A/N: Just a little one-shot
about how Rick would feel if he found Michonne with another man, especially if
that man was his best friend.
...
Rick Grimes understood all too
well the reasons for Daryl's withdrawal from everyone. He understood why he
went off by himself every chance he got. He'd done the same thing when Lori
died. That could mean only one thing: At some point while they were out in the
wild, away from the family, Daryl had fallen in love with Beth Greene.
He wasn't one to pry into another man's
business, especially a man he loved as deeply as he did Daryl. They were more
than friends. They were brothers. He wanted to talk to Daryl about it, wanted
to break that unspoken rule that men had that they understood whether they gave
voice to their feelings or not, but he doubted Daryl would want to talk it out.
Rather than talk he decided he'd simply sit
with Daryl, talk around the subject. Water was getting scarce in the hellish heat of summer and they'd decided to take a break by the shallow stream they'd
lucked up on. They'd bathed and washed clothes that afternoon, and boiled as
much water as they could haul in the backs of their vehicles in the hopes it
would last and they'd manage to keep the truck and cars fueled long enough to
make it to Washington. That would be the topic of conversation, Rick decided.
Then, if Daryl wanted to open up he'd know Rick was ready to listen. Hell, he'd
know it anyway.
It was the voices that drew Rick's attention as
he approached a stand of moonlit trees. Michonne was with Daryl, speaking
softly, her tone soothing even to Rick though he wasn't the focus of her
attention. That made Daryl a lucky man, in Rick's eyes, to have Michonne give
her undivided attention. It also took some of the burden from Rick, who'd
worried Daryl was going to hold his pain inside and never open up. Hold it in
till it killed him, because every man had a limit and after a lifetime of abuse
Rick feared losing Beth would be the straw that broke the camel's back.
"You loved her," Michonne was saying.
"Now she's dead. God, don't I know what that's like."
Daryl leaned against the tree, his head down,
and Michonne reached for him. It didn't come as a surprise when he pulled away,
jerked back as though he expected a fist to plow into his chin rather than
gentle fingers to caress his face.
Very slowly, gently, Michonne pulled Daryl to
her. She stepped into him and he allowed her to wrap her arms around his
shoulders. Out of reflex, or maybe instinct, Daryl's arms circled Michonne.
There were no tears from Daryl. There was only a sigh, as though Michonne had
lifted some enormous burden from his shoulders. He visibly relaxed into her
embrace.
Rick watched the moment, nodding to himself,
glad that someone had gotten through to Daryl when he needed it most. He
thought he'd give them a few moments and then make his presence known, tell
them the meat and wild veggies Glenn and Tara had scrounged up was ready. He
thought he'd take awkwardness of the moment off their shoulders but he didn't
get the chance.
He saw Daryl's head tilt, saw him softly press
his lips to Michonne's throat in a kiss so gentle she didn't recognize it for
what it was-at first. Then, when she realized what he was doing, pressing
feather light kisses to her neck, she froze, her eyes widened in surprise.
She wasn't as surprised as Rick. He'd always
assumed Daryl would rather shoot himself in the head than make a move on a
woman in their group. Maybe his need for a connection, for comfort, was so deep
he'd risk rejection just to be close to someone. Still, Rick waited for her to
let him down gently, tell him that grieving wouldn't be soothed by sex, not for
the long haul.
"Is this what you need?"
That question was like a kick to Rick's gut. He
stood perfectly still, scarcely able to draw breath after hearing her ask that
question. When Daryl answered by gripping Michonne by the ass and grinding her
center against him, a surge of jealousy like white hot iron pokers being jabbed
into his stomach made him clench tight inside.
Daryl's hardness was revealed not by the
moonlight but by the wanton moan that escaped Michonne.
"I need it too," she gasped, rubbing
her pussy against Daryl. He spread her apart by pulling one of her long legs
over his waist and leaning against the tree, flattening himself out so she was
flush against him.
No.
That one word repeated in Rick's mind. It
stubbornly refused to leave him. Why he would react this way he didn't know.
What Michonne did, either with Daryl or someone else, was none of Rick's
business. She was his friend, not his woman. Yet he stood there and watched
Daryl pull her close, tongue kiss her with a finesse he wouldn't have ever
dreamed Daryl possessed, with a sense of ownership over her, the same sense of
ownership he'd felt for Lori, the same jealousy he'd feel if he even remotely
had reason to believe she was flirting with another man, or enjoyed it when
another man flirted with her.
Stop them.
Rick watched Daryl slide his hand down
Michonne's pants, watched her throw her head back and moan. He watched the
muscles in Daryl's arms flex as he rubbed Michonne between her legs. He heard
the wet squelch of his fingers move inside her wetness and his temples began to
pulse with rage...pulse in time with the blood that wanted to pool in his half
hardened cock.
This wasn't right. He had no cause to be jealous.
Of course he loved Michonne but she wasn't his woman. So why did it bother him
that it would be Daryl to feel her from the inside? Was that what this
was? Simple jealousy that Daryl was getting something from Michonne that she
had never hinted she wanted Rick to have?
It wasn't that simple and Rick knew it. His
feelings for Michonne ran deep, much deeper than he wanted to admit. It wasn't
until he watched her lean against his brother's powerful body, clutch at his
shoulders and grind her hips against his fingers, tongue him with lust, whimper
under his touch, that he understood she was his. He felt a sense of ownership
because he'd made her his woman and hadn't realized it.
Daryl had his fingers in his woman.
He was about to have more than that inside her.
Rick stood frozen, his body eager to move and his lips ready to scream a single
word to them. STOP. His mind coolly reminded him that he had no right. He had
no claim on Michonne. He had no right to interfere in Daryl turning her to the
tree and unzipping his jeans while Michonne worked her leg out of hers and then
wrapped around Daryl again.
"Oh, God..." Daryl moaned.
Rick's jaw was clenched like a vice when he
watched Daryl pushing his way inside Michonne. Slipping was more like it. She
was so wet Rick could hear it, so ready it took no effort to get into her. As
angry as Rick was by what he witnessed he wasn't ignorant to how beautiful
Michonne was in that moment, her whimpers light, airy, growing in intensity
until they became moans.
Daryl's ass muscles clenched with each thrust
of his hips, making them both moan now. Her hands were tangled in Daryl's long
hair, she bounced against the tree with each thrust, her legs gripped his waist
just under the angel wings of his vest. Rick's cock ached as he watched, watched
Daryl lower her to the ground and rolled atop her.
"Daryl. Don't stop, please, don't
stop."
It was petty but Rick wanted Daryl to pull out
and come before Michonne could get off. He wanted her unsatisfied so that he
could get her alone; prove he could do the job Daryl couldn't: leaving her weak
with satisfaction.
Daryl didn't stop. He just rolled his hips and
Michonne sounded wetter and her whimper suddenly turned into a scream that she
muffled in Daryl's shoulder. Then, and only then, did Daryl allow himself to
let go. Then and only then, as they lay panting and sweating and tangled up in
each other, did Rick leave. He had an erection to deal with. He had a mask of
ignorance to what he'd witnessed to mold if he hoped not to do or say something
to destroy his friendships with either of them.
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