Title: Dirty Stables

Author: GageWhitney

Rating: M

Pairing: Daryl/Andrea

Disclaimer: Very much not mine.

Summary: [Sequel to Bathtub] | They're supposed to be helping out Hershel's people by working in the stables, but it's just him and Andrea, and Daryl's having trouble concentrating.

Note: You guys have been so awesome! I am loving the responses I've gotten to my first few D/A fics. So helpful when writing a new pairing! (Also, thank you to Norman Reedus for being so attractive.)

They're supposed to be helping out Hershel's people by working in the stables, but it's just him and Andrea, and Daryl's having trouble concentrating.

The work is mindless and the stables are safe, and all he can think about is what happened between them just days prior, of a bathtub and her hands and how they haven't spoken of it since. Somehow, he thinks, things were easier when all he had to worry about were walkers.

It's quiet in the old building except for her soft humming as she sweeps a broom across the floor. He can tell she's not going to bring it up, out of regret or embarrassment or who knows what, but it's driving him crazy and he's tired of pretending the elephant in the room isn't there.

"So," he finally says, trying and failing to be smooth. He sets down the bale of hay he'd been carrying and wipes his forehead with the back of his hand.

"So." She grins at him and stops sweeping to prop herself against the broom. "How are you feeling?"

"A lot better," he says. "My head seems to be healing okay."

"Good. I'm glad."

She goes back to the task at hand, and he stares at her. "All right, listen," he drawls. "Do we need to talk about what happened, or…?"

"You know what? It's okay. I was just… helping you out," she says with a shrug. "We all have needs."

He's not sure what to do with that, because it's not all that satisfying an answer. He settles on, "Yeah. Okay," and starts to head back toward the door.

"Hey, Daryl?" she calls, and he stops, a hand on the wooden frame. She gives him a soft smile. "Feel free to return the favor any time."

He stares at her, sizing her up, before he starts wander back over to her. When he's close enough to feel her body against his, he pauses for only a second before twisting a hand into her ponytail to tilt her head back and kissing her hard on the mouth.

"Mmm," she hums, surprised, immediately kissing him back. Her hands slide up his chest to circle his neck.

He growls and kisses a sloppy path under her jaw and down her neck before moving back to lick into her mouth. He crushes her to him and cups her ass, squeezing gently.

There's a wooden bench running alongside the wall, so he walks her backwards and slips a leg between hers before bending and lowering her across it.

He keeps kissing her as he reaches to unbutton her jeans and inch down the zipper. He slides his hand down the front of her underwear and his fingers skim a path over her curls, seeking her center. He cups her, and she's wet and hot and grinding against his hand.

"Oh, God," she breathes, her eyelids heavy. His fingers stroke her gently, and she cries out.

He puts his lips against her ear. "Hush, now," he says, and nips her earlobe.

He scoots her jeans and panties down and she kicks out of them, letting them and her shoes land in a heap on the dusty, dirty floor. He's half on top of her, pressing and hard against her side.

He watches her face as he slides one finger inside of her, then two, and she's biting her lip, a hand fisting in his shirt. He pumps his fingers in and out of her, his thumb rubbing patterns on her clit. She arches her back, moving against his hand, and he dips his head to kiss her mouth and the swell of her chest.

He nips at her through her shirt, rutting against her leg, and she comes hard, muscles clenching around his fingers, her mouth open in a wordless scream.

Her chest heaves against him as she comes down, and he leans his forehead against her collarbone to try to steady himself. He's still got his fingers buried inside of her.

"Come on," she says, pushing at his shoulder. She palms the front of his pants before moving to his belt, working it open. "Off." His hands tremble as he helps her.

His pants are barely over his hips before she hooks a leg around his waist and pulls him in. He groans as they connect and wraps his arms around her for leverage.

All pretenses gone, he thrusts into her again and again, his hips moving against hers in a hard, fast rhythm. His hand slides up her shirt to squeeze her breast.

It doesn't last long, but it doesn't have to as she crashes over the edge again, biting his shoulder to keep from screaming. His hips jerk, rhythm faltering, and he comes as well, his shout muffled against the side of her neck.

After a few moments, he flips them so he doesn't crush her and they lie on the bench, catching their breath.

"So," she says.

"So."

She takes a look at their surroundings and wrinkles her nose. "You know, it really is dirty in here." She picks a piece of hay out of her hair and tosses it aside. "I'm going to need a bath after this."

He smirks and gooses her.