AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

If you missed any of the earlier chapters, please make sure that you go back and catch up. I've posted quite a few for this one and I don't want you to miss chunks of the story.

I will give a warning to the Caryl readers that there is some mention of Carol's past sexual relationships. It's not terribly detailed, but she is reflecting on her *ahem* dissatisfaction with some of them. You can absolutely gloss over those few sentences if the need arises.

I'd also like to remind everyone that this is a two-couple story, and it's rated for a reason. Both couples will have their time(s), especially as the story progresses.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Carol took a fast shower first—just something to wash off the day—and then she sat on the edge of the bed in her pajamas and waited while Daryl took his shower.

He pushed the door open just a bit and practically slithered out of the crack he created.

"Forgot my pajamas," he offered apologetically as he rushed over to the dresser where Carol had folded his pajamas and stacked them with clean underwear—something she did just because it seemed to make him happy to find his clothing neatly prepared for him.

Daryl returned to the bathroom, opened the door wider this time to let himself inside, and stepped out a moment later with his pajamas on and still clinging to his damp body.

"What's wrong?" He asked. "You look sad or something."

"Uncomfortable," Carol said. "I took a cold shower and—already I'm sweating."

"You want me to get you some cold water?" Daryl asked. "To drink?"

"I drank three glasses already," Carol offered. "I'll be sick if I drink anymore right now."

"Computer—turn down the temperature," Daryl said. The computer beeped at him.

"What temperature?" It asked.

"Hell, if I know," Daryl responded. "Five degrees—no…I'm hot, too. Shit. Computer? Ten degrees colder than it is right now." The computer beeped its understanding and Carol assumed that the room would begin to cool, little-by-little.

"My skin feels—uncomfortable," Carol said. "I feel uncomfortable in my own skin."

Daryl laughed to himself. He lit a cigarette and offered her one. She took it. She was anxious for any kind of relief she could find.

"Space has got its fuckin' bonuses," Daryl said. "I ain't been hungry since we got here and there's no sleepin' with an eye open, but it's sure as shit got its lows, too. Some pointy eared bastard with a bowl cut clocked me square in the face today and just about knocked my ass out…I'm slippin'."

Carol laughed.

"Tuvok says Vulcans have super-human strength," Carol said. "Klingons, too."

"You're sayin' I brought a water pistol to a real ass gunfight," Daryl said with a laugh. He wiped at his forehead. The sweat was already starting to form there.

Despite the fact that Carol could feel the temperature dropping around her—and she ought to feel some relief from the heat—she felt like she was boiling. She was also hornier than she'd ever been in her life. She felt, often times, that she could do without sex entirely. For much of her life, really, she had done without sex—at least, she'd done without sex she enjoyed.

Ed had been awful at sex and, as their marriage had gotten worse and worse, he'd used it as a punishment. The dry spell following the turn and the rise of the Walkers had lasted for so many years that she'd lost track. All the while, she'd thought that maybe Daryl would find that he liked her. That he was interested or ready. But he never did, and she didn't want to push him too far. She'd rather have his friendship than nothing at all. When she'd started seeking relationships to fill some kind of void, she'd avoided sex with Tobin as much as possible after the first time she'd been with him and had realized that she'd had pelvic exams that were more inspired. She'd actually welcomed the dry spell that had followed that, and she'd been grateful that Ezekiel, during the span of their relationship, had a low enough libido that she'd never had to explain to him that her desire to have his companionship wasn't enough to make her body respond to him—and he'd gladly accepted the faltering excuse that she, too, simply was never that interested in the physical side of things.

The truth was, she had a real desire to have sex—and to try things far beyond anything she'd ever tried before—but she'd never, before, been able to get the attention of the man that her imagination craved.

"I don't think there's anything wrong with your guns," Carol offered. "Maybe you just weren't meant to square off with a horny Vulcan."

"Shit—is this what the fuck our lives are now?" Daryl asked, amused. "Damn—it's so fuckin' hot. I'm—shit, I'm sorry."

He moved around, clearly uncomfortable, and Carol let her eyes drop. Maybe she shouldn't have. Maybe it was rude to ogle him. She wasn't even entirely certain she could help it, though. She was fighting to control everything she thought, or did, or said. Some things were bound to slip. The loose pajama pants made it very evident that Daryl's arousal was harder to conceal than her own.

Embarrassingly enough, she could feel her body prepare—lubricating itself for something that wasn't likely to ever take place.

She stood up, stepped near Daryl, and flicked the ashes of her cigarette into the ashtray that he would empty later.

"Maybe it's the flannel," she said.

"What?" Daryl breathed out, clearly every bit as uncomfortable as she felt.

"The heat—maybe it's the flannel," Carol said. "It was comfortable when we knew how cold the room is, but…it traps heat when we're…when we're hot like this."

Daryl stared at her. She watched his Adam's apple bob. His skin was pink from the heat. His pupils had nearly taken over his irises. She wondered if she looked the same. The fact that she could only draw shallow, quick breaths told her that she probably did.

"Maybe it is," Daryl said.

"Maybe you should—take it off?" Carol said, snubbing out her cigarette. Daryl's rested forgotten on the side of the ashtray. She snubbed it out without asking him. She flicked her eyes back in his direction. She'd never seen an expression quite so intense on his features before.

"You first," he offered.

"OK," Carol said. She saw Daryl's eyes grow bigger for a moment and she smiled to herself. "You're sure?"

He nodded, and she unbuttoned her shirt. She worked her way down until all the buttons were undone. Then she slipped off her pajama shirt and let it drop behind her. He licked his lips. She didn't imagine it and she didn't miss it.

She opened her arms to him and he went directly to her breast and latched onto her nipple as his other hand found the other breast to fondle it.

Carol closed her eyes and tossed her head back in satisfaction. Then, a though flitted across her mind as she felt Daryl's hands find the waistband of her pajama pants, his mouth moving to her other breast—clearly he was not satisfied with what little of her body he was given. She pulled away from him enough to get him to look at her.

"Somethin' wrong?" He asked.

"We know we're—under the influence of something," Carol said. He hummed. "Maybe our own pon farr?"

"Humans don't have pon farrs," Daryl said. "I don't think—maybe they do now."

"What if—it's just the influence of whatever it is? That makes us do this?" Carol asked.

"That what you think it is?" Daryl asked.

"I don't know," Carol admitted. "I don't know what's happening to us. I don't know…how you feel."

Daryl laughed to himself. He nodded his head.

"You want me to stop?" Daryl asked, his fingers still hooked in the top of Carol's pajama pants. She noticed the elastic very slowly creeping further down her hips. She smiled to herself.

"No," she said. "The last thing I want in the whole—universe—is for you to stop." She tangled her fingers in his hair. He leaned his face back toward her breast like he meant to catch her nipple again. Like he'd missed it. Carol tugged his hair just hard enough to get his attention once more. He looked at her. Frustration and, perhaps, desperation came through on his features. "What if you—regret it tomorrow?"

"I hear you," Daryl offered, staying very much in the same position where his back must surely be hurting. Carol swallowed back some amusement. "I do. But—you gonna regret it tomorrow?"

"I don't think so," Carol said.

"Me either," Daryl offered. "You good with—goin' with that?"

"But what if you do?" Carol asked. "When the fever's gone?"

"I've regretted a lot of shit in my life," Daryl said. "A whole helluva lot of it was worse than this. Not that I think I'ma regret it, but…"

Carol caught his face and pulled him to her. She kissed him and it was the greatest kiss she could imagine. He kissed her back like he meant it. Whether or not it was the influence of whatever was happening to them, the kiss felt real. He edged her backward. She was aware of what he was doing, and she went where he wanted without a fight. She stopped only when the back of her legs made contact with the side of the bed, and then she sat down rather than let herself fall backward.

"I've wanted to kiss you for forever," Carol said. "That's what it feels like."

Daryl pushed her back. She had no other way to describe him other than to say that he was hungry. Starving. Perhaps he was even hungrier than she felt. Her body ached for him, but he was caught up in a frenzy. He tugged at her pants and she lifted her hips to allow him to remove them. She worked her way backward on the bed so that she wasn't hanging over the edge.

"Yeah?" Daryl mused. "I don't know about forever—but I been waitin' at least a fuckin' decade to just…"

Whatever he'd been waiting on was swallowed up as, in one fluid motion, he pushed Carol's legs apart and, moving her knees up over his shoulders, he buried his face in between her thighs. Without show or pretense, he went straight for what he wanted, and Carol clawed at the bed in response.

Any discussion she might have wanted to have about how long she'd desired him or whether or not he'd regret what they were doing were lost in the pleasurable act itself.

Carol's mind swam. She felt entirely outside of her body and, simultaneously, as happy inside her body as she'd ever felt before. Her orgasm washed over her, and she cried out her approval to Daryl even as he took a moment to pull away from her and shuck his own pajamas before he came back and moved to claim her breath with a kiss.

"Please," she breathed out to him.

"What?" He asked, his breath blowing against her as he kissed her face.

"Don't stop," she said.

Daryl laughed. The laugh drew her back to the moment and out of the cloud she'd been floating in. She laughed at him in response, not knowing what she was laughing at, but feeling it anyway.

"Ain't hardly got started," Daryl said. He kissed her again, hungrily, and she kissed him back as he pinned her wrists to the bed and then moved his hands to seek hers. She intertwined her fingers with his. He laughed again, quietly.

"What?" Carol breathed out, enjoying the simple pleasure of feeling his skin touching hers in so many places. Her whole body felt electrified. The uncomfortable sensation from earlier—which had made it almost painful for her clothing to touch her skin—was now one of absolute ecstasy as her skin made crackling contact with Daryl's.

"Any particular way you wanted to mate?" Daryl asked with a laugh. Carol laughed in response.

"That's the least romantic thing I've ever heard," Carol said. Daryl kissed her face. He dropped his head. His tongue and teeth found her nipple again and she arched her back in response to the pleasure. It seemed like he already had ideas about what he wanted—like he'd been thinking about it since the fever first struck. She was happy, too, to see where he might go.

"Ain't it, though?" He mused.

"But it's exactly what I think I want to hear right now," Carol breathed out. She groaned in approval as Daryl teased her other nipple again, like he thought one might get jealous of the other.

"What's it gonna be then?" He asked, his voice suddenly coming out much deeper and more graveled than before.

Carol got the distinct feeling he was reaching the end of his patience. He'd waited as long as his body wanted to wait. He'd freely given, and she couldn't complain about that, but he wanted, too. And just the thought made her body react by preparing for him again. She rolled her hips upward, seeking him out, craving more of his presence.

She could barely breathe for the desire that overwhelmed her.

"Whatever you want, I'll want. All I care is…that it's now," Carol said.

"You got it," Daryl said. Without hesitation, he moved himself around. He moved her. Readjusted her hips. He brought them together and, as he sunk into her, he buried his face in the crook of her neck a moment and panted against her skin. "You got all you want," he offered, rolling his hips as she scratched his back in full appreciation of his choices.