FANFIC - ILL WITH WANT (BETH/DARYL; TWD, 1/1)
Surprise, badboy_fangirl!
Title: Ill With Want
Characters: Beth Greene/Daryl Dixon
Rating: r
Word Count: 2,843
Summary: The word hangs between them, suffocating and feather-light at the same time. The moment too precious to last if he doesn't say something, doesn't do something. But he’s paralyzed, can’t even breathe... (My take on a What Could Have Happened After Oh. Complete and total PWP.)
Disclaimer:All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Author’s Note: Title taken from the Avett Brothers’ Ill With Want. It’s kind of my Most Daryl Song of the Moment. I do realize that I have two other fics in limbo! I just needed to have *completed* something, before I tore my hair out. And the fact that this is all from Daryl's POV is absolutely shocking to me.
Many thanks to abvj for the beta! She was curious about religious references throughout this, and asked if Daryl was a religious person. He's not shown to be in the show, but it is my own personal head canon that his mother was kind of a Fire & Brimstone woman, and Merle easily picked out bible verses with Hershel, so I think it's something they grew up knowing.
Also, I feel like Hozier's Take Me To Church has become an anthem for Bethyl fandom.
“Oh.”
The word hangs between them, suffocating and feather-light at the same time. The moment is too precious to last if he doesn't say something, doesn't do something. But he’s paralyzed, can’t even breathe. And she stares back at him, her lip dropped open just slightly, eyes round and blue and bottomless. He wishes she would do something- laugh at him, slap him even, do anything.
He wishes she would climb into his lap and sink down onto him. Kiss him until he really couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see straight.
And now he realizes that he’s wanted that for a long, long time.
He hears the rattle of the chains outside and he grabs the jar of pigs’ feet off the table, muttering anything and everything about the mangy dog from earlier and all but sprints down the hall with it. By the front door, he leans his forehead against the slats and peeks out, catching his breath. Two squirrels leap and dance around the chains, making the tin cans blow like wind chimes. He thinks about going back to the kitchen for his bow, but for once, he’s actually pleasantly full. He lets them go.
He can hear her shuffling up behind him, and he takes a deep breath, as he turns around. “Weren’t nothin’, but-” He nearly falls back against the door, mouth hanging open mid-sentence.
Beth is completely, glowingly, achingly naked.
He feels like his heart is going to stop, or explode at any moment. It’s not even that it’s been, God, years since he’s seen a naked woman like this, but this is Beth, and there is no mistaking what she is offering to him right now. She’s even taken out her ponytail and her blond hair waterfalls down around her face as she looks down, a hint of shyness blooming pink in her cheeks. She has not one ounce of protection from the outside world.
(Except for him.)
She looks back up at him, her bottom lip caught between her teeth and tries for a smile. It’s there, and it’s warm and lovely but he can see how uncertain she is. “Daryl,” she says, so quietly he holds his breath. “Say something.”
“You,” he swallows hard, can feel the blood coursing through his body, overheating him, as his eyes take her in. Lean and small, but he knows how strong she is, how long and how fast those skinny legs have run, how those slender arms held him up for what felt like hours. Her breasts are small, perfectly round and high with tiny seashell-pink nipples, and he’s already ragingly hard. She’s pink and cream all over, her body blushing as she stands under his gaze, not moving, not challenging him, just allowing him to drink his fill and not backing down at all. He looks lower, to gently flared hips and finally down to the triangle of light blond curls. He’s dying to put his hands on her, but he can’t move.
“You’re perfect,” he finally groans. It’s flooding through him; she is perfect. She is untouched, and kind, and she still sings, and he has never seen anything so beautiful, never even in his imagination. And she’s still standing there, unmoving and patient, and she’s waiting for him. She has waited for him. This is about what she wants, and he doesn’t know if he’s fit to be the person to give it to her (to take from her).
He’s so, so scared.
She turns slowly, and it’s just as devastating to see the back as it was to see the front, and now he does sag back against the door as he watches her start up the stairs, haltingly, favoring her good ankle. She stops partway up and looks over her shoulder at him. The pose is coy but her eyes are all innocence and purity, and he feels mired in filth watching her. “Come on,” she says, holding her hand out to him.
Words fill his head, words of protest about how they can’t and they shouldn’t and he’s not good enough (no words at all about how he doesn’t want to, because that would be the most ridiculous of lies), but words have always failed him.
Beth never has.
And who is he to deny her?
When he moves to follow her up the steps, she leans on the bannister, limping her way back up and when he reaches her, he scoops her back up in his arms, just like he did this morning, to carry her into the kitchen. But this is nothing like that. Holding her, this morning, in broad daylight, felt like heaven, like that tiny second of pleasure he had when she’d hugged him at the prison. (That one moment that he stored away and took to bed and dreamt of night after night, like the lonely, old loser he was.) Her skin is cool, goose-bumped under his fingers, while he feels like he’s burning from the inside out.
This isn’t heaven- this is something more.
Up this close, her shyness is more apparent- she’s trembling in his arms, and she’s growing even more pink.
There are three bedrooms up here that he found yesterday, and he heads towards the smallest one. In all three rooms, the beds were neatly made with fresh, starched sheets as if this were some charming bed & breakfast, and they were any couple, away for a romantic long weekend. He remembers seeing that in a movie once, a man and woman holed up against a raging snow storm for days. This storm isn’t snow, though.
Finally in the room, he sits her gently on the bed and then turns around and locks the door unnecessarily. He sits down next to her on the bed, still in his boots and his vest.
She's sitting there next to him for a long time, her hands folded demurely in her lap.
He has no idea how to proceed. 90% of his body is screaming at him to lunge forward and claim every inch of her- she’s right there, she’s his, in every way that matters- but that small part of him holds back, terrified.
You’re nothin’ but a freak to them.
Merle’s voice has no place here, and he does his best to bury it back down.
But her voice breaks through. “Aren’t you going to kiss me, Daryl?”
“Yes.” And it’s his own voice now, and he’s actually said it aloud.
He puts his hand on her. Lays his hand against her cheek and stops fighting against everything and just allows for Beth to slide under him, lips sealed against his. He thinks he could actually die from the pleasure of it.
The kiss is pretty innocent and tender, for all of the naked girl underneath him, and as much as he could not breathe before, he finds that he is now drowning in her. She opens for him eagerly, shyness gone for the moment as she pulls him in. Fists tangle in his hair, her tongue flicks against his, breathing out little moans as she tastes him and experiments. She slides her hands under his vest and pushes it from his shoulders and even with his shirt still between them, his heart hammers in his chest as her palms pass down his back, over the ragged scars. He shivers, panic rolling through his body.
She’s seen them, he knows that, but this is different. It’s been probably moments since they were eating peanut butter in the kitchen, since oh, but it’s a whole other lifetime. Everything has changed now.
Her frantic kisses slow and she opens her eyes to look at him. She takes his face in his hands and brings him back down to press her lips against his cheek, at the corner of his eyes. “It’s okay,” she whispers soothingly.
Is she kissing tears away?
It’s hard to be ashamed though, when she is looking at him like this, when he considers what is even happening right now. He allows her to undress him, slowly, like she’s afraid to spook him, and it is the most he has ever allowed anyone to take care of him, ever. First she unbuttons his shirt, and then unlaces his boots, one by one. She even pulls off his filthy socks and he would be mortified (he probably will be, later) but there is too much of everything else going on in this very moment- sensation of cool air, and Beth’s hands on his skin and rising fear every few seconds as she exposes him, layer by layer. She reaches for his belt and that comes off, but he stops her before she unbuttons his pants, closing his hands over hers. If she does that, he will have no control over himself, and he wants this to last for longer than ten seconds. They will get there, but he has to touch her first.
He brings her back up on the bed next to him and kisses her again before laying them both down. She is cool every where he is hot, burning up, and her skin is inexplicably smooth under the rough pads of his fingers. She gasps when he brushes a thumb over a pink nipple and it pebbles under his palm. When he dips his head to taste that sweet pink flesh she arches into him and he has to lay his burning face on her chest to slow the pounding of his heart. Her responsiveness is surprising to him, that he can bring her this pleasure, but even from their first days in the woods together, they always seemed to work perfectly in synch when it mattered. And this matters.
His hand slips down her flat stomach to span over her hipbones, hovering over the center. “Daryl,” she groans, pressing herself against him and he sucks in his breath. She’s warm and wet and he drags one thick finger against her, rubbing in a little circle before breaching entry. She sucks in her breath and winces, even as her eyes roll back in her head.
"Daryl?" Her voice wavers a little, and there's that little hint of uncertainty again that twists his heart. "Just so you know, I never...I mean, this is my first..."
She’s excruciatingly tight, even on just one finger. His cock surges against her thigh, still tucked away in his pants, but he has no idea how to do this. He knows how to do it, but he doesn’t know if he’ll survive it. And then there’s that other part of him, the part that swells with embarrassing, stupid, greedy pride that this is for him. That she chose him, she waited for him.
He wonders if this is how Adam looked at Eve, knowing she was made just for him.
And he’s panicking again for an entirely different reason.
"It's okay," he whispers, and presses a small kiss to her temple. "I'm gonna take care of you."
It's the most deadly serious vow he's ever made in his life.
He starts slow. It’s for his own benefit as much as hers, the back-to-basics way he kisses her pretty mouth, and curiously explores her skin- her curves and valleys to find the places that make her moan, make her gasp and arch into him. When he does something that makes her groan out his name in twelve syllables, he does it twice more. He ends up with his head between her thighs and she smells and tastes the way he imagines angels would smell and taste. She looks like an angel, limbs flung out to the side and her hair flowing around her like a halo.
She's as close to Heaven as he'll ever get.
To be honest, he has no idea what he's doing here. He goes on instinct, licking where he wants, lightly scraping his teeth where he wants. The only direction he takes is from Beth, and she lets him know what feels good.
(He wants everything, and it all feels good.)
Her climax hits her suddenly and she's stiff against his mouth, her fingers gripping his hair tightly, holding him in place while he continues to lap at her greedily. He's painfully hard, lying on his stomach, grinding his dick into the mattress to gain a tiny bit of relief. She comes and comes and comes and he catches her, pulling away to hold her in his arms and she rolls on top of him, kissing his face and tasting herself with a satisfied mmmm.
It doesn't seem fair to him that he's still half-dressed and when she pushes off that last barrier between them, he doesn't protest. He just groans when the weight of him finally presses against her, skin on skin, and he rolls her under him. She glances down, trying to be discreet and he watches her eyes go wide, mouth falling a little slack. He knows he’s big, knows it without any arrogance. It’s been more embarrassing than anything for most of his life, and now he just doesn’t want to hurt her.
Her fingers drift down, palm sliding across the round head, and he does his best to not let himself go right then and there. He barely makes it. Pulling her hand away, he kisses the palm of her hand, the callus forming around her thumb from the crossbow. She sighs and cradles her thighs around him as he settles between them.
He rubs himself between them- she's still soaking wet. "You ready? You want this?" He might actually explode if she says no.
She smoothes the hair back out of his eyes and gives him that smile again, that we should burn it down smile. She pulls him down for a long, endless kiss and nudges herself against him until she's taken him in, just the tip, and she is tight, even beyond what he was expecting. It almost hurts him. He can see tears well in her eyes, but she's still smiling.
"Don't hold back."
But he does, he holds himself perfectly still, lifting a hand to brush away a tear that slipped sideways down her cheek. She'd told him she didn't cry any more, and it's too much for him to bear. He trails his lips under her jaw, where that runaway tear disappeared and she winds herself tighter around him, pulls him in deeper.
They do it together- kisses and touches until she's mewling and struggling against him and a long, slow entrance, inch by torturous inch. When he finally hits bottom, she wriggles underneath him, trying to find a more comfortable angle and he wheezes out, "Beth, baby please don't move." His voice is slurry, sounding drunk but he's never had any moonshine do this to him.
He finds a rhythm with her, and an angle that makes her gasp against him, scraping her teeth across his neck. She tilts her hips to his, grinding against him as he drives in deeper, filling her.
It’s over far too soon, and still feels like it could have gone on forever. Sweat drips from his forehead as he spends himself inside of her. That wasn’t intentional. But he grips her hips tightly, fingers digging in, groaning into her neck as his cock jerks inside of her, drawn out and almost crying, and he couldn’t have controlled himself if he tried.
It takes him a long time to regain control of his breathing. She is lying so perfectly still beneath him, palms resting flat on his back, fingers absentmindedly trailing back and forth over a ridge. “Beth?” he croaks out. “You okay?” He pulls back to look at her, and she nods.
“I’m good.” Here words are a breathless whisper.
He rolls away. “You should go pee.” She looks at him quizzically, but pushes herself up from the bed, with much effort, walking into the hallway naked, the moonlight playing over her skin. Daryl glances next to him, the faint, rust colored stain when she’d lain. He can hear her singing to herself as she comes back down the hallway, that same song from last night. We’ll pine for summer, and we’ll be good.
She stands in the doorway, not coming forward to him, but she’s still smiling. (Through all this time, she still smiles. She still sings.) She’s so lovely, and Daryl knows it’s not true, not at all, but in this moment, he feels like she was made just for him. And she is his, in every way that counts, from this moment on. From before, even. Maybe since the burning moonshine shack, maybe since the prison. Maybe since forever.
“Come on,” he says, holding his hand out to her.
<<<333
Title: Ill With Want
Characters: Beth Greene/Daryl Dixon
Rating: r
Word Count: 2,843
Summary: The word hangs between them, suffocating and feather-light at the same time. The moment too precious to last if he doesn't say something, doesn't do something. But he’s paralyzed, can’t even breathe... (My take on a What Could Have Happened After Oh. Complete and total PWP.)
Disclaimer:All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Author’s Note: Title taken from the Avett Brothers’ Ill With Want. It’s kind of my Most Daryl Song of the Moment. I do realize that I have two other fics in limbo! I just needed to have *completed* something, before I tore my hair out. And the fact that this is all from Daryl's POV is absolutely shocking to me.
Many thanks to abvj for the beta! She was curious about religious references throughout this, and asked if Daryl was a religious person. He's not shown to be in the show, but it is my own personal head canon that his mother was kind of a Fire & Brimstone woman, and Merle easily picked out bible verses with Hershel, so I think it's something they grew up knowing.
Also, I feel like Hozier's Take Me To Church has become an anthem for Bethyl fandom.
“Oh.”
The word hangs between them, suffocating and feather-light at the same time. The moment is too precious to last if he doesn't say something, doesn't do something. But he’s paralyzed, can’t even breathe. And she stares back at him, her lip dropped open just slightly, eyes round and blue and bottomless. He wishes she would do something- laugh at him, slap him even, do anything.
He wishes she would climb into his lap and sink down onto him. Kiss him until he really couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see straight.
And now he realizes that he’s wanted that for a long, long time.
He hears the rattle of the chains outside and he grabs the jar of pigs’ feet off the table, muttering anything and everything about the mangy dog from earlier and all but sprints down the hall with it. By the front door, he leans his forehead against the slats and peeks out, catching his breath. Two squirrels leap and dance around the chains, making the tin cans blow like wind chimes. He thinks about going back to the kitchen for his bow, but for once, he’s actually pleasantly full. He lets them go.
He can hear her shuffling up behind him, and he takes a deep breath, as he turns around. “Weren’t nothin’, but-” He nearly falls back against the door, mouth hanging open mid-sentence.
Beth is completely, glowingly, achingly naked.
He feels like his heart is going to stop, or explode at any moment. It’s not even that it’s been, God, years since he’s seen a naked woman like this, but this is Beth, and there is no mistaking what she is offering to him right now. She’s even taken out her ponytail and her blond hair waterfalls down around her face as she looks down, a hint of shyness blooming pink in her cheeks. She has not one ounce of protection from the outside world.
(Except for him.)
She looks back up at him, her bottom lip caught between her teeth and tries for a smile. It’s there, and it’s warm and lovely but he can see how uncertain she is. “Daryl,” she says, so quietly he holds his breath. “Say something.”
“You,” he swallows hard, can feel the blood coursing through his body, overheating him, as his eyes take her in. Lean and small, but he knows how strong she is, how long and how fast those skinny legs have run, how those slender arms held him up for what felt like hours. Her breasts are small, perfectly round and high with tiny seashell-pink nipples, and he’s already ragingly hard. She’s pink and cream all over, her body blushing as she stands under his gaze, not moving, not challenging him, just allowing him to drink his fill and not backing down at all. He looks lower, to gently flared hips and finally down to the triangle of light blond curls. He’s dying to put his hands on her, but he can’t move.
“You’re perfect,” he finally groans. It’s flooding through him; she is perfect. She is untouched, and kind, and she still sings, and he has never seen anything so beautiful, never even in his imagination. And she’s still standing there, unmoving and patient, and she’s waiting for him. She has waited for him. This is about what she wants, and he doesn’t know if he’s fit to be the person to give it to her (to take from her).
He’s so, so scared.
She turns slowly, and it’s just as devastating to see the back as it was to see the front, and now he does sag back against the door as he watches her start up the stairs, haltingly, favoring her good ankle. She stops partway up and looks over her shoulder at him. The pose is coy but her eyes are all innocence and purity, and he feels mired in filth watching her. “Come on,” she says, holding her hand out to him.
Words fill his head, words of protest about how they can’t and they shouldn’t and he’s not good enough (no words at all about how he doesn’t want to, because that would be the most ridiculous of lies), but words have always failed him.
Beth never has.
And who is he to deny her?
When he moves to follow her up the steps, she leans on the bannister, limping her way back up and when he reaches her, he scoops her back up in his arms, just like he did this morning, to carry her into the kitchen. But this is nothing like that. Holding her, this morning, in broad daylight, felt like heaven, like that tiny second of pleasure he had when she’d hugged him at the prison. (That one moment that he stored away and took to bed and dreamt of night after night, like the lonely, old loser he was.) Her skin is cool, goose-bumped under his fingers, while he feels like he’s burning from the inside out.
This isn’t heaven- this is something more.
Up this close, her shyness is more apparent- she’s trembling in his arms, and she’s growing even more pink.
There are three bedrooms up here that he found yesterday, and he heads towards the smallest one. In all three rooms, the beds were neatly made with fresh, starched sheets as if this were some charming bed & breakfast, and they were any couple, away for a romantic long weekend. He remembers seeing that in a movie once, a man and woman holed up against a raging snow storm for days. This storm isn’t snow, though.
Finally in the room, he sits her gently on the bed and then turns around and locks the door unnecessarily. He sits down next to her on the bed, still in his boots and his vest.
She's sitting there next to him for a long time, her hands folded demurely in her lap.
He has no idea how to proceed. 90% of his body is screaming at him to lunge forward and claim every inch of her- she’s right there, she’s his, in every way that matters- but that small part of him holds back, terrified.
You’re nothin’ but a freak to them.
Merle’s voice has no place here, and he does his best to bury it back down.
But her voice breaks through. “Aren’t you going to kiss me, Daryl?”
“Yes.” And it’s his own voice now, and he’s actually said it aloud.
He puts his hand on her. Lays his hand against her cheek and stops fighting against everything and just allows for Beth to slide under him, lips sealed against his. He thinks he could actually die from the pleasure of it.
The kiss is pretty innocent and tender, for all of the naked girl underneath him, and as much as he could not breathe before, he finds that he is now drowning in her. She opens for him eagerly, shyness gone for the moment as she pulls him in. Fists tangle in his hair, her tongue flicks against his, breathing out little moans as she tastes him and experiments. She slides her hands under his vest and pushes it from his shoulders and even with his shirt still between them, his heart hammers in his chest as her palms pass down his back, over the ragged scars. He shivers, panic rolling through his body.
She’s seen them, he knows that, but this is different. It’s been probably moments since they were eating peanut butter in the kitchen, since oh, but it’s a whole other lifetime. Everything has changed now.
Her frantic kisses slow and she opens her eyes to look at him. She takes his face in his hands and brings him back down to press her lips against his cheek, at the corner of his eyes. “It’s okay,” she whispers soothingly.
Is she kissing tears away?
It’s hard to be ashamed though, when she is looking at him like this, when he considers what is even happening right now. He allows her to undress him, slowly, like she’s afraid to spook him, and it is the most he has ever allowed anyone to take care of him, ever. First she unbuttons his shirt, and then unlaces his boots, one by one. She even pulls off his filthy socks and he would be mortified (he probably will be, later) but there is too much of everything else going on in this very moment- sensation of cool air, and Beth’s hands on his skin and rising fear every few seconds as she exposes him, layer by layer. She reaches for his belt and that comes off, but he stops her before she unbuttons his pants, closing his hands over hers. If she does that, he will have no control over himself, and he wants this to last for longer than ten seconds. They will get there, but he has to touch her first.
He brings her back up on the bed next to him and kisses her again before laying them both down. She is cool every where he is hot, burning up, and her skin is inexplicably smooth under the rough pads of his fingers. She gasps when he brushes a thumb over a pink nipple and it pebbles under his palm. When he dips his head to taste that sweet pink flesh she arches into him and he has to lay his burning face on her chest to slow the pounding of his heart. Her responsiveness is surprising to him, that he can bring her this pleasure, but even from their first days in the woods together, they always seemed to work perfectly in synch when it mattered. And this matters.
His hand slips down her flat stomach to span over her hipbones, hovering over the center. “Daryl,” she groans, pressing herself against him and he sucks in his breath. She’s warm and wet and he drags one thick finger against her, rubbing in a little circle before breaching entry. She sucks in her breath and winces, even as her eyes roll back in her head.
"Daryl?" Her voice wavers a little, and there's that little hint of uncertainty again that twists his heart. "Just so you know, I never...I mean, this is my first..."
She’s excruciatingly tight, even on just one finger. His cock surges against her thigh, still tucked away in his pants, but he has no idea how to do this. He knows how to do it, but he doesn’t know if he’ll survive it. And then there’s that other part of him, the part that swells with embarrassing, stupid, greedy pride that this is for him. That she chose him, she waited for him.
He wonders if this is how Adam looked at Eve, knowing she was made just for him.
And he’s panicking again for an entirely different reason.
"It's okay," he whispers, and presses a small kiss to her temple. "I'm gonna take care of you."
It's the most deadly serious vow he's ever made in his life.
He starts slow. It’s for his own benefit as much as hers, the back-to-basics way he kisses her pretty mouth, and curiously explores her skin- her curves and valleys to find the places that make her moan, make her gasp and arch into him. When he does something that makes her groan out his name in twelve syllables, he does it twice more. He ends up with his head between her thighs and she smells and tastes the way he imagines angels would smell and taste. She looks like an angel, limbs flung out to the side and her hair flowing around her like a halo.
She's as close to Heaven as he'll ever get.
To be honest, he has no idea what he's doing here. He goes on instinct, licking where he wants, lightly scraping his teeth where he wants. The only direction he takes is from Beth, and she lets him know what feels good.
(He wants everything, and it all feels good.)
Her climax hits her suddenly and she's stiff against his mouth, her fingers gripping his hair tightly, holding him in place while he continues to lap at her greedily. He's painfully hard, lying on his stomach, grinding his dick into the mattress to gain a tiny bit of relief. She comes and comes and comes and he catches her, pulling away to hold her in his arms and she rolls on top of him, kissing his face and tasting herself with a satisfied mmmm.
It doesn't seem fair to him that he's still half-dressed and when she pushes off that last barrier between them, he doesn't protest. He just groans when the weight of him finally presses against her, skin on skin, and he rolls her under him. She glances down, trying to be discreet and he watches her eyes go wide, mouth falling a little slack. He knows he’s big, knows it without any arrogance. It’s been more embarrassing than anything for most of his life, and now he just doesn’t want to hurt her.
Her fingers drift down, palm sliding across the round head, and he does his best to not let himself go right then and there. He barely makes it. Pulling her hand away, he kisses the palm of her hand, the callus forming around her thumb from the crossbow. She sighs and cradles her thighs around him as he settles between them.
He rubs himself between them- she's still soaking wet. "You ready? You want this?" He might actually explode if she says no.
She smoothes the hair back out of his eyes and gives him that smile again, that we should burn it down smile. She pulls him down for a long, endless kiss and nudges herself against him until she's taken him in, just the tip, and she is tight, even beyond what he was expecting. It almost hurts him. He can see tears well in her eyes, but she's still smiling.
"Don't hold back."
But he does, he holds himself perfectly still, lifting a hand to brush away a tear that slipped sideways down her cheek. She'd told him she didn't cry any more, and it's too much for him to bear. He trails his lips under her jaw, where that runaway tear disappeared and she winds herself tighter around him, pulls him in deeper.
They do it together- kisses and touches until she's mewling and struggling against him and a long, slow entrance, inch by torturous inch. When he finally hits bottom, she wriggles underneath him, trying to find a more comfortable angle and he wheezes out, "Beth, baby please don't move." His voice is slurry, sounding drunk but he's never had any moonshine do this to him.
He finds a rhythm with her, and an angle that makes her gasp against him, scraping her teeth across his neck. She tilts her hips to his, grinding against him as he drives in deeper, filling her.
It’s over far too soon, and still feels like it could have gone on forever. Sweat drips from his forehead as he spends himself inside of her. That wasn’t intentional. But he grips her hips tightly, fingers digging in, groaning into her neck as his cock jerks inside of her, drawn out and almost crying, and he couldn’t have controlled himself if he tried.
It takes him a long time to regain control of his breathing. She is lying so perfectly still beneath him, palms resting flat on his back, fingers absentmindedly trailing back and forth over a ridge. “Beth?” he croaks out. “You okay?” He pulls back to look at her, and she nods.
“I’m good.” Here words are a breathless whisper.
He rolls away. “You should go pee.” She looks at him quizzically, but pushes herself up from the bed, with much effort, walking into the hallway naked, the moonlight playing over her skin. Daryl glances next to him, the faint, rust colored stain when she’d lain. He can hear her singing to herself as she comes back down the hallway, that same song from last night. We’ll pine for summer, and we’ll be good.
She stands in the doorway, not coming forward to him, but she’s still smiling. (Through all this time, she still smiles. She still sings.) She’s so lovely, and Daryl knows it’s not true, not at all, but in this moment, he feels like she was made just for him. And she is his, in every way that counts, from this moment on. From before, even. Maybe since the burning moonshine shack, maybe since the prison. Maybe since forever.
“Come on,” he says, holding his hand out to her.
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