The prison was eerily quiet. A calm, a stillness, had settled into the concrete and metal. As if the structure itself was holding its breath. On any other night, that might have been a blessing.
Silence meant safety. It meant baby Judith wasn't causing a fuss, fed and cared for, and that the walkers hadn't breached the chain fences surrounding your home. No clawing at the doors, the scratch of dead fingernails on glass and walls. There was nothing worse than hearing those haunting groans of the flesh-eaters right when you thought you were in the clear.
Suffice to say, silence meant everything was as it should be. Safe and sound. But tonight, that was furthest from the truth.
The peace talk with the Governor a few days before had gone as any of you had expected; absolutely nowhere. He'd talked circles with Rick for hours, and by the end of it all no hope of compromise was on the table. Just more casual threats of war, and a cool confidence that the prison survivors had no other option but to leave or die.
Neither sounded particularly appealing.
Merle's rogue attempt at solving the problem on his own had only made things worse. Most notably for Daryl. He kept up appearances, but you suspected his brother's death was affecting him more than he was letting on. His insistence on being left the fuck alone after he'd come back from trying to stop Merle's foolish escapade spoke volumes.
And while the older Dixon had never been a friend of yours, or even a decent human being in your opinion--he'd thrown the terms 'sugar tits' and 'sweet cheeks' in your direction more times than you're willing to count--the fact that his death hurt Daryl so much made you sorry to see him gone. You'd all lost so much already. Anything further was just insult to injury.
You shift in place against the 2nd floor walkway's metal railing, all racing thoughts and visions of worst case scenarios. As a whole, you were out of options. No amount of diplomatic discussion was going to solve the problem of Woodbury and its relentless leader. And war was...well, it was war. Some of you weren't coming back from this. Maybe more than some.
Alternatively, none of you were willing to abandon the prison like the Governor demanded. Not when it had cost so much to secure and make it a home in the first place. Months out on the road, finding temporary shelter for a night just to pick up and leave it in the morning, had made you dig your nails into the roots of the prison and hold on for dear life. It wasn't a spoken discussion, but the expressions on everyone's face when Rick had described the Governor's under-the-table deal with him made it wholly apparent you were all in agreement.
There was no reason for the Governor to hold back now, to pull punches. Not when Merle had betrayed the terms of the deal--Michonne's life for the rest of the survivor's lives--though from what you had seen of Woodbury's leader thus far, it would have ended with all of you dead regardless. No doubt, he'd want to wipe the prison off the face of the map at his first opportunity. Tomorrow morning you'd have to be prepared to fight for your lives.
And while your mouth went dry at the prospect of being shot at, it was the only path forward with a light at the end of the tunnel.
So caught up in the endless 'what-ifs' of the day to come, you don't notice someone approaching until they leaned back against the metal railing beside you. Your heart soars up into your throat with a small gasp, not expecting any company so late at night, but closing your eyes with a calming breath when you recognized who it was. Daryl regarded you with his usual stony expression.
"Hey." You say simply, passing a hand across your face. Now that you knew there was no danger, that the Governor hadn't somehow snuck his way into the prison in the middle of the night, you felt ridiculous for getting startled in the first place.
Daryl only grunted, settling a little more comfortably against the metal at his back, arms crossed over his chest. The cold, blue rays of the moon's light filtered in through the dingy glass windows opposite the cell blocks, and you use the light to examine him.
He seemed...ok, considering. Disheveled, weary, with his jaw tense. Was he as nervous at what morning would bring? Daryl was routinely the picture of resilience when shit hit the fan, and it often did. He was a pillar of strength for the little group of survivors just as much as Rick himself, but you supposed that it would be impossible to keep that up all the time. Maybe it was starting to weigh on him.
It suddenly occurred to you to wonder what he was doing out here in the first place.
The silence stretched, neither of you willing to be the one to break it, until Daryl digs a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and takes one from the box. He settles it between his lips, and you can't help but stare. Then, perhaps as an afterthought, he takes a second out and offers it to you, eyes watching carefully. You take it with little hesitation. No point in worrying about dying from lung cancer when you could very well be killed in a rain of bullets come morning.
You shift to face him, waiting as he digs his lighter out and brings it beneath the end. You hear a few snicks as the flame catches and inhale deeply, helping the embers ignite. He lights his own and stuff the lighter away as puffs of smoke swirls between you.
The tobacco tastes dull, but the nicotine is a welcome respite, some of the nerves settling low enough that you can finally push back a few of the loudest and most troubling voices battling for attention in your head. Your eyes close to relish this tiny moment of artificial peace. The smoke blows out from your lips and rises towards the ceiling. You watch as it coils before dissipating entirely.
"You ok?" You blurt out unexpectedly, surprising even you. He catches you in a glance, but then his eyes slide back to the cell door opposite form where you two are standing.
"Don't know." His shoulder gives a stiff shrug and his voice is husked when he speaks, and you feel stupid for having asked in the first place. Still, this muted reaction is better than the bristling string of insults he might have once thrown your way, had you been back at that camp in Atlanta or even the farm. Hell, that felt like so long ago now...how simple those days had been.
"What are you doing awake?" You venture, emboldened by the fact he wasn't walking away at your prodding. Talking to Daryl beat brooding in your own muddled, morose soup of thoughts.
"Could ask you the same." His eyes pin you with a curious stare now, and it's your turn to look away with a shrug. You take another drag on the cigarette, the end glowing a faint red, before answering.
"Can't sleep. Too much on my mind."
You expect that to be the end of it--Daryl wasn't much of a natural conversationalist--but you're pleasantly surprised tonight. "All this Governor shit, right?"
"Yeah." A huffed laugh escapes you lips, and your head shakes sadly. "Kind of hard to ignore...Anything could happen tomorrow, and I'm not sure how to deal with it."
Daryl made a little gesture with his hand. "Same as always. Walkers, these pricks, it don't matter...Either way, they're tryin'a kill us. Can't just lay down and die."
"It's so simple when you put it that way."
"'Cuz it is." Daryl wasn't mincing words, and the candid honesty was refreshing. He shot you a pointed glance. "Worryin' about it? Won't change nothin.'"
With a tilt of your head, you concede the point. He was right, but that didn't stop you.
"I'm not used to being the one on the other end of the gun. Dead things trying to tear me limb from limb, I can manage that. But people? Living, breathing, people? They think, they plan, they strategize. They're so much more dangerous than the walkers."
"Ain't like we don't got guns of our own." He points out. "And Rick's got a plan."
You sigh and nod, but it's half-hearted at best. "...just gotta hope it'll work."
"It will." Daryl takes another long drag on the cigarette, shifting in place so the metal railing doesn't dig into his back quite so bad. "We'll make it work."
So sure of himself. So confident. Despite all of the doubts and anxieties that still eat away at you, a smile still manages to settle itself on your face. Rueful, perhaps a little skeptical, but a smile all the same.
You'd noticed the change, gradually. From the belligerent camp redneck everyone kept at an arm's length, to one of the strongest and most unwavering members of your team. Gone were the days when he'd storm off with a mouthful of snide remarks in his wake. When he'd push everyone away and announce in no uncertain terms he didn't give a shit what happened to them. You couldn't even remember the last time he'd called you a 'nosy bitch' for asking him one too many questions for his liking.
And while it was still common for Daryl to go off when he got frustrated or pissed off, the venom that often had dripped from every word out of his mouth was largely absent. Maybe his temper was abating, or maybe you were all just getting used to it.
There was no one better at putting problems into perspective. Small wonder you looked up to him so much. Even smaller wonder you had a fondness for him that ran further than simple friendship. Survival was strength in this world, and you'd always had a weakness for tough, capable men...
You head gives a slow, incredulous shake. "I don't know how you do it, Daryl."
"Do what?" His eyes narrow, noticing your expression but not understanding the cause.
"Look at the bigger picture and say just the right thing to keep us from deciding the fight's not worth it anymore." Your hand gestures at his chest. "Unwavering certainty that everything'll work out just fine. It's like you never doubt anything, never accept things like they are. Nothing beats you down. Nothing breaks you. I...really admire that."
The compliments make him uncomfortable, and his gaze ducks away again. He turns to lean forward on his arms against the railing, looking down at the first level below, taking another fortifying drag of his cigarette. "That ain't true."
"Sure it is." You shrug, gesturing around the prison as if it was obvious. "We're all still here, still fighting. And that's not just because of Rick."
He's quiet as you puff more smoke, letting the silence stretch. Rick's plan might be the best you could have come up with given the circumstances, but the possibility of failure was ever-present. If this was to be your last night alive...you wanted it to be an honest one. It felt nice being honest and open about what you thought of him. Discomfort aside, he deserved to know he was appreciated.
Realizing he might retreat if you kept this up, you ease back, turning towards the windows letting in the moonlight. A few more puffs of smoke and the cigarette is down to the end bud. You flick the ash over the railing before tossing the butt behind you, digging it into the concrete walkway with the heel of your shoe. It smears a black stain into the already dirty surface.
Somewhere, a muffled and distant cough is heard. Someone tossing and turning. Snatching what little sleep any of you could before the killing started. The reminder of sleep makes you sigh.
Your mouth opens, about to thank Daryl for the cigarette and the company and retire for an unsuccessful attempt at sleep, but he beats you to the punch.
"Doubt things all the time. Just don't show it." His mutter is just loud enough to make out, and you almost wonder if he'd meant for you to hear it at all.
"Some things are easy; walkers, huntin', stayin' alive. You do or you don't. Simple as that, ain't nothing to doubt. But others..." His head shakes and his hands clench, and you suspect you're heading down a path of conversation he isn't particularly comfortable with. "...always gotta have a reason, a purpose...whatever. Thought that was finding Merle for a long time. Knew he wasn't dead, even with his hand cut off. Tough son of a bitch, my brother. Only family I had left--hell, only one who ever gave a damn--figured I'd see him again eventually. But now he's gone and I've got nothin'."
"You've got us." You offer.
"Maybe, but...he was my brother. My blood." His flat, empty tone leaves little doubt that he's just agreeing with you for the sake of placating the conversation.
"Family can be more than blood."
"Hmm."
Daryl's gaze is focused and intentionally kept away from you, and you're silent in the wake of perhaps the most emotional conversation you think you've ever heard with the hunter. You hang onto every word, seeing how much it was making him uncomfortable to speak them, and yet wondering all the same why he felt the need.
Curiosity eats at you. All this talk feels like he's circling around the words he really wants to say, but unsure how to do it. So you tilt your head to face him and give him a verbal prod. "Why're you out here, Daryl?"
The question hangs between you, sounding louder in the quiet emptiness. Seconds pass, the air thick with something you couldn't put a name to. Daryl works his jaw tightly, and just when you think he's not going to answer, that you've pushed your luck a little too far, his head shakes minutely.
"Been thinkin' about a lot since losing Merle...seein' him as one of those things. And I..." A hand brushes through his hair, worked up and with no real outlet to release it. You get the impression he's just barely holding back the impulse to pace back and forth, frustration coming off him in waves. "...I got things I wanna say. Just don't know how to say 'em."
Connecting whatever dots you could, a tiny frown furrows your brow. "...to me?"
"Yeah."
He sucks one last heavy drag from his own cigarette, tossing the end down to the level below. A tiny tendril of smoke follows it, and you both find your eyes drawn to it. Now with nothing to occupy his hands, his forearms lean against the top of the railing and he fidgets distractedly with his own fingers.
"You always gave a shit about me. Even when you shouldn't've." He starts in such a quiet voice, refusing to look at you or he might lose the nerve to continue. "Was an asshole, just like my brother. But you still treated me fair."
"I'm not the only one." You point out. "Carol cares about you."
He gives a shrug, acknowledging the point.
"Tried lookin' for her little girl when no one else did. Made sense." Daryl sniffed uncomfortably. "But you're...different. Never needed my help, never did nothin' for you. But you still cared about a good-for-nothin' redneck prick anyway. Don't know what to think about that."
You catch the shift of his eyes in your direction, as if looking for some answer to his questions. But all you do is shake your head with a small smile. "You weren't ever 'good-for-nothing.' Just...a little standoffish."
"See, you're still doin' it." He gestures at you with his hand, as if you'd just proved his point. "Always kind to me for no reason. It's goddamn confusing."
Eyes lifting to gaze at the moon coming through the windows, something stirred in your chest. If you were both being honest tonight, it was about time you started catching up, you suppose. "It wasn't for no reason."
His stare feels heavy as it bores into you. "Then why?"
"Because I wanted to. Because I could. Is that really so strange?" You give a little shrug when he grunts his disbelief. "I've always liked talking to you, Daryl. And you don't have to believe me, but that's the truth. You're a good person. I know that deep down. And good people deserve kindness."
A beat, then two, of no response brings your gaze back over to meet his own. This time he doesn't shy away, jaw working and teeth biting at his lower lip the way they did when he was pondering some conundrum. He's otherwise still, the fidgeting pausing as he contemplates. His dark irises flick back and further between your own, searching for...something. Whatever it might be is a mystery.
Maybe he finds what he's looking for. Maybe he doesn't. You're not sure.
It's not lost on you how intimate this situation is, or...could have been. Alone in the dark, in the quiet, laying out truths neither of you were totally comfortable sharing. There were so many nights you'd longed to have a conversation just like this with him. To get to know him. To have him trust you the way you always had in return.
An inherent pull deep in your chest enticed you not to look away from his eyes. His dark, observing and intelligent eyes. In another life, in another time...a part of you thought you could have found the voice necessary to tell him just how much you cared for him. But it felt moot now. Too little, too late.
"Say we snuff it tomorrow." He starts unexpectedly. "Maybe you're right, maybe Rick's plan goes sideways and some of us eat a bullet."
You frown, caught off guard by this switch. "But you said-"
"Know what I said. And you best believe we're gonna fight like hell when the Governor and his people roll up. But shit happens. People die." The last few words are laden with underlying grief, and he sighs heavily. "We ain't God. Don't get to be."
Reality hits you with a numb feeling, the silence that follows it thick and ugly. No matter how optimistic any of you tried to be, the cruel nature of the world now was unavoidable. So many had already been lost to it. Too many to count, though their names hung at the tip of your tongue. People you'd never foresee having known before the dead rose, but all lives that mattered so much to you now.
Perhaps you'd be joining them soon enough.
"Can't help thinkin' how I got a couple regrets. Things I said or did to Merle, to Carol, to others. Always figured there weren't no way to die without a few, but I just...I..." He continued on with a frustrated sigh, agitated. The discomfort nearly doubles as he shifts on his feet and can no longer look you in the eyes again. "...don't want you to be one of 'em."
The meaning behind his admission doesn't register immediately. But as soon as it does, something warm rises to your chest, and your lungs seem to tighten in hope or...disbelief. Your nails dug themselves into the flesh of your arm just to make sure this wasn't all some sick dream.
"Daryl-"
"Couldn't sleep, thinkin' we could die before I worked up the nerve to say all this shit." He sniffs, head hung low to put as much figurative distance as he could between you two without going so far as to actually walk away. "You're...important to me. Ain't just one of the others. Never were, even when I tried damn hard to feel different. Guess it took Merle dyin' and the Governor's petty little war to stop fuckin' pussy-footin' around and actually admit it."
You swallow, unsure of what to say or what to do. Here he was, wearing his heart on his sleeve, and you were utterly speechless in return.
With his lips pursed together, Daryl pushed away from the railing and turned away. Whatever courage he'd bolstered to speak his piece seemed gone now. "Don't have to say nothin.' Maybe you shouldn't. Just...had to say it." He reasoned.
The terrifying realization that he was about to leave you there alone again after all that prompted you to grab onto the back of his vest. He goes no further than a step or two.
"You're important to me too, Daryl." Is your hurried confession. He freezes, and the rest comes spilling out before you can really filter what it is you're saying. "Why do you think I always wanted to be around you? Or take watch with you? Or talk to you so damn often? Hell, I worried I was being too obvious about it, but I guess not."
He still hasn't turned back to look your direction, so you take the initiative and plant yourself in his way. Your fists grab ahold of the front of his vest and keep him from retreating any further. And while he may be loathe to meet your eyes in the middle of this emotional conversation, you don't give him much of a choice.
"No matter what happens--whether it's one or both of us who gets a grave, or if we all get to keep living--you're one of the people I care most about in my life, before or after the world went to shit. There's no one I trust more, no one I'd rather have my back." The tiny movement of his eyes down to your lips nearly halts your entire thought process, but by some miracle you manage to keep talking. "I care about you more than...I ever thought I deserved to."
There's a stirring of curiosity, of hope, in his gaze, but it's blurred by waves of guilt. "It's my fault I never said shit 'til now."
"It's not all on you. I could've done it. I just...never thought you'd feel the same."
"Didn't think so either." He says, shifting on his feet and unconsciously eating away at the already small distance between you. He couldn't seem to look away from your lips, chewing on his own in deep thought. Oh...
"Now look at us." A rueful smile takes up your face as you exhale a breathy laugh, finding humor even in this whole situation. "A couple hours away from war, pouring our fucking hearts out. I'd say we have pretty shit timing, huh?"
He only hums, so focused on you that you feel the beating in your chest harder than usual. Could he hear it? Did he know just how much you were hoping he'd lean down and kiss you like you'd secretly been envisioning for months?
But there's still hesitation. There's still uncertainty. Something's telling him that this was a bad idea, you guessed. Did he think you'd regret it if everything worked out? That you'd suddenly turn your back on him after living another day, not anticipating having to deal with the implications of your actions that night? You wondered that yourself, but the answers came clear as day.
Resolving to give him the little push he needed to cross that line, one of your hands releases his vest and reaches up to gently cup his cheek.
"I don't want to be one of your regrets." You say quietly. "But you...being with you...wouldn't ever be one of mine."
That did it. Daryl swallows thickly, eyes clouding before whatever reluctance had been holding him back finally recedes. He takes a half-step forward, placing you practically chest-to-chest. You feel his fingers thread through your hair as you close your eyes when he leans in.
He kisses you like you'll pull away at any second; not at all like you'd imagined the gruff hunter to be. Slow, testing, barely more than a gentle press against your own lips. He's nervous, and while you are too, the soaring vindication of your reciprocated feelings has you coaxing him into a second kiss that's something a little more.
The first few were all Daryl needed before the restraint he'd been displaying thus far began to crumble. Feeling you want this as much as him did wonders. All the months of wasted time hopelessly, blindly, circling each other was giving way to desires neither of you had expected to ever get a chance at fulfilling. A sense of urgency, the sudden feeling like there wasn't enough time to take it slow, heats the need in your blood. It felt like the temperature inside the prison had risen several degrees already.
A desperation you understood completely had him grabbing hold of your waist and shuffling you backwards to press against the nearest wall. With a grunt, you catch your breath as you back hits harder than you'd expected it would, but Daryl's mouth is on yours only a moment later, leading you with deep kisses that send anticipatory shivers down your spine. You hear a breathy moan, but are unsure which one of you it came from.
His hand on your head guides you as he'd like, eager and exploratory as he comes to know the feeling of your mouth against his own. The other snakes its way up under you shirt, fingers trailing flesh and touching in ways and places only your guilty dreams had managed to replicate. A grunt escapes your lips when they brush over your ribcage, just beneath the fabric covering your breasts.
The silence of the prison falls away around you, muffled by the heavy thumps in your chest and the sounds of your mingling breaths in between. You pull him closer by the belt in his pants, vying for more but leaving just enough room for your other hand to snake down and feel against the denim over his crotch. Daryl exhales sharply through his nose, hips involuntarily pressing further at the way your hand feels against his covered hard-on. As if in retaliation, his tongue pushes into your own mouth and you let him without resistance.
You'd wanted this for so long, and now that you had it, you didn't want to stop. But despite the rest of the group asleep in the cells further down, you were both terribly exposed out here. You still possessed the good sense to know going anything further should probably be taken somewhere else, lest you make just a little too much noise and wake one of the lighter sleepers.
It's harder than you'd like to admit to pull away, and you speak through breathless pants. "Inside." You suggest, pushing off the wall to guide him towards the neighboring cell. It just so happened to be your own. Coincidental...
"Fuck..." He curses in husky frustration, stopping you from pulling him inside. "Nah, we ain't doin' this in no damn cage."
At first, you think he's telling you that he's changed his mind, but with a gentle tug on your hand, he's dragging you away from the cells and towards the door to one of the administrative offices. While it didn't have a bed, Daryl had decided to make it his sleeping quarters when they'd first arrived at the prison. Apparently it was comfortable enough that he hadn't ever felt the need to change that arrangement.
The nerves across your body are impatiently buzzing beneath your skin as he leads you inside. The windows here are covered in heavy drapes to keep the sun and moonlight out, plunging the room in a thick darkness.
Even in your haste, you're careful in closing the door behind you, making sure it doesn't slam and wake the others. But not a second later, Daryl's captured your lips again with a pleased sigh, walking you closer towards where his bedroll lay. You're not sure how he can see where he's going, but assume he's familiar enough with the room that he doesn't need the light to navigate by.
With his initial nerves seemingly gone, he's eager and direct and the desire clouding all other thought in your mind meets it in equal measure. First it's the vest; shoved off his shoulders with your shaking hands and tossed to the ground somewhere behind him. Then your shirt, dragged up and off of your torso, and your pants unzipped and kicked away to join it. Lips seek out one another in snatches of kisses after being forced to pull away. Layer after layer disappears between you, joining the clothes and shoes piling up several feet away on the floor.
When lips meet once more, it's bare skin you feel against your own, warm and alive. The feeling of his heart beating so close to yours...you card your fingers through his hair and giving a little tug. The sound it draws from him is absolutely sinful. An experience you never thought you'd get to have again--this intimacy with another person you cared for--has you gasping against his mouth, overwhelmed with delight at the purest form of living possible.
Daryl's hands lift you by your legs and you get the sudden sensation of falling. But rather than hitting painfully back against something hard, the hunter's strength eases you down onto the dozen or so layers of blankets he'd created a makeshift bed from. This new position has him hovering over you in the dark on his hands and knees. You can barely see him, only the faint impression of how close he is and the gentle sound of his breathing.
The scrape of his facial hair is prickly, his chapped lips rough and hot against the skin of your neck when his head descends down, contrasting the way his hands caress your fully-exposed chest. If there was such a way to be gentle and greedy at the same time, you think he's achieved it. The dichotomy is electrifying.
His thumbs tease your nipples with reckless swipes, fingers squeezing both breasts in soft admiration, testing the way they felt in his hands. One leg hikes itself around his knee, pulling him against your core to feel some semblance of friction. He rewards your boldness with a slow, rough grind downwards. It's a mix of pain and pleasure as the denim slides against your uncovered cunt.
He roams and explores all there is to you. It's equal parts unforgiving and tender in the way he tastes your skin, drags his teeth along for pain and then licking the spot to alleviate it. Your toes practically curl in pleasure, accompanied by a muffled groan when it proves too much to keep completely silent.
Impatience overcomes you. Hands scrabble for where you believe his belt is, fingers clawing and trailing along it to find where the clasp came off, but the lack of light isn't helping. It's caught or stuck, and no amount of wrestling with it seems to make it better.
Whatever noise of frustration you make gets his attention, because he's pushing away from your neck and kneeling back, helping you make quick work of his pants. But the sudden distance feels too much, and you sit up again to ravish his chest with open-mouthed kisses of your own. You anticipate the salty taste of sweat and dirt, but the feeling of his shuddering breath against the crown of your head makes it all worth it. A few particularly rough sucks earns you a guttural grunt.
The metallic and leather sounds as he struggles to get his belt out through the loops sounds so loud in your ears. He curses quietly between his own panting breaths when it doesn't come away as easily as he'd thought it would.
But then it blessedly comes free with a slither, and the zipper opens with no trouble after a quick yank down. A bit of shifting and shimmying is required to completely kick off his pants and boxers underneath. His member springs free of the confines of his undergarments, and before he has a chance to take the reins once more, you grin and push him down onto the bedroom by his shoulders, moving to straddle his legs. Not one to sit idly by, he lifts up by his elbows.
"Hold on, I was gonna...f-fuck." Whatever it was Daryl had been intending to do is lost in his throat as your head leans down to take him between your lips. The heat and wetness of the inside of your mouth has his thighs tensing beneath your ass, and his head drops back down to the blankets with a dull thud.
With tongue and the sides of your mouth doing most of the work, he's reduced to a panting, cursing, squirming puddle beneath you with each bob of your head. Just when you think that he's so much more responsive than you'd imagined, the realization that you hadn't had sex in an equally long time makes you moan around his cock.
His hand digs into your hair and forcefully pulls you off of him. His nearly-pained expression has you fearful that you've done something wrong, but he stutters out an explanation. "Shit, woman, you keep that up and this is gonna be over 'fore it starts..."
All you can manage is a pleased yet mischievous smile in return. Daryl sees it and gives a scoff, taking ahold of your upper arms and dragging you down in a roll beneath him. With your temporary moment of power gone, he pins you with a heated stare as his fingers travel down the contours of your body.
"Best keep quiet..." He gruffs out, unwaveringly watching your expression as his hands found their destination. Your eyes have adjusted enough to make out the lust swimming through his own. "Don't want to wake 'em up, do you?"
The rough pads of his fingers spread you open and slip inside with ease, two wide already providing a stretch you weren't anticipating. It's all you can do to bite your lip and muffle the whine at the welcome and sudden intrusion. Daryl mutters something you don't quite catch. Part of you thinks to ask, but the other is too far gone in desire to care.
His digits search and stroke with lazy purpose. Without thinking about it, your legs spread wider, giving him better access to your heat. Under his ministrations, it's difficult not to thrust up against his hand to have them go deeper. He's doing a marvelous job already and you don't want him to stop. Hell, you'd cry if he did now.
Your fingers dig into the blankets beneath you, holding onto something lest you slip away entirely when he focuses on the hood of your clit. The nerves there snap electrically and another keening moan slips past you, a soft whisper of his name at the end.
Maybe the sound of his name on your lips does something to him, because Daryl hones in on your clit without mercy, pressing harder and stroking faster. The sudden speed and additional of a third finger snatches your breath away, leaving you gasping and squeezing your eyes shut as you propelled towards that edge. You're on a one-way ticket to orgasm and he's got no intention of slowing down.
You dare open your eyes and see the way he's staring down at your expression with such intensity, such need and want and curiosity. He wants to watch you fall apart, see the way your face shifts as the pleasure hits, and that fact alone is devastating to the already precarious restraint you're holding onto. You thought you'd be able to prolong this out a bit more, but no. Daryl's overwhelming in the best way possible.
When the tingling and rising in your core proves too great, yours eyes flutter and your muscles quiver around his fingers. You shudder, feeling the wetness of your arousal soak his hand and the blankets beneath your cunt. It comes in waves, helped along by Daryl's continues stroking, until the overstimulation sets in and has you convulse against his touch.
Sensing this, he pulls his fingers away and trails them up your body with reverence. You wish your mind was in a better space to really appreciate the gesture, but all it could do was focus on getting your breath back.
Still in a haze, you eventually manage a semi-understandable sentence. "S-sorry, your blankets...I, uh-"
"Don't care." Your thighs squeeze against his waist at the lust dripping from each word. Up his fingers trail, leaving the wetness from your cunt to cool against the skin, past your breasts and further north to your neck. They hold your jaw in place so he can plant a rough kiss to your lips.
The momentary respite is exactly what you need to recover enough to take him next. The pain that had sparked was already beginning to dull from lack of attention, and after a minute or two of the heated kiss, you pull away from rest your forehead against his.
Your breaths mingle in the space between. You think, even in the darkness, that his pupils are blown wide and taking in the sight of you undone beneath him. Biting your lip, one hand takes his cock and lavishes it with languorous pumps. His eyes close against the pleasure, forehead pressing just a little harder into your own.
"Please, Daryl." Is all you breathe, hoping he too was tired of all of the foreplay. Your heart was too full to take much more, and your cunt throbbed at the thought of finally having him completely.
His head nods against yours. And then, he tenses and swears raggedly. Guessing his concern, you smile and press a hard, fast kiss to his lips. "Don't need one."
"You sure?"
"My IUD's supposed to last 10 years. Didn't have an apocalypse warranty, though..." You say, and Daryl lets out his breath in a rush at your stupid joke. Relief makes him go in for another kiss, then another, each more feral than the last. Your arms wrap around his back, pulling him in closer until your chests are pressed together. The rapid beat of one another's hearts is prominent and reassuring.
His hardened cock brushes against your wet slit, prompting you to press back, seeking more. Another grind of his hips drags a low whine out. You're panting, needy and impatient. You're close to begging until you feel him press to your entrance. Leaning down onto his elbows, he pushes into you slowly.
It's tight and uncomfortable at first as you get used to his size. The first orgasm certainly helped, allowing him to sheath himself with little resistance. You try not to tense at the intrusion but it's a difficult instinct to resist. Daryl breathes steadily through his nose, eyes closed, until he's fully seated inside of you.
He groans out your name, doing everything in his power not to move his hips yet. He wants to, but it's been so long for either of you and he doesn't want this to go wrong. This one night of giving in to desires might be the last and only.
He resorts to a slow, shallow rut. Enough to stretch the muscles but without causing pain. And within a dozen of these motions you're much more accustomed to having him filling you so completely. Your legs come up to wrap around his waist, arms settling on his shoulders for support, and Daryl takes that as his permission to move.
Pulling out and thrusting back in with a snap, he grunts in satisfaction. And after that first testing thrust, he's picked a steady rhythm and sends you down a path of no return. With a momentary adjustment of his knees he picks up his pace, caught up in the way you feel around him.
Each rough piston of his hips has you grasping at his shoulders and back in desperation. Another time, you might ponder the strange textures along his skin, but for now it's all you can do not to cry out your pleasure at the way he fucks you like he'd never get the chance again. You nearly draw blood with how hard your teeth bite down into your lip.
But all that is forgotten when he suddenly grabs one of your legs and holds it down to the blankets with unrelenting strength, opening you up more and hitting that angle inside just right. His cock brushes along your clit in a move that has you arching your back upwards, a shocked yelp ripping itself from your lips. Loud and sharp, you snap your eyes open wide at the possibility of having woken up the others.
But rather than stop to keep you quiet, Daryl's hand firmly plants itself against your mouth and he continues in the same place over and over without respite. The chorus of helpless, debauched moans that you produce in response to the pinpoint thrusts are trapped beneath his hand, muffled enough that you weren't at risk of another loud outburst. A string of curses leaves his own mouth through his laborious panting.
Your body sings with pleasure, squirming and clawing and arching in place beneath him as much as you can against the onslaught of feeling. It's almost too much, but you welcome it eagerly. The vestiges of your first orgasm linger, allowing the second to come crashing down without warning and much faster than you had anticipated.
Daryl's pace stutters as your muscles contract around him, lending further friction as he thrusts you through the sensational high. Black spots prickle your already dim vision, but you can still see just enough of his face in the blackness to see that he's trying to hold back still, trying to prolong this moment for the both of you.
But as the ear-ringing starts to fade, you reach up and press his head back down to your own, catching his lips in a kiss, trying to tell him to let go without words since you don't trust your own voice at the moment.
Maybe it's the sweetness of the gesture that finally does him in, but with a dozen more frantic, rough snaps of his hips, he moans against your mouth and stills inside of you, muscles tense and shaking with exertion. His hips flex a few more times, pressing in deeper, filling you.
Neither of you move, spent and needing a moment to catch your breaths. Your hands trace absentminded paths along the back of his neck, and his hot breath fans along your collarbone. As the afterglow resides, that same stillness from before settles over you both. This time, however, it doesn't feel nearly as oppressive and daunting.
Daryl peels himself away from you slowly, and when he slips out from inside, there's an empty feeling left behind. He reaches over to grab at the shirt he'd been wearing and uses it to clean himself up. Then, crawling back over to you, he does the same to you.
No words are shared, any that come to mind feel out of place, but each little action speaks loud and clear. He's thoughtful enough to retrieve your clothes from the other side of the room, electing only to dress back in his boxers and nothing more. You decide your shirt and panties is enough, and make no move for the door. He's not kicking you out, from what you can tell, so you assume an invitation to stay is on the table.
You settle in beside him, tired and yet fighting with everything you had to stay awake a little longer. Daryl's dark eyes regard you a few inches away. Could he tell what you were trying to do? Did he know that you were trying to commit this moment to memory? To burn it so deeply into your mind that you'd recall it even in death?
Perhaps he does. Because with a gentle caress of your cheek with his thumb, he's silently coaxing you to close your eyes. You don't know how, exactly, but the effort of keeping them open just proves too great to resist any longer. He speaks your name in a whisper, telling you to sleep.
The promise of morning is terrifying, but in the silence of here and now, you can almost convince yourself everything will work out like it should.
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