AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I posted the previous chapter earlier today, so please go and read that one first if you haven't read it. Don't forget to show me a little love if you have the chance!
I hope you enjoy this chapter as well! Let me know what you think!
11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111
As much as they found showering together an amusing form of interacting with each other sexually, they'd both agreed that neither of them really found it very effective for actually feeling like they got as clean as they wanted. Therefore, they took different kinds of showers. If they desired to hold each other under streaming water and to fool around a little with the different types of shower sex they'd heard about in some form or fashion, they took a shower for that. If they desired to actually get clean and, sometimes, to relax in the hot water of the shower, they took separate showers.
Carol had wanted to try some new recipe she'd come across, and she liked a little quiet concentration time when trying something new, so Daryl had taken his shower while she'd cooked. After dinner, he'd offered to wash and dry the dishes so that she could disappear to the bathroom and take her shower. She was gone for a while, and Daryl accepted that it must have simply gotten good to her. Sometimes she enjoyed the hot water so much she could linger there for a while, just letting it drum down over her muscles until it cooled down.
He'd retired out to the porch when the kitchen was clean, and he'd smoked a cigarette while nursing a beer.
"Daryl? I've got something to show you, when you're done."
Daryl heard her behind him, and he smiled to himself. He turned to see her standing in the doorway to the porch, silhouetted by the light of the house behind her. She was wearing a night gown—a new one she'd bought not a week before and he'd made a big deal over it because it seemed to make her happy. It was short, and soft, and silky, and lavender. She was beautiful in it, and it was clear that she felt beautiful in it, so Daryl encouraged her to wear it whenever she pleased—and to consider buying one for each day of the week, if she so desired.
"Just on my way," Daryl said.
She smiled, nodded her head, and turned on her bare feet to disappear back inside.
Daryl finished his cigarette, locked the back door, drank half of the beer while he made his tour of the house, and made sure that all the candles were blown out and the front door was locked up tight. He checked the stove, running his fingers over the eyes, even though he could see they were off, to further convince his brain that they were safe.
He had something of a fear of house fires that he'd had since he was a kid. It wasn't debilitating, but he liked to be extra sure he'd taken all possible precautions. Carol never so much as teased him for it and, since he'd been staying more often than before, she'd simply given him the job of "securing the house" before bed.
In the bedroom, Carol was sitting on the bed, one leg tucked up under her. She smiled at Daryl, and he practically skipped to the bed to join her. In front of her, on the bed, was a black photo album.
"You don't gotta show me this," he said. "You don't."
"I want to," Carol urged. She opened it and Daryl watched as she transformed, in front of him, from a happy little baby, to a kid with missing front teeth, to a somewhat awkward looking teenager, to a beautiful young woman. While he flipped the pages, Carol had worked her way around on the bed, like a cat, getting next to him. She'd slipped under his arm, and sat with her body pressed against his. He enjoyed her proximity, and he liked touching her. He loved the way that she nuzzled him and sought him out, silently. He never said anything about it, or drew attention to it, because he almost feared she would stop if she knew that he realized—and relished—what she was doing.
He saw her stare at him when he flipped the page to the vision of her in white. Every picture, from there onward, that had been somewhat hacked apart with scissors told him that she'd cut Ed out of all of them as a way of exorcising some of her demons.
"You were a beautiful bride," Daryl offered.
"I know you probably think I shouldn't have kept it," Carol said.
Daryl laughed to himself.
"Then you don't know me as good as I thought you did," Daryl offered. "Somethin' where you look that damn beautiful? You really gotta keep it."
Her cheeks blushed almost scarlet.
"I was so stupid," she said. "So childish. Naïve. I don't know the right word." She laughed to herself. "Maybe Merle could help me. But I just loved the idea of your wedding day, you know? The fairy tale idea of your special day. I just wanted to feel beautiful. Special."
"Did you?" Daryl asked.
"I did," Carol said. "I felt so pretty in that dress. And someone did my hair and my makeup. I felt—special."
"Well—you were beautiful," Daryl said. "And I'm glad you felt special. You clean up the edges a little bit, and you could frame this. Ought to."
"No," Carol said. "But—I don't want to throw it out."
"You shouldn't."
Daryl turned the page. Carol had pulled away from him, now, though she kept close to him, to be able to watch him as he looked at the pictures. It made him a little uncomfortable—the way that he imagined anyone felt when they simply felt so overwhelmingly "seen" by someone—but he liked her proximity and he understood that there was an immense amount of—was it trust? There was something taking place in the moment. He could feel it in the air around them. He could sense its importance.
The moment was silently profound, and he didn't miss that.
"You were beautiful," he mused, looking over the pictures—some candid, and others not. "I mean—you're beautiful now, that ain't what I meant."
Carol smiled at him sincerely and pecked her lips lovingly against his jaw before she quickly nuzzled her face there.
"I know what you meant," she said. They were the only words of reassurance that he needed to know that he hadn't misspoken.
When Daryl turned to the last page of the album—everything in this album simply stopping after that and the pages remaining blank—he froze.
His stomach knotted and ached, and he couldn't blame it on the delicious dinner that Carol had prepared for them. It was the pain of realization that cramped his stomach and tightened his chest. It was the overwhelm of helplessness in the face of a great cruelty that made his fingers tremble against the edge of the photo album page. It was the wish that he could be mistaken about something he knew he hadn't mistaken that made him almost dread meeting the blue eyes that were watching him intently.
There were only two final pictures on the last page.
The first one could have been something directly out of some kind of spooky Halloween illustration or something. It was a sort of gaping blackness in a fog of white and black specks that was reminiscent of when the cable used to go out on the television. Daryl had seen them on movies—almost every movie he loved had shown at least a quick glimpse of one of the familiar photos—but he'd never seen one in person. He'd never seen one close up, like the one behind the protective plastic of the page cover.
He couldn't tell a thing about it. He wouldn't know what it was if he didn't simply know, but he knew.
Beneath it was a picture of Carol taking a picture of herself in a tall mirror that had apparently hung on a closet door in some house he'd never seen. It was grainy, and the flash had reflected in the picture, but it was clear enough to tell she was happy. She'd been happy. At least for that moment.
Daryl pushed the album out of the way—across the bed. He turned back to Carol. She looked at him expectantly. There was a certain type of pleading in her eyes. She'd chosen to share this with him. It was no surprise to her. She knew it was there, and she knew that he would see it. She had peeled back this layer, bared herself to him, and it was his turn to react.
He accepted his role. He reached for her, gently touching her face. He wiped away the one tear that had escaped her as she'd anticipated his reaction or, perhaps, simply relived her own experience.
"I love you more every fuckin' minute I know you," he admitted, the words practically tumbling out uncontrollably. Carol laughed to herself, and she looked like she appreciated that he'd given her that. She reached her hand up and curled her fingers around his wrist, her thumb gently brushing the soft skin of the underside of his wrist and arm. "I'm sorry—it didn't come out like I meant it."
"It's perfect," she said. She licked her lips. Her eyes were damp. "I love you, too. More—with every minute. It's overwhelming."
"Scary?" Daryl asked.
"Less scary than it used to be," she ventured. "Less scary every minute, maybe."
Daryl smiled to himself. He changed his position and got more comfortable. She followed suit. For a moment, the physical touch between them was broken, but not the intimacy that surrounded them.
"Was it—just one of them things?" Daryl asked.
Carol's eyes flicked back toward the abandoned album, quickly, and then she looked back at Daryl.
"He never hurt me like that before," Carol said. "And—I never let him hurt me like that again."
Daryl's stomach twisted, painfully, with the realization of what he felt he already knew on some instinctual level. He felt like he'd known it the second he'd seen the easily identifiable, yet entirely unreadable photograph.
"You don't gotta say more'n that," Daryl offered. "I don't need details."
The corners of her mouth barely turned up.
"Thank you," she said.
"But—just know that—anything you want to say? I'll hear it."
She nodded her head. She licked her lips again, clearly carefully considering what she did and did not want to say. Daryl reached a hand out and squeezed her shoulder, kneading the muscles with his fingers. He gave her the time she wanted. He'd always give her the time she needed.
"I promised myself that I wouldn't let him ever do it again," Carol said. "He would've been pissed off. I went on birth control. Behind his back. Secretly. I took it until the divorce."
Daryl nodded his head.
"I can understand that."
"I don't want you to think I'm some kind of…sneaky person," Carol said. "That I can't be trusted. I just—couldn't. Daryl—I couldn't."
He shook his head.
"I don't think you're sneaky," he assured her. "Hell—I'm surprised you didn't murder him while he slept. So, I ain't gonna think shit about you doin' what the hell you had to do to survive."
She nodded her acceptance, and she gave him a hint of a smile of appreciation.
"You want to talk about—it? Or…I don't know, Carol. I'm outta my league. Ain't gonna bullshit you. But if you wanna talk about it? I swear—I'll hear any damn thing you wanna say. Even if you just wanna—you know—cry about it a while or somethin'."
Carol crawled toward him. She closed the distance between them and brought her lips directly against his. He closed his eyes and leaned into the kiss. It was hungrier than he expected. Slow, deep, like she was savoring the taste of each of the kisses she shared with him. His hands searched her sides. His rough fingers picked on the silky texture of her lavender nightgown. She tugged at his hair and moaned appreciation for the kiss and the touch.
She pulled away and kept her forehead pressed against his. He could feel the actual heat rising off her body. It was unmistakable, for a moment. Something he'd said or done, without any intention at all, had kick started her motor in a very real way.
"I've cried my tears already," she breathed out. "At least—for now."
"Any time," Daryl offered. "I knew you wanted a family. Wondered why you never had one." He let his fingers keep tripping and trailing over her body. She maintained her position, and he let her hold it. It didn't matter. None of it mattered—whatever happened, and however it happened, he liked just spending the night with her.
"You said it was part of your dream," Carol said. Daryl hummed in the affirmative. "You never had a family, either."
"Never had anyone I loved like that," Daryl said. He laughed to himself. "Never had—anyone who loved me like that."
"Me either," Carol said.
She pulled away from him, but held his eyes. Her pupils were clearly dilated and his whole body responded to the fact that he could practically smell her arousal in the same way that he could feel the heat radiating off of her body.
His heart leapt before laying into pounding rapidly—like it might knock right through his ribs.
He prayed he was reading her right or, if he wasn't, that she would forgive him. He touched her face and she turned her face to kiss his hand.
"There ain't nothin' or nobody stoppin' us," Daryl offered.
Her eyes went big, but she didn't pull away from him. She was breathing heavily, and he didn't know if it was because she was turned on, or if it was because she was nervous.
"My age," Carol said.
"What about it?"
"It might not work," Carol said. "There's no telling how long it could take or—if it would ever even happen."
"But it might?"
"It might," Carol said. "But—it might not."
Daryl nodded his understanding.
"But, if it did, you would want that?" Daryl asked.
Carol nodded.
"With me?" Daryl pressed.
She smiled softly.
"Especially with you," she said. "Only with you."
Daryl nodded again. He didn't say anything. Carol watched him as he stood up and, slowly and deliberately, rid himself of the few clothes he'd put on to eat dinner and finish up the evening after his shower. He moved the clothes and the photo album to the chair in the corner. He returned and sat back on the edge of the bed. She was watching him, still, with both legs tucked up under her.
"Change your mind yet?" He asked, laughing low in his throat. Even he wasn't sure if he was serious or teasing.
She smiled, her eyes holding his and never so much as flicking away. She shook her head gently.
"Never," she said.
Daryl nodded again.
Daryl reached and caught her arm. He tugged her.
"Come on," he said. He didn't have to urge her. She was almost immediately off the bed and standing in front of him. He brushed his hands down her body. He slipped them under nightgown and caught the band of her panties. He tugged them down until the point when they would drop to the floor on their own. She stepped out of them and pulled her nightgown over her head. She tossed it to the floor, taking much less care than Daryl had earlier.
She was beautiful. He had thought she was beautiful the first time he'd seen her, but she seemed to grow more beautiful every single time he was near her.
Unashamed, he leaned, ducking his head, and inhaled the scent of her—the smell of her arousal. He nuzzled the curls that she kept short, but didn't shave at his urging. He liked them. He moved enough to be able to find what he was looking for, and to suckle it. His fingers held her hips and her fingers curled around his wrists as she gasped. He only teased her a few moments with his tongue, knowing that it was only for his benefit, really, since she was already quite prepared for him.
He straightened up and looked at her. She smiled at him and ducked her head. She kissed him; she must have tasted herself on his tongue.
"Well—come on," he said, the words practically coming out as a growl since he was finding it difficult to speak them.
She nodded, a nervous smile on her lips, and came toward him. He helped her as she straddled him where he sat. He helped her adjust herself and stay balanced while she raised herself up—her hands on his shoulders—while he lined them up. He closed his eyes and groaned at the feeling of her, bare to him, slipping around him and swallowing him up.
"You feel so damn good," he breathed out, resting his forehead against her for a second as he allowed her to adjust to him and get comfortable.
She responded by moving herself to slide the length of him. Using her hands on his shoulders and the leverage she got from her position, she took over control of the moment. Daryl let her have it. He held her hips, supported her, and held her eyes with his own.
When he couldn't stand it, he moved his own hips, practically lifting both of them off the bed. The way he felt, in that moment, he could have lifted her up, held her in his arms, and thrust into her without even tiring out his muscles. The way she held his eyes only seemed to feed the fire inside of him.
It felt like there was so much to say, and yet Daryl couldn't find a single word. Carol, too, seemed mute. Each of them was silenced except for the breathing and heavy panting that neither could have avoided. When Carol opened her mouth to him in what looked like a silent scream of pain—brow furrowed—and tipped her head back, she locked tight around him. Her body pulsed, almost violently, taking any control that Daryl had pretended to have of the situation.
She curled around him. She rested with her head on his shoulder. He held her, tight against him, sitting in his lap, after he'd slipped from her body and the cool air of the bedroom had started to dry the sweat that coated both of them.
There was so much to say, but for a few moments, they simply held each other and guarded silence.
Daryl laughed to himself, finally, as his senses returned. He danced his fingertips against Carol's skin, absentmindedly trailing them over the bones in her spine.
"You ain't changed your mind yet, have you?" He asked.
She sat up, but she didn't leave his lap. He didn't mind. He liked having her this close.
She looked concerned.
"Did you?"
He laughed at her concern.
"No," he assured her. "Never."
"Me either," she said with a smile.
"Good—because…we just did that. All the way."
She laughed to herself.
"I know," she said. "I can—feel it. Gravity."
"Sorry," Daryl said.
"No," she said, shaking her head. "Oddly enough, maybe…I like it. Right now, at least." She furrowed her brow and her expression turned darker for a second. "It might not work right away. It might not work ever, Daryl."
Daryl nodded his understanding.
"And if it didn't, would you still be happy with—me? With us? Like it is right now?"
Carol smiled to herself. She kissed him and held his face with her fingers.
"Yeah," she admitted. "I would."
"And if it did happen, then would you be happy with that?" He asked.
Her smile grew.
"I would," she said, squirming slightly against him in what he imagined was something like the happy little dance that she seemed to do whenever something was too overwhelmingly delightful for her.
"Me too," Daryl said. "No matter—how it goes? I'm happy now and…I'd be happy then. So—hell—we might as well have fun tryin' in the meantime, right?"
Carol relaxed against him and he circled her entirely with his arms to make sure she didn't accidentally slip to the floor.
"I love you," she said, the same warm feeling washing over Daryl, when he heard the words, as always did.
He sighed, the sound of them relaxing him.
"Not near as much as I love you," he said. "It just ain't fuckin' possible."
