Detour

Peachtree's forest was the quickest path back to the car they'd left on Route 87, bypassing Main Street's walker-infested avenue. A deadbeat breeze toyed with tree branches; brown thrashers chirped out a mourning song, laying a somber overture for the hordes of undead that aimlessly shuffled about the dying autumn forest. October had arrived, and with it the dank scent of Georgian petrichor—leaves, rain and the more recent stench of putrid flesh.

"For a little while." He'd heard her say it, and yet she wasn't gone.

Most times, she was sweet like summer's end—here with luscious heat, then gone with a plush-lipped promise of "soon."But here she was, even agreeing to accompany him on this run. She must've sensed why—her eyes told him she did. They'd snuck quietly into the Wal-Mart, emerging twenty minutes later with two backpacks full of loot. Their list was scrawled in Michonne's near-illegible cursive; she glanced once more at the yellowed sheet of paper, checking everything off.

Rick: razor. He hadn't requested one, but she'd made sure to include it because his current beard was simply unacceptable.

Carol: shampoo.

Beth: baby wipes for Judy.

Maggie & Glenn: a discretely requested box of Trojans.

Carl: comic books.

Hershel: raspberry jam.

M&Ms, body wash, toothpaste/toothbrushes, aspirin.

"We're good," she nodded, tucking it into her back pocket. Daryl nodded, shouldering his pack and leading the way off the main road. Michonne brought up the rear, studying his back with a quiet smile. October was still humid in Georgia, keeping him in the sleeveless leather vest he loved so much.

The embroidered angel wings always made her chuckle, so out of place with the rest of his haphazard ensemble. She barely paid them mind, preferring instead to focus on the arms that rippled and coiled with every step, keeping the heavy pack balanced on his back.

She'd meant to leave sooner, promising herself no rest until he was dead. But each time she returned, it was harder and harder to leave. Last time, it'd been because the group needed her help hunting.

This time it was her sprained ankle, or so she told herself. Hershel had prescribed rest a week ago; she could've gone after day three. Carl joked about it with her, asking if she was sure the prison had enough stale M&Ms to sustain a week-long stay. Michonne always laughed, said there weren't enough M&Ms in the world.

But it wasn't chocolate she craved.

Instead, it was the dumb hillbilly who tramped in front of her, grumbling something about the damn forest trees. The warmth, the slide of skin against skin, the—

"They were here first, y'know," she jabbed, prying her mind off of his body.

They'd stopped at a narrow pass, the trees and fallen branches forming a tight bottleneck passage that led to an open clearing. This wasn't the time; they had to get back.

She looked at the sky; the sun was still high, but wouldn't be for long. He turned to face her, something like boredom on his face. Like always, she studied him, memorizing each part of his face. Sun-strained blue eyes with an angular face that was nothing short of unique; scruffy chestnut hair and stubble to match. She had to admit—he wasn't her usual cup of tea.

Pre-outbreak, she'd preferred the 6'5" clean-cut professional type with a vocabulary that'd been snatched from a dictionary. Then again, as a former lawyer, she didn't come in contact with squirrel-killing men that slurred every fifth word and tracked deer for fun.

But he was charming in the way liquor got you drunk—subtle, with an off-kilter kick she couldn't easily place.

"Yeah, well I ain't much in the mood for their shit today," replied Daryl, shifting his crossbow strap on his shoulder. A slight smile had broken on his face as he held her gaze. Blue locked with brown, he barely he realized what he was doing as his eyes dropped from her face to her chest, then lower. She was always a sight—soft dreads, a fierce gaze, and soft skin that matched the night; sensual hips that swayed in time to some silent melody, and an ass that held every gaze in the room—or at least his.

"What are you in the mood for then?"

Her throaty voice fell over him, laden with the unsaid. A familiar heat stirred in his stomach, prompting an uncomfortable twitch in his pants. He cursed silently, scolding himself for being that easy. Then again, she'd been gone for almost two weeks, leaving him a brew of want and worry. Too many nights he'd lied in his cell, stroking himself to the thought of her kissing his mouth first, then lower to his chest, and lower still until he moaned for mercy in the black night.

Michonne cocked a brow and strode by him, sure to brush her body against his as she passed. He didn't draw back, only grunted a quiet "fuck" as she shimmied past him to the other side. A knot caught in her throat as she felt the knot below his belt. There was a certain pride that swelled in her chest, knowing that it was all because of her; that it'd waited weeks for her return and would wait a few more if it meant she'd bring her sweet ass to his cell at night.

This wasn't some love story like Glenn and Maggie's. This was the simple comfort of knowing he'd be there when she wanted him and gone when she didn't. As she moved to keep walking, he gripped her arm and gently spun her back to him.

"Uh uh," Daryl whispered, his voice suddenly raspy. He looked down at her face, pleased when he saw her telltale lustful gaze. His hand found her narrow waist, pinning her against him. "You've been away too long."

"Give me a reason to stay," dared Michonne, staring defiantly into his blue eyes. Heat blazed between her legs, melting the last of her resolve. It had been too long and she was all too impatient to wait for tonight.

Her brown eyes scanned the surrounding area, making sure there were no walkers around. Confident there were none, she tilted her face toward his and laced her arms around his neck. His lips met hers with instant urgency.

Daryl reveled in the feeling of her full mouth, pressing hard against it before asking for entrance with his tongue. She granted it, parting her lips and joining her tongue with his. He moaned into her, losing himself as he licked and bit and warred with her. He gripped her tight for fear she'd run off again and leave him dry for another two weeks.

She gasped and kissed back, flicking her tongue across his and tugging at his lower lip—tonight was definitely too long to wait. Michonne moaned as her nipples pebbled under her shirt, straining against the confines of her bra. Breaking the kiss, she latched onto his neck, grinning as he hummed his approval.

Her teeth nibbled on the tanned flesh, his thrumming moan tickling her lips. Pulling away, she smirked when she saw the red skin that'd rapidly form a purple bruise—her own personal signature.

They hastily dropped their gear, not caring where it landed. Daryl pushed her against the nearest thick-trunked tree, eyeing her up before growling a single word. "Off."

Michonne hurriedly stripped her shirt and bra, relishing the warm breeze as it hardened her nipples even more. Daryl took her in for a moment, eyes glued to the ample chest before him. It was a sight to behold—ample handfuls of deep brown flesh that stood at attention.

His hands, calloused at the fingertips, circled her near-black areolas before he lowered his mouth to her left nipple and sucked, biting softly at it. Michonne's breath caught as she whispered a soft "yes" and bit her lip. He took his time, working it over with his tongue before switching to the right. His cock strained painfully against his pants, fighting for release. It was tempting to rush things, but he controlled himself. He'd waited this long for her; five minutes more wouldn't kill him.

The spark between her legs progressed to a full-on inferno, forcing a desperate "please"from her throat. He listened, reaching a hand down to her waist, fumbling for a second before unbuttoning her dusty jeans.

She looked at him from beneath hooded eyes, silently begging him. In one smooth motion, he hooked both thumbs on either side of her pants and tugged them to her ankles, stripping off her dark green thong in the process. She moaned as he wasted no time, cupping her neatly-trimmed mound and easing her lips apart with two fingers.

Michonne sighed deeply as he brushed her clit with his thumb. He leaned in for another kiss, this one more violent. She was already impatient, raising her hips to meet his fingers. Then again, who could blame her? Daryl was gifted, a fact she'd come to learn firsthand.

She gazed into his eyes, fighting the urge to moan—he wouldn't win that easily. Her breath went shallow as he slid one finger, then two into her, expertly twisting and pumping in the way he knew she loved. She couldn't fight it then, a high-pitched squeak prying her lips.

Daryl chuckled. She couldn't even manage her trademark glare, too busy thrusting against his fingers to try. His free hand reached up to play with her chest, playfully slapping each breast and watching as they bounced with each breath.

She was ready for him, his fingers slick with her excitement. He couldn't take his eyes off of her—naked up against an old tree, tits bared, moaning for him.

Her eyes were glazed, brow set with such concentration that he wondered if she knew he was there. He decided to remind her, curling his fingers against her front wall and smiling as she yelped and ground her hips against his hand.

She was helpless now, crying out as he touched every spot and got every angle. Her orgasm was fast approaching, the raging fever between her legs threatening to burn her out. She leaned in for another sloppy kiss, abandoning her quiet nature for a wanton warning. "Fuck, it's coming, it's—"

He withdrew his fingers, smiling when her face fell in disappointment.

"What the—"

"Tastes good," slurred Daryl, drunk with lust. He sucked both his fingers clean, savoring her sweet taste against his tongue. His cock jumped again, so full he felt it would break if he didn't have her now. "Turn around," he ordered, taking her hips in both hands.

"No," she replied, shoving him away from her. Michonne smiled as his stumbled into the middle of the pass, eyes lit in confusion. She shimmied out of her jeans and tossed them away, leaving only her boots on.

He thought he could tease her like that and get away with it? Two could play that game. She ripped his shirt and vest off, smiling as the buttons fell among the high grass. He got the hint, stripping off his pants just in time for her to drop to her knees.

He was hard at attention—the long, slightly curved shaft pointed directly at her—just the way she wanted him. She wrapped her hand around the base, pumping once before parting her lips taking him into her mouth.

Daryl couldn't breathe. The wind was knocked straight out of his lungs as her wet, warm mouth sucked his cock. His hand instinctively lodged in her hair, gripping her dreads as if they were the only thing keeping him up. He threw his head back and growled a barely audible "yes" as he pushed against her. Her tongue was perfect, swirling from base to tip with an expertise only she possessed. He almost lost it as he watched head bob, slurping and sucking like it was the last time they'd see each other.

Michonne looked up at him, pulling back with a pop. She traced the veins on his underside with her tongue, jerking him with her free hand. His eyes were wild, trained on her as she brought him closer and closer to the brink.

Wholly focused, she did everything he liked, going so far as easing his length down her throat and slowly circling back up. His legs trembled and she gripped the back of his thighs, keeping him upright.

She was still hot for him, trying her best to stave off her lust until he came; her throbbing clit didn't agree, demanding she tend to it now. She did, frantically stroking it as she sucked him off.

Another minute of pure bliss passed between the two, steeping both in lust-fueled pleasure until Daryl pulled away. He could feel himself about to blow, lost to the katana-wielding queen who was playing him like a flute. "I need all of you," he husked, helping her to her feet. He tugged her close and pulled her right thigh up against his.

She understood, instantly hopping into his waiting arms. Of all the positions she loved, this was best—face to face, heart to heart. Looking her in the eye, Daryl braced against a nearby tree and lowered her onto his cock, hissing when it slipped into her sopping wet hole.

Michonne saw stars as he roughly entered her, suddenly filled to the hilt. She moaned and dug her nails into back as he pulled back and brutally thrust again. Her legs locked him in place, pulling him tighter in the hopes he'd melt into her. Her back scraped against the rough tree bark as she matched his rhythm, bouncing greedily and moaning into his shoulder.

Daryl was sure he'd die right there and then. The sight of her bee-stung lips and flushed face drove him mad; combined with the heat of her lissome body tangled with his, he fucked her for all he was worth. Her whimpers and cries for more let him know he was doing just fine.

She could barely form words, opting instead for half-word "fucks" that fogged against his skin. She was so tight, so goddamn hot that his usual groans and pants weren't cutting it. Try as he might, he couldn't stop from calling her name.

"Oh God, Mich, I ain't gonna last much longer," he cried, feeling himself losing control. Daryl pistoned out of her a few more times before a savage grunt and strangled "shit" signaled his climax.

He forced her hips down, holding them steady as he burst, shooting his cum deep inside of her. The waves of pleasure washed over him, drowning him in their thick froth as he moaned for her over and over. Michonne was right there with him, clawing at his shoulders as her clit rubbed against his muscled stomach.

She bounced as hard as she could, racing toward the cliff's edge. The searing hot mess of his cum and her own wetness was too much as Daryl reached down and finished her off, pinching and rolling her clit between his rough fingers. He stayed inside her and thrust, determined to make her come. He egged her on, dropping his mouth to her ear. His hot breath worked wonders as her heart sped and her hips bucked harder into his hand.

"C'mon Mich, come for me, do it—"

His words sent her plummeting over pleasure's edge, crashing toward the ground with such fervor and ecstasy that Daryl paused in concern. She convulsed against him, her mouth wide open as hoarse screams wracked her body. She shook—over, and over and over—until finally she went limp and slumped against him.

"Fuck," laughed Daryl, softly setting her down. She buckled for a moment, legs still unsteady; he gripped her arm and held her upright until he was sure her balance had returned. They silently got dressed, each quaking and drenched in sweat. Michonne looked up and saw that the sun had begun to sink—her brow furrowed.

"We gotta get back," she remarked, still out of breath. She gathered her things, slinging her katana and the supply backpack over her shoulder. A smile broke on her face as she watched him shrug on his vest and button-less shirt—she'd done that.

"Yeah," he agreed, lips quirked in a smirk. She was phenomenal, a rare treat he couldn't wait to taste. Only one worry broke through his golden haze. "You got your…stuff, right?"

"Always," assured Michonne; she always kept extra pills in the car's glove compartment. "Now let's go, I'm starting to get hungry."

Daryl snorted, strapping his crossbow and pack to his back and falling in step beside her. He slapped her ass teasingly; she punched his arm in return. The two headed back to the car, two warriors in the failing sunlight. The sounds of walkers echoed all around them, but neither of them was worried. After all, why would they be? Daryl wasn't going anywhere, and as hard as she tried to deny it, Michonne wasn't either. The sex was just too damned good.


A/N: Just a little something I whipped up for the lovely Dixonne shippers :) Hope you enjoyed! If you did, leave a review? I'd love to know what you thought.

Til next time,

~L.L.