Writing this has been my reward every time I finish grading a set of papers, so it got a little long—I have a LOT of papers to grade…thanks for your patience waiting for this one.

A little hurt/comfort and some M rated smut for you.


This Side of Paradise

"Oh my God, Daryl...I am so sorry I hit you." Carol said softly, with great feeling, pressing a gentle kiss to the cheek where she'd struck him with her open hand after Beth had come upon them in the kitchen earlier. Her passionate kiss upon entering the small bathroom had somewhat made an apology to him a moot point, but she needed to say it for her sake as much as his.

Carol had lived with violence perpetrated against her for most of her adult life and she worried that living the way they did now, with everyday use of weapons and deadly force so common place, could numb them to the damage it could cause the people they cared about. What had happened at the prison wasn't something she could deal with now; she wasn't ready to discuss or explain it to him, partly because the secret of what had happened wasn't fully hers to share. That he still wanted to be with her, hadn't run from or avoided her, hadn't yet told Beth that she had been banished meant that he still trusted her, believed that she'd had her reasons. That meant so much more than she could ever tell him.

And what had she done? She'd let her embarrassment, anger and hurt over what she mistakenly believed he had done—something he would've had a perfect right to do since there had been no commitments between them—lead her to hit him, physically hurt him, when she knew, had seen his scars and watched him flinch away from even good touch. He was a better person than she could ever hope to be.

Daryl pulled her down to sit on his lap, drawing her legs to the side so he could cradle her head against his chest, his arms wrapped around her tightly.

"You thought you were protecting Beth, right?" he said quietly, his chin resting on the crown of her head.

"That's part of it." Carol said slowly, letting the fingers of her right hand dare to trace a path along the muscled forearm wrapped around her waist. She smiled when she felt him give a little shiver at her delicate touch.

"What's the other part?" he rumbled softly, nuzzling her short hair absently, as if he did it all the time, and the casual intimacy of it made her catch her breath before she replied.

"You were kissing me and—"

"You were kissin' me!" he interrupted, reminding her it hadn't been one-sided.

"We were kissing." she amended.

"And touchin'..." Daryl said, finding the hem of her scarlet shirt at the back and pushing under it to her silken skin right at that sweet curve where back turned to bottom, circling his fingers slowly, and Carol sighed to feel his hand on her so deliberately seductive.

"And touching..." she repeated, letting her head fall back on his shoulder so she could look up at him. Was there anything in this world she loved to look at more than his dear face? She raised her hand to his cheek again, enjoying the soft scrub of his scruff against her palm.

"But you wanted me to stop—you were angry at me." he said, his brow wrinkling in understanding "I get that." and he nodded at her.

"No Daryl—I was angry at myself because I didn't want you to stop."

"You didn't?" Daryl asked, staring at her mouth. His hand at the small of her back pushed lower, feeling the lace guarding her secrets from him, wanting to know them, to know everything about her.

She shook her head at him, silently telling him no, I didn't...mesmerized by the desire she saw in his face.

"How 'bout now? Whatta ya want now?" His mouth was only an inch from hers; he was staring into her eyes with that smoldering intensity she'd only had brief glimpses of before today.

"Don't want to talk, don't want to think—just want you." she breathed. The left side of Daryl's mouth curled up into a small smile.

"Never was one for talkin' much myself." he admitted and then he closed the tiny gap still between them and touched his lips to hers, soft, like before, like their first kiss and she opened to him like a flower, slowly one petal at a time, white and pure until the center, golden sun hot burst out, heating the kiss to passion. That feeling of perfect rightness, that this was where they were always meant to be, in each others arms, like this, hit him hard and he wondered at it—why had it taken them so long to understand this? Why had it taken almost losing each other to make it real?

But then the practicalities of their situation started to crash in on him. On the face of it, this was still god awful timing—the prison was gone; the group was broken apart, scattered to the four winds. They had to take care of Beth, find the others, pray to God the others had made it out and to safety—and even then, if they found them, would Rick allow Carol back? What would they tell Tyreese?—he still didn't know—neither did most of the rest of the larger group, that she'd even been gone from the prison before the Governor attacked. And if they found them, where would they go? Was this really a safe place or just another dead end? Who had made the walker fortified fence? Why had they left?

"Daryl?" Carol asked, pulling her mouth from his to look up at him, her eyes shy but full of longing, sensing that his mind was racing.

What had she just said? Daryl thought, "Don't want to talk, don't want to think—just want you." They had tonight. Might not be no tomorrow. Why worry about things might never happen when he had his woman in his arms?

He forgot himself and started to stand up, lifting her along with him but she rapidly stood and shifted her body so she was supporting him as the bone jarring agony from his knee hit him all at once and he subsided back down onto his porcelain seat.

"Shit!" he exclaimed, breaking out in a cold sweat from the pain. Pushing his hands to the side Carol found the buckle of his leather belt and swiftly, clinically, undid it and then the button of his fly and unzipped his pants. He blinked at her owlishly.

"Lift your hips." She ordered in her calm nurse's tone and he couldn't do anything but obey, bracing himself on the sides of the seat as she used her small strong hands to tug at the waist of the dirt and blood stiffened dungarees and pull them down, carefully leaving his black briefs in place. She got them to his thighs but then realized he still had on his shit kickers and knelt to untie and pull them off as well. Daryl grimaced, knowing his feet probably smelled worse than a walker's butt, but she didn't say a word, she just finished removing his pants.

Carol sighed in relief when she saw that the knee cap was in its proper place—scraped and swollen and rapidly bruising, but not dislocated. That would make his recovery a hundred times easier.

"I'll be right back." She told him and started to leave the small room, but he caught her hand in his and squinted at her assessingly.

"Promise?"

"Always." She said quietly, reassuringly and he reluctantly released her hand as she left. While he waited he looked around the room, noting a pile of what looked like magazines and brochures in the rack next to the sink and curious, he pulled one out from the middle of the stack.

"Paradise Valley?" Daryl muttered and opened the three folder advertisement to a picture of the larger mansion next to the house in which they were staying.Georgia's premiere clothing optional vacation destination! the copy read. "What the fuck?" he said and then continued to read: Located in the secluded hills overlooking Dawsonville, we are the answer to all of your dreams of free and natural living. Sitting there in his skivvies, he had to laugh, wondering if Carol realized she'd taken shelter in a Nudist Colony...

"Something funny?" Carol asked curiously as she came back in with her med kit and other supplies, including what seemed to be a set of clean clothes for him.

"I'as feelin' half naked, but turns out that just means I'd be over dressed for this place." he chuckled. Carol frowned at him until he handed her the pamphlet he held. She quickly looked it over and then looked thoughtful. "What?" he asked.

"Ever wonder why we don't see more naked walkers?" she asked. "I mean people don't wear clothes 24/7, right?"

"Used to sleep naked—afore I started living cheek to jowl with all y'all." Daryl agreed, nodding, and he watched the blush start at her chest and creep up her neck to pinken her cheeks at the thought of Full Monty Daryl and he grinned at her. She handed him back the brochure, avoiding his eyes, back to being shy with him.

"I'm going to clean up your knee and wrap it, ok?" she said after clearing her throat, being the no nonsense nurse again, and knelt at his feet, but she didn't just wash the one knee, she started with his feet, and the water was warm, from a bucket she had also brought in with her, the soapy washcloth soft but textured so she could scrub at the dirt ground in deep by the events of the last days.

"Do ya know how good that feels?" he moaned, watching her gently cleanse him of the grit and grime from battling the people who thought they could bully them into giving up their home. He remembered the face of the tank driver, the man who had mowed down the fences without pause when ordered to do so—who had taken to heart the Governor's last order, "Kill them all!" Daryl had waited until the man looked him in the eye before he put a bolt in his heart, leaving him to turn just like Blake had left Merle, left Andrea, left Hershel, feeling no guilt that the asshole had thought he could surrender after what they had done, just ending him, stone cold.

Carol's hands moved the cloth higher, to his ankles, then calves and finally knees, especially careful of his injury, rinsing and drying with a plush towel and then taking out her rubbing alcohol to disinfect the scrapes and wrapping the knee in gauze and an Ace bandage to support it while he healed.

"Close your eyes." she requested and after he complied, she wrung out the cloth until it was more damp than dripping and stood, combing his hair back off of his face with her fingers and then washed his face, ears, and neck. He felt her right hand hesitate at his collar, fingering the mother of pearl button at the V below his throat and then she put her left hand over his heart.

"You seen 'em before—s'ok." he said softly, looking up at her trustingly, remembering the farm, what she had told him, how she had trusted him way back when, and then the quality of her touch subtly changed. Where before they had been sure and constantly moving as she'd worked, her hands now trembled as they unbuttoned his shirt, slowly revealing his lightly furred chest and belly, the span of his shoulders. She pushed the shirt off of his shoulders and he shrugged it off of his arms so she could continue her sponge bath of sorts, over collar bone and shoulder, lifting his arms one at a time, soaping and rinsing with the warm water, taking away the sweat, grease and dirt and revealing the blossoming bruises in reds, purples and yellows, layers of them from past battles, fast escapes and close calls.

She bade him shift position so she could see to his back, the long crisscrossed diagonals she'd known were there, some faded to almost white; others still livid remnants of the torture he'd endured at the hands of someone who should've protected and nurtured him. On the left, down near his waist were two more recent scars, from the arrow he'd accidentally impaled himself with for her daughter's sake, and she traced her fingers over them. His flesh had been pierced like St. Sebastian's, the saint people prayed to for relief of plagues, brought by the archer god Apollo, whose arrows carried all illnesses. Leaning close she next found the X over his left shoulder and outlined it with her lips, and he let out a shuddering breath and she dropped the wash cloth and held his shoulders with her hands while she traced and then kissed every scar on his back, every single one, celebrating what they said about him: that he'd endured; they were his badges of survival.

Daryl couldn't believe what she was doing; most people who had seen his scars just ignored them, too polite or too uncaring to bring them up, knowing he wouldn't want to talk about them, or were repulsed. One nurse in a long ago ER had given him her number when he'd been treated there after a bar fight, whispering that his scars turned her on, but he wasn't into that kink and tossed the number before he'd even left the building. He tried to stay covered, his vest as his armor, the angel's wings over a devil's work hiding them so it wouldn't be an issue, even from Merle until after Woodbury when they'd accidentally been revealed.

But Carol had already seen them, same day as Rick, same as Hershel, the two other people he had trusted most in this world. The old vet had later shared stories about his own father, cut from the same cloth as Daryl's, revealing him as a brother under the skin. Then Rick and he had bonded like brothers as well. Maybe enduring his childhood years seemed more worth it if they brought him respect from people such as those. And now Carol was silently accepting the thing about himself of which he was most ashamed.

The two deepest, the worst, the oldest, faded white, he'd had covered with the demons climbing his right shoulder. They were burns from a red hot fireplace poker held against his flesh. When her mouth reached them she let her tongue sweep out, as if she wanted to taste the bat winged creatures, feeling the different texture of the skin there, knowing what it meant. With a last kiss to the point of his shoulder she released him and stepped back, waiting for him to turn and look at her. When he did she looked nervous, but then took a breath and then pulled her shirt up and off over her head. He tried not to gasp as she turned and showed him her back, the shape of the triangular end of clothes iron burned just under her shoulder blade, all the way to her spine, still purple red.

"Once I didn't do his shirts right...just once…" Carol said quietly and Daryl thought of how many times he'd watched her heat the old fashioned iron in the coals at the quarry camp and the farm, wondering why she'd bothered ironing at the end of the world.

"Shit…come're." Daryl said, reaching out and taking her arm at the elbow and pulling her back to him, his face to her shoulder, kissing the burn scar and then running his hands over the rest of her back, unhooking her bra and pushing it aside so he could see all of it. Small round white scars caught his eye next, cigarette burns—the bastard had chain smoked, lighting the next one off the butt of the last, and then it seemed, had put them out on his wife…

"Son of a bitch." Daryl raged under his breath and then kissed every one he found, making her shake with need. The feel of his mouth and beard against her skin was its own kind of sensual torture and her knees went weak and she swayed back against him. He pulled her down to sit on his thigh, her legs to either side; his hands spanned her small waist and he kissed her shoulder.

"There a bed in this house?" Daryl drawled and she gave a low chuckle.

"Several actually." Carol told him, leaning back against him.

"Prob'ly a good thought to find one before we join the Paradise Valley crowd any further…" Daryl teased. Carol sat up straighter and then reached back and fastened her bra clasp back up. When he made a noise of protest Carol nodded towards the door.

"Beth." Carol reminded him, snagging her shirt off of the floor and pulling it back on despite his protests.

"Not like she don't know what's goin' on—sleeps…slept close enough to her sister n' Glenn all these months."

"That doesn't mean we need to be parading around half naked in front of her."

"Hell, just hand her the brochure."

"Daryl!"

"And what about the rest a' my bath? Some parts a me you ain't got to yet." He asked with a hint of a whine, "Like my other knee…" and he captured her right hand in his and repeated what he'd done in the Jeep, drawing it down to measure his impressive length covered by the thin stretch cotton of his briefs.

"Water's probably cold now." She reminded him. She'd heated it on the small propane camping stove she'd found in the garage, "Though a little cold water might be just the thing to take that…swelling …down." She dead panned, and then her breath caught when that just seemed to encourage him and he shifted his hips up and down just enough to rub against her hand and whimper softly.

"Not going to make it to the bed if you keep that up…" Carol sighed and he shook his head and chuckled at the sassy double entendre. That was her—smart ass sexy and trusting but vulnerable, all at once.

"Oh, the hell with it." She said all in a rush and he released her hand, thinking she wanted to stop, but instead she lifted and pushed her hand under the elastic waist, drew the briefs down and closed her fingers around him firmly, her thumb circling the tip to spread the drop of wetness she found there and then slid her whole hand down the broad head to the thick shaft and all the way to the root and back up, teasing, feeling him swell as the blood pumped in and through. She started to increase the tempo of her caresses, loving the contrast of the tender skin over the solid core of him, pumping now, getting into it, totally turned on to be doing this for him.

"Shit Carol…" he groaned—she was killin' him—it'd been too long since he'd been touched in any remotely sexual way by another person, and he knew he couldn't take much more of this without—Ahh fuck.

Carol felt the tension in his abdomen spasm and release along her arm, braced against him as he came, hard, and she kept going, listening to him make the most adorable high pitched whimpers and moans, trying to stay quiet, shaking and breathing erratically with it, throbbing in her hand, sticky hot now with his come. She turned back towards him, raising her fingers to her lips and licked them slowly, tasting his essence, salty sweet, and he groaned and looked dazed, shaken by what had just happened; somewhat embarrassed that he'd gone off so quickly, but still completely turned on at what she had done. His own touch was rougher, faster than hers, but half of what got him off this time was that she was the one doing it—his sweet Carol boldly using her soft strong capable little hand to-

"You ok?" she asked gently, looking at his face, wondering if she'd gone too far too fast.

"You got the magic touch," he told her with a big sigh, "Ain't no marathon man, but I usually last longer n' that." he said ruefully, making her giggle.

She stood and pulled his underwear the rest of the way off of his hips and then knelt down and picked up the wash cloth again so she could use it to quickly complete his bath as he leaned back, watching her through half closed eyes, looking like he was about to fall asleep. When she finished, he sat up and wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her up against him in a hug.

"Thank you," he whispered, his mouth at her ear and then softly kissed her neck right behind her ear. "Bed now, 'kay?" he asked, wanting to show her what he could do for her. She kissed him, not nearly as long as he'd have liked, and then stood.

"Brought you some clothes." she gestured to the neatly folded pile she'd set within arm's reach of him on the floor, "You can get dressed and I'll go check on Beth and then we can get you situated for the night. She's basically been doing first watch while I treated your knee."

Daryl frowned at her. Here he was laid up, literally caught with his pants down, and she was the one thinking it through, thinking about keeping guard over them in this new place.

"Damn—you're right, we should take turns on watch." he said, sitting up straighter and grabbing the loose sweat pants she'd picked to fit over his bandaged knee and pulling them on, but she shook her head at him.

"You'll heal faster if you get some food into you and you get a good night's sleep—we need you back to 100% as soon as possible." she said with great pragmatism.

"Parts of me are already at 100%." he drawled, thrusting his chin out and cocking his head to the side with a sly little smile.

"Oh I'd say a hundred and ten..." she said and gave him his same smile back.

"That offer you made awhile back still on the table?" Daryl asked her with a squint.

"Offer?"

"Wanna screw a-round." He demanded, growling out the last syllable and snagging the hem of her shirt and dragging her back to him, his face even with her chest. He buried his face in her cleavage, kissing over the flesh revealed by the low neckline of her tank top while his hands smoothed over her belly underneath the light shirt.

"You don't play fair." she moaned.

"Damn straight." he rumbled and his fingers pushed up under her bra, lifting it out of the way along with her shirt, baring her small plump breasts to his questing mouth, worrying the nipples into rigid sensitized peaks, and then suckling there until she cried out and held his head to her, fingers gripping the long strands of his hair. Next his hands moved to the snap and zipper of her khakis, swiftly unfastening them and making her gasp out a little protest as he unceremoniously stripped them down her legs and made a sound of impatient annoyance when he was forestalled by her boots, forcing him to lift his mouth from her breast so he could concentrate on lifting her to sit, bare assed on the sink counter next to them while he unbuckled and worked the Doc Martens off her. Then he snagged the pants and her panties again, making quick work of them and before she realized what he was about, thinking he would bring her back to his lap, he turned sideways on his conveniently placed seat, put his hands under her knees and draped her legs over his shoulders.

"I seem to recall a certain preference being expressed atop that bus awhile back." He drawled, squinting up at her, and he gave her what could only be described as the grin of the devil's own imp.

Carol's breath left her all in a rush. No one had ever done this for her. Ever.

"Daryl—I was only teasing—you don't have to…" she said, blushing, knowing from her marriage that men didn't really like doing it.

"You don't want me to? You don't like it?" he asked softly with gentle puzzlement, lightly running the calloused pads of his fingertips along her calves and down to her slender ankles.

"I know you're just being kind—men don't…" she let her voice trail off and shrugged, closing her eyes and letting her head dip to her left shoulder in embarrassment.

"Who fed you that line a' bullshit—old Ed?" Daryl said, quietly angry for her sake. He gripped her knees and gave them a gentle shake, trying to get her to look at him, "Well, maybe I'm all screwed up, sweetheart, but I love it." And he did. He'd been lucky enough to have an excellent tutorial in the fine art of oral appreciation of the female form when he'd been only twenty, and had always gotten rave reviews for his technique. There was nothing like giving a woman pleasure from this, hearing her scream in ecstasy and watching her fall apart while at the same time he reveled in the sweet taste and silky textures of her most secret places.

"Really?" she asked, daring to look down at him, and he gave her a wide eyed solemn nod that dissolved into that same imp's smile.

"Now you best find somethin' to hold onto." He warned her and his head dipped low to press a kiss to the insides of her knees, kissing and nibbling his way up her thighs, and she watched with a sort of stunned fascination as this big rough man ever so delicately worked to relax her into accepting his worship of her body. He ran the fingertips of his right hand through her curls and then his big thumb dipped inside to find her wetness, pressing through the folds to reach that rigid jut of flesh that was the center of her pleasure, sighing when he found it already swollen with need. Her hips bucked against him and she cried out as he moved his thumb up and back while he watched her face, gauging her responsiveness and smiling as he felt the trembling in her legs around his shoulders. He moved his left hand to join the right, spreading her wider and taking his first taste of her.

His tongue was so soft, Carol thought, so different from his rough but gentle fingers. It was like the whole spectrum of textures was being lavished on her all at once. She felt overwhelmed, wanting to tell him how good it was, how amazing it felt, but all she could manage to do was gasp and moan and say his name, over and over, like a mantra, a holy chant invoking some sex god she now worshiped.

"Never thought I'd be so happy this side a' Paradise." Daryl murmured, looking up at her, and then returned his mouth to her, working until she found her point of no return, but even then he continued, knowing it could be better, deeper, using his fingers then, curving up inside her to find that spot that would make her totally lose any semblance of control she had left.

Something intruded on her bliss, some new noise she didn't like. Carol tried to control her breathing, to listen, but he was starting again and so she tried to ignore it, letting the tension build…

The soft knock became more insistent and Daryl finally had to give up and release her, planting one last kiss on her mound and spreading his hand over her heaving belly, still recovering from the third orgasm in a row he'd given her.

"Um—Carol?" Beth's voice came from behind the closed locked door.

"What is it Beth?" Carol said, trying to keep her breathy voice neutral, no easy task when Daryl was still lazily nuzzling and kissing her inner thighs.

"Um—I really hate to interrupt you, but there are a couple of really pissed off… and really naked old people out here who want to talk to whoever is in charge…"


AN: Paradise Valley Resort bills itself as "Georgia's premiere clothing optional vacation destination"; it is a real place in Dawsonville, Georgia, north of Atlanta.