Hello dear readers. First I wrote some fancy introduction, saying how this is short and sweet, but of course I went overboard and wrote a frickin epic. Hopefully it's worth it. And hopefully I do Daryl justice.
Anyway... this is a McSmutty, as you have been warned by the M rating, with hopefully just enough feels to spice things up. But I'll let you be the judge. Tell me what you think in the reviews.
POST SEASON 3, so there may be spoilers, but that's not the purpose of this story. Hot steamy sex on the other hand is, because I've been studying way too much, and I need to lay off some steam. I did try to add a story behind it... and then I created a monster. But hopefully the kind that is full of Daryly goodness. Also it features an OC, and if I get around to it it could become a separate story.
"Killing Loneliness" - HIM
"Stay" - Rihanna
"As Long as It's Not About Love" - Dio
"My Kind of Love" - Emeli Sande
Rebeca Pierce used to have a plan. Or perhaps plan was too strong a word. Rebeca Pierce had dreams, wants, and desires, things she wished to accomplish in her life. She wanted to become an attending OBG in Atlanta, fall in love, then eventually marry and have children. It seemed a pretty reasonable set of desires at the time, and one equal to those of many women in their late twenties. But, as Rebeca learned long before living corpses started wandering the street, not all wishes were meant to come true, while others were fulfilled in unexpected ways.
After the apocalypse Rebeca no longer knew what her wishes were. Surviving? Living day by day? Trying not to remember all the things she'd left behind, all the people she'd lost?
The hospital she used to work in was gone, overrun in days, the personnel and her patients either dead or dragging around with brains between their teeth. She missed the pink scrubs she had to exchange for sturdy army boots, camo pants and leather, and the scalpel she was forced to replace with a machete. Her brothers had found one during a run, and her father, proud member of the National Guard, gave it to her. Made damn sure she knew how to use it, too. Rebeca remembered him saying that no daughter of his would be running around a dead-infested world without knowing how to protect herself. But her father and brothers were gone, as was her gentle, kindhearted mother.
Rebeca tried not to think about her family too much. In fact, she tried not to think about the past at all, because she did not want to trigger another PTSD episode. Not after she had finally got it under control with Hershel's help and encouragement. She was in pretty bad shape when she was taken in by Rick Grimes' group, and it had been a slippery slope back to recovery. Regardless, Rebeca was not a quitter, and although she might never be herself again – hell, who really was in this shitty excuse for a world – she would be damned if she didn't at least pull her weight.
Life in the prison was not that bad, if one disregarded the walkers gnawing at the fences outside. She had a roof over her head, a warm meal on her plate, and people to share the days with. Strange how complete strangers could become your family in just a few short months.
Once she was no longer semi-comatose, malnourished, or a danger to herself and others, Rebeca fell into an easy rhythm with the group. Having learned of her profession, Hershel quickly found use for her, and it made Rebeca feel accepted and trusted. There were several pregnant women and elderly people who required medical care among the survivors from Woodberry, and in an ironic, twisted way, Rebeca had become the attending physician she always wanted to be.
As far as her other wishes were concerned, she thought this world was no place for children. Although little Ass Kicker Judith was a bright, glowing exception, Rebeca would not wish for her children to have to grow up in the apocalyptic world she had been thrown into, even if she could conceive. Unfortunately that option had been taken away from her by a car accident long before the zombie apocalypse hit, and Rebeca had no choice but to accept that maybe it was just meant to be.
The last thing Rebeca had always wanted, or at least the old sweet, happy Rebeca, who liked baking with her mother, arguing with her brothers, and being her daddy's pride and joy, was love. Hell, she wanted it all; the get-down-on-your-knees-and-propose kind of boyfriend, a white dress, a bouquet, and her father to give her away at the altar.
In the world she lived in now, this was a stupid, selfish, Mary-Suish dream, the dream of a spoiled child, and Rebeca was no longer a child. No, Rebeca had been forced to grow up, forced to see horrors that still haunted her dreams, and startled her awake in cold sweats, and Rebeca learned that love was different in this new world. It was expressed with glances, faint smiles, and watery eyes, it lingered in the air when a member of the group safely returned from a run, and sometimes caressed Rebeca when a grateful old survivor squeezed her hand after she administered them a dose of medication.
Love was now a lonely word, seldom uttered out loud, for fear of being taken away. Glenn and Maggie were one of the lucky ones to find and claim it, and often it was the only thing that kept them going, while others were left to fend for themselves. Rebeca, like the majority of other inhabitants of the prison, had been left with a gaping hole in her heart, and a desperate craving for human contact of any kind.
But, Rebeca discovered, although seldom declared, love was a stubborn emotion. It blossomed in the most unlikely of places, quietly, discretely, but also relentlessly, and it had a way of always catching you off guard.
Rebeca was staring, and it was embarrassing.
There were more productive things to do during an apocalypse than admiring men's physique. Things such as making a list of medical supplies for the next run, washing clothes, or maybe dispatching a walker or two through the fences outside that contributed to the group's wellbeing. But that was easier said than done, especially because she had such a nice specimen to admire. Rebeca might have been someone who had a lot of shit happen to them, but under it all she was still a woman with needs.
She hadn't planned on liking Daryl Dixon.
She hadn't planned on secretly sharing a bed, or rather a creaky table, or chair, or wall, with him either. And she sure as hell hadn't planned on slowly letting him into her heart. Not that Daryl knew of that last part anyway. For all Rebeca knew, their hidden soirées were just a casual thing to him, a way to blow off steam. But then again, sometimes she thought she saw something in his eyes as he pulled away from a kiss. Lust, desire, and something softer, gentler, something that made Rebeca's heart flutter in her chest.
She hated it. Hated feeling like she needed him, hated the fact that she felt safe when he was near, even if they never so much as touched when the others were around. She glared at the back of the hunter she had been drooling over just minutes ago, and frowned. He was sitting on the floor of the perch, next to Judith's basket, eyes squinting as he focused on making new bolts for his crossbow. Despite her glare, Rebeca couldn't help but appreciate how the muscles of his arms flexed with each stroke of his knife.
Daryl was independent, loyal, and strong, not someone who would let walkers bring him down easily, and Rebeca needed those qualities more than she dared to admit. But her father and her brothers had also been strong, and that didn't save them from the path of a bullet. They died, left her all alone, and Rebeca couldn't stand losing anyone else she cared about. She knew if she let herself grow closer to Daryl she was setting herself up for potential heartache, but she couldn't help herself.
She craved his touch, his lips on hers and the feeling of his arms around her. It was stupid and it could cost them both their lives. It was an unnecessary yet unavoidable distraction. No matter how one tried to ignore the other, or how desperately they attempted to keep out of each-other's way, they always ended up the same way; with Rebeca's back pinned against a wall by a ravenous hunter, and greedy hands tearing away pieces of clothing.
Their attraction wasn't something that just happened. It grew. Slowly but persistently. It had been Daryl who found her cuffed to a chair in one of the Governor's secret chambers, bloody and delusional, Daryl who dispatched the walker Phillip had left chained in the room with her to keep her company, and Daryl who brought her to the prison and made sure Hershel nursed her back to health. At first, Rebeca despised him for it. She wanted to die. She had nothing left to live for, not after her family had been taken from her, not after the Governor was done with her, but Daryl had made a different call.
So she got into his face about it, screamed like a crazy bitch, and pounded at his chest as he, Rick, and Genn had to pin her to the dirty prison floor so she did not hurt herself. She had cried something fierce, said things she didn't mean, too. It was only days later, when she calmed down enough to be released from the prison-cell she had been locked into for her own protection that she apologised. She couldn't quite meet his eyes, but she meant it, and she received a curt, thoughtful nod, and as far as Daryl was concerned they were cool.
From that point on, Rebeca found herself drawn to the hunter more than any other member of the group. At first she thought it was because he saved her, and she was seeking closure, only to realise it went deeper than that. Daryl was different from the other survivors. He didn't force her to talk about what happened to her and her family, didn't try to coax her to talk about the Governor, and he never once looked at her like she was a broken toy, like something that needed to be fixed.
The others tried to hide it, but the look of pity was still evident on their face, and Rebeca wanted to punch something every time she saw them exchange concerned glances and whispers when they thought she wasn't looking. Their attitudes changed after she started helping Hershel with his patients, and slowly she got to know each and every one of them, starting with Carol and Beth. Now the look of pity was gradually starting to disappear and be replaced with one of friendship and devotion.
It was different when it came to her scars though. They had been a welcoming gift courtesy of the Governor, and were strewn over her neck, collarbone and wrists in thin fading lines. She could never quite hide them all, so she stopped trying. Unfortunately that meant having to catch people staring at her with that infuriating watery look in their eyes.
Others stared, but not Daryl. Daryl analysed. He accepted the flaws for what they were: a sign that she had been through hell and back, but was still alive and kicking. He understood. That was probably the reason why they had become close in the first place. Rebeca understood, too, and unconsciously Daryl needed someone who knew what it was like to be flawed.
The first time it happened it was a mistake, a spurt of the moment, consequences-be-damned decision.
Rick had sent them to sweep the lower levels of the prison that they had previously barricaded, and cleared out, in the hopes of someday changing them into additional living quarters for the new inhabitants of the prison. It was supposed to be just a quick patrol, no real danger, since all the walkers had already been taken care of, and the hallways sealed off to prevent new ones from crawling in. But what they didn't know was that they'd missed one. A scrawny, half rotten walker had been left nearly immobile due to starvation, but as Rebeca passed it in the hallway, she looked like a tasty meal. The walker had dragged itself up with surprising speed, and lurched at Rebeca, who dropped her machete during the struggle. Unarmed, all Rebeca could do was scream, and just as Daryl rounded the corner, the walker managed to grab hold of Rebeca's arm, and immediately snap its jaw against her upper-arm.
Daryl's blood ran cold, and without thinking he surged forward, grabbed the walker by the nape of its neck, and slammed its head against the prison walls so hard, he sent brain-matter flying across the hallway. Rebeca was screaming and clutching at her upper-arm as Daryl grabbed her and tore her hand away to inspect the damage.
Lucky bitch. The walker's decaying teeth couldn't bite through Rebeca's thick leather jacket. She was safe. Daryl breathed a sigh of relief.
"Stupid wench," Daryl growled, furious. After all the trouble he had gone through to save her sorry ass, he would not let her die on him. Not after Sofia, and sure as hell not after Merle.
Her eyes were wide, panicked, and painfully green, and she was shaking, and clutching at the sleeve of Daryl's biker jacket, and the adrenalin in his veins took care of the rest. He wasn't thinking, he just slammed her against the wall and kissed her senseless. It was rough, possessive and angry, and he meant to stop, he did. Then her fingers dug into his scalp, and she let out a tiny, breathless, little moan, and they were past the point of no return. Neither of them recalled exactly how, but they ended up naked, writhing in each-other's arms, locked in one of the safe rooms next to the cafeteria. The room Rebeca later turned into her little clinic.
They didn't speak, and when it was over Rebeca fell asleep almost instantly. And Daryl left. He felt like a douchebag for leaving her, like she were nothing more than a cheap whore. He was disgusted with himself. Of all the shit he'd pulled in his life, he had never before taken advantage of a woman. Until the moment when an animal awoke inside of him, and he manhandled a frightened, petite woman who had been a victim of abuse, and had just had a near death experience.
Daryl punched his knuckles bloody on a wall as he stalked back to block C. He was despicable. And not only for what had happened with Rebeca, but for being unable to erase the memory of her from his mind. The way she clutched at his back, thrown her head back in ecstasy, and then gently caressed the side of his face as he panted into her neck.
Daryl had vowed it would never happen again, that he would keep his distance. But damn, the woman was hard to ignore. And with hard Daryl meant more than just the shitty situation they were in.
The next time it happened he made sure to be gentle. Rebeca was a lady, and she deserved better than good for nothing Daryl Dixon, but for some unfathomable reason she wanted him. And Daryl decided not to question her motives, because he didn't want to have to deal with disappointment too soon, and because it was hard to think with her tongue swiping against his lower lip, and her tiny hands fumbling with his belt buckle. Daryl had never got anything good he ever wanted in his life, and God, he wanted her.
They never cuddled afterwards, just caught their breaths, and got dressed, maybe shared one last quick kiss. They never had much time to spare, anyway. The others were becoming suspicious with the two constantly disappearing for longer periods of time, and neither Rebeca nor Daryl were ready to have anyone else know. Hell, they themselves were not ready to face what was really going on between them. So they went about their day with little to no interaction, with only occasional slip ups of quick glances and quiet teasing.
As much as they tried to hide from their own feelings and the other survivors, Rebeca suspected they already knew. Maggie kept giving her a very knowing look, and Glenn looked incredibly smug whenever Rebeca and Daryl interacted in any way. Even Rick, who had been growing distant from the group, figured something was up, because he kept pairing them up to do different tasks any chance he got.
As much as it annoyed Rebeca to have people poking around her business, it was also oddly reassuring. If the others could see it, then maybe there was something more between her and Daryl than just lust. Something they just hadn't got around to voicing yet.
Daryl looked up from his seat on the perch to stare at the steaming bowl of soup Rebeca was handing him. He set down his knife and the newly made bolt and took hold of the bowl.
"Thanks," he grumbled, eyes flickering from her face to his meal.
Rebeca smiled. "Carol says you usually don't eat, so..." She explained and gently nudged him with her foot to get him to make some room for her on the perch. "Mind if I sit?"
He grunted, but shifted to give her some space. Bringing him food had been a small gesture, but one he secretly appreciated. At least she cared enough not to let him starve. They ate their food in silence, and Rebeca found herself enjoying the little shiver that ran through her every time their shoulders brushed due to the limited space on the perch.
Daryl on the other hand wasn't as zen as he would have liked to be. He couldn't even keep the damn woman out of his mind when she wasn't within touching distance, and now she was all but leaning against him, and sipping soup like they were high-school sweethearts on a date. He had stopped counting the times he'd woken up in the middle of the night, hot and bothered and craving her like a fix, but what he was feeling now was different. There was a shifting of emotion behind the initial lust, and Daryl wanted something... more. As much as he tried to deny it, she felt comfortable, natural, good and Daryl was sick of hiding and running around vacant prison cells.
He wanted her.
And not just for a few secret hours. He wanted her, all of her. Possibly forever.
Merle would have had a field day if he found out Daryl had fallen for a Harvard Med graduate. Hell, Merle would have had a field day if he found out Daryl had fallen for any pair of tits, but Merle was a stupid son-of-a-bitch who got himself killed on a crazy kamikaze mission, and Daryl wasn't ready to deal with that.
His fingers tightened around his bowl of soup, but instead of smashing something against the wall, like he wanted to, he chose to sneak a glance at Rebeca instead. She was slowly sipping her share, her eyes fixed on the rim of her cup. Some stray pieces of thick black hair had escaped from behind her ear, and were obscuring his view of her face.
Frowning, Daryl found himself wanting to brush them away, but he resisted. Had no business touching her anyway. She wasn't really his. Never said she wanted to be either. But then again, Daryl never asked.
Feeling his gaze, Rebeca turned her head to look at him, and he could see a silent question in her eyes.
Damn, he should probably say something, but he never knew what to do in these situations.
Smooth, Dixon. Have no problem sticking yer tongue down 'er throat, but ya don't have the balls to come up with a damn sentence? Maybe Merle was right, maybe they weren't attached.
Luckily for him, Rebeca chose to interrupt the silence.
"You got a sunburn," she observed.
Daryl's eyebrow shot up. "What?"
She was frowning. "Your hands."
She tilted her chin towards his shoulders and knuckles, where his skin was considerably redder than the rest of him. He had washed after coming back from his hunting trip, so his skin was free from its usual layer of dirt, making the burn more obvious.
"Was out huntin,'" he shrugged. "Whadya worryin' about my hands for anyway?"
She blushed, and it wasn't just her face that changed colour. Daryl's gaze followed the flush of pale pink that spread down her neck and disappeared under the collar of her shirt.
"I guess it is silly, isn't it? Worrying about a sunburn." Rebeca finally sighed, but there was a little smile playing across her lips. "Skin cancer is now pretty low on the list of main causes of death."
Daryl snorted, and his eyes flickered back to her face. "Reckon so."
"I forget sometimes, you know." There was a somewhat faraway look on Rebeca's face as she spoke. "Just for a moment or two, when I'm tending to someone's wounds, or when Beth starts singing in the evenings, I forget that I shouldn't be worrying about something as trivial as some extra vitamin D. I forget how shitty the world really is, and sometimes I wonder if that makes me selfish."
No, it didn't, Daryl thought. The life he led before dead fuckers started coming back to life was not worth two and a half shits, but he still found himself missing it sometimes. Not so much as of late though, because there was no Rebeca in that life, and no real family. Not the kind he had found with this group anyway.
Their eyes met again and this time they didn't look away.
"World's gone to shit," Daryl finally drawled. "Don't mean all good things're gone with it."
There it was. That goddamn shiver that ran from the nape of her neck down to the base of her spine. The one only he could make her feel.
"You have been out in the sun too long," she teased.
"Shut up," he scowled, but his words lacked their usual irritated edge, and Rebeca could have sworn she saw the tips of his ears turning pink.
She laughed, and it was such a rare occurrence it made Daryl forget about his embarrassment.
Make me was at the tip of Rebeca's tongue, but she bit it back. She knew from previous experience that there was only so far she could push the hunter before he grabbed her, slung her over his shoulder and had his way with her. Not that it would be such a bad thing.
Unconsciously Rebeca glided the tip of her tongue over her lower lip, an action that did not escape Daryl's notice. The woman was a damn tease when she wanted to be, and she knew it too. Trying to avoid temptation, he focused back on the remains of his now cold soup.
"Catch anything good?"
"Nah," Daryl's eyes narrowed and he awkwardly scratched his neck to hide his frustration. "Animals won't come near them dead fuckers. Been wandering 'round the forest for nuthin'."
"Apparently not for nothing." Rebeca's eyes were fixed on a spot on his neck, close to where his fingers were lingering. "That's one giant, disgusting tick you have there."
"Huh?" Daryl reached a hand down the back of his neck, searching his skin for the nasty bug. He felt the bump under his fingertips and immediately went to pluck at it. "Motherfucker."
"No wait!" Rebeca swatted his hand away with a quick jerk of her hand.
"The hell, woman?"
"You can't go all hillbilly on it now that it's all swollen like that."
"What'd ya want me to do? Give it a three course meal?" Daryl demanded.
It took a lot of Rebeca's patience not to roll her eyes. "If you squish it you can get all sorts of infections. I have tweezers down in the room by the cafeteria, I can get it out for you in no time."
"Ya donna kiss my owies too?" Daryl snorted. "Don't need no fancy tweezers."
The jerk was mocking her for caring.
"Suit yourself, Dixon," She shrugged, feigning indifference. "Just don't come crying to me when you're dying of meningitis!"
A shadow crossed Daryl's face, and his eyes flashed. "Nobody's dying."
"No they aren't," Rebeca agreed. "Not if I can help it."
She almost felt like she was daring him, and for a moment she was afraid that he would pull away, but he didn't. Heaving an exaggerated sigh that let her know just how annoying he thought she was, Daryl grabbed the railing on the perch and dragged himself up. He held out his hand and Rebeca took it.
He pulled her to her feet like she barely weighed a pound, and they stood facing each other. His fingers lingered on her hand for a moment, before he let go and strode down the steps, crossbow in tow.
Not hearing her footsteps, he turned around to look at her over his shoulder. "Ya comin'? 's get this over with."
"Would you relax?"
The man was impossible. For all his tough guy bravado, he acted like a child when it came to taking care of minor injuries. They were sitting in the room Rebeca had chosen to turn into a makeshift clinic for the pregnant women in the prison, Daryl on a stool stool with his back turned to her, and Rebeca on the bed brought in from the infirmary. She had the room stocked with most of the medical equipment looted from Woodberry, together with all the blankets and pillows they could spare. Given the current sanitary standards it was perfect. The only thing her patients didn't know was that the room was frequently used for activities very different from childbirth, but very much related to it.
"Jesus, it's not like I'm about to pounce on you or something." Rebeca complained.
She thought this would be a simple, easy procedure. Hell, how long did it take to remove a tick, of all things? Well, Daryl was making the job surprisingly difficult. He kept tensing up when she tried to grab the bug with her tweezers, making it hard to remove.
Daryl grunted something too incoherent for her to hear, but she doubted it was something friendly.
"Just pull the damn thing out already!"
"Then stop squirming."
His shoulders slumped, whether because of her demand or because Daryl had finally decided to trust her not to stab him to death with her tweezers, and Rebeca could finally grab and remove the engorged bug.
"There, all done." She quickly discarded the parasite, and inspected his neck. There was a tiny swollen bump still visible from the place of the bite, but there was no rash, which was a good sign.
Unable to stop herself, she gently ran her fingers along the nape of his neck, letting his dark hair tickle her hand, and then caressed the bite with the tip of her index finger. She smiled and murmured, "I think you'll live."
Daryl turned around to look at her and his blue eyes bore into hers. "Ya ever doubt that?"
Rebeca felt her heart pump a little louder in her chest. Her cheeks felt hotter, too, and something told her they were no longer talking about the tick,
"No," she confessed softly. "But I do worry sometimes you know, when you're out getting sunburns and stuff."
He chuckled. "I always come back, don't I?"
"Yeah, you do," Rebeca breathed. "The not knowing in between still sucks though."
Daryl looked like he was dealing with some internal debate. Although he didn't say anything, he didn't pull away either, and suddenly Rebeca was very aware of his proximity. She couldn't remember whether they were sitting this close before, but now Daryl was allover her personal space. And she didn't mind one bit, because it felt like they were very close to something new, something scary and exciting at the same time.
Not knowing when she would get another chance like this, Rebeca decided to say something that had been on her mind for a while.
She took a deep breath. "Look, Daryl~"
She was nervous, and feeling extremely self-conscious, but she was determined to get the words out. "I know you don't like people fussing over you, and I know you get annoyed when I do it, but I just – "
Another deep gulp of air. " - thank you... for letting me do this." Rebeca said and gestured vaguely at the space between them. "And, and, I just want you to know that I don't do it because I think you can't take care of yourself or anything like that."
Oh God, she was rambling, and Daryl's eyes were on her, questioning, assessing, all but burning with intensity.
"It's always been my way of showing people that I care, and I guess old habits die hard. But I do, I care, and I thought you should know."
There. She said it. But Daryl wasn't responding, just staring at her with those impossibly blue eyes, so probably she should have just remained silent. Rebeca blushed and dropped her gaze to her lap. Her fingers were laced so tight her knuckles were turning white. "I'm s-sorry, and I'll stop if you want me to. Really, I'll try to~"
The words died in her throat as gentle, yet firm fingers wrapped around her chin, and tilted her head up so she was forced to look back up. Daryl's jaw was set tight, and he looked determined.
"I don't want ya to stop," his voice was low and huskier than usual, quieter too. "I just want ya."
It was the most simple of phrases. No fuss, no fancy words, just the naked, almost blatant truth. He was not on his knee, and he was not saying he loved her and wanted to spend eternity with her, but it was the single most romantic thing Rebeca had ever heard in her life.
She didn't answer him, because there was no time for talking. There was, however, time for other things. Things that burned, scorched, and left you gasping for breath and begging for release.
Daryl was everywhere, and his lips were hungry, demanding, and surprisingly soft. One of his hands curled around the junction of her neck and yaw, holding her head in place, while the other was rubbing delicious circles into her hip. He was standing now, body flush against hers, pushing her back against the bed, and giving her very little room to move. Not that she wanted to move. What she wanted was for him to hold her closer, tighter, and she wanted some goddamn friction.
As if reading her thoughts, Daryl's knee nudged her legs apart, then used the hand on her hip to guide her leg around his waist. She whimpered against him, and he seized the opportunity to graze his teeth over her lower lip. Rebeca was glad she had the bed to sit on, because there was no way she could keep herself upright, not if he kept grinding his hips like that.
He made quick work of relieving her of her jacket, before sneaking his fingers under the hem of her sleeveless shirt. The brush of skin to skin contact made Rebeca gasp for air, just as Daryl broke away from her lips to trail nips and sucks along her neck. He chuckled at her reaction and the vibration of his voice along with the scrape of his stubble against her skin made Rebeca shiver.
"Tease," she wheezed, already embarrassingly out of breath.
Instead of answering her, Daryl merely peeled off her shirt and it soon joined her jacket, where ever that was, leaving her in only a plain black bra and her camo pants. His eyes smouldered as he shamelessly glanced down to appraise the swells of her breasts,with a much too satisfied smirk on his face.
Two could play it that game, Rebeca thought. Using his moment of distraction, she brushed her hands down his chest. Enjoying the hard, smooth muscle she felt through his wifebeater, she stopped at the hem of his dark jeans. Once there she pushed the white fabric up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin, and the thin trail of wispy hair leading from his bellybutton and disappearing in his pants. Pants that were obviously becoming very restricting. Rebeca wanted to follow the trail with her lips, but given the position she was in, all she could do was drag her nails across it. She was rewarded with a mixture of a grunt and a growl that resonated deep within Daryl's chest. As her fingers brushed just past the rim of his pants, the muscles of his abdomen clenched and she could feel him twitch behind his two layers of clothing.
She was driving him mad. He was trying to make this slow, take his time to appreciate her, but she was making it impossible. All Daryl could think about was tearing away the rest of her clothing and delving into her heat with hard, fast strokes, but he needed to focus. He needed to make this different, special, show her with actions what he was not good at showing with words. And he needed to get her hands away from his pants, or this would be over much too soon.
"Minx," he murmured, before claiming her mouth again. It started as a slow, almost lazy kiss, but grew in intensity, until it was only lips and tongue and teeth, mixed with a sweet taste that was purely her. It was driving Daryl wild.
He used his hands on her hips to pull her hard against him, and her leg tightened around his waist in response. Grinding his hips against hers he made sure the knee he had lodged between her thighs rubbed against her center, and more felt than heard her moan into his mouth. Wasting no time, he cupped one of her breasts, giving a little squeeze, before simply pushing the bra up and over her chest and flickered his thumb over her nipple.
Her voice was breathless, shaky and it sent a shiver down Daryl's spine. He tried not to think about how painfully tight his pants were at the moment, and continued his assault on her perfect nub of flesh. Rebeca was restless, flushed, and helpless. He gave her no time to gather her senses, no time to really focus on the things she wanted to do to him. All she could do was clutch at his back and sides, digging her fingers into his shoulder blades, as waves of pleasure crashed over her.
Frustrated, she tugged at his shirt. She needed skin to skin contact and Daryl was severely overdressed.
"This... off," she demanded, and with a grunt Daryl complied, moving away just enough to create the space she needed to pull the shirt over his head.
No matter how many times they did this, it was still a tricky moment. She knew how Daryl felt about the scars strewn all across his chest and back, and although he had let her see them, didn't mean he was at ease about them. Her eyes flickered down to look at him and there was a soft smile on her lips. Slowly, Rebeca skimmed her hands over his shoulders and down his chest, making sure she lingered lovingly on a few places.
His breath caught, and the hand on her breast stilled.
When she looked back at him, her eyes were mischievous, her hands stroking lean muscle. "Gosh, you're hard all over."
A laugh rumbled in his throat and he leaned in to give her a quick, hot kiss. "'ll show ya hard."
But he really didn't have to, because Rebeca was already making quick work of his belt buckle. Pushing his pants as low as she could reach from her sitting position, she revealed his boxers, and the obvious bulge that was straining against them. He stepped out of his pants, but when Rebeca went to pull off his boxers, Daryl gently grabbed her hands. He wanted to focus on her, and he couldn't do that with her fingers so tantalizingly close to where he wanted them most.
"Patience," he murmured smugly, licking at the skin on her collarbone, just above a circular shaped scar an extinguished cigarette had left against her skin. Even without seeing her face, he knew she was pouting.
Ignoring her, he reached behind her back to unhook her bra, fully exposing the round swells of her breasts. His head dipped lower, lips and stubble dragging across her skin, until he reached one pink nipple. His breath ghosted over it, and Rebeca exhaled in anticipation.
His lips engulfed the pink nub of flesh, followed by a quick lick of his flat tongue, and her hips twitched. He used one hand to hold her in place, while the other glided down her stomach until it reached her pants. They hung low on her hips, revealing some of her underwear, and were loose enough that he didn't even need to unzip them. Without warning his hand slipped past the elastic of her panties, straight to her hot, velvety core.
She was soaking wet. For him. Daryl growled around her nipple and gently bit down, while his fingers worked in fast, thorough strokes.
Rebeca's head rolled back in a silent gasp.
She was burning all over. It was too much, yet not enough. She needed more, she needed release, she needed him. Inside of her.
"Please," she whispered, as his lips changed breasts, while his thumb flickered over the engorged spot between her legs, and his fingers traced her entrance.
He was making her beg, and she was powerless to resist.
"I need..." she dragged in a shallow breath, trying to compose herself, "I need you."
Daryl smirked, and leaned up to place a surprisingly gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Since ya asked nicely."
Her pants and underwear were removed with one swift tug and joined his in a pile at his feet, while Rebeca struggled slightly with his boxers. She made sure to bring them up and over the length of him, and once they were forgotten somewhere on the floor, she wrapped her hand firmly around his erection. With deliberately slow movements she drew a circle over the tip of him with her thumb.
Daryl hissed and his grip on her tightened almost painfully. He was fighting to keep his eyes open.
Rebeca marveled over how young he looked in that moment. The bags under his eyes were barely visible, and the worry that usually lingered on his face was gone, replaced entirely with pleasure. She gave his member a firm stroke, watching as his lips parted, and feeling his chest rub against hers as the muscles of his abdomen contracted and relaxed.
Her hand moved up and down again. Once, twice, before he could not take anymore of her teasing. His hand came down to wrap against her smaller one, and he guided it to his shoulder for support. Then he reached around to cup her behind, purposely giving the cheeks a firm squeeze, and slightly lifted her off the bed to bring her into a better position.
She was all but trembling with need as the tip of his erection brushed against her center, and her hips pressed upward to increase the friction between them.
She was surprised when he reached up to cradle her face in his hand, and as their eyes met his were burning with unspoken emotion. Want, lust, desire and a deep longing for connection, and Rebeca could feel herself coming undone. She dug her fingers into his hair, pulling him in for a kiss, just as he started to push into her.
He went slow, waiting for her to adjust to him, and it took all of his concentration. Rebeca was hot, wet, and tight. She fit like a glove, and as he was fully embedded inside her sleek walls, Daryl's head fell to her shoulder, panting from the effort in took not to explode just from feeling her clench around him.
Rebeca squirmed under him, unable to take the torture any longer. "Daryl, please."
He would never tire of her saying his name like this. Complying he slowly dragged out, only to push back faster, slowly building a rhythm. With every thrust of his hips, a moan toppled off Rebeca's lips, almost like a prayer, and her hips rose to meet his. Her hands were twisted in his sweaty hair, and every time he hit a sweet spot deep inside of her, her nails scraped against his scalp, creating a most welcomed sensation.
Rebeca felt dizzy. If it weren't for Daryl's hands and her legs around his hips, she would probably have fallen off the bed. It was too much. The way he filled every inch of her, and how his quick, powerful thrusts created the most delicious friction was driving her over the edge.
"More," she moaned as he slammed into her again. Her voice was a strained whisper.
Daryl groaned in response. He was close, so very close, but he needed her there with him. There was no way he was going to let himself come, before she did.
Picking up his pace, if that was even possible, he rocked his hips against hers, before leaning down to capture her breast between his lips. Rebeca writhed, and he could feel the steady build up of her orgasm. He reached down between their joined bodies and found her swollen bud. His fingers were quick and almost rough as he rubbed her, and he only needed a few strokes, and she was gone.
She cried out as her orgasm swept hit her like a tidal wave. Her toes curled and her nails dug into Daryl's back hard enough to leave red trails in their wake. Her whole body shivered, causing her slick walls to spasm around him, pulling him into his own climax. The force it was almost violent, making him shudder against her, as he released himself deep inside of her. His length twitched as he rode down from his high, all the while rubbing circles against her clit, prolonging her orgasm.
He felt her shiver one last time before gently withdrawing his hand only to wrap it tightly around her body. Her chest rubbed against his as it rose and fell in time with labored breathing, and he could feel her heart beating franticly in her chest. They were a tangle of sweaty limbs, so closely intertwined that it was impossible to tell where he ended and she began, and Daryl could not bring himself to pull out of her. Instead, he just panted against her shoulder, leaving a few scattered kisses there, while she caressed his slick back and gently brushed her lips against the rim of his ear.
They never stayed like this for long, they always withdrew rather quickly and got dressed. But not this time. Daryl didn't want to leave her, because as much as he was reluctant to admit it in the past, this felt good. Everything about her felt good, and he wanted to enjoy having her naked body pressed against his for as long as he could.
Rebeca gently stroked his neck, his arms, anything she could reach, enjoying the heat that was rolling off him in waves. Eventually her ragged breathing calmed down, and she slowly became aware of her surroundings. She glanced around the room, taking in the overturned chair that must have been knocked over as the result of their lovemaking, the pile of blankets that somehow landed on the floor during their moments of passion, their discarded clothing, and finally her eyes landed on the door of her makeshift clinic.
Focusing on the doorknob, she had this nagging feeling that she was forgetting something.
"Shit, Daryl," she exclaimed in a panicked whisper, "The door's open."
"Huh?" Daryl heard her voice as if from far away. His body was heavy and he could feel the urge to sleep wash over him, but at the mention of the door, he forced himself to look up. While he didn't have a problem with people finding out about them anymore, he had no intentions of anyone catching them butt-ass naked.
With herculean effort he untangled himself from Rebeca, slowly pulling out of her. He couldn't help but smile when he heard her whimper in protest.
He walked to the door and flipped the key. "And now it ain't."
Rebeca grinned. "Good."
She liked where this was going. If Daryl intended to leave her he wouldn't have locked the door, she reasoned, and her grin turned into a soft smile. Watching him from across the room she suddenly became very aware of the loss of his body heat. Without him to keep her warm, the air of the room felt cold against her sweaty shoulders. A shiver raced down her spine, and she rubbed her upper arms to keep herself warm.
As usual, nothing escaped Daryl's notice.
"Just cold," she answered, starting to reach for her underwear.
Grabbing something off the floor, Daryl walked over to her. Rebeca recognised the cloth in his hands as one of the blankets she had brought into the room. She thought he would simply wrap it around her, but instead he gathered her up on the small bed, and she found herself in his arms under the blanket.
They were cuddling.
Daryl was a cuddler.
His arm was draped over her hip and she was half laying on his chest, half tucked into his side. Rebeca heaved a content sigh. She could certainly get used to this new turn of events, but the question was if she would have another chance to enjoy it.
She shifted slightly, so she could stare at Daryl's face, and decided to push her luck just a little further.
"This is nice," she confessed quietly, wondering if he was already asleep, judging by his closed eyes.
She received a gruff affirmative murmur in response, and his arm tightened around her middle.
She held her breath, waiting for his reply. She wasn't even aware that she had started to trace patterns across his chest, until he gently caught her hand in his, and laced their fingers together.
"Damn, woman, do ya ever shut up?"
Daryl was squinting at her, trying to keep his heavy lids open. "Jus' go t'sleep."
Rebeca couldn't help the smile that was spreading over her face. It was so wide it made her cheeks hurt. Whoever this Daryl she was with right now was, now that she knew he lived inside the hotheaded hunter, she made it her mission to coax him to the surface as often as she could.
She could feel sleep taking over her, but she couldn't resist teasing him a little further. "Lots of women talk after sex. 's that a problem?"
"It is if yer gonna be sleepin' in m'bed." Daryl growled into her ear quietly.
Rebeca had to remind herself to breathe.
"Does that offer include this?"she brushed her lips over the closest part of him, which happened to be his chest. She couldn't help herself. She had to be sure.
"It better," Daryl's voice was husky and thick with sleep, but that didn't mask his annoyance. "'d be nice if it included sleep too."
"Okay, right. Sleep."
It took Rebeca a few minutes to get her heartbeat under control, and another few to stop grinning. Daryl wanted her. He had basically invited her to share his bed. He. Wanted. Her. And she wanted him. The rest wasn't important. And perhaps love really was a lonely word in the world they lived in, but that didn't mater, because Daryl had managed to very efficiently kill Rebeca's loneliness. Shot a metaphoric bolt right between the sucker's eyes, too. And right before drifting off to sleep, lying in the warm embrace of Daryl's arms, Rebeca realised that words really didn't matter that much anyway.
Sweet Jesus on a stick, it's done. Finally. My fingers are killing me, and so is my brain. This is longer than the goddamn Cambridge English Dictionary, and now I need to get some much needed sleep.
I'm a little unsure about posting this, because I don't feel I've really done the Walking Dead and Daryl justice, but I've worked too hard to just leave this in my folder of plot bunnies.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know in the reviews. Please? I really am a sucker for those things.