Stale M&M's (recently plagiarized as "Sweet Tooth") The Walking Dead Fanfiction

29. Season 5 ~ Atlanta

Summary: The group leaves for Carol and Beth's rescue mission.

~

"Bring me back some canned corn, if you find any."

Barely awake, Oliver felt himself frown at Carl's request. Squinting, he glanced at him, lying beside him on his back, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Rick was asleep on the other side of the pew, visible only because Oliver could see his cowboy boots through the stacked supply bags under the pew seats. The bags sort of gave his and Carl's side of the pew an almost 'separate room' feeling, so long as nobody peeked through. Others around the church had styled their sleeping spots in similar fashions, creating some sense of privacy and established space.

Oliver yawned and whispered, "I'd been meaning to break this to you sooner, Carl, but corn cobs exist. You know. On stalks from the ground?"

He scoffed. "I know that."

"So you'd just choose canned corn over on the cob anyway?"

"What?"

"In your game — Grand Canyon, canned corn?"

"Oh. Right. Yeah. Yeah, I would. Canned corn is great. Tastes just as good, no mess, easier to come by."

Oliver smiled at him, then laid his head back on the floor and listened to the calm breeze outside. Through the church's shuttered windows, the sunrise began to shine in thin slits of pale pink light down across the pews, catching dust dancing through the air.

Carl rolled over at some point, placing his arm across Oliver's ribs. Oliver didn't mean for the muscles in his body to tense so suddenly.

"Oh." Carl lifted his arm. "Sorry..."

"No. It's fine. Put it back."

That time, Oliver stiffened only a little as Carl replaced his arm. It helped to take Carl's hand in his, guiding his thumb with his own back and forth in a stroking motion against his shirt, across his chest.

"Look, here, it's nice to do it like this," Carl whispered, and Oliver let him take the lead in trailing small circles across his shirt, tickling the sensitive parts of his skin. "See?"

Oliver nodded silently, keeping his eyes on the vaulted ceiling. The noise in his head grew uncomfortably loud, though, so he tried to think of boring things like soccer games and encyclopaedias and coffee to settle himself, and even started singing the Italian National Anthem in his head...

'Fratelli d'Italia
L'Italia — something, something
Something else and something
Chè schiava di Roma
Iddio la creò

Something, something else—
Siam pronti alla morte

L'Italia — something something
Something, something else—
Siam pronti alla morte...'

It didn't distract him a bit. He swallowed nervously, excitedly, his skin tingling as Carl moved his fingers slowly along his ribs. He remembered before at the prison, at night in his cell, when he would think about holding Carl's hand or kissing his cheek, or even just the sound of his voice saying Oliver's name. Oliver would've done anything to have had Carl do this to him back then. Now, though, all he wanted was for Carl to stop.

Searching for a reason to ask him to, Oliver glanced over his head, looking under the surrounding pews for anybody awake that might be in danger of noticing them, but didn't see anybody rousing. Carl seemed to sense Oliver's hesitation because he set his hand aside. Oliver's heart was vibrating in his face, but Carl making the decision to stop without being asked had comforted him. He rested his cheek on Carl's shoulder, burying his nose against his shirt. He smelled of sweat and pecans and baby formula. He felt Carl kiss the top of his head. It was strange, the electrical feeling of their bodies being so close. Even stranger was the fear it caused through Oliver's bones. He could feel the tears welling in his eyes. He coped with it by wrapping his arms around Carl's middle and holding him in a tight hug. Carl squeezed him close, and for a long time they just held each other, not saying a word, or hinting that either was expecting anything more. Oliver was grateful.