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“Daryl what are you doing?”
The redneck glared at the chuckle Rick Grimes almost choked on as he asked the very astounded question, pale blue eyes narrowed at the smile twitching at Rick’s lips as he tried not to laugh. And Daryl would have done more than silently glower at the man, wipe that damn smug look of his warmly bearded face, if he hadn’t be so. Damn. Cold.
He was a Southern boy, born and raised, with the farthest place North he’d ever traveled before last year being Atlanta. And the last two winters had not been pleasant since the world ended, the first on the road and the second in the prison – both in Georgia – but this winter was a whole other habitat for Daryl Dixon. Virginia, Northern Virginia, was cold. Caked in snow and ice, and such a wet cold that it soaked through the layers upon layers of clothes that Daryl had been donning since October and in turn chilled him to the bone. Turning hunting into a life or death ordeal as far as he was concerned, though he kept his mouth shut about it and still went out without fail every other day for fresh, warm meat.
But today it had started snowing in the middle of his hunt, ultimately making it easier to track the deer with fresh prints in the snow, but also turning the Dixon into a human popsicle. Which is why Rick was finding him next to a freshly lit fire, built in their giant stone fireplace that was really too large to be practical when not baking bread or roasting a pig. The hunter was literally sitting on the ground, to get as close as he could safely be, in what could only be described as a nest made of every blanket and quilt he could get his hands on. And he seemed to be holding himself incredibly still in the cocoon of fabric as if to keep all warmth inside.
“You cannot be that cold,” Rick chided as he stepped closer, the hunter’s eyes mere slits they were so narrowed – as if he thought the other might disturb his nest – and just continued to glare silently though he lifted his head enough for Rick to see the thin line of his mouth turned down in a scowl. “Did you dry off at least?”
“Ain’t stupid,” Daryl grumbled, the cold making him irritable and he shifted to get closer to the waves of heat coming from the fire, though Rick cold still see dampness clinging to the strands of hair framing his face.
“One of the few things you are not,” Rick agreed. “Ridiculous, maybe –“ he couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him when Daryl’s stare somehow intensified in its bitterness as he crouched in front of the Dixon. He smirked, bright blue eyes dancing in the firelight as a suggestive lilt took over his expression, head tilting to the side in his inspection. “Think you might be warmer in bed, though.” Daryl’s anger dropped at the words, and Rick took his surprise as an opening to lean forward and press a searing kiss to the frown on face. It was short and punctuating, and left enough of an impact that it left the hunter slack jawed and lips parted when Rick pulled back. And as smug as that made him, he did miss the stubborn pout on Daryl’s face – just a little. “You can bring your blankets.”