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Daryl had a topographical map of Virginia spread out on the kitchen table and a ring of Alexandria’s “runners”—Sasha, Abraham, Rosita, Tara, and Heath plus Eugene—arrayed around the table, all quiet and frowning at the problem of transporting live trout from outside into their big-ass backyard pond here in Alexandria.
Daryl tried not to fidget in the silence, he was aware that this idea had a lot more to do with a pair of blond sisters and a line of flashing silver fish that keeping them self-sufficient and sustainable, but this particular gathering had no reason to suspect that. Which was part of the reason he’d made sure Denise had Carol occupied and Rick and Michonne were out on a run before bringing it up.
And apparently it wasn’t just a problem of finding a big container and filling it up and catching some fish and driving the whole thing real slow so they didn’t accidentally kill the things. Apparently there were factors.
Eugene had thrown around words like “ecosystem” and “invasive species” and Sasha had pointed out that they didn’t want to go through all the trouble now only to find out later that they couldn’t keep the fish alive.
Which was why when Daryl had ideas like this he set ‘em down and let people circle them a bit, cause while his way was almost always the most direct way it wasn’t always the most effective.
Just then, there was a pair of harsh bangs as the door was slammed and a body was thrown up against it in quick succession. And Daryl was quick to push himself up from the wall he was leaning on to see what was what.
“Holy shit,” said the Anderson kid, Carl’s boyfriend, Ron, his voice high and thready.
Daryl found himself in agreement with the words, if not the stunned arousal behind them.
When he poked his head out of the kitchen he could see that Carl had Ron thrown up against the inside of the front door. Crowded up close with his thigh tucked between Ron’s legs, so that Ron can roll his hips up against it while Carl muttered something filthy in his ear that made him flush and gasp, fisting a hand in Carl’s hair and sending his hat tumbling.
And then Carl scraped his teeth across Ron’s collarbone and pulled away, tugging Ron forward by his belt loops with one hand and pushing his jacket off with the other. Dragging his head down for a drugging kiss, that left Ron’s mouth red and swollen.
“Upstairs,” he ordered, “Now.”
“Holy shit,” Ron repeated, digging his teeth into his lower lip and scrambling up the stairs.
Carl followed him up, his hips swaying in a familiar predatory stalk as he pulled open his belt buckle and popped the button on his jeans.
Daryl remained frozen, staring blankly into the now empty hallway for a long minute.
“Well,” said Eugene, breaking the shocked silence that’s fallen over the Grimes’ kitchen, “That was unreasonably erotic considering the personages involved.”
“Damn, baby Grimes has game,” laughed Abraham around the end of his cigar.
“Gazebo?” suggested Sasha, already rolling up the map.
Upstairs something gets knocked over and Ron lets out another loud moan.
“Gazebo.”
And they all high-tail it for the door before they can hear anything else, because there are some things you just don’t want to know about your still technically underaged housemates, and this is one of them.