AN: I have never written these characters as a romantic couple before, but I've been kind of itching to play with them a bit. I don't watch the show much, really, except for bits and pieces, so everything that I may write would be heavily steeped in fantasy and make-believe, and it would never adhere strictly to canon. I can also never guarantee that they wouldn't be a little OOC, since I believe that we all perceive characters according to our own experiences, desires, etc. and, therefore, we may all see them differently. I also like to play a little fast and loose, at times, just to enjoy myself. I hope, if you choose to read, that you may enjoy it, too.
I may write other oneshots for Carzekiel to play with their relationship and the possibilities there.
I own nothing from The Walking Dead. All that I own are my own original plots/dialogue/characters, etc.
I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!
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"You know—if you take too much longer to come to bed, I may start to take it personally," Ezekiel said.
Carol laughed quietly. She didn't move, immediately, though from her position. She stood still, in front of the dresser where she'd dressed, and held her hand out in front of her. The little diamond on the ring glittered. It was a beautiful ring, really, and he had chosen a modest sized stone because he knew that she wouldn't have accepted anything large or gaudy—she'd hardly accepted this one.
In fact, she still hadn't accepted it—not entirely.
It felt foreign on her finger. It felt heavy. Looking at it there filled her with conflicting emotions—happiness and excitement for the promise of some kind of new life in this world and fear and dread that came bubbling up from past experience.
Carol turned around, this time resting her back against the dresser. She moved not even a step closer to the bed. Ezekiel reclined in bed—practically regally—wearing nothing more than the bedsheet that was draped over him. Of that, Carol was sure.
"You're such a stickler for tradition," Carol teased, her heart pounding from her mix of emotions, and her mind crying out for the soothing that the teasing could bring her, "that you ought to know that—I shouldn't let you touch me before the wedding."
Ezekiel smiled.
"If it means that you'll be my bride," Ezekiel said, "then I'll leave the royal bedchambers this very instance—not to return until I'm officially your bridegroom. You tell me, my queen, what it is that you wish from me."
Carol sighed and shook her head, but the smile was there whether she meant for it to be or not.
"What I want is for you to cut the act and talk to me like Ezekiel—not the king."
His smile fell only slightly. He examined the sheets for a moment before he brought his eyes back to her.
"You know I'll do, for you, whatever it is that makes you happy. I'm only waiting for you to tell me what would bring you the most happiness."
"What would bring you the most happiness?" Carol challenged.
"You're wearing my ring," Ezekiel said. "If you told me that you accept it, that you'll be my bride—there's little else in the world that could possibly bring me more happiness. And anything else that I could imagine? They all start with you."
Carol felt her muscles un-knot themselves in response to his words. There was a sincerity there that contrasted somewhat sharply with his normal kingly-bullshit. She walked toward the bed and sat down on her side of it. He didn't move toward her too quickly or with too much demand. Instead, he simply reached a hand out and rested it somewhat tentatively on her thigh. She hesitated a moment, and then she placed her left hand on top of his. The ring, she thought, sparkled even in the dim light of their bedroom lamp.
"Cut the bullshit, OK?"
"I assure you, Carol—nothing I've said to you, tonight, has been bullshit," Ezekiel said.
She only then dared to let her eyes meet his. He looked so sincere. He gave her a soft smile. He turned his hand, caught hers, and lifted it to his lips. He kissed it, his eyes not leaving hers. Then, he glanced at her fingers.
"That ring looks beautiful on you," he said. "You should keep it, even if you don't want to marry me."
"Why do you want to marry me?" Carol asked.
"I was hoping you'd ask," he teased. "I wrote a speech, you know. It's over there—on the dresser."
Carol glanced at the folded piece of paper. He'd been carrying it around for a while. She'd noticed it earlier, though she hadn't read it, and she'd noticed that the edges of the paper were feathered from wear.
"I don't want a speech, Ezekiel," she said. "Just…the truth. Not poetry. I want—what's real."
He rubbed his thumb over her hand. He squeezed her fingers and she was even more acutely aware of the foreign body of the ring on her finger. If she kept it, one day she wouldn't feel it there as obviously as she did now.
"You're what's real," Ezekiel said. "You're the realest thing I've found since…forever, Carol. You make me real. You allow me to be real. You accept me for who I am—whoever that may be, and however many versions there may be of that reality."
"We're all juggling different versions of ourselves," Carol said softly.
"And you see all of mine," Ezekiel said. "And you accept them. If you give me permission, I want to see all of yours. I want to prove to you that I can accept all of them. Every one."
He raised her fingers back to his lips. He kissed her hand softly. Her body reacted with a shiver that ran between her legs. The throbbing feeling of appreciation for his tenderness, and the desire for more, reminded Carol that she'd long been enjoying the physical comfort that this man had to offer her.
"This love is what's real, Carol," Ezekiel continued, his voice soft enough that it made goosebumps rise up on her skin. "At least—my love for you is real. And I hope that, if you don't love me the same, you may come to do so in time."
"I do love you," Carol said, her own voice practically getting caught in her throat.
He smiled at her.
"You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that," he said.
"I've said it before," Carol said.
"But it sounds different now," Ezekiel said. "Your skin—it feels different now. Your smile is different. Your eyes are more beautiful…"
"All because I took your stupid ring?" Carol asked, laughing nervously to herself. Ezekiel echoed the quiet laugh and moved to sit up in bed. He only moved slightly closer to her—not close enough to make her feel like he might make some demand. She let her eyes fall to the sheet that puddle over his legs and around his waist. She brought her eyes back up this as he touched her face gently.
"All because there's a chance that you'll make the happiest man on Earth, Carol," Ezekiel said. "And, perhaps, that you'll give me a chance to try to bring you happiness." He looked away a moment—maybe he even cast a longing glance at the dresser where his perfectly prepared speech waited, and then he looked back at Carol. His fingers still held her face delicately. "I want to give you everything that you've ever told me before that you wanted. I want to give you safety. Security. Comfort. Rest. I want to give you family, and love, and motherhood, and a husband that loves you unconditionally. I want to fulfill every fantasy you have. I want your life to be a dream that you have…only it doesn't fade upon waking. I want to create, for you, a fairytale for the rest of your life."
Carol's heart pounded in her chest. She was aware that her beathing was as irregular as her heartbeat. If she didn't feel for him the way that she did, it would be unnerving how he held her eyes at that moment. If she didn't love him the way that she did, she would have had to look away. She didn't look away, but she did laugh nervously.
"Is that—your speech?" She teased.
Ezekiel broke the eye contact. He laughed and dropped his hand from her face. He shook his head at her.
"Not the whole thing," he said. "But—as much as I can remember."
"I told you, I don't want a speech," Carol said.
"I wrote the speech," he said. "The words are mine, written, recited, or forgotten—I mean them."
"I don't want a speech," Carol repeated. "But—I do think…I want a fairytale."
Ezekiel looked truly shocked. If she'd doused him with ice water, he probably wouldn't have started quite so sincerely. His smile fell in his surprise, and he brought his eyes back to hers.
"You mean that?" He asked.
"I do," Carol admitted, nodding her head.
"With me?" He asked, laughing quietly. She could hear his nervousness.
She bit her lip. Her own nerves were making her pulse feel irregular and her stomach feel uncomfortable.
"Yeah," she said. "But—I never had a fairytale before, and I do know what bad marriages are like…even if they seem like fairytales at first…"
He pressed his lips softly to hers. He brushed his fingertips through the hair at her temple.
"I will never…never…make you regret putting on that ring," he assured her. The sincerity of the promise pulsed through her entire body.
"What's your fairytale, Ezekiel?" Carol asked, her eyes holding his after the kiss broke. "What do you want?"
"If you tell me that you're going to marry me," Ezekiel said, "then I'll already have it. Through you, I shall everything I ever dreamed of having. I will provide for you—my wife—and, through you, I shall have all the good things that the world allows."
Carol laughed quietly.
"I'm not even mad about your bullshit speech," she teased.
"Good," he said, nodding his head gently. "Because—it isn't bullshit."
Carol sucked in a breath.
"You better not—make me regret this."
"Never," he said. "Does that mean—you'll keep the ring?"
"You're not getting it back now," she teased. He smiled.
"And—will you…be my queen?" He asked.
"No," Carol said. His face fell slightly. "But—I'll be your wife." His smile returned and he kissed her, sincerely. She held the kiss a long time, and they played together, nipping each other, licking and tasting. Carol's lips stung when they finally broke apart, and she was sure they were red and probably looked horrible. Ezekiel didn't point it out, though, if it was true.
"You've made me the happiest man alive," Ezekiel offered. Carol smiled at him. She felt her cheeks grow warm.
"You've made me pretty happy, too," she said.
He raised his eyebrows at her.
"As per tradition," he said, "do you want me to leave the bed and not return until we've said our vows in the company of everyone who wishes to witness them?"
Carol laughed to herself.
"You know," she said, "I've never really been a fan of tradition."
He hummed. He caught her hand and massaged it in his.
"I see," he said, picking up the King's cadence that he was never fully able to shed after wearing that mask for so long. Carol decided that, though it sometimes irritated her, it wasn't as bad as she sometimes thought it was. "And—what would the lady prefer?" He asked.
"The lady would prefer you take her to bed," Carol said, holding her tone steady. He smiled at her and reached to rest his hand on her shoulder. She let him push her down toward the pillow. She moved only enough to rearrange herself and to help him rid her of the cotton gown she'd put on earlier by the dresser.
"My lady," he assured her, after kissing her again, his hands going on a tour of her body as he started to search out her pleasure. His hand slipped down her body and eased gently into the waistband of her panties. She closed her eyes to the feeling of his touch. His voice changed only slightly as he continued speaking. "My lady…for her efforts at making me the happiest man in the whole of the world, gets whatever will make her happiest. That's—our new tradition to be upheld in this happy home."
Carol laughed at his teasing before moaning at the pleasure he was already bringing to her body.
"That may be my new favorite tradition," Carol said in response, pulling his face back toward hers for another kiss.