Hard Candy [Carl Grimes/The Walking Dead]

Bananas

Sunlight streams through the blinds, hitting me right in the eye. I stretch out my arms, trying not to hit Carl, who's still passed out beside me. My pelvis is still tender, but I've never felt better.

My bra is tangled in the bedclothes, as well are as our socks and the condom wrapper. Our shirts and pants are heaped together at the foot of the bed.

I ease myself gently over the side of the bed, dressing hastily. It's chilly this morning. Paying careful attention not to wake Carl, I tiptoe to the washroom. When I return, he's is sitting on the edge of he bed, boxers twisted, rubbing his eyes. He looks towards me and smiles woozily. "Sleep well?" He says between yawns. I nod. "Never better."

I lean down, pick up his pants and shirt and toss them to him. He tugs on his jeans and throws the shirt over his head.

"Come here," He drawls, beckoning me into his outstretched arms. I allow myself to sink into them. I turn so I can face him, and wrap my legs around his waist, forcing us closer. He dips his head and kisses me right between the eyes, before sliding lower and nibbling along my collarbone. I squeal--no, more of a screech if anything. I can't help it; it's my weak spot and he knows it. His fingers move along my waist, right above my hips. Oh no.

But it's too late to protest. Carl whips me onto the bed and forces his fingers into my side. Now I'm screeching. I'm dangerously ticklish. "No! No, stop," I beg between wheezes. He refuses to relent, instead uses one hand to pin my arms together while the other paws at my stomach. I scream with laughter. "You're KILLING me--!" I cry, before dissolving into giggles.

He flips me over so I'm on my belly. Still gripping my wrists, he shoves his hand under my stomach and yanks me up, before resuming tickling the hell out of me. I try my hardest to pull my wrists from his hand, but even with only one hand holding them captive he's ridiculously strong. I eventually just give in as I try to catch my breath. The only thing holding me up now is his hand still tickling my stomach. I haven't play-fought this hard since I was seven!

But of course Beth chooses this very moment to walk in on us.

She was probably worried by all the screaming and laughing. Wondered what in hell's name are we doing. She has that look on her face as she tries to comprehend the situation. Can I blame her?

Nope. All she sees here is a teenaged boy in a cowboy hat up on his knees with a teenaged girl kneeling in front of him, one of his hands under her belly, supporting her, and the other encasing both her wrists in an iron grip behind her. Both of them flushed, gasping, panting for breath, shaking and twisting around. It couldn't have been more awkward if we were naked.

The scene switches into slow motion as Beth gapes, Carl stammers and I desperately tug myself away.

Beth looks completely lost. She's looking this way and that, as if the appropriate comment might be written on the walls. Finally I've managed to unstick my throat and out of my mouth bursts, "It's not what you think!" Carl is still stunned.

Beth nods slowly, and opens her mouth like she's about to say something, but ends up just closing it and backing out the door.

I wait till I hear hr light footsteps off the stairs before turning to Carl. I toss up my hands. "We were clothed."

"I know. I was there!" He retorts.

"She can't possibly actually think--"

"I wouldn't be so sure."