Daryl felt clumsy and in over his goddamn head, but he had strong, deft fingers and was a quick study. With his free hand, he palmed at the side of Theon's face, a weight seeming to press down on his chest, refusing to let him ignore the significance of the moment.

"I don't know what the hell I'm doing," he admitted with a sheepish quirk of a smile, watching Theon's face intently as his body relaxed, the rough pad of his middle finger breaching that tight clench of muscle and pressing in slowly past the second knuckle.