Slow Dancin In A Burnin Room
Prompt: Dancing with Daryl for the first time
Word Count: 2.3k | Setting: 11x10 | Warnings: None
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem! reader | Additional Tags: Fluff, yearning
Masterlist
Etsy Shop! | Commissions | Requests | Coming Soon
The large banquet room was dimly lit, casting shadows and dark corners, perfect for Daryl to stand in and avoid the crowd. He scoffed aloud at the ridiculousness of the 'ball' that Pamela was hosting. The dead walked just outside the walls, and here people were drinking champagne and engaging in old world politics.
You, on the other hand, saw the benefit of this sort of thing. The exclusivity bothered you, but you could see why the Commonwealth was trying to preserve some of the old world.
The only reason you were even invited to thing 'ball' was because you 'worked' for the local newspaper, similarly to Connie. She was on the job, but you were more so expected to catch the gossip and make the Commonwealth sound great, whereas Connie was interviewing different people and trying to get the real information. Daryl was allowed in because he was a Commonwealth soldier, expected to go wherever he was told, and Mercer demanded that he be here as backup. He was allowed to dress in regular clothes, as to blend in, like many of the other soldiers who were, for all intents and purposes, undercover, in case anything went south.
You had felt his eyes on you throughout the night, but whenever you looked his direction, he turned away, pretending like he hadn't been watching you. You knew the archer better than that, though. Your relationship wasn't exactly established, but it was no less meaningful. The two of you had been through so much over the years, and up until recently, there was never any time to explore the chemistry between you.
Behind the safety of the Commonwealth walls, though, you began pressing him more than you normally had. Standing closer, lingering touches, longing looks, teasing comments... You were treading slowly, but you wanted Daryl to know - without any doubt - how you felt about him.
"Hey, you," a shy smile toys at your lips as you approach your favorite person. His well defined arms are crossed over his chest as he leans against the wall, half of his face shadowed by the low light and his loose strands of hair drooping in the way.
"Mm," he acknowledges you, glancing your way before returning his gaze straight ahead, taking in the scene around him.
"Hiding over here?" you tease, turning to lean against the wall by his side. Daryl turns his gaze back to you, shooting you a look before his eyes dropped down to your body, looking at your dress. You catch your bottom lip between your teeth as he quickly takes you in. The simple, knee length black dress hugged your body in all the right places, but wasn't overdoing it.
Daryl's eyes are back on yours as quickly as they had left them, but you had seen him looking you over.
"Not hidin'," he grumbles.
"Sure," you tease, looking out at the groups of people mingling. "This is weird," you comment, referring to the dance.
"Very," he agrees. " S'stupid."
"Maybe, but it's kind of nice too,"
He looks over at you like you have three heads, scoffing.
"'Course ya think so," he mutters.
"What? It's nice to have some things from the old world," you shrug.
"If ya say so," he grumbles, clearly not agreeing.
The pianist start to play a slow beat, and couples fall together. You actually recognize the song, one that you used to like before the world ended.
"Oh my God," he rolls his eyes and shuffles awkwardly beside you.
"Aw," you mumble, finding it nice to see people feel safe enough to dance together. "I know this song," you mumble, sadness filling your heart as you remember singing it in your car so many years ago.
"Really?" he asks, seemingly surprised.
"Yeah, it's a good one," you tell him, and he looks at you with an unreadable expression, the way Daryl usually does when he's really listening.
You feel the invisible force pulling you to Daryl, as you have so many times before, and glance up at him hesitantly. He catches your eye, and spots the light blush on your cheeks.
I'm jealous of the rain
"Wha'?" he asks, and your eyes drop from his to his hands, which are toying with his black cargo pants pockets. His thumbs are inside of the pockets, with the rest of his thick fingers still visible.
You wonder what it would feel like to interlock your fingers with his. It was a thought that had crossed your mind many times before, more than you'd ever admit to. How they'd feel in your hair, on your hips, your face... other places...
That falls upon your skin
Your lip stings where you bit it unconsciously, bringing you back to reality, where Daryl is studying you.
"You gonna ask me to dance, Dixon?" you tease, grinning up at the taller man. His eyes widen slightly, taken aback by your forward request. He looks at you for a long moment, probably only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity in his intense gaze.
Then Daryl scoffs, rolling his eyes at you.
"Yeah, okay," he responds sarcastically, brushing you off like you couldn't possibly be serious.
"What? You can slay walkers and people but you can't dance with a girl?" you tease, bumping his bicep with your own, trying to keep the teasing light, but also pushing your luck, seeing if you could actually somehow get this man to dance with you. You're sure Daryl would rather cut off his fingers than to dance, but you just had to try. When would the opportunity ever present itself again?
"Yup," is all he says, shuffling in his boots.
"Ugh, you suck. You're gonna make me go find some poor guy to force to dance with me?" you ask. Daryl's eyes lift from where he was studying his boots, meeting yours with an icy intensity.
He didn't like that.
"What? You won't dance with me but I can't dance with someone else?" you ask, and he actually makes a sound in agreement.
"Can't dance," is all he says, catching you off guard. You expected him to say how stupid it was, or make some other rude comment - not that. Does that mean he wants to? That he would oblige?
"Neither do I," you shrug.
He snorts in amusement. "Ya wanna dance but ya don' even know how?"
"Well, slow dancing is easy, Daryl. You just sway. Look."
He looks around, seeing the other couples. Most were just swaying in place, not even moving much. Then he looks back at you, studying you for a long moment as you look at the other couples, almost longingly.
It's closer than my hands have been
Oh I'm jealous of the rain
With a huff, Daryl stands up straight, and before he can think too much about it, offers his hand.
You are caught off guard, looking between his extended palm and his face.
"Really? I was teasing you, I didn't expect you to agree..."
"C'mon, woman, 'fore I change my mind," he grumbles softly, seemingly embarrassed.
You hesitantly place your smaller hand into Daryl's palm. He stands there for a moment, looking at your hand in his, seemingly a little unsure what to do - then his feet start moving and guiding you out a few paces. Not far from the wall, on the very outskirts of the crowd, keeping plenty of distance from the others.
Daryl stops, turning to face you, very unsure of himself. Your heart is pounding in your chest as you take him in. You hesitantly twist your hand in his, turning it so you can hold it more properly, then take a step closer to him, invading his bubble. He chews on his bottom lip, letting you get him into position, his blue eyes watching your every move.
Reaching your left hand up, you place it on his right shoulder, gently, almost like you were afraid he would recoil if you moved too fast. There's still plenty of space between the two of you, but you're afraid of moving too fast. You watch as Daryl's right hand comes to rest at your waist, very hesitantly, kind of moving in slow motion.
You have never been this close together unless you were fighting off the dead, or one of you was hurt... Sure, you'd sat together plenty of times, your knees or arms have brushed... But this was different. You were pretty sure Daryl Dixon had never danced with a woman before in his life.
You take one more hesitant step toward him, then sway a little to the left, finding the beat. "See?" you smile lightly, looking up to catch his eye. He tears his eyes from your hand in his, meeting your gaze, but says nothing.
You hum under your breath, quietly, the words coming back to you. There is a woman singing her own version of the song, a very slowed down version of the way you remember it, but you like it.
I'm jealous of the wind
That ripples through your clothes
You never in a million years would have expected that you'd be able to get Daryl to dance with you. If Carol could see you... She'd be grinning from ear to ear.
There's a burning heat inside of you as you sway with Daryl. You feel small in his arms, like he is your personal protector, your person. His fingers wrapped around your hand feel warm and safe. It's a funny thought - Daryl is probably one of the most dangerous people in this room (and in most rooms), yet you feel the most safe in his arms.
It's closer than your shadow
Oh I'm jealous of the wind
You glance down from his blue eyes to his pink lips. His expression is hard to read, but he doesn't look like he's searching for an escape route. He's looking back at you, studying you the same way that you are him. His feet move slowly, unsurely, but following your pace. You barely move, it's really less of dancing and more of swaying in one place - but it's perfect. His fingers tighten ever so slightly on your waist, just above your hip bone, where your body curves - holding you a little more securely, more certain.
"Words are weird," he mutters, and you chuckle softly.
"They're sweet," you counter.
"'I'm jealous of the wind?'" he quotes the lyrics the woman just sang, raising a skeptical brow, and you chuckle again.
"It's about longing to be near the person you love," you explain. "The rain that falls on their skin, the skin that you can't touch. Not actually jealous of the rain or wind, just that they can't touch them, or be with them..." you explain, not meeting his eye, instead looking over at the woman as she sang.
When you look back, Daryl is watching you. He studies you, taking you in, paying attention to you.
"Sounds like ya can relate," he drawls. "T' the song."
With a slight gulp, you shift your hand on his shoulder nervously.
"I can," is all you say. Daryl doesn't respond, and he doesn't take his eyes off you, either. There's an understanding in his eyes, like something has clicked,
I'm jealous of the nights That I don't spend with you I'm wondering who you lay next to Oh, I'm jealous of the nights
Daryl catches you off guard by pulling you closer, shifting the way he was holding you so that your chests are nearly touching, and his right hand is fully grasping your waist, securely, tightly. You look up into his eyes, finding an expression that you don't recognize. He says nothing, but his hands speak louder than words.
"Me too," he mutters lowly, so quiet that you almost didn't hear him.
His left hand moves so that it is resting against his chest, near his heart, still cupping yours. His warmth radiates off of him onto your own body. You can smell the woodsy smell on his clothes, a mixture of trees, fire and cigarettes - a smell that you have come to recognize as Daryl. The combination of his touch and smell is dizzying your senses, hypnotizing. You adjust your hand on his shoulder to lower it, allowing it to drag down his chest, agonizingly slow, memorizing it.
Even with his black button down in the way, you can feel the hard muscle beneath your hand, which moves slowly, centimeter by centimeter, until it is resting slightly above his pec, the tips of your fingers splayed across the bottom part of his shoulder, palm over his upper chest. You can see some of the exposed skin behind the one single button left undone, the tiniest bit of chest hair showing and part of his collar bone.
The thought of resting your head on his chest crosses your mind, but you find the urge, not wanting to push him too far. His right hand moves as you take another swaying step, shifts to the middle of your back, making it so his arm is loosely wrapped around your frame. Being this close to Daryl makes your head spin, and you try to take in the moment as best as you can - memorizing his touch, how gentle he is being, the comfortable but charged silence between the two of you.
Wordlessly, you look up from his chest, meeting his eyes. His gaze shifts from your hand on his chest to your eyes, and suddenly your faces are very close. You can smell the cigarette and whiskey on his breath, sees the lines in his lips, the small scars littered across his face. His eyes drop from yours to yours lips, making your heart beat so loud in your chest that you think he must be able to hear it.
He chews on his bottom lip, his nervousness getting the better of him and he leans back, just an inch or so, putting a little space between your faces, but not letting go of you even a little. He'd never admit it, but he was loving every moment of this - he never wanted to let go of you.
Masterlist