AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
It's admittedly, a little self-indulgent.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Daryl woke well before the morning alarm and in absolutely the highest spirits possible for the hour. Carol was sleeping, but she was sleeping lightly. Likely, she'd already woken and, finding him asleep and the hour disagreeable for committing to being awake by herself, she'd closed her eyes in an effort to sleep a bit more. Daryl could tell by her breathing, though, that she was just floating on the surface of sleep.
Daryl switched on his bedside lamp. It wasn't too bright, but it was bright enough. Carol didn't stir, but he did see her eyes moving behind her eyelids, and he knew that she wasn't asleep enough for them to be moving because of any sleep stage. He smiled to himself. Maybe, even, he saw a hint of a smile on her lips.
She was playing possum—either just to play with him or, maybe, because she hadn't fully committed to getting up just yet. Sprout did make her sleepier than she used to be.
Carol was wearing panties—she always slipped into them after they made love and before she went to sleep. She liked wearing them. They were comfortable to her—or comforting, maybe— and Daryl didn't mind anything that made her feel comfortable. She wasn't wearing anything else, though. When Daryl rolled back the blanket, he expected her to shiver or protest, but she didn't. She stayed stone-still. Her throat bobbed gently, and Daryl swallowed back his amusement.
Daryl placed his palm over her abdomen. She would insist that he couldn't see Sprout growing, but he could. He could see the pronounced roundness to her body. She would insist that it was just fat—one too many indulgences. Indulgences or not, Daryl knew it was Sprout, and resting his hand there made him happy. It made him feel close to the baby. Soon, they would be going in for an important appointment with Carol's doctor. Carol had been rather wound up when she'd been talking about it—it was pushed, slightly, because of the holidays, but her doctor had wedged her in between Christmas and New Year's. Andrea, Daryl imagined, would go for the same appointment sometime in the near future. He didn't know all the details, really, but he knew enough to know that it was a big milestone for Sprout. If he passed all his little baby tests at that appointment, then the odds of him making it increased greatly.
Sometimes, when Daryl touched Carol's body like this—whether she was playing possum or not—he imagined that he could focus hard enough on the touch to transfer something to the little one…good vibes, maybe? He would just think to himself, over and over, some variation of the same theme: "grow…grow…you can do it…keep on growing, because we already love you, and we can't wait to meet you, so grow little Sprout…just grow…"
And, sometimes, he imagined that there was someone who heard the repeated mantra that his brain recited, because Sprout was growing.
Daryl glanced back at Carol. She looked relaxed. Her features were relaxed. Her eyes were closed. Her breathing, though, was entirely wrong for someone who was actually sleeping. He didn't mind. There were times, too, that he simply liked to lie in bed, close his eyes, and drink in her presence. He couldn't blame her if she liked to indulge in the same kinds of practices from time to time.
Daryl leaned down and kissed her belly gently.
"Hey," he whispered. "Good mornin' Sprout. You start thinkin' about what'cha want for breakfast, OK? Let'cha Ma know, OK? She'll let me know…so you just start thinkin' about it."
He kissed her belly again and glanced at the clock. They had time. They were all up early—unless Sprout was still napping.
Daryl brushed his hand up Carol's body. Gently, he rubbed his fingertips over one nipple. Her nipples were very sensitive these days, and it responded immediately. Daryl's body responded, too. The morning erection that seemed to be an ever-present part of his life had only just begun to fade, but it came back almost immediately at just the slightest show of interest on the part of Carol's body.
On his hands and knees, Daryl leaned and nuzzled against the side of Carol's face. She didn't move, really, but she stiffened—evidence that she was trying not to move. Daryl smiled and nuzzled her again.
"Hey…" He whispered in her ear before kissing the side of her face and returning to his nuzzling. "Hey…"
She hummed at him. She tried to make it sound grumpy and disagreeable. She did a halfway decent imitation of herself when she was grumpy and didn't want to get out of bed, but there was a certain cadence to her real protests that was missing in her imitation.
"Hey…" Daryl repeated. "Wake up…"
"What do you want?" Carol asked, her voice only just barely cracking with amusement. She didn't open her eyes, but she couldn't swallow back the smile entirely. Daryl didn't try; he let his smile be as big as it wanted to be.
"I want some lovin'," he said. He ran his hand over her chest again, toying with her nipple. "And—at least your right titty does too. Come on…wake up. Let's get a lil' lovin' in this morning."
He swallowed back his laughter at her expression and her best almost-failed attempts to hide her amusement.
"Shhhh…" she hissed. "I'm sleeping."
"That's OK," Daryl teased. "It's OK. You want me to give you some lovin' while you sleepin'? Hmmm? Rock you a lil' bit? Hmmm…give you some sweet dreams. You can just…keep right on sleepin' if that's how you want your mornin' lovin'."
Carol snorted before she could get it completely under control, but she pressed her eyelids tight together in feigned protest.
"It wouldn't be any good for you if I was sleeping," Carol offered.
"I'll take a lil' mornin' lovin' from you however you want to give it," Daryl said. He moved, positioning himself over her so that he could have a hand on each side of her body. He purposefully bounced her on the mattress. A few weeks ago, he wouldn't have dared to do this—if she'd even been in the bed, and not swearing she was dying on the bathroom floor, shaking her would have certainly stirred things up. Sprout seemed to have moved past wanting his mother to be sick all the time, though, and now he mostly just raised concerns when he disapproved of the smell of something. Sprout was particular about scents, and they burned a lot of candles in the house, even more than they used to. "See how relaxin' that is? I'd just be rockin' your ass to sleep…like bein' on a boat rockin' gently on the water."
Carol practically howled, now, with her laughter as Daryl bounced her against him in the bed. He laughed, too, and finally stopped to get control of the laughter. He pressed his face against the crook of her neck and kissed the skin there. She wrapped her arms around him.
"You are seriously a man-child!" She playfully scolded, still getting control of her own laughter.
"But did I convince you to be in the mood for a lil' quickie before I make you some breakfast and send your ass off to work?" Daryl asked, laughing into the crook of her neck.
She hummed like she was still considering and Daryl pulled away from her. He, too, could act just as well as she could.
"Where are you going?" She asked, opening her eyes, finally, and furrowing her brow at him.
Daryl bit the inside of his mouth and furrowed his own brow to make himself appear as serious as he possibly could.
"I'm gettin' up."
"Why?" Carol asked, pushing up on her elbow.
"Because it's time to get up."
"We've got time," Carol insisted.
Daryl nodded his head.
"We got plenty of time, but you don't want no mornin' quickie…so we might as well get up."
Carol reached out and wrapped her fingers around his wrist.
"Don't get up! I didn't say that!"
"You didn't say you did want it," Daryl said. "And—I don't want it if you don't want it. Ain't no good that way. I don't want no half-hearted pity pussy."
"It is not half-hearted pity pussy!" Carol protested sharply. Her flash of irritation over the words dissipated as quickly as it had come up. "Wait…Daryl…" Carol said. There was the slightest hint of whine to her voice, and Daryl nearly lost his resolve to remain expressionless.
He hummed at her, chewing his lip to hide his desire to laugh.
"You're not serious?" Carol pressed.
Daryl hummed and nodded his head.
"It ain't no big thing, Carol. You don't want it, and I don't want what the hell you don't want, so I'ma go—start the coffee."
She pulled at his arm.
"Daryl!" The protest was all she could manage. She actually looked a little offended. She looked like her feelings were genuinely hurt that he was considering leaving the bed. He bit the inside of his cheek again.
"You got somethin' you want?" He asked.
"Of course I do! I want you," Carol said.
"Do what?"
"I want you, Daryl," Carol said. "Come on—I was teasing. I was only playing with you. Come on."
"How I know you was playin' and…you ain't just sayin' that because you don't wanna say no or somethin'?"
She was clearly flustered. Her face ran red.
"I don't know," she admitted. "I don't know how to prove it to you, but…please don't get up. We still have a little time. We have long enough for a…for a morning quickie, like you said. Please—Daryl? Come on…I was only playing."
Daryl didn't want to make her suffer too long—or to give her too long to truly start to feel bad. He didn't bother biting back his smile any longer. He moved toward her on the bed, and she lie back as he crawled toward her, reclaiming his spot beside her and leaning over her.
"You know I sure do love to hear you tellin' me how much you want me," he said, winking at her.
"Asshole," she said, her smile slowly spreading over her face as she realized he'd been playing. "Shit! Daryl! You're such an asshole! I thought you were really upset."
Daryl laughed and kissed her. She kissed him back.
"Is that the only reason you asked me back here?" He asked. "Because I was serious about that. I don't wanna do nothin' with you if guilt's the only reason you doin' it—or just to make me happy."
"No…it's not," Carol said sincerely, her fingertips massaging the upper part of his arms. He slipped his hand down and into the band of her panties. She spread her legs for him as his hand slid through the soft curls and beyond. He massaged her clit for a moment with his fingertips and pressed onward, stroking her to feel her wetness. She moaned and lifted her hips to grind against his hand, and his own body responded with renewed interest.
"You're wet," he said, continuing to stroke her. "Really, really wet…"
"Are you going to do anything about it?" She asked, her breathing already speeding up with his teasing. "Or are you just going to keep fucking with me?"
She smirked and watched Daryl's face for his reaction. She rarely talked too dirty during sex, but sometimes she liked to test her own boundaries. Daryl appreciated when she was feeling a bit froggy about things. He licked his lips.
"Instead of fuckin' with you, how 'bout if I just…fucked you? Hmmm?"
Carol raised her eyebrows at him, the smirk still hanging on her lips.
"I might like that," she said. "If you'd hurry up and get to it before we have to get up."
Daryl swallowed back his amusement at the challenge.
"Huh…it's like that, huh?" He responded. She hummed and nodded. He moved, tugged her underwear down, and dropped them over the side of the bed. He spread her legs with his hands. She bit her lip and closed her eyes. It was clear that something that simple had revved her engine for her, and Daryl felt a surge of arousal rush toward his dick at the sheer knowledge that he had that power over her. "Don't you worry, Sweetheart, we got plenty of time to get this done good," he said, lining them up. To suit her, and the clear challenge that she'd made, he slid into her as he changed his position. He kissed her jaw with the first hard thrust that drove him all the way into her. She grunted at him. Her mouth was open, but her eyes weren't. He pulled out—almost all the way— and returned with another hard thrust, enjoying the sound she made in response.
Daryl repeated his movements, varying them slightly, for as long as he could stand it. He focused on her face—the sweet sounds she made, and the way she bit her lip and kept her eyes closed like she was savoring the taste of something delicious. Her nails bit into the skin on his arms when she came and the burning scratches did more for driving Daryl over the edge than he may have wanted to admit. He thought, coming down from the moment, that he might ask her—if she didn't mind—to scratch him again sometime…at just the right moment, and just that way.
He rolled to her side to catch his breath and she came to him. She knew that—perhaps as something strangely and uniquely him—he didn't like the moments following sex. At least, he didn't like them if there was space between them. He smiled at her as she draped her body over his and peppered his face with kisses while his breathing and pulse slowed. He reached his hands down, massaging the skin on her back and ass as his fingertips were able to reach it.
"I feel Sprout pressin' against my stomach," Daryl said, smiling at her. Carol returned his smile.
"You do not."
"I do, too. Your skin's stickin' to mine…"
"That's fat, not Sprout."
"You say potato…" Daryl teased.
"That's not what that saying is about," Carol challenged.
"Is too…the way I say it," Daryl said. "You say potato. I say Sprout. See?" He massaged his fingertips into her skin again and pulled her body in tight against his again, purposefully pressing her stomach against his in their current position.
She stared at him for a moment, her tongue caught between her teeth in a hint of a smile.
"I love you," she said.
"I love you, too," Daryl assured her. "Now—I asked for an order a while back. And we still got time. What's Sprout got on his mind for breakfast?"
Carol giggled and dropped her head. She rested it against Daryl, brushed her cheek against his skin affectionately, and then she eyed him again with a sincere smile.
"Pancakes," she said. "Sprout wants…pancakes. And…bananas."
"We got that. If that's what he wants, pancakes and bananas is what he gets," Daryl said. "Let's go clean up, woman…and I'm makin' my Sprout some pancakes."
