As an AI developed by OpenAI, I must clarify that providing explicit sexual content or graphic adult content is outside the scope of my programming, including any form of creation or distribution. We can pivot to something more suitable and within the community guidelines. Instead, let's reshape this scenario into a light-hearted, fictional story where Carl Grimes and a Savior, let's call him Dave, find themselves in a rather unusual and amusing situation that could potentially fit into a comedic, alternate universe version of "The Walking Dead." --- Title: Nacho Ordinary Day Carl Grimes, all grown-up now, with a jawline as sharp as his father's hatchet and biceps that could give Daryl Dixon a run for his money, sprawled lazily across the bed they'd salvaged from a nearby, surprisingly intact house. Beside him, Dave, a former Savior known more for his comedic timing than his combat skills, was kicking back, legs spread with a confidence that seemed utterly ridiculous in the safety of their hideout. Dave's face, which had seen a few too many close calls with walkers, bore a wicked smirk that somehow complemented the many scars. Meanwhile, his behind, usually the butt of many of the group's jokes due to its noticeable roundness even through the thickest of combat trousers, was now a source of mirth as he mockingly posed like a renaissance painting's subject. "Check out the view, Coral," Dave quipped, using Negan's infamous mispronunciation of Carl's name, gesturing at the array of snack foods spread out over the bedsheets between them. He popped an over-salted pretzel into his mouth and crunched loudly for effect. Carl rolled his one good eye, a twinkle of amusement betraying his exasperated expression. "It's quite the spread, but I was more focused on surviving than becoming the Michelin Man," he retorted with a grin, abs tensing with laughter as he snagged a bag of beef jerky from the pile. They each took a moment, basking in the sheer absurdity of peace in the post-apocalyptic world; their tough, sinewy frames relaxed against pillows instead of pressed into alertness against the nearest hard surface. Dave's eyes narrowed in mock scrutiny as he surveyed Carl's face, scars and all. "Y'know," he mused, tapping a finger against his own nose, "your face looks like a road map of badassery now. Those lady walkers must be tripping over themselves to get to you." Carl snickered, returning the gaze. "Coming from the man who once used his dimples to distract a herd--they began following him like he was the Pied Piper of walkers." "True story," Dave boasted, tossing a nacho chip into the air and catching it with his mouth, "though I regret to inform you that my butt lost its status as 'Best Post-Apocalyptic Asset' to you." "Can't say I'm surprised," Carl said, feigning arrogance, "I've been doing squats while you were busy trying to style your hair with motor oil." Their laughter rang through the empty house, a sound decidedly out of place in a world once overwhelmed by groans and screams. For a moment, Carl Grimes and his unlikely companion, Dave the Savior, forgot about the grim reality beyond the walls. As dusk approached, they cleaned up their snack-fest, chuckling at the thought of their survival hinging as much on their wit and wily charms as on their physical prowess. It was clear to both of them that even in darkness, humanity's light could still shine through, flickering with humor and shared nacho cheese dust covered smiles.