•A DARYL DIXON STORY•
"I need you to listen to me. When we're out there together, if I say run, run. If I tell you to leave me, then damn it, you leave and you don't look back."
"Daryl," she sighed softly, shaking her head.
"No, I mean it," he argue...
'We are the Dead, short days ago We lived, felt Dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved, and were loved, and now we lie, in Flanders fields-' John McCrae
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The night air crept through the cracked window, cooling the pearls of sweat on her skin until she was cold, pulling her body closer to Daryl's. The heat of his skin against her bare stomach was sweltering, even through his thin shirt. She playfully let one hand trail over his chest and shoulders, tracing the hard bone and muscle.
"What time do you think it is?" she murmured, though she'd sooner jump out a window than come back to reality right now.
He stroked her hair absentmindedly, gazing out the window at the rising full moon. "About ten, I'm guessin'," he whispered back.
She sighed, twisting away from him to lay flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling. Her mind was racing, thinking of every possibility they could encounter at the outpost tonight. Rick's plan seemed solid enough; trick the guards into letting them in with a fake Gregory head, secure any weapons they could find, and take them out while they were sleeping. But she wasn't stupid enough to think it would be as easy as he described. They were going in, guns blazing with zero indication of how many people would be inside, if Negan himself was even there. There were too many paths, too many forks in the road.
"Come here," Daryl sighed, low and husky, pulling her back to his chest. She knew he could see the questions fumbling around her brain, each one fighting for center stage. He kissed the top of her head and she smiled, melting into him as her worries drifted off into the cool breeze.
As long as we have each other's back, everything will turn out okay. As long as we stick together
His hands traveled further, brushing down her spine to the small of her back as he added force, crushing her body against his. Her skin was on fire, goosebumps prickling every inch. God, his hands.
Those hands had made quick work of her, tracing every line and curve, nimbly circling just the right spots to make her squirm. She had wanted to do the same for him, touch him all over, but he had refused, snaking her wrists around in those beautiful, strong hands. This was all for you, Ace, he breathed, and the nickname sparked new pulses of pleasure deep in her belly.
He had gotten his fill of pleasure from watching her, and that thought only made her want him more. But she wouldn't push, and curb this new found confidence he had to touch her. Everything before was light, hesitant, as if he did it without thinking but was unsure if it was even allowed. Now, he was firm, intent, owning.
