Fifty-Fifty

Michonne was furious. She stood in front of the house, seething, while Rick played a game of stare down with Morgan. They'd been talking on the porch, enjoying a simple conversation. Now that he was lucid she saw that Morgan was quite a charming man. Conversation with him about philosophy and art was quite mentally stimulating, and Michonne found that stimulating in other ways as well.

Why not look elsewhere? Rick wasn't interested. He'd made that clear. He had eyes only for Jessie, the widow of the man he'd killed a few weeks previously. If he was going to pursue a relationship with her then there was no reason why she couldn't begin to pursue some happiness of her own. Things had been going quite well until Rick interrupted and became openly hostile towards his old friend.

"Is there a problem, Rick?" Morgan asked mildly.

"Yes."

When he failed to elaborate Morgan shared a glance with Michonne.

"She's unavailable," Rick finally said.

"Since when?" Michonne demanded.

"Since now. Why don't you go home, Morgan? Michonne and I need to talk."

Morgan looked at Michonne.

"Don't look at her," Rick said aggressively. "This isn't a discussion. It's not a debate."

Michonne wished she had another rock. She'd plaster it upside Rick's head. "You are way out of line, Rick."

"Yeah, I know. Goodnight, Morgan."

Michonne suddenly noticed the position of Rick's right hand. It was slightly behind his back and he was tilting his head. Morgan didn't know Rick, the way he was now at least, but she did.

"It's okay," she said, more for Morgan's benefit than her own. "He and I do need to talk."

"We need to talk too," Morgan said to Rick. "In the morning, after you've cooled off."

"Fine. Goodnight."

Morgan turned and left, heading back to Aaron and Eric's, where he was temporarily staying until he could find a place of his own. As soon as he was gone Michonne looked to Rick.

"You done pissing on my shoe and daring him to cross the line?"

"I saw the way you were looking at each other. How you were letting him lean in all over you. You looked ready to climb him like a tree," he said, his voice deceptively calm.

"Like Jessie's been climbing you?"

"Jessie and I don't have that kind of relationship."

"Let me get this straight. I'm supposed to just stay alone while you chase after whoever you want until you decide to look my way?"

"I'm not chasing anyone."

She shook her head, disgusted with him. They were both too angry to have a rational conversation and she wasn't going to stand there in the chilly night air and argue with Rick.

"Fuck you, Rick."

She opened the door and went inside. It took everything she had not to slam the door and wake everyone in the house. She trotted upstairs and tried to shut her bedroom door but Rick shoved it back open.

"Get out. I'm too angry to talk to you right now."

"I'm not here to talk."

"Get out."

She made the mistake of turning her back on him. When his arms wrapped around her she tried to elbow him in his stomach but he'd anticipated that and held her arms down, squeezing her too tightly.

"We're in this together," he said in her ear. "You said that just today, remember?"

"That's got nothing to do with me and Morgan."

"It has everything to do with it. Everything to do with us. You're mine. I'm yours. That's what being in it together means."

He pulled a hand up her leg and under her dress before plunging it into her panties.

"Get off me, Rick! I'm not yours. The days of black women belonging to white men ended hundreds of years ago and I'll be damned if it starts again now."

"That's not how I meant that and you fucking well know it," he said, pulling his hand out of her panties before picking her up and throwing her onto the bed.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Well, I'm done talking that much is for sure."

She tried to kick him, her foot lashing out, but he deflected it and pulled off his belt.

"I swear to God, Rick, get out of my room!"

He wasn't listening. Instead he gripped her by the waist and flipped her over. His hands were under her dress a moment later, his fingers deftly gripping her panties and yanking them down and off. She tried to crawl away but he yanked her back over and lay down atop her.

"You need to stop with the games."

She was looking at him with a mixture of anger and loathing and something else, something hotter than rage. He pressed his hardness against her center and began to grind into her. She lay still, looking up at him, relaxing under his grip. When she did he got to his knees to unfasten his jeans. That's when she moved, punching him square on the jaw, making stars burst before his eyes before she tried to turn and get away.

An angry growl escaped him as he yanked her back, flattening Michonne face first to the bed and shoving up her skirts. They were locked in a battle of wills, Michonne determined to fend him off while Rick was determined to take what he wanted.

"I'll scream," she finally said, realizing he was winning this battle.

"You're gonna scream all right," he growled in her ear. "Right into the palm of my hand."

Damn her body for betraying her. Damn her broken mind for liking what was happening, for wanting it to continue, for wanting him to take her, make her, right there in her own bed.

"You gonna tell me to stop?" he taunted, pushing at her entrance, which was slick and yielding and warm, dripping with her juices. "Say it. Tell me to stop and I'll leave right now."

He reached under her and began rubbing at her slit, making her wetter, making a moan escape her.

He wasn't prepared for what she said next.

"Stop. Leave," she said, looking back at him with her face on the bed, his right hand pressing her head down while his left hand massaged her clit.

He rested his head against hers and said…"No."

He pushed into her and she hissed. "Stop. I mean it."

"No you don't. I know you and you're lying through your teeth."

He worked his right hand under her head and covered her mouth, silencing further protests as he began to ram into her. The bed began squeaking, the headboard lightly thumping the harder he thrust. She was grunting, her face a mask of what looked like pain but Rick knew it wasn't. Pain and pleasure so often looked the same. Sometimes there was no difference.

He was normally a stoic lover, or he had been with Lori, hardly ever making a sound. This time it was different. This time it felt so fucking good he couldn't stop the moans, the grunts, the whimpers from slipping past his lips as he buried his face in her sweet smelling hair, his other hand grabbed her wrist as she pushed at him, holding it down. He drove ever harder into her until she was screaming, just as he said.

Just as he'd said, she was screaming into the palm of his hand. He felt the explosion of her orgasm over his cock, erupting in a wet spray that coated his balls and his thighs.

"Oh, God!" he cried, pumping harder, making a racket and not able to care if he woke the whole fucking house, his kids included. He cried out, his body stiffening as he felt the glorious rush of cum going through his balls, through his dick, and deep into her.

She savagely yanked his hand away, desperate for air, shoving at him.

She remained there, her face buried in the pillows. Finally Rick got up, tucked himself away, fastened his jeans and fixed his shirt before leaning over her.

"You're mine. I'm yours."

He climbed off the bed and went to the door before looking back at her.

"When I get home tomorrow night I expect all your shit to be moved into my room."

She said nothing, just lay on the bed, looking out the window, curled into a ball. He closed the door behind him.