AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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"The hell are you doing in my bedroom?" Daryl asked, putting as much false annoyance behind his voice as was possible.
"Different cologne," Merle said, practically grunting out the words like caveman uttering was all that was really needed to communicate. The problem was that he really wasn't wrong.
Daryl dropped his towel, entirely unconcerned with modesty in the presence of his brother. He picked up his pack of cigarettes, worked two out of the pack, and lit both before he passed one to Merle. He didn't have to ask; he knew his brother would accept one.
"You goin' somewhere on Wednesday night, Merle?" Daryl asked, swallowing back his intrigue and slight amusement. He could already tell that Merle was going somewhere.
Merle Dixon was freshly shaved—as fresh shaved as he ever got, since he thought he was too baby-faced if he shaved clean—and freshly showered. He'd taken obvious pains with his appearance, too. The black button-down shirt appeared to be pressed, and the last time that Daryl had seen Merle touch their ironing board was when one of their acquaintances had been killed in an accident and Merle had been asked to be a pall bearer.
Merle laughed to himself at Daryl's inquiry and worked at buttoning the wrist buttons of his shirt. Daryl, for his part, wrestled into a clean pair of underwear and his jeans.
"What if I am, brother?" Merle asked.
"It's Wednesday," Daryl said. "And that ain't what the hell you wear for huntin' hard-up pussy at Salty's, and you know it."
Merle's smile renewed itself before he swallowed it down and moved to the other button. He admired himself in Daryl's mirror. There was little that Merle Dixon liked looking at better than Merle Dixon—especially when he was feeling particularly fond of himself for whatever reason.
"Not goin' to Salty's," Merle said.
"This whole damn thing rooted in mystery or some shit?" Daryl asked. "Or you gonna tell me what'cha doin'?"
"Shit, Daryl," Merle mused, his tone not matching his words. "I'm takin' a lady out for dinner."
"A lady?" Daryl asked, biting the inside of his cheek as he rifled through his closet to try to decide which shirt he'd wear for the evening. "Is this Andrea, Merle, or you done throwed her ass over for someone else?"
Daryl had already let Merle know that Andrea and Carol, as it happened, were best friends since Merle was smart enough to figure out that Daryl and Andrea had at least made each other's acquaintance.
Merle grunted. Daryl assumed that was his response. Daryl pulled on his green shirt and worked his fingers quickly down the buttons.
"They got a two for one dinner deal at that steakhouse in Rockford," Merle said.
"Big spender," Daryl mused. "You spoil her ass like that, you won't be able to run her off." Merle hummed in his throat again. He was fussing abnormally with his shirt. Daryl cleared his throat. "You—uh—you don't seem to be tryin' too hard to run her off, Merle. Am I readin' that shit wrong?"
"Good pussy," Merle said, practically mumbling the words. He finished his cigarette and snubbed it out in the black plastic ashtray on Daryl's dresser with a great deal more attention than was necessary.
"All about the pussy," Daryl mused.
"This ain't everyday run of the mill pussy," Merle mused, almost to himself as much as to Daryl. "This is—pussy so good it's got me considerin' turnin' vampire."
Daryl grimaced and shook his head. Merle laughed, glad to see that he could find something to say to get some kind of response. That was the kind of thing that Merle liked—Daryl didn't think that Merle believed his own shit half the time, but he did love to try to get a rise out of people.
"So, it ain't nothin' but the pussy that's…got your attention?" Daryl asked. Merle grunted. Daryl sat down on the edge of his bed and started the process of getting his shoes on. "You know why I love talkin' to you, Merle? 'Cause some days you'll talk just to hear yourself, and some days it's like learnin' to speak fuckin' Neanderthal."
"Hell—you wanna talk so bad, brother, let's talk about somethin' interesting," Merle said. He walked around Daryl and helped himself to another cigarette before he burrowed around in one of Daryl's drawers and helped himself, as well, to a pair of nail clippers and a file. "Let's talk about your lil' sweet thang…come up to the office today when I was just gettin' settled in for lunch. Yeah—she ain't seen me, but I seen her. Axel did, too. Come right on in like she owned the place. Asked Ty where the hell she might find your ass. Gone snoopin', I guess. Figure out if you was really at work—and what kinda plumbin' your ass was really doin'."
Merle laughed to himself, clearly amused by his own words and thoughts.
"You're a regular fuckin' riot, Merle," Daryl responded.
"Don't be like that, Darylina," Merle teased. "Just tell your big brother if you was layin' a lil' pipe durin' lunch. There ain't no law against it when you off the clock."
"Fuck you, Merle," Daryl said. He got up, put on his cologne, and helped himself to another cigarette. He shoved the pack and lighter into his pocket. As he walked through to the living room, Merle followed him. The ironing board and iron were still out—Merle had pressed his shirt. Daryl hadn't been imagining things.
"That means she ain't give you none," Merle said. "Uh oh—that don't bode well, little brother. Your lil' sweet thing was just checkin' up on your ass."
"She brought me lunch," Daryl said. "If you gotta know. I didn't make it back to the office no way 'cause I had shit to do for Agnes and I had to handle shufflin' jobs around."
"You gettin' any, brother?" Merle asked.
"Don't you worry about me," Daryl offered. "Or the condition of my dick. We both doin' just fine."
Merle smiled at him. He nearly showed him every one of his teeth. He raised his hand and wiped at the corners of his mouth to literally try to wipe the smile away.
"You oughta do what the hell I do, brother. Make her ass pony up. No deal, no meal, sugar."
Daryl frowned at his brother. He snubbed out his cigarette and poured himself a glass of sweet tea from the plastic pitcher in the fridge. Merle had made this pitcher, so he'd used about six more cups of sugar than was really necessary. It was just a little off from being comparable to maple syrup, but it would do.
"Do me a favor, Merle—and then you can go right back to buildin' up your bravado to get your ass through the night—but be honest with me," Daryl said. "Because Carol? She gives a shit about Andrea. A whole lot. Her best damn friend in the world, and she don't beat no bones about it. And Andrea—she seems like a nice enough woman, Merle. Sweet. Friendly. Tell me you ain't—not really—degradin' her ass like that an' makin' her fuck for food or some damn crumb of human fuckin' decency."
Merle's smile fell. He helped himself to a beer and drank down half of it in one swallow before he dragged his hand across his mouth and belched loudly. He laughed at his own belch, ever-amused by things they were probably meant to have outgrown around the time both testicles had completely dropped and their voices had stopped cracking.
"Follow the same rules I always have, Daryl," Merle said, this time speaking in a tone that made it clear that he was being sincere. "I don't do a damn thing to her that she don't want and don't like. I know how to play by the fuckin' rules, especially if they laid out clear for me. But I ain't one to put limits on no damn body's kinks, either, brother—and that's all the hell I'ma say about that shit."
"Shit," Daryl said, laughing to himself. "OK—good enough, Merle. So, you gonna—go get a buy one get one steak in Rockford?"
Merle hummed.
"They got some kinda mix your own frozen yogurt place over there, too," Merle said, clearly not interested in picking up the false bravado that he was attempting to sport earlier. He pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down to nurse what was left of the beer. "Make her a lil' sweeter, I figure." He chuckled, and Daryl picked up the amusement. "Your lil' sweet thing, Daryl, I got me a good look at her today."
Daryl bristled slightly. He felt every muscle tense.
"If you about to be an asshole, Merle, then I'd just as soon you didn't. I ain't said shit about Andrea—not to be an asshole."
"I was gonna say—she's got a nice ass," Merle said. "Hell—I weren't close enough to see her face too good, but if she ain't no butterface, I'ma assume it's all good. She was put together all right."
"She ain't no butterface, Merle," Daryl said. "She's real damn pretty."
"So—you done got my plans, brother. What you doin' on a Wednesday night?"
Daryl smiled to himself.
"Carol's makin' dinner," Daryl said. "And I better go—I don't wanna be late. I still got a stop to make." Daryl put his glass in the sink. He grabbed his keys and wallet off the counter where he'd tossed them as he came in the door. "Be nice to Andrea, Merle," Daryl called as he quickly left the house.
"Only nice as she wants me to be," Merle yelled at him. Daryl heard him just as the door slammed shut behind him.
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Admittedly, the grocery store selection of small bouquets was desperately lacking in both variety and beauty, but Daryl was fairly happy with the small bundle of daisies and assorted wildflower varieties that he'd picked up.
He got to Carol's house about five minutes after he'd told her to expect him, but he figured that she'd probably forgive him a few minutes. He would have made it with time to spare if he hadn't lingered so long debating between the white daisies and the yellow ones. Things like that felt like they were probably really important, but Daryl wasn't sure how or why they were important, so they caused him to dawdle longer than intended as he waited for some kind of divine intervention to give him the gut instinct of what was the best choice.
He'd settled for the white daisies.
He took his little bouquet and practically jogged down Carol's walkway. He was sure she wasn't going to be angry about his slightly late arrival, but he almost felt like he couldn't stand to wait any longer to get there—for the simple, quiet evening to get started. He laughed at his own ridiculousness as he reached the door and knocked. She had a doorbell, but the sound it made was harsh and, really, he felt like it ruined the calm and peaceful ambiance that Carol had created in her home.
Carol opened the door, already smiling. Daryl couldn't help but catch the smile.
"I hope you checked the peephole," Daryl said. "I coulda been a stranger."
"But you weren't," Carol said. "I checked." She backed up. "Are you coming in?"
"Figured I'd stay on the porch all night," Daryl teased. He stepped in and handed her the flowers. She took them and immediately traded him a kiss for the flowers.
"Oh—I don't have anything for you," Carol lamented. "They're so pretty, Daryl…thank you."
Daryl felt his whole body run warm. She was pink cheeked and she looked like she truly liked the flowers. Daryl had hoped she would like them, but he hadn't fully prepared for the way it would make him feel to see her so evidently appreciate them.
"They just grocery store flowers," he offered. "But—if you're feeling like we oughta trade, I'll take another of them kisses if they're on offer."
She looked at him, brow furrowed for a second, like she was truly focusing on his words. Then she smiled and her features softened. She invited him back for another kiss and, this time, he wrapped his arms around her and held her against him, taking full advantage of the affection she gave.
Her cheeks were noticeably pinker when she pulled away.
"I'm going to put these in water," she said. She immediately got a glass and arranged the flowers in the glass with some water. The little bouquet wasn't much, but she made it look nice. For a moment, she looked at the flowers on her table, and then she found a place for the new flowers on the counter. "There," she said, admiring them and adjusting them slightly in their glass. "You know—I'm out of vases. Ed never brought me flowers—not unless it was to say, you know, I'm sorry, but I'm not really sorry. But you keep me practically swimming in them just because."
"You want me to stop?" Daryl asked.
She turned quickly and frowned at him. She had big doe eyes sometimes. Big, beautiful, blue doe eyes.
"It wasn't a criticism," she said. "I'm sorry if—it sounded like one."
"Don't worry," Daryl said. "It didn't. I just don't wanna—get on your nerves."
Carol laughed to herself.
"If bringing me flowers got on my nerves…well…I don't know what, but…it doesn't get on my nerves. You want a beer or…water? I haven't got much. There's milk in there."
"Beer'll do fine," Daryl said.
"Help yourself to anything in the fridge," Carol said. "I need to finish cutting up a few things and dinner will be ready."
"Smells good," Daryl said. "You need a beer?"
"I'd like one," Carol said. Daryl got one for her and opened it. He put it on the table, though, assuming that she meant she'd have it with her meal. She didn't correct him, so he assumed that his guess was accurate. "I made—salad with sautéed garlic shrimp. I hope that's OK."
Daryl's stomach growled.
"Sounds fuckin' amazing," Daryl said.
"I didn't know how hungry you'd be," Carol said. "I didn't think about it until I was already making it—committed, but…you're probably hungrier than that, aren't you? I should've made you something heavier. Something more filling. Meat and potatoes. I don't always think of things like that…"
Daryl recognized the insecurity creeping in. He felt it. He understood it. It was the same insecurity that had him standing in front of the flower display, sure that the difference between yellow daisies and white daisies would get him sent home for the evening—and possibly forever.
"I like salad," Daryl said. "Don't weigh heavy when you're goin' to sleep later. I like meat n' potatoes, too. There ain't much I don't like, Carol, when it comes to food." He saw her visibly relax. She stood just a hair taller that she had a moment before, her anxiety practically causing her to curl in on herself. "That lunch today was…incredible." She smiled to herself. Daryl watched her.
Daryl didn't know if it was normal to feel slightly aroused just from watching someone chop vegetables for a salad, but that was his current condition. Carol was barefoot. She was wearing jeans—worn, faded jeans. She was wearing a loose-fitting, light blue shirt that looked worn, and stretched, and like a favorite that had been probably been around for decades. She looked relaxed—entirely at home, which she was—chopping vegetables on the counter a few feet away from the newly place flowers and a burning candle that was probably lit to fight the smell of garlic shrimp.
Daryl let his eyes drift down to her ass. The jeans were a loose fit, but that didn't obscure the view. Merle was a pig, but he wasn't wrong. Carol had a nice ass, and she was well put together.
And that damn soft little smile on her lips was almost as much of a turn-on, honestly.
Daryl drank his beer and willed himself to think about other things. He felt his face run warm when Carol flicked her eyes in his direction.
"So—what do you have planned for tonight?" Carol asked.
Daryl smiled to himself.
"You didn't plan nothin'?" He teased. She gave him a slightly annoyed expression. He could immediately tell that it was fake. He laughed to himself.
"I thought—conversation over dinner," Daryl said. "Old fashioned. How was your day kind of shit, right?"
"Sounds romantic," Carol said. She raised her eyebrows at Daryl and then smiled.
"To me, it is," Daryl admitted, his stomach knotting slightly. Her smile softened a little.
"I know," she said. "And—it sounds wonderful to me. And later?"
"I'm open to anything that comes up—if you got anything in mind or…if it should come up in conversation," Daryl said. "Or—if that don't happen, I figured we might play a game."
"Like—Monopoly?" Carol asked.
"If you got it and you wanna play that one," Daryl said.
"I don't really like Monopoly," Carol said.
Daryl laughed to himself.
"Then—I got somethin' else in mind. But for now—why don't'cha let me help you?"
"Salad's almost done," Carol said. "You sit down. Let me serve you dinner, Daryl."
"You serve people all day."
"I do," Carol said. "But—I want to serve you dinner. Can I do that?"
Daryl didn't think that such a thing required the irregular beating that his heart decided to engage in, but the organ wasn't much interested in listening to him—at the moment, he discovered that several of his organs were inexplicably rebellious. He cleared his throat, nodded his head to give his agreement, and found his way into a chair while Carol finished putting together the meal that she intended to serve them.
