FIC: PROTECTION (PART III)
Title: Protection (Part III)
Author: KenoyerGrrl
Summary: Daryl arrives at Andrea's cell (continued from Parts I and II)
Rating: M
A/N: Thanks so much to cemeterydreamer for being my Beta reviewer yet again. Implemented your comments and appreciate every one of them, esp. given your very hectic schedule. :)
Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead, but sometimes, it damn well owns me. This is just for fun; I have no intention of copyright infringement or making any kind of money or other profit from it.
Part I is here
Part II is here
By his own estimate, Daryl spent a good half-hour in the hot shower, scrubbing himself all over, from his scalp to the crevices in between his toes, with a detention-issue washcloth and the combination shampoo/body wash that was stocked by the gallons in one of the prison's storage closets. Amusingly, the prison-grade shampoo and body wash jug was labeled DawnMist, subtitled With a pleasant apricot scent. As if male prison grunts really gave three shits about smelling like fruit, Daryl thought. The scent was inaccurately advertised-the body wash smelled vaguely like peaches, but more strongly like anti-bacterial astringent-almost like the fluid he used to detail motorcycles back in the normal days. Whatever, Daryl figured; it was much more preferable to body odor and three-day-old mansweat.
After he dried off, he dressed in the plain white boxers, prison-work blue jeans, and light-blue button-down work shirt that Maggie had wrangled up for him when she was doling out clean prison clothes from the laundry a week prior. Not wanting to bother with socks or his boots, he slid on his pair of PVC shower shoes that reminded him of some kind of hippie sandals, but at least they were comfortable. He gargled with the DawnMist alcohol-free mouthwash by the sink and gave his face a dry shave with the twin-blade disposable razor that came in an individual wrapper.
“Getting ready for date night,” he murmured as he inspected himself in the mirror, looking for shaving nicks or eye-snot or anything else that could be a turnoff for the lady in the private cell in Block Two.
Not having the benefit of a hair dryer, he used one of the standard-issue black combs to comb back his wet hair away from his forehead. He groaned inwardly when he saw his receding hairline, and combed his bangs down and to the side to conceal the signs of male aging. “At least it's not a comb-over,” he said aloud to himself, “Now that would really suck.”
He jumped when he heard the toilet flush in one of the stalls next to his sink. Out came T-Dog in his own white boxers and undershirt.
“Oh. Hey, T-Dog,” Daryl greeted uncomfortably. Would T-Dog ask too many questions about why he was showered and fully dressed at nine-ish at night?
The other man gave Daryl a stunned once-over. “Day-amn! What've you got, a date tonight or something, man?”
“Just gonna go hang out with someone,” Daryl told him, trying his best to be nonchalant.
“Who's the lucky lady?” T-Dog asked, with a chuckle.
“No one,” Daryl responded casually, sensing the childlike nervousness in his own voice. Dumb-ass, he admonished himself, setting the black comb in the sink's soap holder.
“Yeah, rrrright,” T-Dog teased, with a licentious grin. Leaving the prison bathroom, the other man said, “Well, have fun, whoever it is. I'm going to bed!”
“Good night,” Daryl called after him, relieved that T-Dog didn't press him for details. If it had been Glenn on the other hand, he'd never hear the end of it, especially after what had happened earlier that day. He headed back to his cell, slid the pack of condoms into one of his jean pockets, and headed toward Block Two.
Walking down the Block One corridor on his way to the next block, Daryl noticed Carl poking around in the prison's rec room, hitting a Ping-Pong ball with a well-worn paddle against the concrete wall.
Daryl stopped to lean inside the door. “Shouldn't you be in bed?” he said, “What if your mom and dad are looking for you?”
“They know I'm here,” the boy mumbled, sounding bored, “Couldn't sleep, so they said I could come here.”
“Wanna play a quick game?” Daryl offered, not really wanting to play, but thinking the bit of activity would help him relax a bit. He still felt scared shitless about what was to transpire tonight, and would use any excuse to procrastinate, if even for a little while.
Carl's eyes lit up. “Sure,” he said, picking up the Ping-Pong table's other paddle and giving it to Daryl.
The two played four rounds of Ping-Pong-Carl winning two games and Daryl winning the other two-before Rick's face appeared in the doorway.
“Carl, your mother wants you to come to bed,” Rick told his son with a warning note in his voice.
“Aw, Dad, come on - ”
“Now,” Rick commanded.
Rick glanced at Daryl as he put a hand on Carl's shoulder. “Damn, Daryl, you look good. What's the occasion?”
Jesus, not again, Daryl thought, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets, being careful not to give away the package of condoms in one of them. “Just gonna hang out. Thought I'd take a shower, for once,” he told Rick casually, feeling a tad more comfortable with being covert.
Rick raised his eyebrows and gave his right-hand man a knowing smirk. Daryl knew the former cop wasn't someone who easily took bullshit, and could probably see right through Daryl's elusiveness. Nevertheless, the boss let him off the hook. “Well, have a good night,” Rick told him, leading Carl back toward the family's cell in Block One.
“Good night, man,” Daryl said with a nod, again relieved that he didn't have to give any details as to where he was going and whom he was going to visit. Onward to his destination.
The Block Two corridor was dimly lit with the generator's fluorescent lights-much less so than Rick's family and T-Dog's block, where Herschel and his younger daughter also bunked. In Block Two, Michonne and Carol each had their own cells, and Maggie and Glenn shared a double cell, much to Hersh's chagrin. The occupants were spaced out well enough to afford all of them privacy, and Andrea's cell was no exception. Her cell was up a flight of stairs on the second level, and no one else at all was on that floor. Andrea had claimed to him earlier that she preferred it that way.
Like Glenn and Maggie had done to their own cell, Andrea had done her best to decorate her quarters to the extent she could with what remnants the group was able to dig up in the prison and what Maggie was able to scavenge from the abandoned drugstore near Woodbury. Several floral greeting cards were taped in a neat arrangement on one concrete wall, and a lone plastic tumbler on the folding desk subbed as a vase for a single artificial Gerber daisy.
Wearing nothing but the white bath towel that she wore like a wrap dress, Andrea sat on the prison's bench, her hair wet and combed back. She, too, had gotten showered for the big night, it appeared. When she saw Daryl approaching her cell, she smiled and started pouring two plastic juice tumblers full of white wine from a Tetra-Pak, no doubt the one for which she'd bribed Maggie for a week's worth of laundry detail.
“Hi, Daryl,” she greeted warmly, giving his cheek a peck.
“Sorry I'm late,” Daryl told her, remaining at the cell's entrance, “Carl shanghaied me for a bit. We played a few rounds of Ping-Pong.”
“I'm sure he appreciated it. Poor Carl! Maybe we'll get some more survivors in here who have kids, so he can have a playmate or two. Come on in,” she urged, offering him a tumbler of wine.
Doing his best to put an air of being cool and relaxed, he edged into her cell cautiously and took the tumbler from her hand. The point of no return. He felt his heart in his throat and swallowed it down with a long swig of wine. “Thanks,” he gasped, wincing a bit at the wine's tartness. He never was much of a wine guy, but beggars in a prison shelter couldn't be choosers.
“I think it's starting to turn,” Andrea told him, “but it sure is nice to have an adult beverage, isn't it? I think the last time we've had anything to drink was the CDC.”
“Was it that long ago?” Daryl said, swirling the wine around in his cup. More small talk, more procrastination. That, in his opinion, was a good thing for soothing his nerves, and truth be told, so was the rancid wine. He realized he was still standing in the middle of Andrea's cell, but his feet remained planted to the concrete floor.
“Hard to believe, isn't it?” Andrea murmured, taking a sip of her own wine.
“Yeah,” Daryl said with a light snort, “Never thought we'd end up being safe in a jail. But so far, it's working out. No walkers've got in yet, we've got what we need-pretty much-so it's all right by me.”
“Hey,” Andrea said softly, changing the subject, “Why don't you come and sit down?” She stood up and walked to her cot, where she sat down on its edge and let her towel fall from her body in one movement. She looked up at Daryl. Her eyes shone as a playful smile bloomed on her lips.
Daryl froze, his knees locking in place and anchoring him even more solidly to the floor. He breathed in sharply through his teeth, making a small hisssssss that faintly resembled the sound a balloon might make if some air escaped while someone inflated it. “Jesus, Andrea.”
Naked in front of him, Andrea was more beautiful than he'd imagined her to be. She was lithe and toned, no doubt from the Pilates and yoga he noticed her doing with Michonne and Carol in the prison's courtyard to start off each morning. Her naked body was like nothing he'd seen in the pages and pages of phony-looking women in his brother's and his friends' Penthouse mags, with their fake tits and their Brazilian-waxed snatches. None of them could hold a candle to the natural beauty he saw before him.
All of a sudden, he wanted very badly to leave, yet he didn't want to leave. It was the oddest feeling of conflict he had had in his life.
“Come and sit down next to me, Daryl,” Andrea urged gently, patting a place on the sheet-covered cot next to her.
He set his wine glass next to Andrea's on the bench, and hesitantly moved over to the cot. He sat down next to Andrea, carefully positioning his hands on either side of him, as if they were sitting on a thin plane of ice that he didn't want to break.
Smiling at him, Andrea patiently waited for him to make the next move. - The fuck do I do now?? his mind screamed at him as he stared helplessly into her eyes. Noticing his bottom lip tremble, he bit down on it hard, feeling very much like an ass.
Tell her the truth, another voice in his head prompted. The truth was all they'd have at the end of the day, either one of them, so it was better to get whatever mess would follow out of the way now than to drag it out into what could end up as a...disappointing...night for them both.
“Andrea,” he stammered, realizing his voice was shaking a bit, “I - I need to tell you something.” Watching concern fill her face, he prepared himself mentally for her to laugh, to mock, to frown, to tell him to get the hell out of her cell and not talk to her again. Closing his eyes briefly before he spoke, he winced before telling her, “I - I've never had sex with anyone before.” Okay, so it was done, he thought as he felt his whole body heave.
Defying his expectations, Andrea smiled, giving him the sweetest of expressions, and the most achingly sweetest eyes that glowed into his. “So...I'm your first?”
Daryl nodded. So...she wasn't going to toss him out on his ass or laugh at him? It began to dawn on him that he had seriously misjudged her, and he wondered why he'd done so.
“I'm flattered,” she told him with a warm smile, “Honored, even.” She leaned forward to give him a gentle kiss on his lips. Somewhere within himself, he found the courage to kiss back. He took hold of her wet hair with both of his hands as she put her arms around him and pressed her body close to his. He smelled the same antiseptic apricot wash with which he'd showered earlier as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, feeling, kissing, tasting her soft skin.
Oh, wait, he thought, pulling away to look at her. Her eyebrows creasing with concern, she asked, “What is it?”
“I - I brought something,” he said. He stood up and unpocketed the package of condoms that Glenn had let him steal.
Andrea wrinkled her nose and giggled, causing Daryl to let out a giggle of his own. Don't be a fucking girl, he admonished himself. She bent over to take out an identical condom package from underneath her cot. “Looks like we both came with sufficient protection,” she told him wryly.
“How the hell'd you get those?” he asked with a chuckle.
“I asked Maggie for them when I got the wine,” she said, “Is that where you got yours?”
“Glenn gave them to me,” he said, wondering how wise it would be to fill her in on the whole story. Sitting back down next to her, he then added, “After I tried stealing them from him, that is.”
Amused, Andrea widened her eyes and covered her mouth. “What??” she laughed, “What in God's name were you thinking??”
“I wasn't, really,” he told her, bashful, “Probably should've manned up and just asked for the damned things. But, you know, this being - ”
“Your first time,” she finished, kissing him playfully and embracing him again. One of her hands brushed down his belly, unbuttoning his prison-grade jeans and diving into his boxers. He felt a tsunami of blood rush southward as her fingers combed through his pubic hair and caressed his shaft.
Oh, Jesus-God, was all he could think as the cell started spinning and his mind along with it. He felt a torrent rising within him as if a swelling river was coursing through his body. Remembering the old-school advice from friends to hold out as long as he possibly could, he slammed a lid on it, hoping the dam wouldn't burst before its time, but fuck all, with Andrea's hand on him the way it was, it was going to be mighty tough to do.
He still had no idea what he was going to do when his own clothes came off and the condom came on. He had that sheet of instructions almost memorized: make sure the penis is fully erect (now, he knew that wasn't going to be a problem); pinch the entire reservoir shut; roll on the condom, making sure not to put it on backwards. If so, toss it and start over again. After that would be something beyond mechanics, a new territory into which he'd never tracked or hunted.
“Tell me what to do,” he breathed into her ear as he held onto her back, his fingers clenching into claws with every caress her hand made on him that made that river water pound against the dam. “Show me what to do,” he urged, feeling his body lurch forward toward hers, wanting instinctively, desperately to merge with it.
“Just pay attention to your body,” she said quietly, giving his earlobe a longing nibble, “Just listen to your body and mine, and you'll do great.” She let out a giggle-snort as her hand came up and she started unbuttoning his shirt, chiding, “What's wrong with this picture?”
He grinned and helped her take his own shirt off. Next, she helped him slide out of both his jeans and his boxers; he kicked them off his legs and tossed off his sandals. Now they were both naked and there wasn't anything to be afraid of-was there?
Pressing onto his shoulders gently with both of her hands, she eased him backward on the cot, and he felt the back of his head hit the flimsy pillow. She reached for a condom packet and tore off the top of the package, offering him its contents with a smile. He tried to take out the thing, but damn it all, his hands were shaking too much.
What's wrong with you, Dixon? he thought, hearing his brother's tone of voice reprimand him for being such an amateur. He shoved Merle's image away from his mind-here, and only here, Merle was not allowed to fuck this up.
“Could - could you do the honors?” he stammered, feeling like a clod. Better, though, to leave the job to an expert and not fuck up the procedure with his own clumsiness. One thing neither Andrea nor he could handle was having her end up like Lori over there in Block One, puking every morning, her belly growing, making poor Maggie leave the safety of the prison to troll for diapers and formula.
“I'd be thrilled to,” Andrea told him, with an almost motherly grin. She lovingly rolled the condom down the length, making sure to smooth out the air bubbles and abide by the little details that he'd read in the instructions, but that she seemed to know by heart.
Then she knelt next to him and leaned over him to kiss him. “Are you ready?” she asked in barely louder than a whisper.
From his place on the pillow, he looked up at her and gave her a nod. “Let's do this thing,” he said hoarsely.
Grabbing onto her neck, he put his arms around her as she straddled him, her knees on either side of his hips. He felt her hand guide him into her, and as he felt her warmth surround him, he sucked in hard, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing the back of his head into the pillow as everything in his body thrust upwards. Exhaling, he made a strange sound that he'd never heard himself or anyone else make in his life-it was equal parts whimper, sigh, gasp, and moan-straight from his throat.
Slam it down slam it down slam it down, he told himself as he felt Andrea's hips start to grind into his, and the impending simmer of his own orgasm threatening to boil over and burst inside of both of them. He gritted his teeth and tried in ecstatic anguish to focus on other parts of the experience-like other parts of her body. He grabbed onto the sculpture that was her body-the curves of her buttocks, her smooth back, and the indentation of her spine-and then he trailed his hands up to her damp length of blonde hair, hearing her murmur in pleasure as the two locked lips and tongues. And he wouldn't stop making that damned sound.
“Shhhhh...” She put an index finger to her lips then, some kind of spark in her eyes igniting them to a damned bonfire. She wouldn't stop moving her hips back and forth, back and forth, as she kissed him again, taking him in farther and farther into the recesses of her body and soul, allowing him to get lost in there without a map or a crossbow, allowing him access to a place for which none of his skills in earthly navigation had ever prepared him.
“Jesus Christ, I can't 'shhhh!'” he yelped through grit teeth. She giggled briefly for a moment; then her face bore a look of exhilarated shock as her movements over him became more urgent, more vigorous. As she tilted her head back, her mouth opened to let out a whispered moan, and another smile. Another beautiful Andrea smile. He reached up to touch both of her breasts, which hung over him like -
Oh, fuck, his mind interrupted before he had time to think of a fitting analogy. The river surged within him, and he felt his whole body melt into her as they blended into the cot and the canvass that was this dismal cell made bright again. Excitedly, Andrea grinned and bucked her hips into his, coaxing him onward.
“Stop-stop-stop-stop-STOP,” he said in a panic.
Worried, Andrea ceased her movements and touched his face with both palms. “Everything okay?” she asked.
“Oh, fuck, it's more than okay,” he breathed, grabbing onto both of her wrists. “It's beyond okay. It's just - I just need to catch - ”
- My breath, he had time to finish in his mind, but his body had a mind of its own. The river within him propelled itself forward with such force that he feared for a minute that it was going to blow Andrea right off the cot. Tightening his grip around her wrists, he squeezed his eyes shut and felt himself empty into her as he let out another kind of sound-a grunt, a moan, a sigh of spent relief, all in one.
Amazingly, he still had the energy to laugh. How could it be that he was here with this amazing woman, and had lost himself completely to her? It seemed like something out of a fictitious story, someone else's, not his, but it was a damned brilliant story. He felt himself laugh harder. Seeing her lover's laughter made Andrea in turn laugh, and the two stopped only to kiss each other tenderly, passionately, until they both fell into a pleasantly exhausted sleep. Daryl could only imagine what Andrea dreamed about, but he only dreamed of her and him in a world when life was normal and the only walkers were living people...
Daryl was the first of the two of them to wake up. Andrea was still sleeping on top of him, her head tucked into one of Daryl's shoulders, her rhythmic breathing soft on his neck. He felt the thump-thump-thump of her heartbeat on his chest, seeming to pulse itself in time with his own heartbeat-or maybe it was just his imagination.
Daryl touched a hand to Andrea's hair, which was now completely dry, and kissed the top of her head. How'd we come across each other in such a fucked-up world? he thought. He ached to think that the day would come when he would have to lose her, or she would have to lose him. What would happen to the world, then? He supposed it would probably go on revolving around the Sun without them, as it always did when someone somewhere died, but he hoped to Christ it wouldn't be soon.
An even more unsettling possibility crept into his mind, just as Andrea began to stir and her eyelids opened. “Daryl,” she whispered happily, and wrapped her arms around him as she kissed his cheek, “You're not a virgin anymore.”
In the wake of his new thoughts, Daryl had-amazingly-forgotten all about that. Unable to let his unsettling thoughts go, Daryl stared at the prison cell's black ceiling. “Think they'll find a cure someday? For the virus?”
“You gotta think some people out there are immune,” Andrea said groggily, still waking up from their slumber, “Who knows who else is working on a vaccine? A cure. Some kind of preventive treatment. There has to be something out there. I can't believe that Jenner knew everything.”
He hesitated before asking his next question. “Andrea, what would you do if I got sick? I mean, really sick, like incurable, cancer sick. Or say Glenn with his awesome driving skills accidentally runs me over with the truck. You'd off me, wouldn't you? Before I turned. One shot straight to the head?” His mind flew back to her long ago outside of Atlanta, when she had to kill her sister, or what was left of her sister.
Incredulous, Andrea looked into his face. Daryl reckoned she knew him better by now than to give him bullshit, and he long before trusted that she wasn't the type, and these weren't the circumstances. “If that's what you want, Daryl. If that's what you're sure...you want me to do. I'll hate doing it, but I'll do it.”
“Promise me you won't think of doing anything stupid, like killing yourself, either.”
“I won't,” she told him immediately, “I'm not the person I was, with Amy.”
“I know that,” he said softly, “I'm just making sure.”
“I promise. I won't kill myself.” She then took one of his hands and kissed it. “Would you do the same for me? If I were dying?”
“Yes.” It pained him to have to even consider the possibility, but it had to be decided. It struck him as eerie that, following an act of lovemaking where a new life could be created were it not for the condom, they were making a pact to kill each other in a final way if either of them were to lose their human life. It was as close to a lifetime commitment as he'd ever come with another human being.
Andrea kissed him again, a long kiss that lingered on their mouths. She then cradled herself back in his arms, and he massaged her back, neither of them talking for a long while. He dearly hoped it wouldn't come to that dark future. He hoped that, before long, a cure would be found, and the two of them would live long, normal lives in a normal town somewhere. Work normal jobs, maybe have a couple of normal kids, and die normal, boring deaths, with never a chance of reawakening to crave a living human being's flesh. But that was only a hope, and from the tenuous sanctuary of the prison, a cure and an end to the long season of death looked as remote and unknown as the future itself.
In the near future, he knew there were fortifications to be built, reinforcements against walkers to be constructed, deer to be hunted, goods to be scavenged for the long winter ahead. The far future stretched uncertain before them, a million variables opening questions like stars in the night sky. That day, Daryl was sure of one thing that he could feel from within, and he could only hope Andrea could sense it, too. No matter what the future held, he knew this-that Andrea was going to be in it, in some form or another. And that, for the first time in a long time, contented him.
Author: KenoyerGrrl
Summary: Daryl arrives at Andrea's cell (continued from Parts I and II)
Rating: M
A/N: Thanks so much to cemeterydreamer for being my Beta reviewer yet again. Implemented your comments and appreciate every one of them, esp. given your very hectic schedule. :)
Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead, but sometimes, it damn well owns me. This is just for fun; I have no intention of copyright infringement or making any kind of money or other profit from it.
Part I is here
Part II is here
By his own estimate, Daryl spent a good half-hour in the hot shower, scrubbing himself all over, from his scalp to the crevices in between his toes, with a detention-issue washcloth and the combination shampoo/body wash that was stocked by the gallons in one of the prison's storage closets. Amusingly, the prison-grade shampoo and body wash jug was labeled DawnMist, subtitled With a pleasant apricot scent. As if male prison grunts really gave three shits about smelling like fruit, Daryl thought. The scent was inaccurately advertised-the body wash smelled vaguely like peaches, but more strongly like anti-bacterial astringent-almost like the fluid he used to detail motorcycles back in the normal days. Whatever, Daryl figured; it was much more preferable to body odor and three-day-old mansweat.
After he dried off, he dressed in the plain white boxers, prison-work blue jeans, and light-blue button-down work shirt that Maggie had wrangled up for him when she was doling out clean prison clothes from the laundry a week prior. Not wanting to bother with socks or his boots, he slid on his pair of PVC shower shoes that reminded him of some kind of hippie sandals, but at least they were comfortable. He gargled with the DawnMist alcohol-free mouthwash by the sink and gave his face a dry shave with the twin-blade disposable razor that came in an individual wrapper.
“Getting ready for date night,” he murmured as he inspected himself in the mirror, looking for shaving nicks or eye-snot or anything else that could be a turnoff for the lady in the private cell in Block Two.
Not having the benefit of a hair dryer, he used one of the standard-issue black combs to comb back his wet hair away from his forehead. He groaned inwardly when he saw his receding hairline, and combed his bangs down and to the side to conceal the signs of male aging. “At least it's not a comb-over,” he said aloud to himself, “Now that would really suck.”
He jumped when he heard the toilet flush in one of the stalls next to his sink. Out came T-Dog in his own white boxers and undershirt.
“Oh. Hey, T-Dog,” Daryl greeted uncomfortably. Would T-Dog ask too many questions about why he was showered and fully dressed at nine-ish at night?
The other man gave Daryl a stunned once-over. “Day-amn! What've you got, a date tonight or something, man?”
“Just gonna go hang out with someone,” Daryl told him, trying his best to be nonchalant.
“Who's the lucky lady?” T-Dog asked, with a chuckle.
“No one,” Daryl responded casually, sensing the childlike nervousness in his own voice. Dumb-ass, he admonished himself, setting the black comb in the sink's soap holder.
“Yeah, rrrright,” T-Dog teased, with a licentious grin. Leaving the prison bathroom, the other man said, “Well, have fun, whoever it is. I'm going to bed!”
“Good night,” Daryl called after him, relieved that T-Dog didn't press him for details. If it had been Glenn on the other hand, he'd never hear the end of it, especially after what had happened earlier that day. He headed back to his cell, slid the pack of condoms into one of his jean pockets, and headed toward Block Two.
Walking down the Block One corridor on his way to the next block, Daryl noticed Carl poking around in the prison's rec room, hitting a Ping-Pong ball with a well-worn paddle against the concrete wall.
Daryl stopped to lean inside the door. “Shouldn't you be in bed?” he said, “What if your mom and dad are looking for you?”
“They know I'm here,” the boy mumbled, sounding bored, “Couldn't sleep, so they said I could come here.”
“Wanna play a quick game?” Daryl offered, not really wanting to play, but thinking the bit of activity would help him relax a bit. He still felt scared shitless about what was to transpire tonight, and would use any excuse to procrastinate, if even for a little while.
Carl's eyes lit up. “Sure,” he said, picking up the Ping-Pong table's other paddle and giving it to Daryl.
The two played four rounds of Ping-Pong-Carl winning two games and Daryl winning the other two-before Rick's face appeared in the doorway.
“Carl, your mother wants you to come to bed,” Rick told his son with a warning note in his voice.
“Aw, Dad, come on - ”
“Now,” Rick commanded.
Rick glanced at Daryl as he put a hand on Carl's shoulder. “Damn, Daryl, you look good. What's the occasion?”
Jesus, not again, Daryl thought, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets, being careful not to give away the package of condoms in one of them. “Just gonna hang out. Thought I'd take a shower, for once,” he told Rick casually, feeling a tad more comfortable with being covert.
Rick raised his eyebrows and gave his right-hand man a knowing smirk. Daryl knew the former cop wasn't someone who easily took bullshit, and could probably see right through Daryl's elusiveness. Nevertheless, the boss let him off the hook. “Well, have a good night,” Rick told him, leading Carl back toward the family's cell in Block One.
“Good night, man,” Daryl said with a nod, again relieved that he didn't have to give any details as to where he was going and whom he was going to visit. Onward to his destination.
The Block Two corridor was dimly lit with the generator's fluorescent lights-much less so than Rick's family and T-Dog's block, where Herschel and his younger daughter also bunked. In Block Two, Michonne and Carol each had their own cells, and Maggie and Glenn shared a double cell, much to Hersh's chagrin. The occupants were spaced out well enough to afford all of them privacy, and Andrea's cell was no exception. Her cell was up a flight of stairs on the second level, and no one else at all was on that floor. Andrea had claimed to him earlier that she preferred it that way.
Like Glenn and Maggie had done to their own cell, Andrea had done her best to decorate her quarters to the extent she could with what remnants the group was able to dig up in the prison and what Maggie was able to scavenge from the abandoned drugstore near Woodbury. Several floral greeting cards were taped in a neat arrangement on one concrete wall, and a lone plastic tumbler on the folding desk subbed as a vase for a single artificial Gerber daisy.
Wearing nothing but the white bath towel that she wore like a wrap dress, Andrea sat on the prison's bench, her hair wet and combed back. She, too, had gotten showered for the big night, it appeared. When she saw Daryl approaching her cell, she smiled and started pouring two plastic juice tumblers full of white wine from a Tetra-Pak, no doubt the one for which she'd bribed Maggie for a week's worth of laundry detail.
“Hi, Daryl,” she greeted warmly, giving his cheek a peck.
“Sorry I'm late,” Daryl told her, remaining at the cell's entrance, “Carl shanghaied me for a bit. We played a few rounds of Ping-Pong.”
“I'm sure he appreciated it. Poor Carl! Maybe we'll get some more survivors in here who have kids, so he can have a playmate or two. Come on in,” she urged, offering him a tumbler of wine.
Doing his best to put an air of being cool and relaxed, he edged into her cell cautiously and took the tumbler from her hand. The point of no return. He felt his heart in his throat and swallowed it down with a long swig of wine. “Thanks,” he gasped, wincing a bit at the wine's tartness. He never was much of a wine guy, but beggars in a prison shelter couldn't be choosers.
“I think it's starting to turn,” Andrea told him, “but it sure is nice to have an adult beverage, isn't it? I think the last time we've had anything to drink was the CDC.”
“Was it that long ago?” Daryl said, swirling the wine around in his cup. More small talk, more procrastination. That, in his opinion, was a good thing for soothing his nerves, and truth be told, so was the rancid wine. He realized he was still standing in the middle of Andrea's cell, but his feet remained planted to the concrete floor.
“Hard to believe, isn't it?” Andrea murmured, taking a sip of her own wine.
“Yeah,” Daryl said with a light snort, “Never thought we'd end up being safe in a jail. But so far, it's working out. No walkers've got in yet, we've got what we need-pretty much-so it's all right by me.”
“Hey,” Andrea said softly, changing the subject, “Why don't you come and sit down?” She stood up and walked to her cot, where she sat down on its edge and let her towel fall from her body in one movement. She looked up at Daryl. Her eyes shone as a playful smile bloomed on her lips.
Daryl froze, his knees locking in place and anchoring him even more solidly to the floor. He breathed in sharply through his teeth, making a small hisssssss that faintly resembled the sound a balloon might make if some air escaped while someone inflated it. “Jesus, Andrea.”
Naked in front of him, Andrea was more beautiful than he'd imagined her to be. She was lithe and toned, no doubt from the Pilates and yoga he noticed her doing with Michonne and Carol in the prison's courtyard to start off each morning. Her naked body was like nothing he'd seen in the pages and pages of phony-looking women in his brother's and his friends' Penthouse mags, with their fake tits and their Brazilian-waxed snatches. None of them could hold a candle to the natural beauty he saw before him.
All of a sudden, he wanted very badly to leave, yet he didn't want to leave. It was the oddest feeling of conflict he had had in his life.
“Come and sit down next to me, Daryl,” Andrea urged gently, patting a place on the sheet-covered cot next to her.
He set his wine glass next to Andrea's on the bench, and hesitantly moved over to the cot. He sat down next to Andrea, carefully positioning his hands on either side of him, as if they were sitting on a thin plane of ice that he didn't want to break.
Smiling at him, Andrea patiently waited for him to make the next move. - The fuck do I do now?? his mind screamed at him as he stared helplessly into her eyes. Noticing his bottom lip tremble, he bit down on it hard, feeling very much like an ass.
Tell her the truth, another voice in his head prompted. The truth was all they'd have at the end of the day, either one of them, so it was better to get whatever mess would follow out of the way now than to drag it out into what could end up as a...disappointing...night for them both.
“Andrea,” he stammered, realizing his voice was shaking a bit, “I - I need to tell you something.” Watching concern fill her face, he prepared himself mentally for her to laugh, to mock, to frown, to tell him to get the hell out of her cell and not talk to her again. Closing his eyes briefly before he spoke, he winced before telling her, “I - I've never had sex with anyone before.” Okay, so it was done, he thought as he felt his whole body heave.
Defying his expectations, Andrea smiled, giving him the sweetest of expressions, and the most achingly sweetest eyes that glowed into his. “So...I'm your first?”
Daryl nodded. So...she wasn't going to toss him out on his ass or laugh at him? It began to dawn on him that he had seriously misjudged her, and he wondered why he'd done so.
“I'm flattered,” she told him with a warm smile, “Honored, even.” She leaned forward to give him a gentle kiss on his lips. Somewhere within himself, he found the courage to kiss back. He took hold of her wet hair with both of his hands as she put her arms around him and pressed her body close to his. He smelled the same antiseptic apricot wash with which he'd showered earlier as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, feeling, kissing, tasting her soft skin.
Oh, wait, he thought, pulling away to look at her. Her eyebrows creasing with concern, she asked, “What is it?”
“I - I brought something,” he said. He stood up and unpocketed the package of condoms that Glenn had let him steal.
Andrea wrinkled her nose and giggled, causing Daryl to let out a giggle of his own. Don't be a fucking girl, he admonished himself. She bent over to take out an identical condom package from underneath her cot. “Looks like we both came with sufficient protection,” she told him wryly.
“How the hell'd you get those?” he asked with a chuckle.
“I asked Maggie for them when I got the wine,” she said, “Is that where you got yours?”
“Glenn gave them to me,” he said, wondering how wise it would be to fill her in on the whole story. Sitting back down next to her, he then added, “After I tried stealing them from him, that is.”
Amused, Andrea widened her eyes and covered her mouth. “What??” she laughed, “What in God's name were you thinking??”
“I wasn't, really,” he told her, bashful, “Probably should've manned up and just asked for the damned things. But, you know, this being - ”
“Your first time,” she finished, kissing him playfully and embracing him again. One of her hands brushed down his belly, unbuttoning his prison-grade jeans and diving into his boxers. He felt a tsunami of blood rush southward as her fingers combed through his pubic hair and caressed his shaft.
Oh, Jesus-God, was all he could think as the cell started spinning and his mind along with it. He felt a torrent rising within him as if a swelling river was coursing through his body. Remembering the old-school advice from friends to hold out as long as he possibly could, he slammed a lid on it, hoping the dam wouldn't burst before its time, but fuck all, with Andrea's hand on him the way it was, it was going to be mighty tough to do.
He still had no idea what he was going to do when his own clothes came off and the condom came on. He had that sheet of instructions almost memorized: make sure the penis is fully erect (now, he knew that wasn't going to be a problem); pinch the entire reservoir shut; roll on the condom, making sure not to put it on backwards. If so, toss it and start over again. After that would be something beyond mechanics, a new territory into which he'd never tracked or hunted.
“Tell me what to do,” he breathed into her ear as he held onto her back, his fingers clenching into claws with every caress her hand made on him that made that river water pound against the dam. “Show me what to do,” he urged, feeling his body lurch forward toward hers, wanting instinctively, desperately to merge with it.
“Just pay attention to your body,” she said quietly, giving his earlobe a longing nibble, “Just listen to your body and mine, and you'll do great.” She let out a giggle-snort as her hand came up and she started unbuttoning his shirt, chiding, “What's wrong with this picture?”
He grinned and helped her take his own shirt off. Next, she helped him slide out of both his jeans and his boxers; he kicked them off his legs and tossed off his sandals. Now they were both naked and there wasn't anything to be afraid of-was there?
Pressing onto his shoulders gently with both of her hands, she eased him backward on the cot, and he felt the back of his head hit the flimsy pillow. She reached for a condom packet and tore off the top of the package, offering him its contents with a smile. He tried to take out the thing, but damn it all, his hands were shaking too much.
What's wrong with you, Dixon? he thought, hearing his brother's tone of voice reprimand him for being such an amateur. He shoved Merle's image away from his mind-here, and only here, Merle was not allowed to fuck this up.
“Could - could you do the honors?” he stammered, feeling like a clod. Better, though, to leave the job to an expert and not fuck up the procedure with his own clumsiness. One thing neither Andrea nor he could handle was having her end up like Lori over there in Block One, puking every morning, her belly growing, making poor Maggie leave the safety of the prison to troll for diapers and formula.
“I'd be thrilled to,” Andrea told him, with an almost motherly grin. She lovingly rolled the condom down the length, making sure to smooth out the air bubbles and abide by the little details that he'd read in the instructions, but that she seemed to know by heart.
Then she knelt next to him and leaned over him to kiss him. “Are you ready?” she asked in barely louder than a whisper.
From his place on the pillow, he looked up at her and gave her a nod. “Let's do this thing,” he said hoarsely.
Grabbing onto her neck, he put his arms around her as she straddled him, her knees on either side of his hips. He felt her hand guide him into her, and as he felt her warmth surround him, he sucked in hard, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing the back of his head into the pillow as everything in his body thrust upwards. Exhaling, he made a strange sound that he'd never heard himself or anyone else make in his life-it was equal parts whimper, sigh, gasp, and moan-straight from his throat.
Slam it down slam it down slam it down, he told himself as he felt Andrea's hips start to grind into his, and the impending simmer of his own orgasm threatening to boil over and burst inside of both of them. He gritted his teeth and tried in ecstatic anguish to focus on other parts of the experience-like other parts of her body. He grabbed onto the sculpture that was her body-the curves of her buttocks, her smooth back, and the indentation of her spine-and then he trailed his hands up to her damp length of blonde hair, hearing her murmur in pleasure as the two locked lips and tongues. And he wouldn't stop making that damned sound.
“Shhhhh...” She put an index finger to her lips then, some kind of spark in her eyes igniting them to a damned bonfire. She wouldn't stop moving her hips back and forth, back and forth, as she kissed him again, taking him in farther and farther into the recesses of her body and soul, allowing him to get lost in there without a map or a crossbow, allowing him access to a place for which none of his skills in earthly navigation had ever prepared him.
“Jesus Christ, I can't 'shhhh!'” he yelped through grit teeth. She giggled briefly for a moment; then her face bore a look of exhilarated shock as her movements over him became more urgent, more vigorous. As she tilted her head back, her mouth opened to let out a whispered moan, and another smile. Another beautiful Andrea smile. He reached up to touch both of her breasts, which hung over him like -
Oh, fuck, his mind interrupted before he had time to think of a fitting analogy. The river surged within him, and he felt his whole body melt into her as they blended into the cot and the canvass that was this dismal cell made bright again. Excitedly, Andrea grinned and bucked her hips into his, coaxing him onward.
“Stop-stop-stop-stop-STOP,” he said in a panic.
Worried, Andrea ceased her movements and touched his face with both palms. “Everything okay?” she asked.
“Oh, fuck, it's more than okay,” he breathed, grabbing onto both of her wrists. “It's beyond okay. It's just - I just need to catch - ”
- My breath, he had time to finish in his mind, but his body had a mind of its own. The river within him propelled itself forward with such force that he feared for a minute that it was going to blow Andrea right off the cot. Tightening his grip around her wrists, he squeezed his eyes shut and felt himself empty into her as he let out another kind of sound-a grunt, a moan, a sigh of spent relief, all in one.
Amazingly, he still had the energy to laugh. How could it be that he was here with this amazing woman, and had lost himself completely to her? It seemed like something out of a fictitious story, someone else's, not his, but it was a damned brilliant story. He felt himself laugh harder. Seeing her lover's laughter made Andrea in turn laugh, and the two stopped only to kiss each other tenderly, passionately, until they both fell into a pleasantly exhausted sleep. Daryl could only imagine what Andrea dreamed about, but he only dreamed of her and him in a world when life was normal and the only walkers were living people...
Daryl was the first of the two of them to wake up. Andrea was still sleeping on top of him, her head tucked into one of Daryl's shoulders, her rhythmic breathing soft on his neck. He felt the thump-thump-thump of her heartbeat on his chest, seeming to pulse itself in time with his own heartbeat-or maybe it was just his imagination.
Daryl touched a hand to Andrea's hair, which was now completely dry, and kissed the top of her head. How'd we come across each other in such a fucked-up world? he thought. He ached to think that the day would come when he would have to lose her, or she would have to lose him. What would happen to the world, then? He supposed it would probably go on revolving around the Sun without them, as it always did when someone somewhere died, but he hoped to Christ it wouldn't be soon.
An even more unsettling possibility crept into his mind, just as Andrea began to stir and her eyelids opened. “Daryl,” she whispered happily, and wrapped her arms around him as she kissed his cheek, “You're not a virgin anymore.”
In the wake of his new thoughts, Daryl had-amazingly-forgotten all about that. Unable to let his unsettling thoughts go, Daryl stared at the prison cell's black ceiling. “Think they'll find a cure someday? For the virus?”
“You gotta think some people out there are immune,” Andrea said groggily, still waking up from their slumber, “Who knows who else is working on a vaccine? A cure. Some kind of preventive treatment. There has to be something out there. I can't believe that Jenner knew everything.”
He hesitated before asking his next question. “Andrea, what would you do if I got sick? I mean, really sick, like incurable, cancer sick. Or say Glenn with his awesome driving skills accidentally runs me over with the truck. You'd off me, wouldn't you? Before I turned. One shot straight to the head?” His mind flew back to her long ago outside of Atlanta, when she had to kill her sister, or what was left of her sister.
Incredulous, Andrea looked into his face. Daryl reckoned she knew him better by now than to give him bullshit, and he long before trusted that she wasn't the type, and these weren't the circumstances. “If that's what you want, Daryl. If that's what you're sure...you want me to do. I'll hate doing it, but I'll do it.”
“Promise me you won't think of doing anything stupid, like killing yourself, either.”
“I won't,” she told him immediately, “I'm not the person I was, with Amy.”
“I know that,” he said softly, “I'm just making sure.”
“I promise. I won't kill myself.” She then took one of his hands and kissed it. “Would you do the same for me? If I were dying?”
“Yes.” It pained him to have to even consider the possibility, but it had to be decided. It struck him as eerie that, following an act of lovemaking where a new life could be created were it not for the condom, they were making a pact to kill each other in a final way if either of them were to lose their human life. It was as close to a lifetime commitment as he'd ever come with another human being.
Andrea kissed him again, a long kiss that lingered on their mouths. She then cradled herself back in his arms, and he massaged her back, neither of them talking for a long while. He dearly hoped it wouldn't come to that dark future. He hoped that, before long, a cure would be found, and the two of them would live long, normal lives in a normal town somewhere. Work normal jobs, maybe have a couple of normal kids, and die normal, boring deaths, with never a chance of reawakening to crave a living human being's flesh. But that was only a hope, and from the tenuous sanctuary of the prison, a cure and an end to the long season of death looked as remote and unknown as the future itself.
In the near future, he knew there were fortifications to be built, reinforcements against walkers to be constructed, deer to be hunted, goods to be scavenged for the long winter ahead. The far future stretched uncertain before them, a million variables opening questions like stars in the night sky. That day, Daryl was sure of one thing that he could feel from within, and he could only hope Andrea could sense it, too. No matter what the future held, he knew this-that Andrea was going to be in it, in some form or another. And that, for the first time in a long time, contented him.