AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

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

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"What are you doing?" Carol asked, walking up behind Daryl. She'd made her way into the cabin to use the restroom, but she returned as bundled and pink-cheeked as she'd been before.

"Makin' Sprout," Daryl said. "Couldn't leave him out."

Carol smiled and eased down on her knees next to Daryl and in front of their two snowmen—not entirely impressive, size-wise, given that they hadn't been as easy to build as television might have led them to believe they would be. Carol's hand stayed on Daryl's shoulder where she'd used it to lower herself down.

"That's…just a heart," Carol said, pointing out the obvious about the design that Daryl had scratched onto the body of the supposedly female snowman.

"I tried to draw a baby first," Daryl said. "But that turned out so damned bad that I just packed more snow on it and drew the heart. Figured—it's not too bad, and we know it's Sprout."

Carol leaned her head against Daryl.

"We know it's Sprout," she echoed. Carol caught Daryl's face with her fingers and turned it. She smiled at him—that beautiful smile that went all the way to the corner of her eyes—and Daryl smiled back at her. Then, she kissed him. It was a good kiss, and it warmed him despite the fact that he was freezing from sitting on his ass in the snow in his jeans.

He laughed quietly when the kiss broke, and Carol raised her eyebrows at him.

"What?" She asked.

"Nothin'," Daryl said.

"What?" Carol pressed. "Are you laughing at my kiss?"

That only made Daryl laugh harder, but he caught her before she could even playfully run away to pout about the laughter, and he pulled her into him.

"Stop! You're going to make me smash our snowmen, and we haven't taken a picture of them yet!"

Daryl held her tighter in his arms.

"Then stop fightin' me!" Daryl said, still somewhat laughing. "Don't be so damned sensitive." He kissed her face playfully, multiple times, and she howled at him. She kicked her feet—which weren't at risk for harming their tiny snowmen—but she let him hold her upper body where he'd practically laid her in his lap. "I was laughin' because I was thinkin'—how damn hot that kiss was. And how it woulda made me be like hey…you wanna go for it right out here in the snow, but when I thought about it, my dick is so damned frozen that he don't even wanna play."

When Carol moved to try to sit up, Daryl scooped her up and helped her get back into an upright position—both to save her back the strain and to save their snowmen from possible collapse. She thanked him quickly for his help, and then leaned toward him, her hand going to cup him and rub against him.

"Bless his heart," she teased. "We really should warm him up."

"We ought to," Daryl agreed. Carol laughed. "But I don't think our neighbors would appreciate it if we were to do it out here."

The rising sun, that morning, had revealed that the neighboring cabin was closer than it had seemed the night before—and a little closer than the advertisement for the cabins had made it seem. Carol and Daryl had stepped out onto their little porch that morning, coats over their matching plaid pajamas and coffee cups full of hot, decaf coffee in hand, to look at the snow. As soon as they'd stepped out, a loud "Halloo neighbors!" had reached their ears, and they'd found an elderly couple in bathrobes staring at them from the neighboring cabin. They'd shouted some conversation back and forth with the couple to be polite. They'd shared that this was their first Christmas together, and they were trying to get in a few trips together before their little one came into the world, and they discovered that the couple often vacationed in these very cabins at Christmas to enjoy the wonder of a white Christmas, which they seldom got in their home in South Carolina.

There was enough distance between the cabins that they weren't actually up under each other, but there wasn't enough distance for any kind of exhibitionism in the front yard.

"Too damn cold anyway," Daryl said. "If it weren't for the fact my nuts'd freeze right the fuck off and I got this fear that you an' me'd get stuck together like—like a tongue to a flagpole or some shit—I'd say let's go for it and the old people can enjoy the damn show. But…I'd rather we went inside. Got warmed up."

"I'd like that," Carol said. "I'd like—the chance to warm you up."

Daryl's face ran warm, and he liked it.

"You bring my skirt?" Daryl teased, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Carol hummed and nodded. "Which one?"

"For a man who didn't want a kilt in the first place," Carol said, "you're suddenly very picky about the few we've collected for you."

"I don't like the short one," Daryl said. "I like the real ones."

"I don't even know if we have that novelty one anymore," Carol said. "I brought the green one. The one I ordered you. Is that sufficient?"

Daryl grinned at her.

"Ay, me lassie," he drawled in the accent that he knew was probably bad enough to get any actual Scottish person to suggest his immediate arrest. He couldn't carry it beyond a few choice words, but Carol didn't seem to mind at all. "Let's get inside and I'll show you how we keep warm during a Highlands winter." Carol laughed at him and pressed her face against his, nuzzling him with her nose before she kissed him.

"OK," she said. "But first—let's take a couple pictures of our snowmen, just in case."

"You get the pictures. I'ma run inside and change. You—uh—you wanna make me a sandwich?"

"Make you a sandwich?" Carol teased.

"You do it right," Daryl said. He winked at her. "Like you do every damn thing." He imagined she might have blushed if her whole face hadn't been pink from the cold.

"Just one?" She asked.

"I got a man-sized appetite, woman, and I plan on burnin' quite a few calories," Daryl teased. "Better make it two."

Carol laughed and offered her hand up.

"Fine," she said. "But—get me off the ground before you go."

"I'll pick you up any time an' anywhere, Sweetheart," Daryl drawled dramatically, pulling her to her feet.

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They had made a mess of the cabin, and Carol knew they'd have to clean it up, because she'd never expect housekeeping to put this mess back together, but she couldn't bring herself to care at the moment.

They'd dragged down cushions, gathered together blankets, and formed nothing short of a love nest in front of the fireplace.

Carol's body buzzed and, despite the fact that he must be feeling exhausted from his efforts, Daryl still wasn't entirely done with the licking, sucking, and nipping of her body that entertained him so completely at times.

She couldn't help but smile at him. She loved him so much that just seeing him there—his hair damp with sweat reminding her that he needed a haircut when they got home, still wearing his green kilt and happily peppering her body with kisses—made her feel an overwhelming rush of affection like a tidal wave washing through her.

He stopped at her abdomen and kissed it dramatically—one, two, three times – she lost count of how many kisses he pressed there, dragging his tongue and teeth over her skin in addition to the press of his warm lips and the scratch of his facial hair. She moaned out her approval of the kisses, and arched her back, almost involuntarily, as the throbbing between her legs indicated a renewed interest in the man that seemed to control her body like some sort of sexual puppeteer.

Daryl stopped to grin at her.

"Again?" He asked, a half-laugh escaping him.

"No," Carol said. "You're tired."

"And you're hungry," Daryl said. "Look at'cha. Practically starvin' again. My brother would string me up by my mother-fuckin' toes and beat me with a broom if he knew I had a beautiful woman laid out, damn near spread-eagle, on a mess of pillows, and I didn't even bother to scratch her itch."

"The problem is," Carol said, reaching for him and gesturing that he should come to her. He obliged her and gathered her into his arms. She didn't miss, though, that he positioned himself in such a way as to pass his thigh between her legs and, pressing it against her, tease her with the invitation of seeking friction there, the pleats of the kilt causing their own kind of friction between them. Carol licked her lips and smiled at him. She hummed—it was all she needed to do to let him know that she knew what he was doing. "The problem is that my itch is never scratched. It's like—poison ivy or something."

"The only planted thing that's causin' this itch is Sprout," Daryl said. He laughed to himself. "And I'm the one that planted him there, so it's only fair I scratch the itch he's causin'. I read about it. It was like an advice thing to men. Tellin' 'em what the hell to expect. Seems like some kinda roulette for every man. Said some women lose their sex drive almost altogether. Like they just don't want it. But others? Goes into hyperdrive." He smirked at her. "That and you got a damn fine husband, lass," he teased, drawling the words out in the horrible accent that he thought sounded Scottish.

Carol laughed and Daryl kissed her neck. The first kiss was soft and gentle. The second kiss was more suggestive, and she shivered. At the same time, he shifted, rubbing his thigh against her. She was so sensitive from everything they'd already done, that it was halfway painful—but in the most delicious way that she could imagine. She dug her fingertips into his back out of reflex, and then she softened and gently ran her fingertips over the raised and puckered skin of his scars. They were soft to the touch—ironic given the hardness and cruelty that had put them there—and she had learned that gently stroking them was something of an aphrodisiac for Daryl. She knew that it reminded him that she loved every part of him, even the parts he felt the need to hide from the world, and that reminder always seemed to make Daryl feel especially affectionate.

He caught her lips in a hard kiss in response to her gentle touches, and he pressed his thigh into her again, shifting his weight to rub against her a few times. She couldn't fight the urge to rock her hips, drinking in the sweet friction it caused.

"You're an enabler," she informed him.

He smiled at her.

"Listen—I just…ain't got it any other way. Not right now. He ain't comin' up for shit."

"You wore him out. He has to rest."

Daryl kissed her again, his hand slipping down to rub her even as he kept his thigh in place and pressed hard against her.

"I am more than willin' to eat your pussy again, though."

Carol laughed quietly and nipped his lip.

"I think you're the only man in the world who can make that sound so…sexy," she said, catching his hand and pulling it up to kiss his fingers. She could smell herself on his skin. Teasing him, she rolled her hips to grind against his thigh once more. "But I know you've also probably strained the hell out of your jaw. What if…we just loved lazy, like this, for a while? We can spend the rest of the day here, so there's no rush."

"You wanna just—stay here?"

"You had other plans?" Carol asked.

"Not really," Daryl admitted.

"Let's talk about—our house," Carol said.

"Our house?"

"That we're going to build. Out there on your land."

"You still serious about that?"

"I want us to have our house, Daryl. As a family. And if you feel, even the slightest bit, like the house we live in is my house, then…I think we need something else, because I don't want you left out of our home."

"You bought that house as a show of your independence from Ed. Proof you don't need him."

"And I don't need him," Carol said.

"I don't want you to feel like you don't got that independence if you was to need it," Daryl said. "I mean—I swear it ain't that I'm plannin' nothin'. Shit, I'd never do anything…but…I just mean I don't wanna take away that peace of mind that you worked so damn hard to get."

"I have more important things now. I have your love, and I have Sprout, and, despite the fact that I do sometimes have anxiety, I haven't lost that peace of mind. But—that aside? And because I don't want to dismiss your concerns, Daryl – I have the café," Carol said. "And—if I can buy one house, I can buy another house. That house has served me well. It's been my home. It's given me safety, and comfort…and it's given us a place to start our lives together. It's given us a place to grow Sprout. But, now, maybe we need to build our safety and our comfort together—in our home."

Daryl kissed her and smiled at her again.

"What you want in your house, woman?" He asked.

"One story," Carol said. "No stairs. I don't want to trudge up and down them, and I don't want to be afraid Sprout might fall and get hurt."

"Agreed," Daryl said.

"You pick something," Carol said. "You've never built your perfect home. What's important to you?" Daryl grinned.

"That you're there. And Sprout's there."

"You're sweet, but I'm serious."

"Me too," Daryl said. He laughed to himself. "OK. OK. I want—wood floors and a lot of windows. Want it to be clean and bright."

"I like that," Carol said. "And—a fireplace. That was my favorite thing when I bought my house, Daryl."

"You ain't gonna hear no complaints from me," Daryl said. "Nice porch. I love your porch. And fence in the back yard in case we wanna…you know…get Sprout a dog one day."

"You want to get Sprout a dog?"

"Don't you think it'd be a good idea? Don't they say—every Sprout needs a dog?"

"I thought it was every boy needs a dog," Carol said. "What if Sprout's a girl?"

"Either way," Daryl said. "Everybody needs a friend. I never had one, but I think every kid oughta have a dog, Carol—at some point."

Carol's stomach squeezed, and she snuggled into Daryl. He squeezed her, apparently sensing her need for that moment for just a little dose more of his affection. He kissed her and brushed her hair back with his fingertips.

"I know what else I want. I want a big bathtub," he said. "Like that one in there. Big enough for both of us to fit in. I like that."

"The kitchen's important to me," Carol said. "It needs to be big enough that we can cook together. We can teach Sprout to cook."

Daryl nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "And Sprout gets his own bathroom, and our bathroom is in our bedroom like yours is now."

"When do we start this adventure?" Carol asked.

"I'll call someone soon as we get home," Daryl said. "With any luck, Sprout'll only be a couple months old before we get all moved in and settled. All this talk about a new house is makin' my ass thirsty. You want somethin'?"

"Is there any more of that fizzy apple juice?"

"Plenty, and more we ain't opened," Daryl said, kissing her and pulling away. "I'll pour you some in one of the fancy glasses."

"I have to go to the bathroom," Carol said, starting to get up. Daryl got up. He quickly helped her up and held onto her arm as she staggered around their little love nest to reach the bare floor.

"Fair enough," Daryl said. "We piss, smoke, drink…whatever the hell it is, and we reconvene here for more lovin' in…fifteen minutes?"

"I want to call Andrea and check on things…and maybe tell her that we're going to build a house? Or—are you not that serious?" Carol said.

Daryl laughed. He nodded.

"Oh, I'm serious. I'ma smoke an' text Merle, then. We reconvene in thirty. Give me a lil' more time to bring my damn A game to the mat next time."

Carol grinned and kissed him, teasing him a moment with her tongue.

"You always bring you're A game," she assured him. "Just make sure—you also bring that kilt."

"Fair enough," Daryl said. "You got time to—change into my candy-cane costume while you're in there."

"Point taken," Carol assured him, padding back toward the little bedroom and bathroom while Daryl headed for the little kitchen area.