Work Text:
Daryl wouldn’t really call his smoking a habit; It’s more of a passtime than anything. Maybe even a luxury, but not a dependency. He’s doesn’t need it.
He only enjoys smoking when he’s been given a breather and ample time to do so. It feels like a reward, or a reprieve at least, after a long day of nothing but work and sweat and walker guts. It’s no different than his relationship with drinking. He’s not a lightweight on either front, having plenty of experience with smoke and scotch alike, but he’d never let himself get dependent upon either one. Though he knows addiction isn’t something most people intend to happen, he’s dead set on never letting himself make that mistake. Especially not with alcohol.
He dealt enough with seeing the products of an alcohol addiction when he was growing up, between his father’s drunken beatings and Merle’s intoxicated berating. He knows enough from being on the receiving end of alcohol induced abuse to know how dangerous it is for every party involved, and if God is out there somewhere, he hopes he strikes Daryl dead if he ever becomes remotely like his family members.
He’s built far more for himself than his dad or his brother ever did, or ever could have. He’s the man they could never be, the person that broke his family’s cycle of abuse, and he’ll be damned if he ever lets anything ruin it for him. Despite the end of the world being flung at him in full force, and all the pain and anguish, he thinks he’s the happiest he’s ever been. No, he knows he’s the happiest he’s ever been, because the world’s end brought him the greatest gifts he could’ve asked for.
A new family, a new home, and second chance,
And the man currently sitting next to him on the porch of one of Alexandria’s empty houses, head resting upon Daryl’s shoulder as smoke from the hunter’s cigarette fades into the night. With almost every puff, the smaller man seems to inhale, like he’s breathing back in the smoke that Daryl just released. Well and truly breathing the same air as him, and stealing a part of Daryl for himself with every drag. Daryl can’t help but chuckle, a quiet and warm sound amongst the otherwise quiet space around them.
“What’s so funny?” Cash asks with his own hint of a laugh rising into his voice. From the corner of his eye, he can see Cash’s gaze flick up at him through his lenses, the bright moon of the shockingly clear night reflected in them. He looks almost unreal, like this. Daryl still doesn’t look directly at him though. He can’t spoil himself too much with a full, long look just yet.
He shakes his head, lips pulled up in a small smile as his hair falls into his eyes somewhat. “Nothin’.” He says simply, and Cash doesn’t press further.
Daryl takes another puff from his cigarette, blowing the smoke out with a deep, long exhale, closing his eyes in what some would assume is just relaxation. Really, he’s listening. Listening for that equally deep, indulgent inhale from his lover beside him, paying close attention to the barely audible hum that the other makes as he takes some of the smoke back in. Daryl would be lying if he said the whole prospect of what Cash was doing didn’t make him feel at least a little special.
After a few more moments of silence, and ash falling onto the otherwise clean boards of the wooden porch below them, Daryl says, “You can have some, if y’a want.” The offer finally is put out there after what feels like hours. He’s fairly sure Cash will say no, considering he’s never been much of a smoker, at least to Daryl’s knowledge. He’s a bit more into the alcohol scene, but he’s still a lightweight there as well. He’s nothing like Daryl. And yet he is, too, in so many ways. Enough ways that Daryl has a better time reading him than he does with most others.
“No, I’m okay.” Just as he thought. Cash scoots closer still, which Daryl didn’t actually think would be possible, but he’s definitely pressing up to the larger man more than before. If the angle was different, Daryl thinks maybe he could feel Cash’s heartbeat on his arm, though in their current position he just feels the brush of another arm next to his. Cash’s cheek presses into the end of Daryl’s broad shoulder, and one of his hands comes up to idely smooth along the fabric of Daryl’s slightly baggy black shirt, picking off little balls of fuzz and bits of dirt.
Another exhale, and another inhale, and they’re almost breathing together now. Two halves of a whole. Passing the smoke around in the most unorthodox way Daryl has ever known, yet it feels far more intimate than if he was handing the lighter and the cigarette itself to his lover. It feels like an odd sort of process, a means to fueling something else or a set of steps needed for some sort of dance. It feels so cliché to say his stomach has butterflies from this, but that’s really what it feels like at the moment.
With one last puff, and one more shared breath, he puts the cigarette out on the porch’s boards, not caring if it leaves any sort of mark. Nobody cares about pristine shelter nowadays anyways.
He shifts, wrapping an arm around Cash’s shoulders and pulling him closer to his side. Cash adjusts quickly, cuddling up closer, head pressed to the joining between Daryl’s arm and chest. Daryl chuckles to himself again like he did earlier, and he can feel rather than hear a curious response from Cash again because of it.
He finally grants himself a look at the other, and he’s glad he saved it, because he wouldn’t have been able to indulge in it with his smoking distracting him. There’s no real fancy description in his mind of how Cash looks, no thought of something to compare his eyes to as he stares down at him.
It’s just Cash.
And that’s a beautiful enough description on its own.
With the arm and hand not wrapped around the other, he tilts Cash’s chin up just the slightest bit more, smiling down at him with a look so kind and warm it could melt pure metal. Cash returns the look with ease, looking natural on his features in a way that should surprise nobody, and the butterflies in Daryl’s stomach seem to have choreographed a whole routine at this point.
He says nothing, because he doesn’t have to. The way he leans in and lets his lips graze Cash’s, slow and gentle, like he’s holding fragile glass in his arms, says enough that words couldn’t even begin to articulate. The way Cash responds, and leans up a bit more to return it, with equal care and methodical nature, says everything that Daryl needs to hear, too.
Cash pulls back, only because he needs to kiss the tip of Daryl’s nose, pulling a giggle rather than a chuckle this time from the brunette. The sound is like sunshine in the way it lights Cash’s eyes up and spreads a pleasant warmth through his chest. Daryl is the one to rest their foreheads together, letting the night breeze whisper the soft ‘I love you’s for him, and the thumb brushing across Cash’s shoulder over soft cotton deliver the security.
Daryl inhales the smell of Cash’s hair and the flowery shampoo he likely got from Jesus’ stash, as Cash exhales the woodsy scent of Daryl’s sparsely applied cologne that Aaron gave him to cover the smell of dirt and sweat.
It’s a reversal of their previous ritual, swapping roles in their shared breath, but he doesn’t mind. He’ll take any place in this moment, as long as he gets to stay here with Cash.
Inhale. Exhale.
Flowers. Woods.
The faintest hint of smoke still lurking.
The space and the air between them is the only thing he’s ever felt he truly needs.
Perhaps he does have a dependency on something after all.