Epilogue Part III

When Daryl skinned off his pants, Carol was glad he had his back turned, because a spasm of surprise rocketed across her face that he'd actually done it.

"If I'd known getting you naked was as easy as asking," she teased. "You'd have been in real trouble the last few weeks."

"Stop." He threw his underwear after his pants and rolled back up next to her, leaving on the long-sleeved black shirt he'd been wearing. Her mouth went dry and she went through a lightning round of should-I-look-should-I-not in her head before keeping her eyes squarely on his face.

"If I call you shy again, will you rip my shirt off, too?"

He snorted and pulled her up to sitting, tugging the shirt up and off her head with a series of jerks she was pretty sure wouldn't qualify as sexy anywhere. But her heart slammed in her chest like it didn't know the difference. His gaze flicked down and back up rapidly and she caught his chin, his whiskers tickling her fingertips.

"You can look," she whispered. Then she reached behind herself and popped the clasp on her bra. She kept her gaze up, because there was no mirror in the world as kind to her as his eyes and she loved to watch him watch her. She drank in the slight widening of his pupils, the bob of his swallow. Carol let the bra fall down her arms and arched her back a little bit. His tongue darted out and wet his lips, quick like he didn't know he was doing it.

She leaned forward with a moan and grabbed him by the collar, chasing his tongue back into his mouth. Rolling up onto her knees, she leaned forward, naked and feeling so free, like she was living inside a fantasy and she could control every part of it.

And she could.

All she had to do was tell him what she liked, and he'd try to do it. She knew he would. And he'd never force her to do anything she didn't want, even if it was not a big deal, why can't you do just one thing you know will make me happy?

She pulled out of the kiss with a gasp and Daryl's eyes snapped open.

"What?"

She shook her head, shoving away the unwelcome memory of Ed's voice. "I'm okay."

His blue eyes narrowed and she caught his hand to distract him, slid it up her naked thigh. God, it was so different not to be all tangled up in blankets, his hand squashed inside her pants, her half-suffocating to stay quiet.

She was almost embarrassingly wet but she didn't hesitate to press his fingers right to the center of her, because she knew how much he liked feeling her aroused. He sucked in a breath, stifling it to silence halfway through, and she smiled. "We don't have to be quiet here," she reminded him.

His eyes focused sharp on her face, burning as his fingers slid over her. Her nipples prickled. She'd never looked at him while he was touching her this way. He had always been behind her, his chest solid and warm. The first few times, she'd needed that comfort to allow the intimacy. But now, he wasn't looking away and she didn't want him to. Maybe Daryl wasn't shy after all.

"Inside," she whispered, rocking against his hand. "Please."

He slid two fingers into her. And he didn't look away.

She lost her breath. Kneeling on a mattress stark naked with his hand between her spread legs, her breasts bare to his eyes for only the second time. She felt like somebody wild and strong and courageous. She felt like somebody else and at the same time, she felt exactly like herself.

He curled his fingers to hit her favorite spot, so much easier from this angle. She gasped and caught his forearm for balance. His cheek twitched a little and she moved her grip higher. "Sorry." She winced. "I didn't mean to scratch you. I just forget—"

"Like it," he grunted. And for the first time, his response was naked for her to see that he did, jutting out from beneath the tails of his shirt.

He turned his hand, pressing the thick pad at the base of his thumb against her clit. She let her head fall back, rocking against his touch because she could this time.

"God, you got good at that fast," she groaned. His fingers thrummed deep into her and her eyes fell open just in time to catch the flash of a smirk cross his face. She slid her hand up his bare thigh and he flinched, his fingers jerking inside her.

She met his eyes. "Can I? I don't have to, if you don't want that."

He snorted and she narrowed her eyes.

"It's a valid question."

He still looked skeptical that she'd need to ask. "You first, though," he said.

He drew his fingers out of her, playing slick and wet across the layers of her. She grabbed his shoulders, her thighs tightening as he started to rub in the rhythm she could never resist for long. He didn't get too fancy with it, probably because he knew slow and slick was her kryptonite. But this time, he could use both hands.

She squeaked when the thick fingers of his left hand entered her while his right kept toying up higher. Suddenly, kneeling was way too much. Her inner muscles clenched against his fingers and fell forward, hiding her face in his neck and holding onto his shoulders while both his hands worked her.

He made a deep, rumbling sound. It wasn't quite a question, wasn't a statement. It felt almost like he was holding her even though his hands were busy. He flattened his palm over her clit and thrust his fingers deep into her and suddenly she was clamping down around him, falling into his lap and shaking all over as she broke into a sweat.

"Dammit," she gasped and he chuckled.

"Was you always…"

He took his hands away, laying her down in their bed and stretching out next to her.

"What?" she asked fuzzily, trying to blink him back into focus.

"Nothin'."

"Was I what? Always a two-minute date?" She laughed at the look on his face. "I told you that you got good at that fast. Also, you've been a little too busy for me lately, what with making us a private hideaway room and everything."

"Ain't busy now."

He moved his hand up her belly, hesitating before his palm swept over her bare breast. She shivered and arched into this touch. His fingers brushed at the peak of her nipple, then traced the very edge of the pink. He tucked an arm under his head, his eyes intent on what he was doing. While he was distracted, Carol brushed aside the tails of his shirt and stroked her palm down the shaft of his cock.

He jerked. "Shit!"

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," she said dryly, wrapping her fingers around him for a firmer stroke. A quiver ran through his whole body. He scooted a little closer.

She rubbed him, goosebumps breaking out over her whole body. It was ridiculous. There weren't many men in the world who would object to a woman doing what she was doing. But somehow, in this quiet room, it felt like such an act of trust that he was allowing it.

"You don't have to take off your shirt," she murmured. "But I want you to know if you do, I won't touch you anywhere you don't want to be touched. And I've seen you." She met his eyes across the pillow. "You ain't ugly, Daryl Dixon."

He chewed on his lip. The combination of uncertainty in his face and the unabashed masculinity burning a line in her palm were enough to make her head spin.

"Don't mind. You wanna?"

She nodded.

He went to shift away, and when that tightened her grip on him, he sucked in a breath, his hand coming down over hers. His hips jumped a little, flexing along with his erection. "Feels good," he mumbled, his voice rough with lack of breath.

She rubbed her thumb over the smooth head of his cock, a hint of moisture beading against her touch.

Daryl muttered a curse and eased away from her. He popped the top button on his shirt, avoiding her eyes.

She laid a hand on his knee, not wanting to break the link between them as he dragged the shirt up and off his head. His shoulders hunched forward, the muscles in his back standing out even more brokenly as he turned and tossed the garment to the floor, facing away from her. In the soft candlelight, the ridges of his scars left little flickers of shadows along their edges. Stretching out like they were bigger than they really were.

He didn't turn back around.

His knees drew up toward his chest and he crossed his arms over the top of them. Kicked his legs out flat, his thick quadricep muscles twitching. Yanked them up to his chest again. He scrubbed a hand over his head.

He was shaking.

Carol caught his shoulder, careful not to touch the span of his back. Even now that he'd told her she could.

"Lay down with me," she murmured, so softly it wouldn't shatter the silence in the big, empty room. She urged him down onto his side even though he was clamped tense now, wouldn't look at her. She reached over him and drew the sheet up. Covering his legs and tucking it up over his chest. She settled in behind him without touching his skin, but combed her fingers through his hair, curling around him and pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck.

He pulled in a ragged breath like he might speak, but didn't. Carol pulled her fingers through his hair, letting her fingernails stroke over his scalp. It was a safe touch, for them, because she figured that no one who'd hurt him had ever played with his hair. She kissed his neck again, kept smoothing her hand over his hair until he started breathing once more. His shoulders were still knotted hard when she finally laid a hand on his back. A little left of center, so she could feel his heart beating under her palm. She didn't move.

Walkers could attack and this whole place could burn around their ears and she would never move from this spot, not until she'd made him comfortable enough to relax. His heart sprinted, every beat pressing against the base of her third finger, in the ugly dent of the place her wedding ring had lain for so long.

He grunted, but for once, she didn't know what that sound meant. His knees drew up toward his chest like they did when he was asleep. The sheet fell just enough for her to glimpse him squeezing his hands between his knees.

" 'S okay," he said.

Carol closed her eyes, loving him so much in that moment but not daring to say it, because the words would be too much for him right now.

She knew it. She knew him.

He was so painfully, terrifyingly brave, and never more so than when she stroked her hand quietly down his back and he quivered like she'd strummed his bowstring, but he never made a sound.

She tucked her face into the back of his neck, letting her breath warm his skin before she kissed it again, very softly. "Daryl?"

" 'S okay."

She shivered this time, her body still warm and heavy from her orgasm. Her nipples hardening when they brushed his shoulder blades; a reminder that she'd shifted too close in her worry for him.

Circles. Somewhere in her mind, she decided that circles were safe. Blows were random, circles were softer, more thoughtful. So she stroked him in soft, round motions. Her hand firm enough to be comforting, not hard enough to chafe. His scars bumped and rippled under her palm, skimming under her passing hand like the ripples their stones had made when they skipped across the water.

She dipped her head and kissed the surprisingly soft skin of his shoulder blade. He jerked under her touch and started to shake. Carol laid her hand on his back, cuddling close now. She wasn't entirely sure if she was doing the right thing and he was so, so important. She wanted to be steady and calm and strong for him and every time a ridge of scar passed under her palm she was reminded that her own scars were smaller, her muscles softer, and she would never be as tenth as tough as he was right now.

But she wanted, so badly, to be strong enough to keep him safe.

He was tense still, his muscles woven steel under her hand. She propped herself up on an elbow to check his face, but saw something else instead. Somehow, in the emotion of the moment, she'd thought his arousal would have abated, but instead it was thrusting thunderously forward.

Carol blinked and smoothed her hand down his spine. He quivered, his knees pinching tighter over his hands, his erection throbbing visibly.

Oh.

He jerked. The shivers that wracked him grew stronger until she bit her lip, keeping her hands as gentle as she could while she tried to decipher his complicated reaction to her touch. It felt momentous; crystallizing all the air in their cozy little room so she knew she'd always remember this moment. And she stayed with him within it, her hands their link, letting love bleed into him from her every touch. He was beautiful, to her eyes and her fingers and her heart; battered and strong and utterly perfect.

She let both hands melt down the length of his scarred back, awed by gratitude that he was trusting her this much. That what he wanted was her.

Then, his whole body shuddered. Suddenly, he ripped his hands out from between his knees, grabbed his cock, and exploded. The initial shock of surprise hadn't even passed before Carol caught his shoulder, the muscle swelling into her palm as she matched her naked body to cover the curve of his spine. His orgasm ripped through him in hard jerks, as rough and masculine as everything else about him. Her nipples prickled hard against his skin and she couldn't help but press a kiss to his spine that dragged a shaky groan out of him.

"Fuck," he rasped and fell onto his back. He fisted a handful of sheet across his lap and then balled it up and pushed it away, like he wanted to hide the wet marks. His face burned a deep red all the way down into his collarbone.

Carol pressed her face into the heat of his throat, wrestling with a tide of emotion so deep and complex she wasn't sure how to hold onto all of it. A smile spread across her face until her cheeks hurt and she nibbled at his earlobe. "Thanks," she whispered.

He twitched, turning to stare at her. "For what?"

"You came almost as fast as I did." She propped herself up on an elbow and grinned. "Very gentlemanly of you to try and make me feel better."

He snorted, glanced away. But his arm settled around her again.

A minute later he said, "Didn't mean to. Not like that. Ain't nobody ever…" He gestured to his back with his free hand. "Felt…" He paused for a long moment, thinking. "Good."

Carol's lashes swept down, something lurching within her chest.

She crawled up on top of him, the heat of all their bare skin a shock to her system. "Being with you always feels good to me," she whispered. "It feels right." She brushed his hair back and met his eyes. "Sometimes I feel guilty about that; that the future I prayed for brought the end of the world along with it."

"Prayin' don't mean shit," Daryl said. "Only things I ever prayed for was for my daddy to die and to find Sophia. Didn't get neither of 'em 'till it was too late to matter."

Carol traced her hand over one of the scars left by his father, and down to the faded pink bolt wound in his side he'd gotten while looking for Sophia.

Somehow, it meant so, so much that a man who didn't believe in God had prayed for her little girl.

"But we've got the prison now," she whispered, meeting his eyes. "And it's not too late."

She was so close she could feel his hard exhale on her lips. He raised his head just enough to kiss her. It felt like unimaginable luxury to lie with him, safe and warm, and enjoy all the ways his tongue could feel against hers. She kept her hand over his bolt scar and he kept his cupped at the small of her back, like he wanted her to stay close but didn't want to ask for that with words.

He was growing hard against her again. Carol couldn't help but curl into him, endlessly awed by the proof of his attraction to her. She wondered how many years it would take her to get used to the idea that her simple body was exactly what turned him on.

She hoped that they had long enough together that someday, they would be comfortable enough to take each other for granted.

Daryl mumbled something into their next kiss, his hands clenching so hard on her body it almost hurt.

She made a questioning sound, and when he said it again, she stopped breathing and just held onto him. "I love you, too."

She hadn't been sure he'd ever feel safe enough to say the words out loud. But once he had, she couldn't stay in his arms without reaching for the place his body surged toward hers. All too soon, he was grunting and straining up into her touch. She resettled her thighs to either side of his hips, her stomach muscles twitching with anticipation, the space between her legs aching and empty. But he stopped her again, fumbling under the edge of the blanket to retrieve a hidden package of condoms and then pausing again to open a little bottle of lubricant.

She raised her eyebrows. "What else do you have under there?"

He blushed, yanking at the foil seal on top of the bottle. "Glenn left it," he mumbled. "Said them rubbers chafe after awhile. Might hurt ya. Specially if it'd been a long time since—" He blushed brighter and she resisted the urge to tease. Mostly because she was distracted by the rough way he was fisting the lube onto the condom covering his hard cock, and then…

She squeaked as his wetted fingers found her, rubbing determinately as if she wasn't already wet enough. She fell forward, catching herself on his chest and his touch slowed, petting her. When her hazy eyes fell open, she found him watching her with something like reverence. Desire gave way to something deeper and she caught his hand, winding it into hers as she shifted over him and brought his cock into her body. His forehead twitched and he watched her with an expression she'd never seen on his face. She struggled not to wince at the stretch of him, but then the satisfaction of it rushed in and left her breathless.

She could feel him in her, with her, in so many ways. When he finally fit inside, it felt like one more step on a road they'd been on for a long time.

But even for all of that, they didn't get the rhythm right on the first try. Carol couldn't move fast enough when she was on top, and when he rolled them onto her back, Daryl went too hard. Which felt really good and a little out of control all at once. Carol stopped him with a single touch to his hip, her chest going tight when he froze immediately, checking her face.

On an impulse, she pulled him down onto his side, tucking her hips back into his lap in the way they always slept together. When he pushed back inside, she gasped at the change in angle. He cradled one hand over her belly, tangling her fingers with his, and the other arm locked across her chest, holding her steady. His ragged breaths warmed the back of her neck as he hid his face against her.

And there, with him at her back, she relaxed. The desire building in her felt warmer, more solid, and she hooked her leg up and back over his, opening up so he could go deeper. His hand moved lower, cupping her as he stroked himself inside of her. She could tell he was forcing himself to slow for her, but all that power exploded out in the depth of each deliberate push, hitting her so deep it left her quivering. She'd never been able to finish during sex before—too frantic, too distracting. But now, the dark winding of tension in her belly had her wriggling and grinding herself against him. Held firmly between his hand and his cock, her orgasm washed over her as naturally as if it had always been there. She gasped a little, the clench of her inner muscles so much more satisfying with him buried inside her. Daryl groaned.

"Carol." He jerked unevenly and she caught his forearm, squeezing in their old signal for more.

She tried to tell him it was okay, but all that came out was a wordless moan as his faster rhythm kicked off her climax all over again. Her nails dug into his forearm and he shouted, battering his hips against her ass as his control snapped. His legs strained against hers as he snapped off three explosive thrusts, growling grunts tearing free from his chest that she wanted to keep like trophies for all they told about the pleasure she'd brought him.

When he went slack against the mattress, they were curled together like a matched set of commas, the sheets tangled all around their ankles. She squeezed her leg over his, finding his hand and tucking it up against her chest. She pulsed once more, warmth spreading like a drug through her veins.

Her ears sharpened as she came back to herself, but she didn't hear anything. No one was looking for them, nothing needed to be done. She exhaled, and sank back against his chest. Daryl mumbled, nuzzling his nose into her hair.

When he started to soften into sleep, Carol roused herself. He blinked, eyes still hazy. He didn't protest as she took the condom off him and tossed it in the trashcan. But his head turned to track her as she crouched to dig in the pocket of her discarded cargo pants.

"What're ya lookin' for?"

"This." She held up the green lump of stone with a smile, then placed it in the center of the small table, right below their glowing candle.

"That the jasper from the pond?" He pushed up onto his elbow, a flicker of puzzlement creasing his forehead. "How'd you know that's the one I liked best?"

"It was the one you touched the most." Her smile softened. "Same way I knew you liked me."

She settled back into his arms, both them staring up at the little green rock in the candlelight.

"You been hauling that thing around for a long time," he said.

She nodded, her hair catching on the whiskers of his chin. "I was just waiting to find it the right home."

The End

Author's Note: I wanted to thank all of you for going on this ride with me. This story isn't something I did alone, tapping away at my worn keyboard at my desk. This is something you and I and all the people who work on the show made together—making a whole lot of something out of a whole lot of nothing. It's entertainment, it's escape, it's a little piece of human nature served up in a story so we can recognize and forget ourselves all at the same time. Thanks for being a part of that.