It kind of gives her a rush, being out in the woods with him.
Between the gun, sitting heavy at her back, and the way he speaks to her in calm, low tones about the essentials of hunting and tracking, and, God, the way he grits his teeth and tugs the tension cord on the crossbow into place, it's all she can do sometimes to not jump him right where he stands.
Andrea tries to keep herself in check, though. Adrenaline's lead her to not-so-desirable places before, after all. So rather than attacking him, she listens to him talk, and tries to concentrate on the task at hand, and, yeah, sometimes ends up watches the way his muscles flex in his ripped-up flannel shirt.
She does tries to learn a few things while she's at it, too. For a while, it works.
Until the one day, that is, that Daryl decides she should learn to shoot his crossbow and moves in close, his breath warm on the back of her neck. He's talking to her, moving her arms into the proper firing position, shoving his foot between hers, and that's when she snaps.
It's then that she decides she just can't take it anymore – that his very presence and the silent woods and everything is just too, too much – and twists around in his arms, shoving him up against the thick bark of a tree.
"Hey! What the hell?" he grouses, defenses raised.
She puts her hands on his face and drags his lips down to press against hers. The kiss is a little sloppy, a little rough, and when he responds, he sucks her bottom lip into his mouth, biting down on it lightly.
He grips her waist hard, yanking her against his body, while he shoves a hand up her shirt and scrapes his knuckles under her breast. She fists his flannel shirt in her hands before sliding her fingers up into his hair.
When he brushes a thumb across her nipple, she pulls away from him and steps back.
"Sorry," he mumbles, scratching at the back of his head.
She shakes her head and kisses him. "No."
Then she drops down in front of him, her knees pressing into the dirt, and starts undoing his belt buckle with nimble fingers.
"What are you doing?" he drawls, watching as his buttons are undone as well.
She slides his zipper down and grins up at him before reaching her hand into his cargo pants and pulling him free. He's half hard already, and he grunts when she slowly pumps her hand up and down his shaft. When she licks his tip, his knees almost buckle.
"Gah," he says.
Andrea laughs and pushes at his hips, forcing him to lean into the support of the tree at his back. "Easy, tiger."
She goes back to work on him, swiping her tongue along his length and hollowing out her cheeks as she takes him in again and again. He bucks his hips uncontrollably and she pushes him back again, chastising him with a hum.
Daryl tangles a hand in her blonde hair, the other balled into a tight fist at his side, his knuckles white. She glances up at him through her eyelashes, and he's breathing hard, trying not to make a lot of noise, but she can tell he's getting close.
He makes a noise that could definitely be described as a whimper when she moves one hand from the base of his shaft and gently squeezes his balls.
"Oh, fuck," he breathes. His grip on her hair tightens. "Hey, I'm, uh…"
She keeps going, sucking harder and faster, and he comes with a shout, spilling into her mouth. She swallows it down quickly and leans back on her heels to look up at him.
He's staring down at her, his chest still heaving. "Shit."
Feeling victorious, she smirks and rises to her feet in front of him. He hisses when she tucks him back in and does up his pants.
She leans in close to his ear. "Just so you know," she whispers. "I'm expecting you to return the favor one of these days."
The words are barely out of her mouth before she finds herself being spun around and pushed against the tree, Daryl's weight heavy against her back.
"Hey," she starts, until she feels his fingers on the button of her jeans. "Oh."
He leans into her and kisses her neck, one hand pressed flat against her stomach while the other unzips her pants. She gasps when he snakes his hand down the front of her underwear.
"Fuck," she sighs, squirming as he tries to find a rhythm of some sort.
He works his fingers over her, inside of her, his mouth leaving angry red marks on her neck as she presses herself down, grinding against his hand. She bites the inside of her mouth to keep from making noises as his rough, calloused digits rub patterns over her clit.
Her hands grab at the arm he's got wrapped around her middle, squeezing tightly, and her nails draw blood on his forearm when she comes.
He rests his forehead against her shoulder and breathes hot puffs of air against her neck.
"Why?" he asks simply.
She laughs breathlessly. "I like our trips to the woods."
"Shit," he says. "I don't know if I ever want to go back, then."