AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

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Carol moaned into Daryl's mouth; her eyes closed to the kiss. Each one was hot and sweet and, somehow, a little better than the one that came before. He'd kissed her so many times between the truck and the door of the little beach house, that she could imagine it had taken them a half an hour to cover the small patch of ground, and anyone who could see them was likely scandalized that they would behave in such a way in public.

And Carol normally would never have dreamed of behaving in that way in public—but something in Daryl made it OK.

And her hunger for his kisses made it OK.

And the fact that they were newly married, somehow, made it OK.

Carol leaned against the door jamb while Daryl tore his lips away from hers and his hands away from her body long enough to fumble in his pocket, find the keys, drop them twice, and manage to get the door unlocked, finally, with visibly shaky hands. She half expected him to grab her, drag her inside, and make the trip to the bedroom in record time—all of his "wait power" spent on the kisses leading up to the door.

He stopped, though, as soon as the door was open. He looked into the house, and his expression changed. There was an obvious touch of sadness to his features. The rush he'd clearly felt earlier was gone when he returned the keys to his pocket.

"What's wrong?" Carol asked, the words practically catching in her throat and her chest. The slight hesitation of Daryl's hands and the slightly downward pull of his facial features almost made Carol's heart stop. She wanted him to be happy like he'd seemed a moment before and, honestly, it was heartbreaking to imagine that something had already taken his happiness away. "Did I—do something?" She ventured, dreading the possible response even as the question left her lips.

Daryl, whose eyes had focused for a second on some distant spot over Carol's shoulder, brought his eyes back to her and furrowed his brow.

"What?"

"You look—sad," Carol said. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No…no…hell no…" Daryl said quickly. "It's just…"

"What?" Carol asked when he stopped.

He shrugged his shoulders gently and ran his thumb over the corner of the door jamb.

"Stupid, really," he muttered.

Carol smiled to herself—in spite of herself, really—and she felt a rush of warmth in her chest.

"Nothing that matters to you can be stupid to me," she offered.

"But it is," he assured her, making eye contact with her again.

She didn't try to hide her smile, then. She loved him too much, and his expression was too endearing for her to want to hide anything.

"Then—it doesn't matter if it's stupid. I want to share your stupid."

He laughed, then, and Carol was pleased that she'd been able to make him clearly feel at least a little bit better. Stupid or not by whatever standards of measurement he was using, it mattered to him, so it mattered to her.

"I was just thinkin' I wished—this was our house. Or—not that this was our house, really, but that we were at our house right now."

Carol's heart drummed at the mention of "our house." Daryl had started staying with her frequently, and it was only natural to think that he would move in with her rather than the two of them moving into an extra bedroom in the trailer that he shared with Merle, but this was the first time that she was fully realizing that, when they returned to Living Springs, Daryl would be moving in. They were married. They would be beginning their lives together as a married couple. It was, at once, dizzying, but Carol found that she was looking forward to it with as much of her inner-self as was feeling anxious at the idea of something new and a little unknown.

"We'll be there soon," Carol offered. "A little over a day."

"I just—I don't care about the wedding and the decorations and shit," Daryl offered. "It don't matter, you know. It's just—stuff."

Carol nodded. She was absolutely going to let him say his peace. She wanted to hear what he had to say, and she wanted to fix it, however she could, if fixing it were possible. It was clear, too, that it was bothering him enough that it had to be said before he could move happily forward. He was standing firmly in the doorway, as well, and there was no passing inside until he wanted to move.

"You said that," Carol pressed gently. "Did you change your mind?" Daryl shook his head. He was chewing on it, that much was clear. He was trying to decide if he wanted to share his "stupid" thoughts. "You did—want to consummate the wedding. Is that what this is about? It's not our house so…are you worried it doesn't count or something?"

Daryl looked at her like she'd splashed him with cold water.

"Not 'til you just said that!" He said quickly. "That's not true, is it?"

Carol laughed to herself.

"Legally? No. I mean—if it were, nobody would go on honeymoon trips, I suppose. But I don't know about wedding and marriage lore that much. What's wrong, then?"

"The threshold," Daryl said finally. He sighed. "I don't know what the hell the whole actual ass meaning of the threshold thing is, Carol. But—I always liked to think it was like…we come outta the door as two people, but we're goin' back in as one. I mean—not really as one—but joined. By marriage, you know. But it's symbolic. Me carryin' you. It's like—a symbol of bein' one or whatever…when we go back inside. I like the idea of carryin' my wife across the threshold of our house."

Carol smiled at him.

"I don't know what the actual meaning of the threshold thing is, Daryl," Carol offered, "but—I think that your idea is beautiful."

"But it's not our house."

"It is for a little longer," Carol offered. "If you want. And—you can carry me in the house when we get home."

"You don't think it's silly?" Daryl asked.

Carol stepped forward and caught his face in her hands. She kissed him. This time it was her turn to share with him all the hunger that had been building up within her while they'd kissed their way from the truck to the door. After a second, he was responding by turning his body toward her and wrapping his arms around her. His hands were searching her out. She felt her body practically lighting up, as though some kind of switch was thrown. She could imagine that she could feel the buzz of electricity shooting through her body. She could feel it crackling at points—her fingertips where they touched him, her lips where they met his, every point of her body that ached for his touch.

"Everything that matters to you, matters to me," Carol breathed out when the kiss was through. Daryl only responded by moving to lift her, and Carol did her best to help him get her off the ground and into the house. He put her down inside the door and closed the door, locking it behind them.

He shook his head.

"It's not our house," he said. "Don't feel like I wanted it to."

"I promise, when we get back, you can carry me across the threshold."

"Won't be our wedding day."

"But it'll be our first time in our home after we became one, right? And—then we'll have consummated the marriage and…it'll be fully official."

Daryl looked pleased with that. He nodded his head, his eyebrows raised to show he was impressed with her ability to outreason his concern.

"I like that," he said.

"Me too," Carol confirmed.

Daryl kissed her again, pushing her against the wall. His body pressed against hers and the electricity that felt like it was pumped through her body by a cord pulsed again. She moaned her approval of the kiss and the connection, and Daryl laughed in his throat.

"I wanna go somewhere," he said. "Later."

"Where?" Carol asked.

"Don't care. Anywhere. Wanna—do somethin'. Order somethin'. Don't care what. Wanna say—my wife wants this or…can we get…I don't know…somethin' for my wife. Wanna say it out loud to someone."

Daryl tugged Carol toward the bedroom, and she followed after him, their fingers linked together. She wondered if he felt the same electricity she felt. She wondered if he could practically feel it tingling where their fingers knotted together.

He turned her, almost like they were dancing, inside the bedroom and his lips found the crook of her neck, and then the back of her neck, as she felt her zipper slipping slowly down. He was being delicate. He was taking his time. She smiled to herself. He could, but he wouldn't dare to damage the dress that he knew she loved—and it was such a ridiculous thing, in some ways, but it made Carol's eyes prickle with tears.

Not only could she trust that he wouldn't hurt her—he would never purposefully damage her—he wouldn't even damage something as arguably inconsequential as a dress just because she loved it.

She stepped out of the dress, holding to his shoulder as he bent down to move it when she stepped out of it. She stepped out of her shoes. While he unceremoniously took off his clothes—putting everything to the side in an orange chair that sat in the corner of the little room—Carol stripped off her undergarments.

He smiled at her, from across the small room.

"Incredible," he said. She didn't have to doubt, for even a moment, that he was telling the truth about his attraction. He was hard, and he stroked himself, seeming unable or unwilling to keep from touching himself when he saw her standing naked in front of him. The electricity surged, again, and Carol stepped her feet together. She could feel her own wetness on her thighs. Her body was no more interested in pretending disinterest than Daryl's.

"Yeah?" She asked with a smile. "You're not so bad yourself."

Daryl laughed in his throat, again, and closed the short distance between them. His fingers were warm on her skin, lighting up points with that familiar electricity everywhere he touched. Carol groaned in appreciation and desire when his fingers slipped between her legs to tease her and test, perhaps, where she stood in regard to everything. Daryl rubbed his fingertips together when he moved his hand and pushed Carol toward the bed.

"Look at'cha—damn near drippin' for me already. Holy shit—I got me one hot wife," he growled.

"Mmmm—can I admit something?" Carol said, pulling back the blankets and getting comfortable on the bed. She only had to hold her arms out in Daryl's direction and he came directly to her, snuggling in against her and kissing her neck.

"Anything," he said.

She closed her eyes, a moment, to the wonderful feeling of just being near him—of feeling his mouth and his hands searching her out. She shivered at his touch, and the shiver only served to make the electricity crackle a bit more as his lips closed over one of her nipples and his fingers slipped between her legs to start working her toward what she could already imagine would be several orgasms that Daryl would demand from her body before he was satisfied that this marriage was truly consummated.

"I'm going to miss being your best girl," Carol said.

"What?" Daryl asked, his lips leaving their work of exploring her body like it wasn't territory he'd crossed many times over by now. He furrowed his brow at her.

"With—you always calling me your wife from now on? It's kind of silly, but…I'm going to miss being your best girl."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I like your silly things," he offered, maybe as a way of cementing the fact that they could share those things—maybe simply because he, too, liked the teasing name he'd adopted for her. "You always gonna be my best girl. My wife. My best girl." He kissed her lips. He moved over her. He readjusted her body on the bed, and she let him have his way. She wanted what he wanted, after all. She opened her legs to him, helping him find a position that would be comfortable for them both. He raised his eyebrows in question at her as he pressed against her, begging entrance to her body. She smiled at him, nodded her head gently, and pressed her hands against the small of his back as an invitation.

"Come on," she said softly when he seemed to need a bit more confirmation.

As he often did, he rocked his hips in such a way as to slide fully into her. At once, she was full. Muscles that were warmed up and prepared for him stretched to accept him as easily as they could, but still there was always a moment where her body responded to his invasion with surprise. Entirely out of her control, she locked around him for a second. The sensation wasn't unpleasant, as it had been the first few times they'd been together. He expected it, and he seemed to appreciate it in his own way.

He kept his hips still until her muscles relaxed their hold on him, and he busied himself with peppering her face with kisses, the sweetest ones seeming to touch feather-soft at the corners of her lips.

"Hey," he breathed out. "You OK? I hurt you?"

Carol felt him tense. He moved like he'd pull away—leave her body. He wouldn't hurt her, not to please himself. She pressed her hands against his back, holding him there, and she shook her head. The warm tears that had prickled at her eyes earlier had finally escaped—not many, just one or two.

"No," she assured him. "I just—love you."

He kissed her deeply, that time, and Carol teased him with her tongue, stroking it against his. In response, he rocked his hips gently in short, deep strokes.

She laughed quietly into his mouth, into his kiss, and he looked at her with focused eyes and rested his forehead against hers a moment as he continued the slow, deep strokes that seemed to hold him almost hypnotized with his feelings.

"What?" He gruffed.

"I love my husband," Carol said. "More than anything…and that's…so…incredible to say."

The intense expression broke for just a second, and the corner of Daryl's mouth turned upward as he shifted his body and, readjusting her body and taking a slightly new position over her, shifted his speed and angle of thrusting. Carol opened her mouth. It was the only response she seemed capable of giving to the new, harder and faster, thrusts that Daryl had chosen. She bit her lip. Daryl looked satisfied with himself, though his brow was furrowed with his exertions and his focus, as well, on his own sensations. He had the ability, somehow, to hit practically mythical spots within her body that made her toes curl—something she'd once believed was only part of the fairy tale of the books she liked to read.

"My best girl…" He offered; his words somewhat stilted by his exertions. With each word, though, he thrust harder into Carol and seemed to hit that spot—whatever it was and wherever it was—that made every muscle in her body tense with pleasure and the sweet promise of more pleasure; the kind of pleasure that could make her vision go dark and spotty for a moment.

"Mmm hmmm," she managed to get out, wanting to encourage him, but almost finding it impossible to speak.

"My wife," he added, the same as he'd done before. Each word accentuated and accompanied by a physical moment that made it seem like he was literally trying to drive them home.

"Shit," Carol spat, aware, somewhere in her mind, that her short-shorn nails must be digging into the skin of his back. She felt unable to stop, though, and her fingers curled almost as independently of her will as her toes did.

There was no disguising the look of pleasure that curled Daryl's lips upward. He was every bit as pleased by her reaction as he was by the sex itself, and he repaid Carol for giving him that pleasure by driving into her all the more, further spurred on by the guttural sounds that escaped her as attempts to praise him.

Even as Carol was coming back into herself from the moment—though it felt much longer than it really must have been—of being lost in the overwhelming sensations, and the semi-darkness of an orgasm that had left her unable to take in her outward surroundings—she felt Daryl reach his release. She felt the warmth of it.

"My fuckin' everything," he growled out, panting from exertion as his whole body relaxed. He didn't pull away from her. He wouldn't. He would let himself fall free from her body naturally, leaving behind every possible bit of the warm, wet evidence of what they'd just done—his contribution to their hope, someday, to fulfill a few more dreams between them.

Carol sought him out as he found a place on the bed next to her to catch his breath, cool off, and rest. She curled into him, and he reached for her, clearly wanting the affection that she wanted to offer.

"I love you," she promised him. "I love you…I love you…" she repeated. It seemed like the only thing she could say at the moment.

"I love you, too," he breathed out, his voice ragged with his uneven breathing.

Carol smiled to herself and kissed the corner of his mouth, not daring to suffocate him with a full-on kiss for the moment.

"I know," she said. "That's—the most incredible thing. I know."