Summary: It's their first time. Both of them want it. Neither of them has a clue what to do. "Let's make love."

Hey, everyone!

I hope you have all found my gratitude expressed in your inbox :)

Thank you, seriously! I loved your reactions at the previous chapter :) Opinions were shared, everyone liked a different part more, but your reviews were more than kind, as always.

Meet me again around 4,000 words later :)

The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended.

Enjoy!

Her senses caught up immediately with two things when he entered her cell. First, he was reeking of whiskey; not a stench exactly, but the odor was there. Second, half of his thumbnail was long gone.

Carol was fidgeting. They exchanged a glance and their gazes darted anywhere but on each other in a flash.

"You're drunk?" The inattentive, nervous scratching of the inner part of her elbow almost chafing the first layer of her skin.

"Not drunk enough," he grumbled, reaching out to block the afflicting pain hand before it tore her flesh open, immediately taking a step back afterwards.

Daryl's eyes sought for hers again to prove his honesty and it was evident in their cerulean clarity that, wherever the bottle was dumped, there was still some booze undulating inside. He had tried to relax a bit, blow off some tension; just that, though, he didn't mean to drink himself out of the situation. She had a couple of glasses of wine –Or was it three? Or four?- herself, but was nowhere near admitting it unless caught red-handed.

This was their sex date, they both knew; she had demanded it, of course, fearing that the longer they postponed it the more elusive it became. He had growled his discontent when she had asked him, tomato red, but deep inside he had to avow that his nights were insufferable with all these nasty, naughty nightmares creeping in his subconscious. Well, maybe nightmare was a misfit; dreams, weird, disturbing dreams. None of them were teenagers. They had been officially dating for over a month, no, for exactly thirty-four days and seven hours according to some rough calculations. Second base, up-the-shirt heavy petting while making out, was simply not enough for either of them. Carol was convinced she was spiking a fever every now and then simply because his toned body was casually grazing against her freckled skin; involuntarily or not, she couldn't care less. Daryl was pondering on self-mutilation to get rid once and for all of the painful swelling between his thighs whenever she gracefully passed him by; and it was far too often for a man to bear. Their only true divergence laid to the fact that she willfully recognized the elephant in the room, when he'd much rather press his lips stubbornly and hunt down a buzzing fly.

"Are you done chewing it off?" she asked, nodding towards his mangled nail.

Daryl huffed. And then he huffed again, this time accompanying it with an upward twitch of his lips. It was shy, hardly perceptible, but it was there. "No idea what I'm gonna do tonight," he cringed, fingers working overtime rubbing his face.

Carol chuckled to disguise her panic. "Good. Me neither," she confessed, biting her bottom lip. All this time she hadn't moved an inch, feet rooted in the same place, but the wheels in her head were whirling in frenzy.

"You wanted this," he sulked.

She shrugged. "You didn't?"

It was his turn to shrug, but remained silent nevertheless.

"I can't make you do anything. We can just sleep or you can go if that's what you want to," she offered, voice slightly hoarse, masking her disappointment.

"Fuck, I'm here, ain't I?" he glared down on her, dropping his crossbow on the floor. If that wasn't enough of a proof for his intentions, then he had no idea what the freaking woman expected from him.

Fuck, he was, wasn't he?

As he watched her head hung, he immediately regretted snapping at her like that; after all, she only provided him with a way out in case he wanted to run for the hills. But, on the other hand, that's precisely what infuriated him. She should have known better, even if he was standing there ready to bark and throw tempers, prickly as fuck, she should still have known better. No need for emergency exits, he wasn't leaving her, no matter what.

Daryl squeezed her shoulder, eyeing her sheepishly. She just smiled faintly, he was already forgiven the moment he spat out the words.

They both laughed their cluelessness off simultaneously, like robots, before returning to stare with obstinate attention at the unique view of the grey, cement prison walls just to avoid each other's eyes.

It was eventually Carol that swallowed hard and decided to just hold her breath and go for it. She wobbled closer, stroking his arm and faced him, ignoring her quivering knees. "Take your time," she said simply, looking him dead in the eye. "Take all the time of the world. I'll be here."

He scoffed and mentally scolded himself for being an asshole twice in a time range of seconds. She was staying, he knew this much. God knows he had done everything within his power to push that woman away and she simply refused to give up on him with an unholy perseverance that made his heart twinge. It was only the force of habit, the long life full of people promising to stick around only to vanish right after that made him skittish at the sound of such words; but it was unfair to her, he was perfectly aware.

Carol frowned. "What?" she protested. "I'm not going anywhere, unless a walker gets me."

"That ain't happenin' in my watch," Daryl grunted, refusing to allow as much as a crack open for the visualization to sneak in his mind.

Carol chuckled wholeheartedly with his childish frown. "Then you're stuck with me for good, you poor thing."

Mere inches were hanging between them, the tension in the cell thick as a brick. Her hand was still lingering on him, playing with his fingers now, searching for his eyes; but he kept his head bowed, shoulders hunched, his Adam's apple moving up and down.

Her heart skipped a beat; this stance was more that familiar to her, she had to struggle with it for what it seemed forever all these long months before their first kiss. Now her fingers were curled around his and her other hand had moved in the curve between his neck and his jaw, gently forcing him to tilt his head and meet her. "Don't even think about that, Daryl," she whispered. "There's no one better than you. Simply doesn't exist."

Tiptoeing, she placed a soft kiss on his lips, allowing him to take the lead whenever he felt comfortable. Daryl Dixon was a blow-minding kisser, a truly exceptional one, in her humble, inexperienced opinion, of course, but still… Not right from the beginning, but sometime in the process, after a proper amount of practice and a newly emerged confidence, his inherent charisma unraveled taking her breath away. She'd call him a legendary kisser and he'd shoot a Dixon worthy scowl at her, although his mouth would quirk anyways.

Daryl reciprocated immediately, wrapping his arm around her waist to crash her against him. It was the best way to distract his mind from his absurd insecurities, to stop him from whipping himself inside out. Better than any kind of inspirational speech she could offer; simply let him watch for himself the hypnotizing effect his kisses had on her. He knew what she was doing, didn't care to stop whatsoever. Their kisses were far too succulent to resist, by far the best taste ever entered his mouth. The way she leaned into him, melting in his arms with guttural moans despite her best efforts to swallow them down as if she'd collapse on the ground if he let her , strayed his mind from his inexistent self-esteem screaming he wasn't worthy of her. Fuck, who gave a shit in the end of the world? She was his. She wanted to. Maybe she was just batshit crazy, but last time he checked there was no mental institution around to check her in, was there? This woman belonged to him and if anyone had any objection, he could freely lodge it. It was overruled in advanced and the bastard better knew how to fight.

Their kisses became more demanding, mouths wide open devouring each other, sucking and biting alternatively, greedily. Daryl felt like the king of the world, there was nothing he wasn't capable to do while he had her in his mouth.

When her hand slid inside his shirt, though, he tensed, well aware of what it meant, fighting with everything he had his urge to flinch away, lips froze but still parted. Carol didn't slow down; her mouth continued budging over his, one hand gripping his nape to rivet him in place. "It's just me, Daryl," her hot breath reflexively made his tongue run over his lips to moisten them. "I want you. I'm sick for you. I'm not going anywhere," shaky fingers unbuttoned his shirt and he could barely breathe, bent forward with eyes sealed, but she went on. "No matter what happens tonight, we'll finally figure it out."

That's what it always took with her. Just some time to catch up. And then he'd always realize that he wanted the very same thing from the beginning, even wondering how he hadn't seen it sooner.

"You and me," she muttered and he could discern endless love and flaming desire waltzing together in her pupils.

"You and me," he rasped, words parroted like a poem.

"Yeah. I love you, you know I do. I'm staying, no matter what."

He swallowed hard with a choking sound once the l-bomb exploded.

She had no intention to blurt this out like that, especially tonight; it appeared she had been suppressing her need to tell him how she really felt for him for so long the damn word just decided to unshackle itself. "You don't have to say it back. You don't have to do anything unless you want to, I swear. I have no idea what I'm doing either," she hurried to make sure he wouldn't panic. "Do you want this?"

"Yeah," he groaned, eyelids flaring, eyes uncoordinated. "All-all of it." Why was he slurring? Daryl felt drunk; she had bigger effect on him than the whiskey he had gulped earlier. He fuckin' trusted her. She wasn't going anywhere. Even if things went south tonight, and chances were they would, she wouldn't leave him. They'd figure it out.

His shirt was open now, her fingertips tracing the permanent marks of the scars around his stomach. "No," he hissed, grabbing her wrists.

"Let me," she leaned over to plant a kiss on his chest. "It's just me, Daryl."

He found her overwhelming presence mesmerizing, instantly relaxing his grip, finally letting his arms fall laxly by his sides as she gently took off his shirt. It landed on the floor, no more than a crumpled mass as the soft sound of her voice kept filling the electrified air between them.

"Relax, it's just you and me. It's just us, the freaks, remember?"

He snorted a small, humorless laugh, but shot his eyes open to look at her.

"What do you wanna know?" he asked with a grim expression spread in his face.

"Nothing. I know it all. I have the same," she smiled bitterly, taking off her red tank and unhooking the bra only for both of them to join his shirt, exposing a torso full of cigarette burns and belt scars. "He never really cared about beating Sophia. He had much more fun with me, said a child wouldn't keep its mouth shut, but I did. Still, this one and that over her," her voice was calm as her finger drifted between two cigarette burns, "I gained them both one night, saving Sophia. These two I love." A set of blue, serene eyes glistening with unshed tears met his gaze.

"How can you be like that after him?" His voice trembled from sheer shock. All he wanted to do was to reanimate the bastard, only to be able to kill him again. "After what he did to you?"

Carol shrugged, finding the question naïve at least given that the answer had been flashing on a billboard above her head for a while now. "I met you," she said simply.

Her eyes darted at the scar on his side. It was the most recent one, pinkish, in sharp contrast with the white ones around it.

"I know this one," her voice wavered with emotion.

He pinched her chin. "This one I don't regret. It's the one I'm proud of," he murmured passionately.

"Daryl…" she gasped.

He was heaving; there were so much he wanted to confess to her about Sophia. "I'd reap a thousand of these to keep her alive. I just wanted to bring her back to you so badly…"

"Sshh," she interrupted him, bringing her palm to his mouth. "You did everything you could. Please, let's not talk about this now." Her voice was pleading and her eyes wide.

Daryl nodded. This was not the time. He kissed her hand and watched her move around him.

He closed his eyes again. "No, not my back," he whispered, holding his breath.

Her recollection of that night, after almost dying searching for Sophia, was blurry. After all, she only got a glimpse before he covered himself with the sheets. But she knew exactly what she had witnessed. The scars on his front were nothing compared to those in his back. She just stood there for a few seconds, examining them, fighting back her tears for his cruel life, but mostly suffocating with pride for him.

He was gorgeous. More beautiful than she could ever articulate. When her nail grazed the line of the deepest scar marring his toned back, she felt him shuddering, gasping for air.

"How dare you, Daryl?" she mumbled, barely audibly, nuzzling her face between his sharp shoulder blades. "How dare you being ashamed of these?"

Daryl marveled at her reaction. She wasn't disgusted and she didn't pity him, either. Just exploring his body, trying to map him, to know him, to make him hers. She wasn't repulsed by him and she didn't pretend to be his savior, albeit she might was.

"These are part of you. Of who you are. They are not ugly as you fear. They are not atrocious. They are beautiful, because they are on you. They are the proof of how great a man you are. Despite them." She was hugging him now, hands wandering on his chest, hot breath burning the back side of his heart. "Your whole life, your upbringing, the world you knew, everything was afflicted to inexorably divert you from your orbit. But you became the man you were meant to be, no matter what. You should walk them around with pride. They are your proof, the proof that nothing ever broke you."

He huffed wryly. "Nothing ever broke me? I'm fucked up to the bone."

Daryl hated his aloof demeanor. His behavior was absurd, really; acting like he was dragged here by force, when he wouldn't change being in her cell if God himself invited him to heaven. But there he was, nevertheless, making her act like a fuckin' shrink, trying to figure out a way to psych him into simply doing the only fuckin' thing he wanted to. Make her his. Plain as daylight.

"Then why are you here?" That simple question felt like a slap, before she went on. "You are damaged, yes. Me too. We were damaged long before hell broke loose in the world. But you wouldn't be here now if you were just broken, as you say. You wouldn't be here with me. You could have been anywhere, drinking and surviving the end of the world with any woman you'd like. Women would tackily scuffle for a bite of you, you know that."

Daryl snorted. Stupid bimbos with fake, silicone-filled tits always made moves on him. They were the creepiest thing ever, scaring the shit out of him with their puckered, red lips. Even bar fights with Merle were more welcome than these; hell, even walkers seemed less spooky. He had zero interest in them in his pro-apocalyptic life and it had remained this way even in the post-apocalyptic reality. Only now he had found someone he wanted. He wanted Carol.

At some point during her heartfelt confession, she had moved in front of him again, cupping his cheek, immersing her gaze into his. "But where are you? You are here, with me. You want this, with us. Because you know how rare and precious it is. And deep down you believe you deserve this too. Because as the man I love would say, "it's too fuckin' awesome!""

His eyes darkened. "What are you doin' to me, woman?"

"If I only had one word to describe you, I would say magnificent. This is how I see you."This is how she served her heart on a dish, hoping he wouldn't chuck it away. He was magnificent to her. Felt nothing less than pure awe facing him.

"For you, I'd say invigorating." he declared solemnly and they both chuckled at the unforeseeable word choice. "I know. It's a mouthful for a Dixon. Ain't beginning to describe you, anyway." This is how he displayed his own heart on his sleeve, barely hanging from a thread. It was up to her now, to cradle it or let it crumble on the ground. After all, that was what she meant to him. The spring of life. Felt nothing less than eager for her resurrecting touch each time he met her.

He was stripped in front of her, not just in the physical sense. His soul was all opened up, exposed, naked, sucking her words like a sponge. He believed her. If only he could see himself through her eyes… Maybe he could, eventually, in the distant future. Yes, maybe he could… After all, she said nothing he didn't already believe with everything he had for her.

They kissed against, falling into each other's arms passionately, almost painfully. There was no going back this time, they both knew.

"I don't wanna hurt you," he moaned between licking and kissing her. "It's never been like that before…" He wasn't a virgin in sex, but he was a virgin in love. Women were always a means of pleasure to him, that's why he practically had no idea about sex. He was done and out of there in a flash.

But Carol trusted him with her unfaltering faith. "You won't."

"Or…"

"You won't let me down. You never have."

Suddenly, he was confident. Suddenly, he was the man in command. Suddenly, he was in charge. He wanted to do this. He could do this. He would do this. He refused to die without having sex with her. His jaw was set and for a split second when he clutched her shoulders, slamming his forehead on hers, she heard his grinding teeth. "Do you have any idea what you are to me?" He rumbled both his distress and his inability to vent his pent-up emotions.

His lust for her was unleashed like a wild animal after his prey. He lunged at her brutally, devouring her mouth again and dragged her to her bunk. He sat on the edge toeing off his boots and eyed her lasciviously, uncertain of their next move.

Carol felt her knees buckle under her weight of the overall situation. God, what was she doing? She had no idea how to be on the top. Maybe she had given too much of a show over there. Maybe she had misled him and now he was expecting her to take all the initiative. Maybe she sounded too skilled, confident and experienced. Only she was clueless. Her sex life could be summed up in her being raped repeatedly by her late husband. She couldn't do this alone, she simply didn't know how. But it was obvious she had conveyed the wrong message. She was already barefoot and awkwardly positioned herself over him, finally straddling him. When she glued her mouth on his again she was shaking, ready to burst into tears and apologize, but didn't stop anyway.

"What's wrong?" he instantly registered the wrong vibe between them.

"Nothing," she mumbled, but her kisses felt distant, distracted, somewhat mechanical and he hated it. Carol's kisses always tasted the opposite, she was right there inside them, heart and soul.

He pulled back from her mouth, arms still tightly wrapped around her. "Come on, tell me."

She hated herself at that moment, hated that after everything she was chickening out at the apex of their pairing. "Thing is I'm playing cool here," she muttered pathetically, "but I have no idea what to do either. My-my sex life had never been quite…" Her voice twisted, eyes downcast, mouth twitching nervously.

She had no idea what a turn on her newly revealed fluster was for him. "Hey, don't go cold feet on me now…" Carol was ready to quail and bolt and he was choking in lust. He wasn't afraid. On the contrary, he was confident she wouldn't go anywhere despite her sudden fear; he just felt his lower parts jostling to snap out of his pants.

Carol puffed her agitation. "Your girlfriend is full of crap," she sulked, furious at herself.

Once again, she had no idea what she did to him with her natural shyness, with the way she blushed and shivered in his embrace like a teenager, forgetting the confident woman that had lured him in the bed minutes ago. She was so ignorant of her unpretentious charm he swore he had never seen anything even remotely as sexy as her in his entire life. Daryl littered her with fleeting pecks, nibbling her jaw line. "Next time you talk about my girlfriend like that, lady, there's gonna be some serious ass kicking for you," he drawled, crooked smile brightening up his face. "And that I know how to do," he winked.

She had troubled breathing, focusing, staying alive, startled at the prowess of the way he was coping with her sudden black-out, subconsciously stretching out her neck further to give him a better angle.

"Didn't you say we'll figure it out?" he rasped as his scratchy stubble wandered across the naked flesh of her breasts, hurling waves of ecstatic joy all over her body, making her wonder idly if his infamous, alleged inexperience was feigned. "You're not alone here. You don't have to take responsibility."

She scooted even closer, clinging to him, hands curled around his neck, fingertips palpating his throbbing heartbeat over his sensual curves, eyelids hermetically shut; her own heart was hammering against her chest.

"Look at me," he commanded firmly and her eyes shot open at once. "I'm right here with you."

"Yeah." The cell was spinning under his puncturing gaze.

His arm snaked upwards and a callous hand cupped her face, forcing her to focus on his words. "Don't you trust me?"

She inhaled sharply in desperate need of some air, trying to clear her mind. "Blindly. With my life. It's me I don't-" her voice wavered.

"Just us, remember?" His thumb was softly stroking her lips.

"Just us," she reiterated with religious deference, tone identical to his earlier.

And she believed in them. God, how much she believed in them. If there was a solace of faith left standing in this world it was the bond they shared.

"The freaks," he offered chuckling.

"The freaks," Carol echoed again barely conscious of anything other than his bewitching gaze, stooping forward in sickening need of his lips again.

Daryl met her halfway, fiercely grabbing both sides of her head as his tongue invaded her mouth vigorously; the shy boy from their earlier interaction sequestered at the outskirts of his brain as the aroused male prevailed, dominating his body cell by cell. Carol gasped at the unprecedented passion of his claim; her eyes rolled, but his unyielding grip steadied her when she swooned for a moment, digging her nails on his back to thwart slumping in his arms as she savored the enchanting delight of their swirling tongues.

"Trying to perk me up, huh?" she croaked out of breath, trying to keep on track with his greedy assault.

Daryl paused his frenzied pace to allow her a moment to recover, locking his blue, squinty eyes with hers. "Just love you is all," his husky whisper between her lips was so low she almost missed it. Almost.

She writhed is his arms, stifling the euphoric shriek that almost escaped her in full volume. He loved her. God, he loved her.

That was all the time she was granted. He had coaxed her out of her self-battering loop; now he ached from craving to consummate his relationship with her in one, inextricable bond. And he needed her to guide him and to reassure him he was doing fine every step of the way. She knew, of course. Carol sucked one last, shaky breath, finally relaxing. "Let's make love," she replied softly, melting in his embrace and she felt him growing hard beneath her.

He laid her on her back and in the next minute they were panting and sweating naked, Daryl on the top. When he slid inside her, he groaned at how wet she was as her nails drew blood from his back and she buried her mouth in his shoulder to muffle her moans. He started thrusting inside her rhythmically, following her advice closely, conforming with the pace she preferred. When she jerked back, releasing a primal cry, he ejaculated inside her, yanking a hand to muzzle her.

Judith's wails pierced the dead silence that followed her climax.

"Oh, fuck!" Carol gasped, not sure if what frightened her the most was the ferocity of her orgasm or the inadvertent use of the f word.

Daryl chuckled in her neck. "Let Rick handle this," he whispered, rolling over and snuggling her on him.

The logic behind how this chapter played out in the end is that, although I completely agree with everyone who says how emotionally damaged, vulnerable and inexperienced Daryl is, especially when it comes down to sex, this is exactly what I think about Carol too. I just couldn't see her strategically seducing him all the way through without her own insecurities hitting the surface. It had to be hard for both of them and both of them had to take the lead at some point.

I hope it was convincing and I really hope you liked it :)

I know, I said sex was off the table, but I couldn't resist this: "You could still do the whole sex for the first time. 21 is a very important number. You get to drink when you're 21! (Ha. Drinking, sex, sort of fits together better anyway doesn't it?)" (llamaliscious234)

So, I decided to stop making statements and focus on writing. Wait, was that another statement? Oh, well…

Thank you for reading :) A review would be much appreciated :)

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