omg omg omg
oOo
Glenn came back from the run feeling confused and in need of counsel. Consequently, he sought out his best friend. Who better for him to spill his guts to? Although, maybe the subject would be a little… racy to discuss with her.
He'd never heard Diana even mention a previous romantic relationship, and now he was considering telling her that he and Maggie had had sex during the run. But on another hand, she was a nurse; there was probably nothing on the subject she hadn't heard before.
Although, if the roles were reversed, he guessed he would not have wanted to hear about what was going on in Diana's sex life. It felt too intruding. Maybe-
"You do know you've been standing in front of me for the past… two minutes now, right?" Diana's voice startled him.
Glenn looked down at her sitting form in surprise, seeing her squinting up at him. He moved a little to the right to block the sun from her face, and she smiled at him gratefully. She looked exhausted. Maybe this was a bad idea, she already had so much-
"Glenn?"
"Oh, uh. Hi."
"Oh my God, dude, sit down." She closed her notebook and gestured for the foldable chair next to her. Glenn obeyed, a little on auto-pilot, knowing there was no turning back now. "What's up, man, you look pale as hell. Did Maggie tell you anything about uh… anything at all?"
"Maggie!" Glenn reacted, now turning to face her in the chair. "Something happened with Maggie, yeah. Uh, she almost got bit today."
"What?!" Diana stiffened in her chair, ready to stand up.
Yeah, great way to start, Glenn, buddy. He grabbed her forearm and shook his head. "It's okay, she's alright. A little shaken up, but nothing wrong physically." Nothing wrong at all. He cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks flush, and sat back tidily, drumming his fingers on his thighs. "I kinda saved her from a walker. And then we kinda maybe have had… intercourse?" He stared straight ahead, Diana's shape barely moving at the corner of his eye.
"Glenn?" He acknowledged her with a hum and nodded stiffly in greeting at Dale when the man spotted them as he climbed down the RV. Diana continued, "You're my best friend, and I love you. So please, for the love of God, tell me the details."
"What?" he squeaked, then cleared his throat. Diana was leaning forward, looking at him expectantly, which made him blush to the tips of his ears. Did she seriously mean that? "You wanna know about the…?"
Diana's eyes widened, and her brow raised halfway to her hairline. "God, no, not about the sex, not that. The other stuff, like, was there a connection or a spark? Or like, did she do it only because you "kinda saved her"? Was it an "I'm so glad I didn't die, and you're the closest person around" kinda thing? An "I need to feel alive" type o' thing? Or was it cause she genuinely likes you?"
Never had Glenn been more confused. He seriously had no idea. Ideally, because she liked him, realistically, because of any of those other reasons.
"I… have no idea." He leaned his elbows on his knees and let his head fall in his hands.
Diana was silent for too long, which made Glenn look over his shoulder at her. Her eyes were trained on something. He followed her line of sight and found out it was a someone rather than a something; Alice. She was sitting under a tree at the edge of camp, cutting pieces off a pear with a knife – hopefully not her dad's walker-killing-knife. Her face was utterly blank; never a good sign.
He turned back to Diana and saw the melancholy in her downturned eyes. Had something happened between them? She had told him they used to get into arguments and not talk to each other for hours at a time, but it never went on longer than that, one or both always caved.
He didn't know if that was what had happened here, but he didn't like what he saw.
"Did- did you and Alice fight?" he asked quietly.
"What?" she startled, and he never saw a false smile be put up so quickly, nor falter as fast. "Oh, it's… it's-" she sighed and cocked her head. "It's not a fight per se. It's complicated, but I wanna- you need to know what it was about."
"If it's something you don't feel comfortable talking about, then-"
She silenced him with a shake of her head. Then she hesitated, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Finally, she leaned in and whispered, "The Greenes… they got walkers in the barn."
Glenn blinked slowly, opened his mouth, then closed it again. "I'm sorry, could y- could you repeat that? I might've misheard… I think I heard you say that the Greenes have walkers in the barn?" He hiss-whispered the last part, heart pounding in alarm.
Diana nodded, eyes scanning their surroundings before focusing on him. She was deathly serious.
Glenn took a moment to collect himself, and asked, "Are you sure?" Another nod from her. He frowned and scratched his hairline. "And how does that uh… with Alice, you said it had to do with a fight you guys had."
"She saw them. She and Felix were playing around, and she climbed in through the window." Her eyes did another subtle round, and she leaned in until her breath fell upon the shell of his ear. Glenn swallowed hard, fearful. "She saw Sophia."
Glenn jumped back and gaped at her in astonishment. "Diana, that's not funny."
"I never said it was a joke." She grabbed him by the arm and brought him close again, aware of the people going about their life around them. "She's one of them, Glenn. And I don't know what to do."
He looked into her eyes, wide and pleading, turned into honey by the sunlight. Her bottom lip was caught between her lips, almost raw from nervous chewing. He couldn't begin to imagine himself in her shoes. So, instead, he would stand at her side. "We tell the camp; our people have the right to know, Carol has that right most of all. They- we… we can't leave them hoping like this any longer."
"I thought hard about it, Glenn, I really did. I know it's cruel, and I feel so sorry for Carol, but… I can't tell Rick yet." She stopped him before he could ask the reason why. "People are looking at him for guidance, you know that. But Rick, above everything, is a dad. If I tell him about this before Carl is well enough to travel, I'd be forcing him to choose between his own son's health and a dead little girl."
Glenn gasped at her phrasing, how cold it sounded. He regretted it as soon as he saw the shame in Diana's eyes. It couldn't have easy to come to that conclusion by herself. "Exactly because Rick is a dad that he'd want to tell Carol as soon as possible," he countered, trying to see it another way.
Of course, there were other factors at play that she hadn't mentioned, but Glenn was entirely sure she had considered. For once, the news would have to come out before any other search party was organized, and after that, it wouldn't be long until Hershel would have to be confronted about it. They deserved to know if they were aware that Sophia was among them, at least. Diana was right about Carl's situation, though. Glenn was sure that no matter the result of that confrontation, they would be forced to leave post-haste, no matter what state Carl would be in.
Again, Glenn would hate to be in Diana's shoes. He could understand why her eyes were swollen and bloodshot. But he still figured the best thing would be to tell Rick. He was a rational guy, he'd be able to weigh their options and make the right call.
His lips parted, but Andrea's voice called out before he could speak.
oOo
"Walker!" Andrea yelled, calling attention to her on top of the RV, binoculars in hand. "We got a walker!"
"Just the one?" Rick asked. To which Andrea responded affirmatively.
She offered to dispose of it with the rifle, but Rick told her to stand her ground. Smart, if there were more out there, they might be drawn to the sound. Better to do it one on one, silently.
The entire camp jumped to action; Rick, Shane, and T-Dog grabbed their respective weapons. Diana was contemplating whether or not she should join them, purely because they already ridiculously outnumbered a single lone walker.
Then, Rick gave her a brief nod, and she got up on her feet, leaving Glenn behind so she could fetch the bow from her tent. The weapon soothed her frayed nerves and relaxed her tight muscles; maybe it was more of a pseudo effect it had on her, like a blankie to a baby, but it helped nonetheless.
Again, running sucked lately. Diana settled for a much less hurried, more comfortable pace than the three men ahead of her. That was until the distance began to diminish between them and the walker, and its features became all too familiar. Worryingly so.
She would've gasped if her lungs weren't already giving their all. She would've collapsed if adrenaline didn't keep her legs moving.
He couldn't. He couldn't. Fuck, not him.
She slowed to a stop a few feet behind T-Dog, letting his significant stature hide him from her sight for the time being.
Her throat tightened as she choked back the heartbreak.
"Is that Daryl?" Shane asked with caution, his aim wavering. It was like he also refused to believe it.
Out of all of them, why Daryl? It sounded mean, but she'd gladly sacrifice Officer Dum-dum instead. Indignation tinted her sadness. She felt like throwing a tantrum out of the injustice.
Her heart pounded a hole in her chest, and not just because of the running. She stepped from behind T-Dog, hand tight on the silent bow – she remembered the last time it had fallen quiet like this, copying her.
But then, "That's the third you've pointed that thing at my head. You gonna pull the trigger or what?" Daryl stepped towards them, favoring one of his sides, looking like he had stepped out of a bloody mud bath, from head to toe. The necklace of putrid ears hanging from his neck adding to the whole ambiance.
Relief. A relief so sweet and refreshing that she felt her entire body unwind.
"Daryl," she called, only above a whisper, her voice caught in her throat. She took a step in his direction, intent on embracing him, dirt and blood and all. But his eyes wouldn't meet hers, even now. And it stopped her in her tracks, aching.
She felt pity in Rick and T-Dog's gazes directed at her and felt her face burn like a furnace. She swallowed it down and stepped back.
That was when a bullet whistled past, and Daryl went down.
She was on him before anyone else, before Rick yelled out for Andrea to stand down.
Her hands found the wound on his head; luckily only a graze. But he looked like he had perspired blood even before getting shot, and it didn't smell foul; it was his. And the way he'd stood himself said it all, so, where were the other wounds he'd suffered?
Daryl winced when she touched his side, slipping in and out of consciousness. "Sorry," he told her, slurring.
"Apologize later."
She helped Rick and Shane lift him up so they could carry him back to the farmhouse. Her mind knew only objectivity as she followed them with long, purposeful strides. She had to clench her jaw and look the other way when Andrea came up to them in a tizzy; she should've kept her finger off the trigger instead of trying to prove herself.
Inside, Hershel guided them to a guest bedroom, where they laid Daryl on the crisp white sheets, sullying them immediately. The older man sent them all outside as Patricia rushed in with wound dressings and other items.
Diana stood her ground, stubbornly setting her eyes on Hershel's, defying him to send her away.
He didn't give her a second thought, and Diana released the breath she'd been holding to puff out her chest with fake confidence.
Daryl didn't stay unconscious for long; the pain once Hershel began stitching him up jolted him back to reality. He then asked for Rick's presence so he could tell him of his finds.
While he did that, Diana kept her eyes trained on Hershel's expert fingers as he handled the needle and thread. She memorized the pattern and knotting while choking on the guilt.
No, it wasn't her fault that Daryl had gotten hurt, and no, she hadn't yet known about Sophia when the last search party had been organized.
But her silence as he gave them false hope felt like a betrayal. To counteract the image of an undead Sophia and the thought of Carol's oncoming grief, she focused on Carl recovering in the other room. She focused on Daryl suppressing flinches of pain right in front of her.
She chewed on her cheek and felt the bow come back to life against her back. She didn't care if they began to resent her for omitting it; she was willing to sacrifice that. At the moment, she regarded omission as their best option.
She made her peace with that.
Rick gave her a meaningful look that she was unable to decipher as he closed the door after Hershel and himself.
Hershel had cleaned the areas surrounding the wounds which he'd sutured so the wound dressing would stick, but he'd left extra material on the bedside table in case it wouldn't. It was right next to a basin filled with warm water and some towels that Patricia had left him.
Diana took off the bow and settled it against the foot of the bed. She took a few steps, observing Daryl from the corner of her eye, and saw the antibiotic and glass of water waiting for him on the table. She dropped the pill on the palm of her hand and picked up the glass, and saw Daryl's head turn in her direction. She wondered how long it would take him to talk to her.
"Can you sit up?" she asked, forcing her voice above a whisper. She didn't want to show weakness. He'd said he was sorry before; had he meant it?
"I ain't no cripple" he spoke, finally. "You can go play pretend nurse somewhere else."
Strangely, Diana felt hollow. As so, the chuckle out her throat was empty of emotion; a mere echo. "Oh my God, Daryl." She turned to him. "You oughta think of better insults. I've been dealing with uncooperative patients short of four years. I've heard it all." Insults ranging from her accent to her ethnicity; there was nothing she hadn't cried about yet.
His blue eyes glared into hers, a blue flame she'd seen directed at her. But Diana knew him reasonably well by now. His glare was as fake as her laughter had been. And even though she knew him, she couldn't understand him right now.
She sat on the edge of the bed, surprising Daryl from his half-sitting position up until his back was against the headboard. She pretended to not see the hidden pain in his expression.
She offered him the pill and water with a blank expression, painfully remembering that not long ago he had been the one in her position, bringing her something for her hangover, caring for her. What had triggered the change? "Take this. And you need to get clean and dressed. There shouldn't be dirt anywhere near those wounds." She adjusted herself to face him, curling one leg underneath her. "I swear I'll kill you if they get infected." She forced some humor into her voice and experimented with a curl of her lip, but it was met with a poker face. The smile fell immediately.
Her hands remained outstretched for a moment as they stared at each other. Diana considered putting the pill up to his lips like her mom used to do when her dad refused to take analgesics even when he was in terrible pain. Instead, she gave up with a sigh.
She didn't know if she should be annoyed by his petulance or saddened by his indifference. She felt a potent mix of both.
She forced the items into his hands and turned to the bedside table. She dipped the washcloth into the water basin and wrung out the lukewarm water.
Daryl had drained the glass by the time Diana faced him again. She took it from him and replaced it with the washcloth. "Did you forget how to use one of those or what?" she asked when he made no attempt to begin the task.
"You gonna stand watch like that? The hell did I tell you?" His tone was biting, but his eyes were off to the side.
"Well, unless you suddenly healed one hundred percent in the span of the last three minutes, I thought you'd be grateful if someone helped you."
"I don't need your help."
Diana scoffed and took the cloth from him. "Tell me that again when you're struggling to wash your back."
Daryl snatched it back, hurting her ring finger with the force. His face screwed in anger, and his tone was far from friendly, "You gone deaf? Need me to write it down for you? You ain't puttin' a goddamn hand on me. Get the hell out!"
Something snapped. Diana remembered a promise she'd made herself almost a month ago. Her nostrils flared as she inhaled, and she stood from the bed ignited by an inner fire. "Listen here, you deadass idiot," she began, regretting the name calling, but finding it an integral piece by the way Daryl's eyes widened. "I don't know what the fuck happened that made you act like a fucking brick of ice all of a sudden." She held up a hand to silence him when his mouth opened, and hissed through clenched teeth, incensed by his daring interruption, "Ay, que nervos! You gonna shut up and you gonna listen.
"I have loved being your friend, and it's not you being a bit of a dick that's gonna scare me away right now. You got a problem with me? Talk it out, boy, don't shut me out like some loser! If I fucked up whatever we have, Tell Me! If you think you fucked up, Tell Me! Knowing you, you pro'bly have it all twisted in your head anyway, and what kinda shitty friend would I be if I let that shit be?"
She straightened herself, bringing her arms back to her side from wildly gesturing along to her tirade. She took a couple of deep breaths to pat down the flames. "Chew on that for some fucking minutes. When I'm back, you better have your head on straight and be ready to tell me what the fuck is going on."
Her eyes took to the grain of the wooden floors, and she didn't let them stray. She took the bow by the foot of the bed and almost slammed the door behind her.
Once she leaned back against the door, the water that had been growing on her lower lash line went overboard and took a freefall dive. They tasted of heartbreak and absolute anger. And they dried just as quickly as they came. She felt calmer afterward, once again confirming that sometimes you really do just need to cry it out.
Relief washed over her from finally confronting Daryl's stupid ass. After this, things would either go really well for them or get really awkward. But she didn't regret standing up for herself one bit. And she was going to make sure that he apologized for shunning her, right after the got the reason out of him.
"Is everything alright?" Glenn asked, waiting for her around the corner. "Thought I heard yelling."
oOo
Diana stood again in front of Daryl's door. She raised her hand to knock but lowered it again. A process she'd gone over about five times by now.
When the fire and anger had died down, she'd felt especially awkward – although not regretful, so, progress – about the way things had gone down. And after her whole speech, she didn't know how the reprise would go; she was tongue-tied and drawing a blank.
Felix stood next to her, leaning tiredly against the wall. His eyes were half-lidded, and he sighed at her failure. She had asked him there for emotional support since Alice was still not talking to her. "Know what, bruh?" he said, then knocked on the door and turned the handle. "I think it's open." He mocked her with a lopsided grin.
Diana gasped at him but knew she couldn't just close the door back up and pretend nothing had happened. So, she glared at her brother, punched his arm, and pushed the door open timidly.
She slipped inside and closed it silently without turning to face Daryl. Merda… C'mon, Diana, you dumb hoe, turn your ass around and face the music!
She did just that and found Daryl sitting on the edge of the bed – mostly clean –, staring at her. He held the washcloth to his chest like he was trying to hide. It was a strangely womanly move, and it melted Diana's heart a little. To think that he was embarrassed to bare his chest in front of her.
Neither said a word, so Diana took the initiative by walking up to him. That blue that was her favorite color no longer held any contempt for her – fake or not. The way his eyes flickered to the floor and back to her spoke of his regret and shame. Had this been any normal fight, she would've been satisfied with that look; his eyes barely lied.
But this had been no regular quarrel, the son of a bitch had really hurt her feelings, and had tried to get rid of her, to push her away; she demanded to know why. If he was that remorseful, then why do it in the first place?
It mystified her. Had it really been because of that drunken night?
With gentle hands, Diana took the washcloth from his hand and saw him retreat in on himself, his eyes searching the room, almost as if wanting to escape. She saw the scars then. Old and faded; like from slash wounds. Her breath hitched, and pain stabbed her chest.
She had to bite her tongue to keep from asking about them; he would tell her if he wanted; if he trusted her. Meanwhile, she tried to keep from thinking about their origin.
The water in the basin was dirtied beyond belief, so she went and poured it into the bucket in the corner of the room, and replaced it with the room temperature water from the pitcher Patricia had left behind.
Back at the bedside, Diana rinsed and wrung the cloth, now less sullied, and gave Daryl a once over. He'd tried, but his restricted mobility had made it hard for him to reach certain areas of his torso, and the lack of a mirror caused some patches on his face to go forgotten.
With yet a word to be said between them, Diana touched the tips of her fingers underneath Daryl's stubbled chin and tipped his head up to her. The look in his eyes was so painfully tender that it hurt to breathe.
With soft pats, she pressed the wet cloth against his temple, along his jaw, down the side of his neck. His eyes fluttered closed, and Diana's gaze flickered down to his lips. The urge was so strong, so tempting. Instead, she cupped his jaw and cushioned her lips against his forehead. A half-forgiveness.
Daryl's hand encased her wrist while his eyes flew open in shock. He tried to search for something in her expression, but she battled to keep it blank. Her thumb caressed his cheek, and his fingers tightened around her wrist. Could he feel the rush of her pulse?
Her mind was devoid of any anxious thought; she acted purely on instinct. She let the washcloth fall onto the bed and stepped into the space between his legs to gently cradle Daryl's head against her belly. One of her hands held onto him while she traced her fingers up and down his nape with the other.
Daryl responded positively, locking his arms around her thighs and pressing his cheek against her stomach. Something fluttered hard underneath her flesh there, lighting the furnace inside her lower abdomen.
Diana looked down at his relaxed posture and closed eyes, and felt a deep affection she was sure she didn't recognize.
This was a man that deserved so much more than what he'd gotten in life. She wondered how many times someone had embraced him like that. Had his mother? A girlfriend or boyfriend?
Then, from her high point of advantage, she saw more scars on his back; some thin and crossing over each other, others lone and deeper. It enraged her.
Diana stepped away from him, forcing him to look up at her, his brow furrowed. Then she sat beside him, facing him, and touched a hand to his back. He flinched away, and Diana took it back.
"Who did this to you?" By now she was sure it hadn't been an accident, and certainly not self-inflicted. When Daryl remained silent, avoiding her eye, she continued, "It's okay. You can tell me."
He shrugged, meeting gaze reluctantly. Diana was reminded of a fearful little boy, and she hated it. How could someone have mistreated him in such a way that it made him react this way even after – she assumed – many years later?
She accepted his silence. She had her suspicions, and his boyish reaction only confirmed her theory. It wasn't always easy to talk about who abused you, even if they were long dead. Instead of pressing, Diana took the cloth and dipped it back in the water.
She crawled on the bed until she was directly behind Daryl. From that angle the scars looked even worse, like they had been left to heal recklessly; wide and deep.
"What're you doin'?" Daryl's voice was raw, and he turned to look at her over his shoulder. That must've hurt his side, because he straightened quickly and covered the bandaged area with a hand. No peep of pain came from him.
"Don't worry." Diana wondered if any of those scars had been caused because he'd cried out. Her fingers squeezed hard around the towel, wishing it was the neck of Daryl's abuser. Unforgivable.
She rubbed his back in gentle circles, washing away the blood and grime he hadn't been able to reach. With her other hand, she traced figures on his skin with the tips of her fingers, and saw goosebumps rise on his golden tan skin.
He was sitting rigidly, with his head bent forward, and his hands gripping the edge of the bed until his knuckles were white.
There was so much blood rushing to Diana's head that she felt lightheaded.
She had been in denial for so long, refusing to indulge in what her heart desperately craved. But she couldn't wait for much longer.
She knew what she wanted. This intimacy, not just with anyone, but with Daryl. But she couldn't take the first step not knowing for sure that he felt the same. She was too much of an anxious coward.
And his recent behavior had only filled her with doubt. The fear of rejection stood in the way. And she made little attempts to cut through it.
She'd take what she could get in the meanwhile.
She patted Daryl's back dry, and timidly crawled closer to him, so he was positioned between her legs. She pecked his nape, then put her arms around his torso with extra care, laying her head down on the back of his shoulder. Her flushed cheek against his warm skin.
A moment of silence fell between them, and then, "I'm sorry." And he touched her forearm that rested across his abdomen.
Diana smiled a little, not needing a bigger apology than that; she knew his words were sincere. "Do that again and I'll cut your dick off."
The chuckles reverberated in his chest, and she felt them; her smile widened with her success. "Jump straight to the sledgehammer, huh?"
Diana leaned back and propped her chin on his shoulder, looking at his side profile. "Ew, is that what you call your penis?"
"I don't call it penis, to start with." He turned his head to her, and their noses bumped. He leaned away almost immediately, the surprise in his eyes quickly changing to something else. She'd seen that look before, many times throughout the last few weeks. Most of those times, it had been fleeting; gone the second he'd noticed she was looking back.
Not this time.
Diana released him and leaned back, sitting back on her legs, and Daryl turned with her until he sat sideways on the bed. If he was in pain, he didn't show it.
Her breathing was shallow, coming and leaving in quick succession through parted lips, and her insides were a mix of fire and velvet. Her hands gripped her thighs to keep still. She felt something twitch back to life inside her belly when Daryl's eyes studied her face and ran down her body.
She was trembling so badly that her teeth almost chattered. Do something! – her mind yelled, and she didn't know if she meant herself or Daryl, but she honestly didn't care.
The fire was doused immediately when Daryl turned his eyes away and breathed out a self-derogatory scoff.
Diana sobered up in a second, blushing deeply. Her automatic reaction was to chide herself; screaming inside her head about how fucking stupid she was, and how embarrassed she felt. She wished she could clone herself so the clone could come and beat her ass, and then take her out the back and bury her other self alive!
She was about to excuse herself to go cry of embarrassment, when Daryl said, "I ain't good enough."
The first thing that came to Diana's mind was: If you're talking about making me feel like how the first nun that saw Jesus on the cross and thought he looked fucking ripped probably felt, then you're so wrong, boy.
"For what?" was what came out instead.
"You."
"Sorry, what?" Diana's legs began to feel numb, so she sat sideways.
"Whatever you think you're feelin' right now, it ain't right."
That infuriated her. "What the hell d'you mean? And what is it you think I'm feeling?"
"Ya oughta stop lookin' at me like that. I don't deserve that."
"Okay, first, what the fuck? Second, maybe if I was like a- a… I don't know, like a fucking reincarnation of Cleopatra or something would that maybe justify what you're saying." Her hand cupped his jaw and turned his face to her. "But I'm not. I'm really not. I'm just a girl." …who really wants a particular guy.
Daryl's blue gaze was intense but so sad that it pained her to look. He took her hand in both of his, and kissed her palm, and then the inside of her wrist. The gallop restarted in Diana's chest.
"You don't want me. Believe me, I been 'round myself long enough to know a girl like you oughta keep away from guys like me."
She wanted to laugh and cry. "Is that why you've been acting so verdammt weird?"
His silence said it all.
"Look, I can't possibly know how you see yourself, but I know what I see. And you're every bit worth my time and affection. Every bit," she emphasized. "I've seen you angry, and I've seen you kind, and I want all of you."
If she could hit high notes as well as Alice and wasn't afraid of willingly making a fool of herself, she'd serenate Daryl's dumb ass with some John Legend. Was this how the bold heroines in those bodice-ripper novels felt when they pursued their man?
The rush of adrenaline made her jittery. She threw most of her concerns to the wind, grabbed Daryl's face and planted a kiss on his cheek.
However bold she felt, she wasn't daring enough to plant a straight one on him yet. Mostly because she'd never kissed anyone and a big part also because she didn't know if he actually wanted to be kissed by her.
Daryl's Adam's apple moved as he swallowed, and his eyes flew from hers to her lips and back again. In a rush of movement and surprised protest from Diana's part, he grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her onto his lap, where she sat like she was going to ask for a bike for Christmas.
She didn't miss the twitch under his eye, and batted at his shoulder. "Your stitches!"
Daryl shook his head with a half shrug. "You think I give a fuck?" His hands were heavy on Diana's hips, like they were made for her curves, his thumbs caressing her skin under the shirt as he looked at her like it was their honeymoon. Fuck, the guy knew what he was doing.
Imagining herself in such an intimate moment with anyone had always felt awkward and forced. Diana believed that she wouldn't know where to put her hands and that her body would feel too rigid.
Reality was different. Daryl wasn't just anyone, and he felt as comfortable as home. His touch made her melt in his hands, and it was like her body was wired to react to his and vice-versa. One of her arms wrapped naturally around his neck, hand resting at his nape, fingers playing with his hair. The other cupped his jaw.
She licked her lips and saw him do the same, drawing the attention away from the raw intensity of his blue eyes. Her thumb ghosted over his bottom lip slowly, and Diana relished over the feeling of dominance that came from having the higher ground.
Okay, so he did want to be kissed by her, who would've thought?
She briefly wondered if they weren't moving too fast, but after what felt like months of pining, it just felt right. She personally knew of faster cases than hers.
Diana took the initiative with a small peck on the corner of his lip, feeling bashful. Daryl turned his face to capture her lips but was too slow, causing her to laugh and rest her forehead against his. She brushed her nose on his, then pecked his lips again, feeling braver.
He let her go at her own pace, lazily chasing after her mouth whenever she got close, making her gain courage and enjoy the giddiness. One of his hands left her hip to cradle the side of her neck, his thumb brushing along her jaw teasingly, sending tingly feelings running under her skin.
"You sure?" he whispered into the space between their mouths after one of her playful kisses. His eyes were closed, and he looked content and relaxed.
Diana's affection only grew, got her heart feeling like she had just sprinted around the farmhouse before coming to fall into his arms.
She answered by pressing a kiss to his lips, a real one, leaning into him while her fingers fisted the hair at the back of his head. Daryl answered eagerly, taken aback but recovering quickly. Maybe he had been too eager, and maybe it was because it was Diana's first kiss, but she burst into laughter five seconds into it.
There was a velvety tremor inside her that made her insides feel like jelly and her teeth chatter, and it made her lips spread so wide that she couldn't form the words to apologize. She held Daryl's face between both hands and felt his cheeks move under her palms, and he laughed with her.
And then Diana was no longer just laughing, she was crying; her chest felt full like never before, so full that it couldn't help but spilled over.
okay, be honest, how did i do?
i swear i was feeling giddy throughout the first draft, but then i was editing and it felt it too rushed? is it just in my head?
