Title: Now or Never (Do or Die)
Disclaimer: Very much not mine.
Summary: They both know what two people and two bullets mean against a horde of walkers.
Note: Somewhere, at some point, there was a prompt that involved Daryl and Andrea in a "last stand" kind of scenario that, naturally, included them literally going out with a bang. Here's what I dug out of the depths of my fic folder.
(Or: in which I salvage some smut.)
He hauls Andrea up off the ground and puts a bullet between one walker's eyes, then one through the nose of another; they fall to the ground, but there's more behind them.
He pushes her forward, toward the dilapidated old building. "Go, go, go!"
"Daryl!" She pulls at his leather vest and gets off a shot herself, felling a walker just as it reaches its decaying hands toward him. "Come on!"
Two more shots, and then they make a run for it together, pulling each other along. They yank the barn door open and quickly shut it behind them, knowing it is, at best, only a delay tactic against the relentless horde outside.
Daryl pushes her toward a ladder-cum-staircase, and they climb up to a loft area with unfinished floorboards and bales of sweet-smelling hay. They lower themselves to the rough, dusty floor, exhausted and knowing that their hiding place will only keep them safe for so long.
"Got one left," he sighs, slumping against the wall. He rubs at his forehead.
Andrea checks her gun. "Me, too."
They look at each other, and they don't have to say what they're thinking. They both know what two people and two bullets mean against a horde of walkers. Her face crumples, and she hangs her head and stomps her boot on the floor. Daryl watches her, biting the inside of his cheek.
After a few moments, she picks her head back up. Wiping her cheeks, she steels herself and asks, "How long, do you think? Until they're in?"
He tips his head back against the wall and huffs. "I don't know. Could be a while. Could be a few minutes."
When he looks back at her, she crawls closer and grabs him by the back of his neck, kissing him soundly. He kisses her back for a few moments before pulling himself away. He searches her face, his brow furrowed.
"I want to enjoy the last few moments of my life," she says against his lips, answering his unasked question.
Gripping his shirt in her fist, she pulls desperately at him. "Daryl, please."
He eyes her for a long moment before he nods, his nose brushing against hers. "Yeah. Okay."
She kisses him again, pushing her tongue past his teeth, her fingers gripping his shoulders. Daryl groans into her mouth and brings his hands up to her face, combing through her hair with his fingers.
Her hands push against his shoulders, and he falls backwards, taking her with him. She straddles his lap, gripping his hips tightly with her thighs. She grinds down against him, and they gasp into each other's mouth.
Andrea works quickly to get her shirt open, ripping it, the buttons popping off and scattering across the floor. "Whatever," she mutters, tossing the shirt aside.
She gives his shirt the same treatment, pulling him up some so he can take it off. Daryl's hands slide up her torso, taking her tank top with it. With practiced ease, she reaches back and unhooks her bra, slipping it off as well.
Tentatively, he reaches up to cup her breasts, testing the weight of them in his palms. His thumbs brush her nipples, and she bites her lip, grinding against him again.
She hops up and off of him. "Pants," she says.
Hers are gone quickly, along with her underwear, and when she kneels down again he's still working on his belt, his fingers fumbling nervously. She bats his hands away and replaces them with her own.
She makes quick work of his belt, then unbuttons and unzips his jeans. She can feel him growing hard through the cotton fabric of his underwear, and finds herself frantic to get his clothes off.
With one swift pull, she yanks his pants and boxers down, exposing him. He wiggles a bit, attempts to kick them the rest of the way off, and looks back up at her, waiting for her next move.
She smiles at him, and he gets away with half a grin before he lets out a long, low moan as she wraps her hand around the base of his cock and takes him into her mouth. One of his hands tangles in her hair as she swirls her tongue around his head and takes him deep again, her cheeks hollowed.
A few more passes and she pulls him out of her mouth with a wet pop, wiping the back of her hand at the side of her mouth. He groans and looks down his body at her, brows knitted together.
"Just wanted to make sure you were ready," she says with a grin, crawling back up his body.
He just grunts, and grips her hips.
Before she knows what's happening, he flips them, pressing her back against the rough wooden floor. He puts his hands on the inside of her thighs and spreads her legs apart to settle between them. Andrea wraps her legs around his waist, her heels against his ass, and presses herself closer to him.
Daryl pushes into her, slowly at first, and they both cry out as he fills her. He pulls out and pushes in again, harder this time, and she makes a strangled whimpering sound in the back of her throat.
She moves her hips, rocking against him, and they waste no time setting a quick, steady rhythm as he thrusts in and out of her. Her nails scratch red marks at his shoulders, his biceps, and he palms one of her breasts roughly while his other hand grips her hips.
The pounding at the door gets more intense, and their movements speed up accordingly. Daryl mouths at her chest and moves his hand down between their bodies; it's enough to get her there, coming with a stifled shout against his shoulder. With her muscles spasming around him, he quickly follows her over the edge, his teeth scraping her skin.
Collapsed against her body, his breath is hot against her neck, and she suddenly wants to cry. She pulls him impossibly closer, hugging him to her body, and squeezes her eyes shut. He presses a kiss to the skin under his lips, and she cards her hands through his hair.
Watching him lie against her, his forehead pressed to her collarbone, she presses her lips together and rubs a hand across his shoulders. She glances down toward the door and sees it ready to give way; she can't watch it happen, her eyes flicking back to the far walls instead – and that's when she sees it.
"Hey." She thumps on his shoulder and points behind him. "Hey!"
Daryl looks up at her like she's crazy and turns, looking in the direction she's pointing. "What?"
"Over there!" With a hand on his cheek, she physically moves his head. "Look!"
Nearly hidden by stacks of hay, he can see part of a set of farm tools, long-handled instruments stuck up against the opposite wall with nails. His eyes widen, and he turns back to her.
She's already reaching for her clothes. "Oh, yeah," she says, pulling her tank top over her head. "I think."
Daryl shoves his pants and boots on and watches as she does the same before reaching out and hauling her to her feet. They cross the creaky wooden floor of the loft, the whole barn vibrating with the dead hands pounding on the outside.
They shove the hay aside. "Jackpot," she breathes.
Andrea pulls a pitchfork from the wall and watches as Daryl hefts a large shovel in his hand. A sickle gets tucked into each of their belts. Below them, the wooden door finally splinters and cracks against the weight of the walkers.
"Now or never," she says. She smiles at him, her eyes bright. "You ready?"
He smirks and bounces on his toes. "Let's do this."