasizes. "He wants me."

"He wants the prison," Merle points out, sucking in his cheek.

"He wants me more," She says in a way he can't dispute, and she closes the door quietly, walking in front of him.

Merle narrows his eyes and puffs out his chest, "So then, why tell me? Huh? What'chu gonna do? Go play martyr?"

"No," Michonne says as she lowers herself over Merle's set apart legs. "I'm just going to make him think he's getting what he wants." Closing her legs around his hips, he pulls her further into his lap with his left arm. "And then I'm going to make him suffer until his last breath," she wraps her one arm around his neck as her breath fans over his face. "But before I do, I need to make sure that no one comes after me. I do better on my own."

He gives her a measuring look following her words and then nods, "So, you need someone to distract the natives while you head on your merry way."

Her other hand descends downward, gripping him fully in-between his leg only covered by the denim. Looking him right in the eye with her intense dark ones, she starts massaging his hardening member right through his jeans. "You got a problem with that?"

"Nope," he twists her to the side so she's laid out back against the sheets and as his mouth sucks against her pulse point, his one good hand working his way between her legs, she holds back a smile because she knew he was good at following orders. Her dreds fan out on the pillow below her and her back arches off the bed, her hips begging to reach his when the intrusion of his callous fingers stroke the midpoint below her clit.

Her hands work of their own provocation, slipping off his belt, reaching for his shaft because she wants to remember this. She's not foolish enough to believe that she'll make it out alive after taking out the Governor. By now he would be bound to have found a way to take her alongside with him.

"Like that", she breathes out when he twists two of his fingers and pushes them upward to the hilt of his knuckles. Her moans drown out all sensation, and he covers her mouth with his other forearm and he keeps thrusting in and out in quick succession. She spills herself on the sheets below when he takes his fingers out, and her eyes are barely awake when she catches him suckling his fingers with a dead set grin.

Drawn to her like a moth to the flame, she writhes underneath him in the most tortuous way - legs parted as he makes a home between her thighs and mouth muffled against his bayonet as she comes with her eyes clenched tight.

She tastes like honeysuckle against his tongue - at first slightly bitter but oh so sweet, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks on the digits in his mouth, trying to pull more of that taste. "Damn Mi-chonne," Merle snickers, licking the last of her juices clean from his fingers as she huffs out stilted breathes against his forearm. "I didn't know you could be that loud."

She bites down on her plump lower lip, grasping for the hem line of his shirt.

"Off," she says impatiently as her tugs unsuccessfully get very far up his torso. She doesn't want to appear needy or desperate because she's not - but she wants this, and she wants this now. Something, anything, to get her mind off what awaits her in the morning. Her leg curls around his right and on his left side she pushes his shoulder blade, turning him around so that he was below her and she had better leverage to take off his wife beater.

In the dark she can see his upper body riddled with scars and divots over sun kissed skin, firm and unyielding under her touch. She notices ever present bruises that won't fade away, the battering a sign of domestic abuse. Michonne unbuttons her vest surely under his attentive gaze as he pulls away at the duct tape holding his bayonet from his arm and her hand trails from below his pectorals down a line of curly blond hair below his navel.

Her hands reach behind her back then, unclasping her bra and pulling the straps down her arms, and she leaves a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down his chest and she unbuttons with his jeans with practiced and nimble fingers. When his hips buck upwards to meet hers, she looks up at him expectantly.

If he were an idiot (or a pussy, you know, take your pick) this would be the time in which he would ask her if she really wanted to do this, or that she didn't have to face the Governor alone, or that he would tell everyone what she was really planning, but seeing that he wasn't an idiot (or a pussy), he doesn't insult her with pretty little sentiments like that because she doesn't need them.

What she needs is warm, pliable flesh. Something to fuck before shit goes downhill and she ends up being fucked. And being the Good Samaritan that he was, Merle Dixon was only all too willing to be that flesh. And people said he couldn't take one for the team. Hah!

She pulls his boots off quickly, and makes fast work of pulling off his jeans with the only assistance provided from him being his raised hips off the cot. By the time she presses down on him, he's rock hard and aching and he can't remember the last time he was turned on like this, with hands gripping his throbbing member that were not his own and her dark, intense eyes staring him down as she expertly rolls her thumb over the pointed head. His cock twitches and he grunts out a breath, trying to concentrate and hold out, but her gaze is unwavering and he doubts he could last much longer.

See, what made Michonne sexy wasn't just the fact that she could kick ass (even if that was a bonus) or the fact that at any time he couldn't tell what she was thinking, (even if the fact both frustrated and intrigued him) but the fact that she was utterly and wholly unafraid. She knew he would run off to kill her, yet she left Woodbury anyways with her head held high. She holds his most sensitive part in her hands and she knows she's got him right where she wants him -at her whim. He doesn't even mind it.

He comes when her tongue licks a line up his shaft before it's covered by that clever mouth of hers, and dammit she feels so good around him, he wouldn't mind keeping her there forever.

"Fuck," he breathes out, grasping her supple ass cheek in his hand and pulling it towards his weeping cock. He needs to be inside her right now, and he sure as hell isn't going to apologize for it. "C'mon girl," Merle rasps, finger tracing that gunshot wound he gave her a couple of weeks back.

"Not yet," Michonne smirks in the dark.

Sinking his head back into his pillow, he rasps, "Don't keep me waitin', darlin'."

Michonne's considering these next few moments - probably her last - of doing something driven by her own will before dawn hit the prison with its unforgiving light. Tomorrow will be the day Woodbury falls with its tyrannical leader at his knees under the blade of her sword. Tomorrow she kills the Governor because if she doesn't, he'll kill her first, slowly, tortuously, without her being in control.

And if not, then she'll die trying.

But tonight, she lowers herself until she settles on Merle's hips, moist warmth and pleasure flooding her senses. Tonight, she rides him hard and fast as he gropes at her breast, leaning upward to capture a dark, pert areola between his thin lips and she cries out at the sensory overload, pulling up and grinding down at every interval until he's buried deep within her heat and she closes around him, her walls contracting as he thrusts up, waves of her orgasm washing over her.

Merle pulls out, tumescence flowing freely from his now limp cock, and Michonne lies down bonelessly next to him on the cot, a fresh sheen of sweat coating both of their skin. He turns his head and his grey eyes are calm, like they've just witnessed the ending of a hurricane, and he sweeps a couple of wayward dreds away from her face with his left hand.

It's only now that she notices, lying on his right side, the lack of a hand as his exposed arm ends, bayonet and prosthetic lying on the ground. He notices her noticing, and glares, grey eyes suddenly stormy, "What'chu lookin' at, girl?"

Trailing a finger down his weathered right arm, past his elbow and down towards where his wrist begins, she looks at him calmly. "This."

Merle frowns, looking away. "Don't."

"Why?"

She sees him grimace, and then his face relaxes into a mournful expression that she can't discern.

"Is it because you had to cut it off?" Michonne murmurs, having heard the story from Glenn.

Merle sniffs. "Did wha' I had t' do. I ain't ashamed of tha'."

"You shouldn't be," she agrees, and her fingers feel cool as she curls her fingers around his lower arm. Merle swallows past the lump in his throat, fighting back a shudder at the foreign feeling of someone touching the area so close to his stump.

"Dammit, you got what ya wanted," He grits out. "I ain't tellin' 'em that you're goin', and ya got one last fuck outta your system, now get the hell out." Merle spits cruelly and turns over to his left, that feeling of being over exposed and feverish washing over him like that time on the rooftop in Atlanta. When she doesn't move, he growls, "Get the fuck off my bed, ya hear? I ain't wan' ya here anymore, ya got what you wanted!"

He feels the cot shift, and he almost take a breath of relief, thinking that she was leaving, but she only shifts onto her elbows, looking at his track marked back curiously. He quickly turns back to his right side, "Why the hell are ya still here?!"

"Because I want to be," Michonne replies coolly.

Merle glares at her, "Well, I don't." His tense brows relax under her unyielding stare, and he huffs out, "It's my damn business. Mine. All of these damn people look at Rick like he's a motherfuckin' saint, but in the end he's no better tha' the next asshole out there in this shit-eating world. At leas' I'll tell ya to yer face if I'ma fuck ya over, but that shit he did? I wouldn't do tha' to a dog."

He continues on, "An' then Daryl? He looks at 'im like he's so damn special. All of these people do, and I'm just the asshole they rather had stay dead." Michonne doesn't blink during his tirade, doesn't move. "You don't look at me lik' tha'. Not anymore."

"No, I guess not," she resigns. Merle was a lot of things; impulsive, temperamental, overly aggressive, careless – but anyone would have to be a fool to not see his worth in a world like this where there was no law, and survival was all that mattered. "And after tomorrow, they won't either."

She presses her body flush against the cot, laying her head over her arms, eyelids feeling heavy. She could close her eyes for a couple of hours. Sleep and still be up before the sun.

"He's not gonna kill ya when ya see 'im again," Merle rumbles against her dark skin, lips traveling down her shoulder blade, whispering horrors in the confined space. "He'll keep ya alive, torture you, fuck you until you wish you was dead, and hang you until you are. You'll be the ultimate trophy."

She looks at him over her shoulder, and smirks, "Can't wait."


Okay, so this will probably (and I say that tenatively) be the last bit of smut for a while, since I have to consider other things like forming a plot and character development. Ugh. The things I do in order to write.

In other news, my feels are all over the place. I noticed an influx of reviews, faves, and alerts this weekend, for which I was very appreciative, and then that damn episode aired, and ruined all of my Merle/Michonne canon dreams. Damn you Scott Gimple. (No, seriously, I love your writing, don't stop). So, now I'm writing this, and I'm at an impasse because their dynamic was so good, and he held the door for her!...And he saved her!...And he let her go!...And she almost followed him!...Gahhhhh. Don't even get me started on Daryl.

Anywho, I'm hoping more Merlonne (by the way, thank you what evil lurks for the portmanteau!) to pop up. Like, Merle and Beth have more fanfics, yo. And it's cool (okay, it's hot), and I'ma let you finish, but... c'mon, you can't deny Merle's chemistry with his Nubian princess. So far we have Her new pet by kittyaurorasan, if you're looking for a bit (a lotttttt) of...uh, domination, and lol they're in a fridge. Then there's A Familiar Taste of Poison by VioletSunrise, if you're looking for a nice dose of dubcon with a heaping of ohmygawdthat'ssohot set in Woodbury. And finally there's Black Beauty by Buster's Jezebel if you want a cute lil drabble, you know. Really, I want more though, so...

More soon.

DAC