Chapter 12

"Oh God, don't stop now," Rick said through his teeth.

His hands were gripped tight on Michonne's waist, helping her rock her hips on top of him. She'd been teasing him for far too long. She would get him close, then slow down enough to stave off his release for a while. Even now, he felt the building pressure start to ebb.

"But don't you like this?" She asked with a chuckle. "Don't you want to keep going?"

He grunted, attempting to move his hips to meet hers. Her thighs only tightened their hold on his.

"'Chonne, please," he said in a near whisper. He was a proud man, and he couldn't believe that his woman could make him beg.

Another beautiful laugh fell from those full lips and mercy came in the guise of moving hips, an ecstatic warmth, and a myriad of pleasing sounds, amplified to a cacophony by the pleasure he felt. It was no time at all before he was once again on the edge.

He trailed a hand from her waist to press against the slight roundness, where he knew his child was growing. Her hand rested on top of his, and he stared, transfixed by their togetherness. Their contrast blurred as his eyes lost focus, and he knew not where he ended and she began. He knew that everything they had been through these past few years had led them to this moment and the rightness of it. There was nowhere else they were supposed to be but there, with each other.

With this acceptance came a surge of pleasure, and Rick awoke with a strained moan, just in time to realize that he was making quite a mess of his boxers.

"Shit," he muttered, once his breath had returned. He hadn't had one of those dreams for a very long time.

Turning his head, he saw that the subject of his unexpected dream was nowhere to be found.

…

If Michonne was gorgeous under the sun, she was angelic by night.

Standing by the door, Rick watched as she knelt by one of the garden beds, pressing seed into soil. Her hair was pulled away from her face as she'd done many times before, and she wasn't wearing anything special, but somehow, the full moon changed her.

Moonlight glinted off the high parts of her body, highlighting her cheekbones and brows. Her dark eyes reflected the pale light, making them seem bright in the dark. And her skin, beautiful as it already was, gave her the impression of being carved out of basalt by some great master, capturing the likeness of a goddess of beauty.

The wind shifted, and, as if his scent went with it, she turned and met his eyes.

A goddess of beauty, yes, but also of strength. She was his Bast.

"Can't sleep?" She asked.

"Not without you," he answered, walking over to where she knelt. "What are you doing up?"

She turned back to the garden bed and extended a handful of brown beans.

"Planting pole beans."

"In the middle of the night?"

"Mhmm." She nodded her head as she moved over a step, making inch deep holes in the soil.

"My Aunt Analise always had us plant beans, corn, and pepper plants under a full moon," she said. "She told us the moon pulled them out of their husks to grow straight and strong. I've always done it this way because of her."

"Really?" Rick asked. He caught the twitch of a smile on her lips. "Any other pointers from her?"

Michonne let out a chuckle.

"Too many for me to recount, and not just about gardening. Let's see, she said that Marigolds keep the rabbits out of the garden, a black rooster sacrifice would keep out the evil spirits, you had to leave food uneaten at every meal for the ancestors and orishas, and that a particularly nasty ingredient added to the meal would keep your man by your side."

Rick laughed for a moment at the silliness of it.

"So, you spent time with a Voodoo priestess?" He said. "It's funny, I never took you for the superstitious type."

Michonne stood up, wiping her hands on her jeans to get the dirt from them.

"I'm not, really," she said. "It's just that, when I went to visit my aunt for the last time, right before she died, she was really concerned that I remember everything she taught me. She kept quizzing me on things from when I was little. I thought maybe it was because she never had kids of her own, so, maybe she wanted to make sure some part of her was living on. But then, she grabbed me by my arms and looked straight into my eyes and said 'ma chère, you must be ready for the dead.' Of course, she was probably talking about her own death since I was handling all of the funeral planning, but..."

Michonne trailed off, her eyes on the tops of the farthest trees. Rick felt a cold breeze pick up, and he felt close to superstitious himself.

"I know it's ridiculous," Michonne said. "But these little things, and the thoughts they bring are all I have left to honor her with."

Rick grasped her hands and pulled her in for a hug. He let her settle in against his chest as they stood in the moonlight.

"It's not ridiculous," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "It's part of you."

He held her in his arms as his mind began to wander. They were so close, and yet, he felt like he barely knew her- or rather, the woman she was in the past. The person she became after the turn seemed very different than the moonlight gardener who was just beginning to take form in his mind. It was mildly frustrating how she knew so much about who he was, and yet, most of her story remained a mystery.

Maybe he would just have to accept it, living with the fact that he will never know everything. But, slowly, she offered up just a glimpse of who she was, and he eagerly took the chance to know her. Maybe, in time, the voodoo loving mother would be real, instead of a sketched figure of his imagination.

"You know, some of the things your aunt used to say reminded me of my grandfather," he said.

"Yeah? How so?" She asked, burying her face into the warmth of his shirt.

"Well, Grandpa used to say that if you wanted your crops to grow, you had to fuck your wife in the field, right after the seeds were planted."

"Now that's ridiculous," Michonne said, her laugh vibrating against his chest.

"Well, we could give it a shot."

In response to that, Rick received a snort, and a sharp poke to the ribs.

…..

"Rick, please!"

Michonne's voice was pleading, her hands gripped tightly in his hair. He moved again, and her body tensed up.

"You seem to like it," he said, a smug grin on his face.

"I don't! It's too much."

"What? You can't handle it?"

"Definitely not."

"Alright," Rick said, moving from between her legs to lie down beside her.

Michonne narrowed her eyes at him.

"Next time you tickle me with that god-awful beard, I will kick you in whatever soft spot is closest," she said.

"I believe you," he responded. "But I couldn't resist myself. I didn't know you squirmed that much. Hell, I didn't even know you were ticklish."

"That's because I'm not, at least in most places," she said. "But really, Rick. We need to talk about this beard situation."

Rick drew a hand up to physically inspect the offending patch of hair. It was getting wild, but he wasn't quite ready to part with it. Plus, they didn't have any grooming equipment at the warehouse. He figured he'd have a few more weeks before he'd have to shave it off, but if it bothered her that much, enough to keep him from being able to pleasure her like that…well, it would have to go.

"It'll be gone soon," he said, moving in for a kiss. She pulled away.

"Babe, not now," she said. "You've got my nerves all worked up."

"Well, I know a way to fix that," he said, starting to crawl on top of her. She turned away from him.

"I'm sorry, but I'm just not feeling it right now."

A sigh escaped as he settled back into bed and looked over at the wind-up clock on the nightstand. It was quarter after midnight.

Great, he thought. Day twenty-three without sex.

((Surprise! I hope you all enjoy this out of the blue update. Thank you all for your support over these years. I still have the same vision for this story, but I hope you guys don't mind that it takes me a while to get there!))