Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: This story is meant to fit in during the group's time at the Green Farm in season two. Set some point after Sophia's death, but before Shane's death and their subsequent escape when the farm becomes overrun with walkers. I found this collecting dust in my unfinished/unpublished folder (like two years old amount of dust) and decided it deserved a night on the town.

Warnings: Contains some season two spoilers, references to Daryl's past, allusions to Carol's past: domestic abuse/violence, sexual imagery, adult language, masturbation, mild exhibitionism, mature language and mature content. This is basically smut and it is all tumblr's fault really.

Sonnets during Hurricane Season

Chapter Four

He rubbed a hand down the small of her back, counting the bumps and vertebrae as he allowed himself to think of the last time he'd gotten laid. He squinted into the steam, licking his lips as a bead of sweat rolled down from his temple.

It'd been in a bar, southwest of somewhere, one of those seedy, back country dives that had a few rooms for rent on the side. He'd been out in the sticks with Merle, hittin' up what counted as the late night entertainment in the shithole town they'd found for the night.

He remembered the body. Not the face or the name. He remembered the bottle blonde hair and the tattoo of a white rabbit – faded and in desperate need of some color – just below her left ankle. Other than that, the dame was a blur. All he remembered was that she'd called him by another name when she came. Dave or Dane something or other and that he hadn't even had a name to fake.

Retrospectively, he didn't know which one was sadder.

So perhaps that was why he forced her head up, equal parts rough and gentle as the money-shots of more than a few featureless chicks flickered behind his closed lids. Heat flushed across his face. Embarrassment and self-loathing were quick to rise, at odds with the pleasure and growing sense of urgency building just below his navel.

He didn't want that now.

Not with her. Never with her.

He wanted to remember.

"Look at me," he grated. It came out sounding more like a plead, but he didn't regret it. Not when her blue eyes - ridiculously open and trusting - fastened on his face. Not when he could see her seeing him.

Hell, there was nothin' like it.

He wanted to tell her as much, but the words got lost, swallowed and forgotten when she ducked her head, fingers rasping through his stubble as she brought their lips together for a heated kiss. It was sloppy, more teeth and tongue than anything, but sweet nonetheless. Just dirty enough to fit the mood when her hips rolled experimentally.

Spreadin' her wings.

His smile was all sorts of smug when she moaned, head dropping back as he ground himself against her. Showing her how much he wanted as his feet tangled with her blouse. The thin fabric ghosted across his crooked toes before he planted his feet and moved.

But it wasn't until she nodded, shaky but growingly sure, that he let himself go.

He let out a grunt as she tightened around him; slicking him in a vice-grip that already had him desperate for a distraction – anything to prolong the inevitable as he encouraged her to move with him. The resulting burst of friction pulled a moan from the both of them.

Christ, she was tight.

He let her feel him out, doing his best to reign himself in and let her have time to explore – to set the pace and rhythm as she rolled her lips, nearly killing him with the sounds of each thrust, each exploratory swivel of her hips. It felt like a first time. Like together they were trying to correct all the mistakes they'd made in the past and create new memories – better memories - in their stead.

He nearly lost it when she started talkin', murmuring wordless noises of encouragement into his skin that nearly took him apart. Asking, taking and giving back all at once. He didn't know what to do with it. Or how they could go back to the way things were when everything was said and done.

How did someone even deal with something like this?

He'd never felt like this before, he'd never-

It was like open heart surgery without painkillers. It was begging the man with the scalpel not to stop, to never stop, even though you knew it was going to end in blood and tears - in a wound that no doctor on this earth had the skill to mend. And he'd be damned if he'd trade a single fucking moment of it.

She keened, a high warbling sound when he switched the angle. He couldn't help the groan, loud, too loud, when she stiffened, pert nipples rasping across his chest. The feeling was not unlike taking a zap of static right to the nervous system.


He ripped another moan from her as he cupped her breast, pinching the tips until she quaked, nails raking across his scalp when he did it again. The resulting sound echoed through the steam, loud enough that anyone walking by would be sure to hear. But for the first time in a long time, he didn't give a crap about what the others thought.

In fact, he wanted them to hear.

Fuck 'em. He'd earned this.

There was hardly any space between then, too cramped with how she was riding him. They were folded together on the seat - two ill-fitting puzzle pieces that had somehow managed to do the impossible. But he could still see her, hear her. He got lost in the sound of the slick glide and the soft grunt that sounded every time she let herself sink down just a bit too deep. She was so wet he could actually hear it, the liquidy gush of her excitement as it coated his cock was leaking between them, mixing with sweat and steam until he was in danger of sliding right off the god damned toilet.

Christ, she was going to be the death of him.

"Harder," she whispered, voice low and syrupy. She was panting now, back arcing when he ducked down and nipped the side of her breast. "I want to feel it," she hummed, heavy and breathless in his ear.

He hissed, lips pulling back in a snarl as he buried his face into the curve of her neck and gave it to her. He ignored the burn in his muscles, the dull thrum from his wounded side and all the little hurts and bruises in between. Because suddenly he felt greedy. He wanted it all. Every fuckin' inch she was willing to give him and even then, he was willing to press his luck.

He wanted to roll his hips and watch her disintegrate.

He growled and shunted his hips up the same moment she dropped down, hiccuping out a breath as her chest heaved, breasts warm and close to smacking him in the face as he let his head rest between them. He sucked a bruise into curve of her throat, tasting the bitter-tang of sweat and her own personal brand of sweetness as she lifted herself away from him. He took her weight as she leaned forward – sending knick-knacks and toiletries tumbling – balancing herself against the mirror, using the counter as an anchor as their rhythm devolved.

His balls drew up, tight and throbbing, pinned between his ass and the toilet seat as she rode him fiercely, refusing to give even so much as a pause as the plastic hinges creaked dangerously. Christ, he wasn't going to last. He needed to-

His hands went to her hips, massaging sleek muscles and digging the tips into her skin as she dropped down again, resting briefly and grinding against the base of him. Following the urging of his hands, she lifted, seeming to pause with only the very tip of him resting between her folds before dropping down again, moving faster with each arc of her hips until she was breathing hard and whimpering - stuttering every other breath.

The sound caused an old, long unused part of him to shudder awake, shaking off the dust of more years than he was comfortable putting a number to as he allowed himself to dwell on the fact that it was him making her feel this way. Him that was giving her this, making her arch up and mewl for it.


And for reasons beyond him, he felt hyper aware – not just of himself and the feelings raging just underneath the skin - but of her as well. He knew she could feel it, the delicious hot clenching just below her navel, so close he could practically taste it. And whatever awareness he had, they seemed to share it, because she went willingly when he yanked her down. He angled her hips so that every thrust ground against her clit – rough but with purpose as he held onto what was left of his dignity by the skin of his fuckin' teeth.

He growled, snarling out something that could have been a laugh as her nails scrabbled against his back, fighting for purchase as he broke their rhythm in favor of thrusting deep. Uncertain if it was her squeal or the creaking toilet hinges that amused him more.

He listened to her choke on a rather undignified noise, something that could have been the difference between a mewl and a howl when his finger mashed between them and found her nub. He rubbed it in quick, off-center circles, gritting his teeth as her nails dug deep, until she was muffling her cries on the back of her hand and flooding his fingers with slick.


The realization that he'd just made her peak hit him like nothing else. He snapped off a desperate, pitching whine as he ground her hips down, rhythm punishing as he hurtled towards his own pleasure with the single-mindedness of a man who was too fucking far gone to care.

He kept his thumb on her clit, dropping his head back against the counter as she moaned and contracted around him – overstimulated, but not quite ready to bat him away. He bit his lip, cussing under his breath as her walls rippled, chasing the last of her orgasm as she shuddered and twitched around him.

Jesus fucking fu-

He had just enough time to yank her up, injured side screaming as he slipped out of her and came all over the soft span of her belly. His head clunked against her collarbone, falling into the valley between them as he striped the last of his spunk against her skin, ignoring the contented sound that rose up as a splash streaked across the underside of her breast.

Holy hell.

He'd never come so hard in his entire damn life.

He came back to himself slowly, blowing out a breath that felt thick in the warm air as he let the moment linger, unwilling to end this any sooner than he had to as they gradually came down together.

Carol wilted across him. He had to admit it made a pretty sight. What with her hips hitched up against the dip of his stomach, cradling his softening cock between them as small hands kneaded idly across the span of his shoulders. She teased the tips across the bruises soothing them in a way that made him wonder when they'd gotten so sore.

And while he wasn't exactly sure why, he found himself caught between palming her hip and counting the dips of her spine. Content, for the moment, to milk the pause for all it was worth.

"I suppose we should probably go…there are only two bathrooms," she pointed out eventually, voice an exhausted, but undeniably smug hum as she nosed the crease between his chest and left armpit.

And in a fit of selfishness and desire he'd probably deny to his dying day he tightened his hands around her waist. It was nothing but a fraction, a subtle press of flesh against flesh that revealed for more than he'd anticipated as her ass, sweet and round in all the right places, dimpled under his hold.

Hell, after all this was said and done the woman would be lucky if he'd ever let her feet touch the ground again! Jesus shit!

In the end, he only arched a brow, snorting up at the white wash as he let his head thunk back against the tank, breathing in the humid air, legs splayed across the creaking lid. His muscles still felt remarkably loose as Carol burrowed deeper into the curve of his chest, sticking close as if in silent agreement.

"Let 'em wait," he rasped, head lolling comfortably. "They can use a god damned tree for all I care. We earned this."

There was a beat of silence, something that seized in his chest, making him think that he'd finally gone just a bit too far – taken one too many liberties – or worse – labeled this, whatever this was, as something it wasn't.

There had been a moment where it'd been so clear, where he'd thought – no – felt that she might want more than just this one time, more than-

But in the end, that was all it was, a beat. Because a moment later the sound of her chuckle, low and rolling in a way that made the hair on the back of his neck prickle in pleasure, was enough to prompt one of his own.

And as it so happened, by the time the creaky floorboard down the hall went off and a pointed rap-rap-rap issued from the other side of bathroom door, he was already smirking into her skin, worrying the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing when she leaned back and chirped-


A/N #1: Thank you for reading. This story is now complete! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! - I wanted to take a moment and thank everyone who read and reviewed this story. It was your insistence and enthusiasm that made it possible! You guys are awesome!