Chapter Text
He expected her to climb out of bed and run for the hills, disappear into the night like a lithe shadow. To never look at him again. To maybe hesitate by the door and scold him, yell at him.
Instead, Carol turns in his arms, the soft mattress dipping ever so slightly, until she is facing him. Whatever he expected to see in her eyes, this was not it. Moonlight falls in through cracks in the shutters, reflecting in her eyes and turning them into infinite expanses of summer skies speckled with stars. What he finds in them, mere inches from his face, is far from the fear, anger or disgust he'd brazed himself for. So close that he can taste her warm, damp breath, he finds himself compelled by the curiosity that rests in the pools of blue without shame or hesitation.
Until a mere second ago, he wanted to bolt out of the room. His petrified bones had prevented that from happening, and now he is too mesmerized by the tenderness in Carol's gaze to even breathe.
Daryl, she breathes, a voiceless sound that sends shivers down his spine. It's pathetic the way he reacts, the skin of his arms contracting into goosebumps, the tiny hairs at the base of his skull raising.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he tries finding his voice. 'm sorry. It is a genuine apology. He never meant to put her into this position, to crowd her like this. To bleed his embarrassment onto her. But the only reply he receives is a slight shake of her head and then she reaches out to touch a hand to his cheek.
Any other day, he'd have jolted away from her touch, too weak, too embarrassed. It would have been too much. Now, frozen by her side, he can not hold back a small sound that trickles past his lips when her soft, warm fingers lock into place, the tips just barely grazing his temples and ear. The pad of her thumb ghosts over the corner of his mouth, and his eyes drift shut in response.
It must be a dream, a cruel and merciless one that will end before...
Look at me.
It can't be real. The pleading tone of her voice and the shifting on the bed. The warmth of her soft body edging closer. It's not real and he has to wake up now before he's in too deep.
Daryl, please, she whispers, and then incredibly warm and soft lips press against his. His eyes shoot open instantly, and there she is, right in front of him. Pulling out of what he does not dare call a kiss, looking up at him with eyes a doe would envy, open and vulnerable.
He is still sorry, but a fragile little part of him lightens up with hope that maybe he doesn't have to be.
Months on the bitterly cold road have passed, one day bleaker and colder than the one before. Even all huddled together there was never anything such as feeling safe or warm or sheltered. He told himself it was for that reason alone that he gravitated towards Carol like she was his true North. She was not safe in this world, barely able to defend herself, still reeling from losing her little girl (the little girl he'd promised to find. alive.), but when he scooted closer to her night after night, he'd felt a bit more secure knowing he could protect her now.
None of them were granted much warmth, even Maggie or Glenn sleeping tangled up in one another. But when he edged even closer after a few bitterly cold weeks and pressed his back against hers, he could feel her shivering ease a little. Shelter was no longer just a dry place to sleep for a handful of restless hours. But when she reached behind herself one night a few weeks ago and tugged at his hand until he was wrapped around her, Daryl felt himself immersed in what else the world could mean. He'd felt home.
It became a habit much too quickly. So much so that even tonight, safe behind the walls of a decently sized house with fireplaces and soft beds, he still curled himself around her before they drifted off to sleep. There was no need, not with the thick blankets and the stone wall soaking up the warmth of the fireplace in the room next door. No need.
He'd woken with a start, shaken from a dream he could no longer remember, his body treacherous in hinting at what kind of dream he'd had. He could feel himself hard and straining against the zipper of his pants, all of him pressed up against Carol's body.
This never happened before, not once. He wondered, briefly, why he'd be cursed with this now. Perhaps it was because they were given the illusion of safety in this room with the thick stone walls and the small windows. Perhaps it was because they'd all had the chance to wash up earlier and Carol smells different, more like he remembers her smelling at the farm. Cleaner and more like her, less like the debris of months of surviving on the road. She'd washed her hair, growing out in delicate little curls that were soft and dewy against his cheek. Perhaps it was because they were finally alone when he woke, T-Dog having left to take watch. Nobody else was here, just the two of them.
His entire body tensed when she stirred in his arms, their hands clasped together against her stomach under the thick blanket. It was too late to find a way out of this mess, to run, to scoot away from her and wait for his body to calm down.
She made a move to stretch her aching limbs but stilled when she felt him pressing against her. His heart stuttered in his chest when she sucked in a breath of air.
Her fingertips are ghosting into his hair, over the shell of his ear, her lips a mere breath away from his. His eyes are drawn to them, slightly parted and a rosy shade of pink, damp and inviting. All he can think of is the way they'd felt against his, slightly chapped from the constant cold but still so delicate and soft that something tugs deep in his gut at the fresh memory.
He realizes with a start that he wants to feel them against his again. That he has wanted to kiss her all along, ever since they started sleeping this close to one another, perhaps even long before that. The exact when is lost now but it hardly matters. What does matter is the fear that looms in his head and stiffens his body, too grand to overcome and simply breach the miniscule distance between them.
Because why on Earth would she want him to?
Perhaps his struggle is written plainly across his face because the next second Carol begins to lean in again, merciful and tender. The barest hint of a smile curls her lips before they are pressed to his again and this time, he kisses her back. A surprised sound stirs in the back of Carol's throat, a sigh that stretches into the smallest of moans when the hand that had previously clasped hers falls into place at her hips.
It is the most surreal of sounds and brings an onslaught of fascination along with it. He caused that sound. He made her feel this way.
Her lips are pliant against his and Daryl would be content to freeze this moment. By now, he has almost forgotten what woke him in the first place, but Carol's memory seems more up to speed, and when she suddenly slips one of her legs between his and her thigh presses against him perfectly, he can't quite hold back a groan. It rumbles in his chest and fire fizzles in his veins. Deftly, he sinks his fingers into the flesh of Carol's hips and pulls her flush against him.
Almost instantly, he realizes how rough he's been, easing his grip and pulling away from the kiss, an apology lingering on his lips. But Carol gives him no chance, curling her hand around his neck and pulling him back towards her. Her hips grind into his the second that the tip of her tongue traces the seam of his lips, and Daryl is defenseless against her, yielding within the breath of a second.
Her tongue is warm and slick against his, a hum that slips from her mouth vibrating through him. When he pulls her core against his erection this time, there is no more hesitation. The way she kisses him, like she actually wants to, is foreign to Daryl and makes it feel like a first kiss in too many ways to count. Nobody has ever kissed him this way, like it actually mattered to them. But it matters to Carol, judging by the way her fingers sift through his hair, tugging slightly at the growing strands, and by the way she hardly moves away enough to suck in enough air for them not to black out.
His hand wanders up from her hip bravely, her shirt wandering up slightly under the stickiness of his sweaty hand when he follows the dip of her waist and the ridges of her ribs. Something close to a plea slips from Carol's lips then, just as his thumb grazes the side of her breast. She tears herself away from the kiss, buries her head in the crook of his neck instead. It is more than enough encouragement, and still Daryl’s heart beats like a set of drums when he moves his hand between them and cups the small weight of her breast in the palm of his hand.
Carol sighs against his neck, pressing a kiss to his pulse point, fingers still clutching his hair. He takes that as a good sign and, momentarily distracted by the touch of her lips, Daryl gathers himself and brushes his thumb over the peak of her breast straining against the cotton of her shirt. She trembles in his arms in response and so he does it again, wishing there'd be more space to push her shirt over her head and lean down to kiss her everywhere.
Her own hand begins to drift away from his hair, over the expanse of his shoulder and down his side. It's a touch so light it almost tickles, but Daryl can't find it in himself to care. Carol is running her hand down his side, grinding herself against him, making small sounds in the back of her throat. Never in his life has he felt as complete as he does in this moment.
Warm and delicate fingers slip just under the hem of his shirt. For one brief second, he tenses, but then she presses another kiss to his throat, the tips of her fingers feathering lightly over his skin. She is making no move to slip them around to his back and he's grateful for it. Leaning down, he kisses the crown of her head.
His breath stutters when she suddenly slips her hand between them, unbuckling his belt so swiftly that he has no chance to stop her. Carol- he begins, the sound of her name wrecked and breathless on his lips, but she swallows his attempt at slowing her down with her lips. The kiss is different from before, nowhere near as soft or curious. It's demanding now, his hand slipping from her breast to grip her waist, bared now that her shirt has ridden up. Silky soft skin is smooth under his calloused palm.
The moment Carol pulls down his zipper, her hand ghosting over his straining erection, he chokes out a curse. It's almost too much, so when she slips her fingers into his open pants and cups him through his underwear, he has to swiftly tug her hand away. His fingers curled around her wrist he pulls out of the kiss.
She is looking up at him with darkened eyes and flushed cheeks. Sorry, she mutters now, his earlier apology suddenly reminding him of how fucked up they really are. He shakes his head, words impossible to form right now, and drops her hand between them. He returns his own to her waist, but splays his fingers until the tips nudge beneath her own pants.
Surprise ghosts over Carol's face then, and she tilts her hips forward almost eagerly. He is completely out of his depth ad without a clue what to do because this is Carol, not some random woman he picked up at a bar half-drunk. She goddamn matters.
Before he can embarrass himself, she reaches up to curl her fingers around his wrist, her other hand sneaking out from beneath her to pop open the button on her pants and pull the zipper down so slowly that he can hear each tooth. Daryl swallows, trying to breathe when she tugs at his hand and leads it down into her pants.
When he feels her – damp hair and soft, slick skin – it knocks the breath right out of him. Desperate to hold on, he squeezes his eyes shut and tilts his hips away from hers. Her leg slips away, the sound she makes jolting through his system like electric sparks.
Stay, she whispers, freeing his hand and reaching out for him. He shakes his head, trying to ignore the way his skin burns when she curls her fingers into his shirt. Instead, he slips his fingers further down where everything is warmer than anything else has been for months. Come here. Please. It's a plead he can hardly deny, not when he is sinking a finger inside of her and she pants against him, body arched and wired.
He wants to be closer to her. Hell, he wants to crawl over her and sink into her and never be anywhere else. But the fear of making a fool of himself, or of pressing her into something she's not ready for, something she might not even truly want, clouds his judgment. He does not feel brave in this moment, far from it.
But when she crawls closer to him, there's not much he can do. Carol, I- Ya gotta- Her lips silence him and his heart pauses when she smiles into the kiss. It's a brief moment and he might have imagined it, but it is more than all the reassurance he could have imagined or asked for. He is lost in her after that, kissing her back eagerly.
This time when she slips her hand between them and tucks her fingers into his underwear, he does not move to push her away. Instead, he bucks into her touch when her warm fingers curl around the base of him, squeezing him slightly. A silent groan tears through him and he slips a second finger into her without pause. Fuck!
She is definitely smiling now, parting from the kiss only to feather a few damp and open-mouthed kisses along his jawline. Her hand has set a steady rhythm, slow and gentle, almost shy. For all the heat that has consumed them, they are still them, Daryl wonders, a flustered blush beaming on his cheeks.
He bends down until he can reach Carol's throat, ignoring the strain in the back of his neck. It's all worth it when he presses a firm kiss behind her ear, nudges the shell with the tip of his nose and draws a mewl from her throat. Almost simultaneously, her fingers tighten around him and he hisses. But before she can misread it as a sign of pain, he thrusts himself into her palm once more, his own fingers never hesitating in their exploration of her.
She is soaked now, his fingers slipping easily along her soft skin, inside of her. It drives him crazy when she rubs herself against his palm, small and ragged circles that he tries to imitate, anything to get her to make that sound again. When he sucks softly at the skin of her neck, not enough to leave a mark but enough to cause her to whimper, she clamps down around him and he feels like he might explode right this second.
But the thought of coming all over her hand in the limited space when they're both still dressed makes him flinch. She deserves better than that. And it is not how he has imagined this – God, has he imagined this. For all his attempts to make himself believe he hasn't, it's crossed his mind more than once in glorious details. Mostly, it had been question he never thought he'd ever be allowed the privilege to discovers the answers to. How soft her skin would feel (so damn soft, like the petals of a flower). What his name would sound on her lips as she nears the edge (pleading, a broken whisper, chasing a prayer).
Daryl groans against her throat when her fingers trail over the tip of him before sliding back down, slow and gentle and not enough but too much at the same time. A little too eagerly, he kicks the blanket down enough so that the exposed skin of her waist comes into view, nearly translucent in the moonlight. The dips of her ribs cast small shadows, but his eyes are drawn to her hand between them, curled around him. His own hands disappearing in her pants.
I want- he begins, painting the words against the side of her throat. He can't say what he wants, is too afraid to ask for it. But Carol seeks out his lips one more time, nodding fervently, slowing the rhythm of her hand. When she pulls her hand away he nearly whimpers at the loss of the touch, but then she begins to push down his pants. It's a difficult task in this position and her foot runs down his calf in an attempt to assist her hand.
His mind goes blank the second she's pushed his pants down past his hips and pulls him out, fingers even more eager now, all shyness evaporated. The mere idea of being inside of her is all that fuels him now, and he fumbles to pull his fingers from her, circling the spot that makes her shudder in his arms for a few moments before he grasps her pants and begins to tug them down her hips.
They freeze in that very instant, two voice, hushed but loud enough to carry through the walls, approaching the room. It's T-Dog and Rick, Daryl recognizes quickly and he wants to slam his fist into the wall. Instead, he looks down at Carol's panicked face and decides he needs to keep it together for her sake.
Swiftly he pulls down her shirt and fumbles with the button on her pants, but she swats his hands away. No time, she hisses. She's quicker and more efficient than him in many ways, pulling his pants up over his hips. He's stuffing himself back inside, knowing he won't be able to stand her hands on him for another second now that the moment has passed.
There is no time to button up or even to move back into their original position when the doorknob turns. Instead, he looks into Carol's eyes one last time, full of disappointment and dying embers, before she moves close enough to hide their partial state of undress from curious eyes.
Their eyes drift shut at the same time, and Daryl locks his hand on Carol's waist a little awkwardly when the door opens with a tiny scratch across the wooden floor. He can hear T-Dog lingering by the door for a few moments, most likely surprised by the sight before him. But then he shuts the door and quietly makes his way to the air mattress at the foot of the bed, shuffling around for a moment before all falls quiet.
Trying to keep his breathing even, Daryl cracks open an eye, looking down at Carol in his arms. She's pressing against him tightly, still, and he knows it will be a long night. But much to his surprise, she is already beginning to drift off to sleep, her heart beating steadily against his own, her breathing even, ribs expanding under his touch.
He has no clue what just happened, and is even less sure what might have happened given the chance. If it would have been good, or much more importantly: the right thing to do.
All those thoughts rummage through his head without mercy and it takes much too long for sleep to claim him.
It's an uneasy sleep and he wakes long before Carol or T-Dog, and slips out of the bed as quietly as he can. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he zips up his pants and fumbles with his belt buckle, turning to look at Carol over his shoulder. She looks peaceful like this.
Carefully, he pulls the blanket up to her shoulders before grabbing the crossbow from where it's propped up against the bed. Without another look back, he slips out of the room and into the early light of dawn.