AN: Here we are, another chapter here!
It appears some people might have missed the past two updates (from last weekend), so please don't forget to read those first!
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Carol had thought that the fire that burned low in her belly and seemed to spread beyond to her groins was probably entirely inappropriate to experience while having a friendly lunch with the woman that Tyreese had identified as the oldest living person in Living Springs, Georgia.
She couldn't help the almost painful sensation in her body, though, and she couldn't control it. It surprised her, really, but she had accepted it as something she'd simply have to keep to herself.
Agnes was a small framed woman, and her eyes looked almost like owl eyes behind thick glasses. She was cheerful, though, and it was clear that she adored Daryl. Tyreese, Michonne, and Daryl had all given her enough information to piece together that Agnes paid Tyreese to have all her maintenance problems solved and, often, Tyreese would simply schedule Daryl so that entire days of work for him were built around Agnes's needs—whether or not they were truly handy-work or not.
Carol had watched Daryl interact with Agnes and, honestly, that was what had begun the warm feeling inside her that had bubbled and simmered throughout the day.
Daryl cared for Agnes, but what had most caught Carol's attention was that he had nothing to gain from the old woman. Whether he did work for her or work for someone else throughout Living Springs, he was good at what he did, and Tyreese would have found work to fill his hours and earn him his paycheck. There was a reason that Daryl was specifically chosen for working with the old woman. Daryl wasn't doing this for the money alone. In addition, if Carol had ever convinced herself, for even a moment, that Daryl's unfailing kindness and tenderness was a result of simply hoping to get sexual favors from her, that concern was immediately dashed when she saw him with Agnes. He had no such interest in the woman, and yet he treated her with the same unwavering patience and kindness.
He'd introduced Carol to Agnes as his wife, in keeping with the woman's beliefs about their relationship, and he'd introduced Agnes to Carol as his girlfriend with a laugh. The old woman had been genuinely flattered, and she'd blushed like she was a school girl instead of a woman of possibly over a hundred years of age.
Carol had enjoyed meeting her and talking to her. She'd accepted Agnes's invitation to "come back sometime" to share a meal or some coffee. More than anything, though Carol had enjoyed watching Daryl as he quietly cared for the woman, pushing food in her direction, refilling her glass along with Carol's, and generally taking an interest in her well-being.
The feeling in Carol's belly and groin—the burning ache—had stayed with her through the day.
And she'd texted Daryl as much when she knew that his workday was drawing to an end.
Her face had been as hot as any other part of her body when she'd sent the text that was uncharacteristic of her and a little embarrassing—but she trusted that he wouldn't embarrass her for it.
"I want you so badly it hurts. I've wanted you all day."
It was simple. Maybe it wasn't scandalous at all—she knew it wasn't too scandalous when she thought about things that she knew that Andrea would sit and compose on her phone like she was writing some kind of explicit instruction manual for sex. It felt scandalous, though, and Carol had laughed to herself when Daryl had texted her back. His text had only made her heart join in the aching for him.
He sent her an emoji of wide-open eyes, and then texted that he was on his way.
In another moment of possibly acting entirely inappropriate, Carol had basically thrown herself at him when he'd come in the door, but Daryl hadn't judged her for her enthusiasm. Instead, he'd simply lifted her off her feet and carried her, laughing, directly to her bedroom.
And there, he'd asked her what she'd become accustomed to hearing from him, though she'd never been asked by anyone else before.
"What do you want?"
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Daryl's half-concealed laughter rumbled in his throat as he opened the bathroom door.
"I don't know, Carol," he mused. "You got a nice blouse or some shit to go with my skirt? Shit feels incomplete."
He stepped out wearing the kilt. It wasn't the highest quality, of course, but it was higher quality than she might have imagined from a novelty shop. He'd chosen a blue and green tartan, and of the two styles of kilts that had been on offer, he'd chosen the one that most resembled the actual garment instead of the garish one meant for nothing more than putting himself on display.
Carol shifted, seated on the side of the bed, the moment she saw him.
His body was perfect—at least to her. His muscles were beautiful. He was clearly strong, and she'd witnessed as much, but his strength didn't scare her. She realized that, looking at the way his muscles moved under his skin as he examined the garment fastened around his waist.
Like Ed, he could break her bones if he wanted. He could rip her joints loose from their sockets, tearing tissues and ligaments just to hear her howl. He could crush her windpipe and make her beg for mercy with what she feared would be the last breaths she took.
He could crumple her, like paper, if he wanted.
Unlike Ed, though, he didn't want that. He would never want that. He didn't want to use his strength against her in that way. Instead, he preferred to use his strength for things like lifting her, at the door, and carrying her through the house to make clear his hope for the way they would pass the evening.
"I love you," Carol blurted out, surprising even herself. She'd been desperate to say it, though. Her mind had offered her no other words.
If Daryl thought the statement was inappropriate, he didn't say so. Instead, he grinned at her with that crooked smile.
"Love you, too," he said. "Me wearin' a skirt an' gettin' in touch with my feminine side really melts your butter?" He asked, teasing.
Carol laughed to herself. She stood up and walked over to him. She was wearing nothing more than a short cotton gown that he'd chosen from her drawer—liking it as much for its softness as its appearance. She ran her fingers over his shoulders and arms, feeling his strength as she touched his muscles.
"There's nothing feminine about you," Carol assured him. "You're—all man. In—all the best ways."
Daryl hummed at her in such a satisfied way as he held her face and kissed her, that Carol only felt the aching between her legs intensify. She'd daydreamed about some dramatic, long-lasting romp with Daryl, but most of her would have simply been satisfied if he'd thrown her on the bed right then and there—with the same directness he'd used to carry her to the bedroom—and satisfied the hunger she felt gnawing its way through her belly.
"What'cha want?" He asked. "What's your fantasy, I mean? That goes with…this?"
Carol smiled at him.
"I guess—like the book," Carol said. "Something like—almost anything that happens between Duncan and Elizabeth."
Daryl stared at her. His throat bobbed. He almost looked like he'd seen a ghost. Carol raised her eyebrows at him.
"Did I say something wrong?" She asked.
"You mean—like the book I just read?" Daryl asked. He'd only recently returned some of her books and taken a selection more of them. He could finish a book in two days, even if he was reading most of it on the couch near her while she read something of her own. He devoured words quickly and easily.
Carol smiled at him and nodded.
"Is that—OK?"
"I don't think I can do that," Daryl said.
"Why not?"
"I didn't like that book, Carol. I don't like a lot of them Scottish books you got," he admitted. "But—in that one? I didn't like Duncan one damn bit."
Carol laughed to herself. She hadn't meant for this to turn into a book club conversation, but it appeared that they were going to have to discuss this before they could move forward much more.
"Why not?" She asked.
"I felt like there was—a couple times that—that she weren't interested," Daryl said. "She didn't wanna do what the hell he wanted, and he just went ahead any damn way. And—I don't like that." He visibly squared his shoulders and Carol couldn't help but laugh quietly to herself. She didn't feel threatened by the movement. Instead, she felt like it was the physical manifestation of Daryl's mental decision to stand his ground.
"I understand what you're saying," Carol said. "I felt like—that was always a bit like a…well…like this. A game. I felt like…they understood that they were…interested. What she said wasn't necessarily what she meant. I mean, based on the descriptions of how she felt…"
Daryl's expression didn't shift. He set his jaw to match the squaring of his shoulders. He shook his head gently.
"She didn't say that," Daryl said.
"Some people like to play different games like that," Carol said. She knew, from conversations, that some people enjoyed things that they didn't even like sharing with their partners too much. Andrea, for instance, had some interests that she had shared with Shane and, honestly, had instantly regretted it. He'd never failed to taunt her for her "perversions" after that. He'd taunted her so much for it in the beginning, that she'd actually gotten hives once over the stress she felt, fearing he'd say something in the wrong place and to the wrong people. "It's just fantasy, though. They have like—some word that you'd never say while having sex. And that's the off word that tells their partner they're not playing for a minute. Like an off switch."
Daryl's expression softened slightly.
"A switch?"
Carol nodded.
"Like—what's a word we'd never use during sex?"
Daryl thought for a moment.
"Toaster?"
Carol laughed to herself.
"Perfect," she said, stepping forward and bringing them closer together. She kissed his jaw, and Daryl softened under her touch. He relaxed and wrapped his arms around her. "So—if we played—then we could pretend anything. And we would know it was all pretend. Even if I told you 'no,' or 'stop,' or whatever? You'd know I was just playing if I didn't say toaster."
"You like that?" Daryl asked. Carol felt him tense. She nuzzled against him.
"I don't know," she admitted. "I know—what it is when you're not playing, Daryl. I know what that feels like. Ed taught me that."
"Jesus," Daryl spat. He pushed her out from him to look at her. He immediately caught her face and held it—a little harder than he meant to. "I'm sorry…"
Carol smiled to herself.
"You don't apologize for him," she said. "You're not guilty of his sins. Right? I just thought—the book makes it seem so…passionate. You know? It's like—so—animalistic. But they like being together…so it's just a game. That's how I read it. I thought I might—like that. At least, that I might like to try it."
Daryl stared at her, hard, and his blue eyes pierced into her. After a long moment of clearly trying to find the right answer he shook his head.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I can't do it. I can wear the skirt. I can—put on some kinda fake ass accent for you…even though I ain't sure it's gonna really be Scottish because the only damn thing I think I know they say is some shit like 'aye, lassie,' and that ain't gonna get us but so far. But—I can't hurt you. And I can't—have sex with you while you're sayin' you don't wanna do it. Not even if it's pretend. I just can't fuckin' do that, Carol."
Carol could feel the tension radiating out from his body. She could see the quick rising and falling of his chest. He was on the verge of panic from imagining it.
She kissed him, without hesitation, and he tensed against the kiss for a second before sinking into it and wrapping his arms around her. He dragged her body roughly to his. The kiss was hungry. Despite all of this, she could feel his enthusiasm.
She smiled at him when the kiss broke, and she stroked his forehead to try to wipe away the intense concern that had settled there.
"It's OK," she promised him. "It's OK," she soothed. "I promise. You wouldn't ask me to do something I really didn't want to do, and…I'm not going to ask you. It was just an idea. OK? Just—a thought about…what I might want. But anything is OK with me. I want you any way you…any way you want to be with me. All that matters is that you're—super sexy and I just wanted, I guess, more than anything? To feel like—you couldn't stand how much you wanted me. Like—I could barely stand it all day how much I wanted you. Like you were—out of control."
Daryl stared hard at her a moment, and then he slowly softened a little.
"I maybe—I can't do that. I just can't—not what you asked first. I hated that book 'cause of it. But—I do want you, Carol." Carol's body responded to the simple words with a renewed flood of warmth and the return of the ache.
"Yeah?" She asked.
He nodded. He laughed to himself.
"More than I'd have words for even if I read the damn dictionary every day like Merle does," he said. "I think about you all the fuckin' time. The whole time I'm awake, and then I even dream about you when I go to sleep."
Carol slipped her hands around and cupped his ass through the kilt. She squeezed him. She smirked at his expression when he cocked an eyebrow at her.
"You horny as hell, aren't you?" He asked, his voice instantly becoming a bit grittier, as it always did when his interest was well and truly piqued.
"I'm can't stand it," Carol admitted. "It hurts I want you so bad."
"I can't do what the hell he done," Daryl said. "But—if all you wantin' is like the…you said animalistic or whatever?"
"Mmm hmmm…" Carol hummed, her body already responding to the mere suggestion that he might do what she wanted—some version of it.
"What's animalistic?" He asked.
"Hard," Carol said. "Rough. Like you can't stand it, either. You have to have…everything…now."
The kilt did nothing to hide Daryl's arousal when they were so close together, and Carol was amused that her words only made him grow harder.
"That shit I can do," he growled.
"Please?" Carol requested, giving him the permission that he seemed to need and crave.
He didn't disappoint her.
Given permission to do what he wanted, and knowing a bit of what she wanted, Daryl took her up on her word that he was free to act—at least until she told him otherwise. She'd laughed, when he'd thrown her at the bed, more out of the strange sense of overwhelming excitement and exhilaration than anything else. Even though she hadn't asked or expected it, she accepted when Daryl roughly dragged her panties off her legs—neither of them needing or bothering to get rid of any other garment in the heat of things—and buried his face between her thighs—his tongue doing the best it could to lick away the flames that had been burning there all day. He had a very clear oral fixation, and Carol had already figured out that he did this for her, but he did it for himself as well. She wasn't one to complain because it happened to be one fascination that he had that certainly didn't cause her any problem at all.
His unbridled enthusiasm came through as he satiated whatever hunger he'd clearly been feeling for a few days. She found something oddly attractive about the sight of him, with a satisfied smile on his face, wiping his arm across his mouth as he rearranged her body and brought them together with one hard, fast thrust that gave way to the desperate, driving actions she'd practically begged him for. He held her wrists pinned together above her head, the strength of his fingers clear to her when she realized that, one-handed, he could well and truly hold them there. The other hand supported him in his efforts to hold the position he wanted with his body.
He growled his satisfaction, only occasionally stealing a kiss or lightly sinking his teeth into Carol's shoulder and biting at her collarbone or lips, while he worked for his release.
Almost immediately after he came, he collapsed next to her and drew her into him, trapping her with his body in case she might have thought about escaping him. Her muscles ached from the exertion of trying to keep up with him—to help him find what he wanted. The residual sting of bites lingered—some harder than she was sure he'd intended. The ache between her legs that had been there before was gone and replaced by a different kind of ache entirely. Her body buzzed with a pleasurable pain, and Daryl nuzzled at her neck—one animal need ebbing to give way to another.
"I'm sorry if I hurt you," he panted. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
Carol smiled to herself. She hummed at him.
"If you hurt me like that, you're welcome to hurt me any time," Carol offered.
"Did I hurt you?" He asked.
Carol patted his arm.
"Only in good ways," Carol reassured him. "Wanted ways."
He nuzzled his face hard against her, practically slamming into her with the need to be closer—but there was no way to be any closer than they were. Their sweaty bodies were flush against each other with nothing but their slightly sweat-damp clothing between them. Carol gave herself over to him, like a ragdoll, for him to fit her to his body in every way possible and absorb whatever he needed in the afterglow. She sighed at the comfort of feeling as thoroughly wrapped up in his love as she could possibly get.
"Kilt or not," Carol offered, laughing to herself, "there's nothing feminine about you, Daryl."
"Asshole," he teased, laughing quietly. Carol laughed in response. For a moment, they simply lie together, entangled in one another. Finally, Daryl broke the silence. Carol could hear physical exhaustion in his voice. "You really think—me bein' gone made us miss our window? For a baby and all?"
"I hope not," Carol said, her stomach tightening.
Daryl rubbed his face against her again and squeezed her a little, tightening his arms where he already held her.
"Me, too," Daryl admitted. "I love you…"
"I love you, too," Carol said. She laughed to herself again. "And I'm not just saying that because—you fulfill all my fantasies."
"Asshole," Daryl said again, laughing in his throat.
"I'm serious," Carol offered.
"Yeah, well…you are my fantasy…so…"
He didn't finish, but it was fine. He didn't have to. Carol smiled to herself and snuggled back against him, meeting his efforts to get closer to her with her own efforts to close the gap that didn't exist between them.
