Actions

Work Header

Where the Sun Don't Tan

Work Text:

“Quit poutin’.”

Daryl doesn’t even look up from the nail he’s hammering home when he says it, which is annoying. How the heck would he know whether she’s pouting or not without looking at her face?

And she isn’t. Pouting, that is. She tells him so.

“I’m not pouting.”

“Yeah?” Daryl does look up, then, setting his hammer down on a section of undamaged fence to reach out and pinch Beth’s lower lip between his callused thumb and forefinger. He gives it a gentle tug and asks, “Then what the hell’s this?”

Beth could mouth off at him—it’s probably what he expects from her, seeing as he’s always going on about what a smartass little brat she is—but she doesn’t. Instead, she bares her teeth and nips his thumb, grinning when his breath hitches and his eyes go dark.

Daryl drops his hand like she burned him and picks up his hammer, turning resolutely back to the fence her daddy’s cattle busted through in the wee hours of the morning. “Knock it off.”

Beth links her hands behind her back and affects a guileless, wide-eyed look. It’s not too hard to pull off, considering that that’s just how her face works by default.

“Knock what off?”

Daryl drives a nail into the fencepost with what Beth thinks is more force than strictly necessary. He doesn’t even dignify her bullshit question with a response, leveling a warning at her instead.

“Keep this shit up, an’ I just might change my mind about takin’ you out for them goddamn milkshakes.”

He says that like he hasn’t got a poorly hidden sweet tooth, himself. Beth scowls anyway, not at the empty threat, but at what it reminds her of. For a few seconds there, she’d been having so much fun messing with Daryl that she’d forgotten why she was annoyed in the first place.

“Not like it’ll make any difference.” She crosses her arms and kicks up a cloud of red Georgia dirt with the toe of her boot, stewing. “Rate things’re goin’, we won’t be getting’ outta here till the diner’s already closed.”

Daryl doesn’t usually wear a watch, least of all while he’s working, so he checks the position of the sun, hanging white hot and hazy over their heads.

“Plenty’a hours left in the day,” he concludes, and knocks a second nail into the post with a dull thunk. “S’only gonna take me a few more minutes, alright, calm your ass down.”

“I am calm,” Beth retorts, sounding anything but. When Daryl arches his eyebrows at her, mouth twitching like he kind of wants to laugh, she gets a hold of herself and subsides. Sort of. “Maggie did this on purpose.”

Funny. Daryl keeps driving nails into the fence, but the pile of nails in his toolbox doesn’t appear to be getting any smaller. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Makin’ small talk about the busted fence soon as you set foot in the house, like that wasn’t premeditated.” Beth huffs and grinds her heel into the dirt, imagining that she’s stepping on Maggie’s stupid foot. “Jerk.”

Daryl sets his hammer down, but he’s not finished—just taking a break. He uses the red rag he keeps in his back pocket to wipe the sweat from his face—which is just too bad, really, seeing as the only upside to this whole thing is that Beth gets to watch his biceps flex while he works and fantasize about licking salt trails off the hard curves of muscle—and leans his hip against the fence, arms folded over his chest.

“You really think she’d go to all that trouble just to fuck up our date?”

It still makes her stomach go all fizzy like it’s full of carbonated bubbles, to hear him talk about them in this context, as two people who go out on dates because they’re dating. But it isn’t, unfortunately, enough to wipe the frown off her face.

“It’s no trouble for her.” Beth’s forefinger starts up an agitated tattoo against her clenched arm, tapping hard enough to drill right through the skin. “All she had to do was mention the fence, and you’re runnin’ off to fix it ’cause that’s how you are and she knows it. Like I’m still a kid and it’s any of her goddamn business who I go out with.”

Daryl’s quiet for a minute, then says, “She hates me that much, huh?” He sounds like he doesn’t give a shit, which means that he very much does. He wouldn’t be trying so hard to convince her otherwise if he didn’t.

Lucky for them both, Beth knows exactly what to do when he’s feeling like this.

She wraps her hand around his and tugs until he gets the message and uncrosses his arms, then steps in close and wraps her arms around him, cheek nestled against the slant of his shoulder, face tucked into the crook of his neck. His skin’s hot and sticky from working out in the sun, and he smells strongly of sweat, but she doesn’t mind either of those things. In fact, she kind of likes them.

Daryl hesitates for a second—he still does that a lot, like he’s just that unused to people coming close without the intent to hurt, and God if that doesn’t break her heart—then loops his arms around her shoulders and presses his cheek to the top of her head. Another second’s hesitation, and then he sighs, big body sagging against hers like he can’t stand without her support.

He can, but Beth likes the idea of him leaning on her, anyway. It makes her smile, and he can probably feel the upward curve of her lips when she nuzzles them against his sweaty throat and says, “She liked you fine before. Still does, probably.” Her smile flickers, fades. “She just doesn’t like the idea of me growin’ up.”

She feels him shrug. “Yeah, well. Tell ’er to get the fuck used to it.”

Beth snorts so hard her body jerks, and even though she’s not looking Daryl in the face right now, she’d bet anything that he’s smiling, because he likes it when she laughs. Likes most things about her, it seems.

And even though he doesn’t understand it, she likes everything about him, too.

“Yeah, I’ll do that.” She rocks back on her heels to look at him, and there it is, pinching at the corners of his mouth: a small but definite smile. “’Cause playing referee on his day off is just what my dad needs.”

“Sure he wouldn’t side with Maggie?”

“I don’t think so.” Surprisingly—or maybe not so surprisingly—Hershel had been a lot more accepting of the idea of Beth and Daryl dating than Maggie had. At the very least, he was more tolerant of it. “He always tries to stay neutral whenever we get into it. Y’know, like Switzerland.”

Daryl grabs her nose and squeezes it. “Yeah, alright, smartass. I sat through fuckin’ ninth grade history class, too, y’know.”

“I’m surprised you remember that far back,” Beth says, struggling, and not entirely succeeding, to maintain a straight face, “considering how long ago it must’a been.”

This time, Daryl forgoes squeezing her nose and pinches her ass instead, making her squeal, but it’s okay, because that’s kind of what she was hoping he’d do.

On that note, Beth very regretfully steps out of Daryl’s arms and smooths down the skirt of her daffodil-yellow sundress. She owns a lot of sundresses, but this one’s probably her favorite. She suspects that Daryl likes it too, which is part of why she wore it.

“You wanna know why else I’m pissed about Maggie ruining our date?”

“It ain’t ruined, but I bet you’ll tell me either which way.”

Beth sticks her tongue out at him, then rolls it back into her mouth before he can grab that, too. “I’m pissed because I went to a lotta trouble to get a real nice surprise ready for you, and now it might have to wait.”

Seeing as Daryl generally isn’t a really big fan of surprises, Beth isn’t surprised when he squints at her like he suspects she’s smuggling something sinister beneath her fluttery cotton-blend skirt.

“…What kinda surprise.”

Beth frowns. “You don’t sound real excited about it.”

Beth,” Daryl says, and even though it’s quite literally hot enough outside to fry an egg on the sidewalk, Beth’s skin breaks out into goosebumps, anyway.

Because she loves it when he talks to her like that, voice thick with warning. Loves it even better when he does it with his mouth pressed to her skin, stubble scratching up the bend of her neck and shoulder while he works his hand between her legs, giving her exactly what she wants even as he scolds her for being a goddamn brat because he’s hers, he’s hers, he’s all hers.

And she’s not gonna let Maggie keep her away from him, because she doesn’t need protecting, least of all from Daryl.

“Alright, jeez,” she sighs, like it’s some kinda chore, like her blood’s not jumping in her veins just from thinking about his hands on her.

She puts his hands on her, guiding them under her skirt, and he startles like he didn’t expect her to be so bold out in the open like this, where anyone—where Maggie and Hershel—could see them. He flushes beet red and tenses like he’s gonna snatch his hands away and give her an earful, only to go still as a deer in the tall grass when he feels what’s beneath her skirt.

Or rather, what isn’t beneath her skirt.

Daryl’s lips move, but no sound comes out, fingers flexing against Beth’s bare hips. He clears his throat twice, then croaks, “This the surprise you was talkin’ about?”

Beth digs her teeth into her lower lip to trap her blossoming smile. She doesn’t want him thinking she’s just messing around with him. “Uh-huh. You like it?”

Daryl licks his lips, nervous and reflexive, but heaven help her, the shine of spit he leaves behind just makes her think of the other ways she could get his mouth glistening like that, given a few uninterrupted minutes alone.

“I—” Daryl clears his throat, again. “Yeah.”

It says a lot about how completely dumbfounded he must be, that he hasn’t yanked his hands out of the danger zone yet. Quite the opposite, actually, because he’s cupping her hips now, thumbs framing her lower abdomen, fingers hugging the curve of her ass. Her skirt’s bunched up around her mid-thighs and draped over his wrists. What they’re doing would be innocent enough if his hands were over her skirt—or at least, it wouldn’t be totally obscene—but as it is, there’d be no playing it off if someone caught them like this. 

All the more reason for them to get on with it.

With that in mind, Beth very casually pops the topmost button of Daryl’s worn flannel shirt, exposing the outer curve of the blurred tattoo that sits over his heart. His thumb strokes her hipbone, and she can’t tell if it’s a deliberate caress or an involuntary twitch.

“Too bad about our date, huh?” She presses her hand to his heart, feels it galloping under her palm. “Guess it’ll just have to wait till next time.”

His thumb dips even lower, grazing the fatty upper mound of her pubis, and her breath catches in her throat. Daryl swallows audibly.

“What’ll—what’ll hafta wait?”

Beth gives him her best Bambi eyes. “Your surprise, of course.”

He looks off to one side, but there’s no hiding the disappointment in his voice when he says, “Oh.”

Ah, jeez. No way can she keep teasing him like this, not when he looks so much like a kicked puppy. Or—okay. Maybe she can tease him just a little bit more.

“Although…” She hums thoughtfully and presses closer, so his belt buckle bites into her abdomen and his half-hard dick burns hot against her hip. “We might not be able to go on our date, but I think it’d be okay if I gave you your surprise right now. Y’know.” She digs her nails into his chest and thumbs his nipple through his shirt, smiling when he shudders. “If you wanted it.”

Daryl’s jaw clenches, and he yanks her hips flush with his, lining his dick up with her cunt and pressing into her through their clothes. Beth used to think that blue was a cool color, but Daryl’s eyes are blue, and there’s nothing cool or collected about them right now.

Nothing cool or collected about his voice, either, when he says, “Your folks’re bound to notice if the two’a us go missing at the same time, don’t fuckin’ tell me they won’t.”

It’s not a no.

It’s not a no, so Beth hooks her fingers in the frayed sleeves of his shirt and pushes up on her toes, mouths at his slick lower lip. His hips twitch against hers, and the hard line of his dick in his jeans gets harder.

“Then you’ll just have to be quick, won’t you?” she says, right up against his mouth, and falls back on the flats of her feet before he can push his tongue into her mouth, like she knows he was just about to ’cause she felt the tip of it graze her lower lip. She grins in his face, giddy and wild, and then ducks out of his arms before he can even think to grab her, skirt flaring out when she whirls around and makes a break for the barn.

She doesn’t hear him following her at first, so she slows from a near-sprint to a jog, intending to look over her shoulder and check for herself—maybe he really doesn’t wanna risk it with her folks right there in the house—only to pick up speed once again when she does hear the thud of his boots hitting the hard-packed earth. A wild laugh tears out of her throat and gets carried away on the wind, and the blood rushing in her ears rushes faster.

He catches up to her right outside the barn.

Beth knows it’s coming—feels his breath buffeting the back of her neck, his fingers grazing her arm—but she still squeals when he hooks his hand around her elbow and spins her around like a top. She gets a fleeting impression of flushed cheeks and yawning pupils, and then his mouth’s covering hers, wet and hot and voracious, tongue slicking between her lips the way it’d tried to earlier. His body surges against hers and forces her to stumble back a step, two, and she knows he’s pushed her the rest of the way inside the barn because she can smell fresh hay and no longer feels the sun’s warmth on her skin, just his. The cattle are out grazing in the fields and it’s just the two of them in here, just like she wanted.

He uses his grip on her arm to tug her closer, like she’s not already as close as she can get with their clothes in the way, and wraps his free hand around the base of her ponytail to hold her head still so he can kiss her like he wants, like she’s a three-course meal and he hasn’t eaten in days, weeks. He always kisses her like that, overflowing with sloppy enthusiasm and tracking spit across her lips and chin, and she wants, wants, wants him to put that enthusiasm to work between her legs. Wants him to scratch up the insides of her thighs with his stubble and suck her off until she gushes come all over his face, and then she wants him to lick her off his fingers and dive back in for more. She wants it right the hell now.

Doesn’t look like she’s gonna get it right the hell now, though, ’cause Daryl doesn’t seem all that inclined to stop kissing her any time soon. He lets her up for air just as her lungs are starting to burn, yeah, but that’s just so he can move on to her throat, slurping his tongue up the side of her neck and sucking a bruise beneath her ear where the others are unlikely to see. And, Jesus, that feels good—feels amazing—but she had a plan, okay, and they’re already getting off script, so she makes a plaintive noise and tugs on Daryl’s hair for his attention.

“Daryl.” She pushes herself against him, fingers digging into his scalp when he pushes back, thrusting his dick between her legs like he could fuck her right through their clothes if he tried hard enough—which, God, if only. “Daryl, c’mon. I wanna go up to the hayloft.”

Daryl pulls off her neck with a parting lick, but he doesn’t nudge her toward the ladder like she hoped he would. Instead, he tugs her spaghetti straps down till her breasts pop free of her pretty yellow sundress, hoists her up in his arms, and sucks her hard nipple right into his mouth.

Beth grunts low in her throat at the shock of feeling and squirms in Daryl’s arms, hooks her legs around his waist to seat her cunt against the bulge in his jeans. She moves her hips, but her skirt’s trapped between them and gets in the way, frustrates her efforts at rubbing herself off against his inseam, and she makes another noise, closer to a growl than a grunt.

If Daryl hears the noises she’s making over the wet suction of his mouth on her breast, he doesn’t pay them any mind—in fact, he lets up on the one just to nuzzle his way over to the other, pushing his tongue against her nipple and pressing his teeth into her skin. She tugs on his hair again, harder this time, but all she gets for her troubles is a smack on the ass, and she huffs out a thwarted whine through her clenched teeth, thighs tensing around Daryl’s waist.  

She knows from experience that if he wanted to, he could keep her suspended in his arms like this pretty much indefinitely, never mind his half-teasing complaints about her being heavier than she looks. He’s not putting her down until he damn well feels like it. 

Of course, being the youngest sibling that she is, Beth also knows that sometimes, you just have to fight dirty—and since this is absolutely one of those times, she doesn’t feel the least bit bad about untangling her fingers from Daryl’s hair, worming her hand down between them, and squeezing his dick through his jeans.

Which might not’ve been the best idea, actually, because as effective as it is at getting his attention, it also makes him gasp and stumble and nearly fall.

Shit, Beth thinks, or maybe says out loud, and clings to Daryl so hard she’s one step away from putting him in a chokehold, as if holding on to him will do her any good if he does end up falling—although, knowing Daryl, he’ll probably find a way to protect her from the worst of the impact if it comes to that.

It doesn’t. He steadies himself out, and then, after she very carefully unwinds her legs from around his waist, he sets her down. She’s still kinda shaky, legs trembling like molds of jello from the fading adrenaline rush, and Daryl holds her by the arms to keep her steady even as he scowls down his nose at her.

Beth heaves a sigh. Here it comes, she thinks, just as Daryl snaps, “What the fuck was that?”

Well, since he asked. “That was me…touching your dick?”

Daryl immediately blushes, which is cute. The fact that he clearly wants to throttle her, not so much.

“I coulda dropped you on your goddamn ass.” His tone is harsh—harsh enough that, if Maggie heard him talking to her like this, she’d absolutely kick his ass—but his touch isn’t, and he chafes his hands up and down her arms like he’s trying to soothe away her shakes when he adds, “Coulda broke your fuckin’ neck.”

Ah. She gets it now. These days, Daryl usually only loses his temper like this when he’s worried to death. But he doesn’t need to be—she’s fine; they both are—so she wraps her hand around his and carries it to her mouth, pressing her smiling lips to his rough palm. His fingers twitch against her face, then shift to cup her cheek, cradling her like she’s something precious—and to him, she is.

“It’s okay,” she says. Her thumb strokes his scarred knuckles. “I’m okay, Daryl. Promise.”

That doesn’t seem to make him feel much better, but it’s not like he can argue the point—and when she pushes up on her toes to kiss his frowning mouth, the hard set of his jaw is quick to soften, like it took tasting her breath on his tongue to convince him that she is, in fact, perfectly alright. More than.

She breaks the kiss when she feels his tongue skimming her lower lip, because even though she could just make out with him for hours and hours—and she has done that—she’d rather do it someplace where they’re less likely to be interrupted. Especially, she amends, with her bare breasts hanging out of her dress and covered in Daryl slobber.

“C’mon,” she says.

She goes up the ladder first because she knows Daryl would insist on it anyway, and not because he wants to stare at her ass or get a glimpse up her skirt. He wants to be able to catch her if she falls—she won’t, because she’s been climbing trees her whole life, and the hayloft was her personal childhood playground long before she started sneaking up here to touch and be touched. Daryl knows she can handle herself most of the time. He just wants to be there for her when she can’t. 

That being said, she can tell without looking that he’s absolutely staring at her ass.

She makes it up unscathed, at least, despite going out of her way to distract him by putting a little more wriggle into her hips than she really has to. Daryl must know she’s doing it on purpose, too, because he smacks her on the ass as soon as she’s got solid ground beneath her feet, then yanks up the back of her skirt and spanks her again, so her skin flares up hot and she yelps and giggles and dances away from him, grabbing the flannel blanket she keeps up here for reasons that would scandalize her father.

She’s only just gotten it spread out when Daryl comes up behind her, smoothing his hands down her ass and then grabbing her by the hips to flip her over onto her back. The blanket’s still bunched awkwardly up at the corners, but the second Daryl pushes his big warm body against hers—the second he starts sucking on her tongue and rubbing his dick against her cunt—she decides that, actually, things are fine as they are. So long as she doesn’t go getting any splinters in her ass, she’s good.

And make no mistake, there would be a definite danger of that happening if it weren’t for the blanket, because while one of Daryl’s hands is quick to close around her bare breast and give it a possessive squeeze, the other’s rucking her skirt up around her waist so it can dive between her legs unobstructed. His thumb seeks out her swollen clit only to slip right off again, she’s already so wet, and the groan he muffles against her slack, panting mouth is one of sheer frustrated arousal.

Beth presses her quirked lips to his scruffy cheek and takes hold of his wrist, guiding him like this is the first time he’s ever touched her; like he needs her to show him what to do, how to make her feel good. And he does, he does make her feel good, thumb staying steady on her clit this time, circling around and around till she’s tingling like a livewire and running wet and sticky down her thighs, pussy clutching the thick fingers he thrusts inside of her and slurping at them like a thirsty mouth. Before long, she’s squirming underneath of him and huffing out some frustrated noises of her own—and he must think that’s pretty damn funny, if the way he breaks off sucking on her neck to smile against her skin is any reliable indication.

And she called Maggie a jerk.

Daryl deciding to be a tease isn’t the only thing that’s got her frustrated, though. She doesn’t—she doesn’t know how to ask. And it’s funny, ’cause she was bold as brass when she showed him that she didn’t have any panties on, that she went without them for him, but just thinking about trying to put what she wants into words makes her face sting like she’s sunburned.

Because she can’t think up a way of saying it that won’t make her sound like she’s parroting the kind of bad porn she and Amy are always poking fun at, and that makes her want to pull her own hair out ’cause she’s gotten this far and she wants it so bad, soso bad, but she doesn’t know how to go about getting it, and—

And then Daryl drags his fingers out of her cunt just to pop them into his mouth and suck up the mess she made, the mess he caused, like it’s some kind of sweet treat that he can’t get enough of, and a fresh surge of endorphins rushes through Beth’s bloodstream when she realizes that she might be well on her way to getting exactly what she wants, after all, no real effort on her part required. Not if Daryl’s that eager to get more of her in his mouth.

The flush in his cheeks deepens when he notices her staring, like she caught him doing something he shouldn’t, and he’s quick to pull his fingers out of his mouth like he wants to pretend he wasn’t sucking on them in the first place—only, if that’s what he’s trying to do, he kind of ruins it when he rolls his tongue over his lips like he’s trying to chase the aftertaste, Lord Jesus.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and turns his face into her palm when she goes to cup his cheek, like he’s trying to hide his expression from her.

Beth doesn’t want him hiding from her, not ever, but she’s not gonna force him to look her in the eye, either. Instead, she runs her other hand through his hair, petting him the way she does Nelly whenever the poor thing gets spooked, which is often.

“What’re you sorry for, huh?” she asks, smiling to herself when Daryl’s lashes dip and shudder against his cheekbones. He probably wouldn’t admit to it even under threat of torture, but he loves it when she pets him like this, like he’s just a big, grumbly puppy.

Daryl shrugs and shifts his weight, careful not to lean on her too hard and crush her. He hasn’t let go of her breast since they started talking, and now he gives it an absent squeeze, chafing his palm against her stiff nipple. She thinks he might be trying to distract her so she quits asking questions, but to his credit, he does answer her. Eventually.

“Dunno.” He glances at her sidelong from under his lashes, eyelids flickering. “Jus’ don’t wanna embarrass you or nothin’.”

Beth just looks at him for a second, and then a giggle erupts from her throat before she can even try to stifle it. She just hopes that Daryl doesn’t take it the wrong way.

“I don’t think I’m the one who’s embarrassed.” Daryl rolls his eyes and grumbles, but he also leans into her hand when she strokes his warm cheek. “And you shouldn’t be, either. Daryl, I…I liked watchin’ you do that.”

Daryl hasn’t stopped blushing, but now his eyes spark with intrigue, and Beth’s stomach swoops because, Jesus, she’s so close to getting what she wants. It’s right there in his face. “Yeah?”

Beth nods solemnly—or as solemnly as she can manage with her skirt bunched up around her waist and her breasts hanging out. “Yeah.”

“What else—” Daryl falters. Clears his throat. The hand on her breast tightens, and his other hand—the hand that was covered in her come till he licked it off like juice dripping off a melting popsicle—drops back down between her legs to hug her cunt. The hard heel of his hand bumps her clit, makes her squirm, and his mouth ticks up at the corners. He presses it to the sweet spot under her ear and mumbles, “What else you wanna watch me do?”

Beth’s clit throbs so hard she feels it in her temples, and she thrashes underneath of Daryl like she’s trying to buck him off of her—except she’s not, she’s definitely not; or at least, she’s not trying to buck him all the way off. She just wants him to move a little bit south of where he’s at.

She snarls her fingers in his hair and pushes down on his head to coax him in that direction, but he stays stubbornly put, sucking at that spot under her ear, because he’s twice her size and twice her weight, and he’s not going anywhere he doesn’t wanna go. God, Jesus, he’s gonna make her say it out loud after all, isn’t he?

“C’mon, Daryl, you know.” She tugs on his hair, hard enough to make his eyes water, probably, but he just groans like he likes it and keeps kissing her neck, thumb circling her clit too lightly to do much more than drive her into a frustrated frenzy; to finally force the words up her throat and out of her mouth, jumbled and slurred and pleading. “Want you to go down on me, c’mon, please.”

His hand clamps down on her cunt, and he pulls off her neck just to tongue her earlobe and suck it between his teeth. His thumb’s finally giving her the right amount of pressure she needs, but it’s still not enough, no, not quite.

“That why you ain’t got no panties on?” He pinches her jaw between his fingers and thumbs open her mouth, pants hot against her lips and kisses her tongue first. “’Cause you wanted me to eat your pussy?”

Oh, fuck. “Yes,” she hisses, not even hesitating this time because he’s burnt the shame right out of her. She yanks on his hair—doesn’t pull, doesn’t tug, but yanks—and rocks her cunt against his hand, trying to split herself open on his fingers even as she begs for his tongue. “Want you to eat me out, Daryl, c’monc’monc’mon.”

“Fuck, Beth.” He bites the words out against her lips, tracks sloppy trails of spit all over her chin. He slicks two fingers inside her, pumps them in and out as his thumb circles frantically over her clit. “You want it that bad, huh?”

Yeah, I do, so get down there. That’s what she was going to say—she probably would’ve gotten spanked for her troubles, and it would’ve been worth it—but Daryl moves before she has to, finally, finally crawling down her body to give her what she’s asking for, begging for. He stops a couple times along the way, to suck at her nipples like maybe they aren’t looking as red and swollen as he’d like, and to lick a filthy stripe across her abdomen, but he gets there.

His breath blasts hot and humid across her pussy lips, and when she shoves herself closer to his face because she wants to feel more than his breath on her, he pulls his fingers out of her cunt and wraps them around her hip instead, pinning her in place. Smears her come all over her skin while he’s at it, warm and tacky, the smell of it thick in her nose in the closed-in heat of the hayloft. And if the smell’s that obvious from way up here, then Daryl probably can’t smell anything but that.

She should probably be embarrassed. She isn’t.

“Christ, fuckin’ look at you.” And he is looking at her, eyes fixed intently on her cunt like it’s the most appetizing thing he’s ever seen, tongue pushing at his lower lip like he’s recalling the way she tasted on his fingers. The memory must not be enough for him, though, because he ducks his head to press an open-mouthed kiss to her inner thigh, to lap up the come that’s dripping down her legs, the scrape of his beard and the roughness of his tongue making her muscles seize and clench.

“Don’t think you woulda fuckin’ made it through our date, rate you’re goin’.” He punctuates that with a hard suck to her inner thigh that she feels in her clit, that gets her toes curling in her boots and her fingers clenching in his hair.

He breaks the seal of his mouth with an obscene pop, licks up more of her come—or maybe it’s her sweat, because there’s too much of both for her to really tell the difference anymore. “Been horny as fuck all goddamn day, ain’t’cha? Prob’ly woulda dragged me the fuck outta there ’fore you could even order your fuckin’ milkshake, huh?”

He drags his tongue up the crease of her thigh, so close, so fucking close to her throbbing pussy, but that’s not the only thing that gets her thrashing in his hold. Because she’s thinking about it now, about what would have, might have happened if they’d gone straight to the diner after all.

Because, yeah, he’s right; she’s been wanting him all day, or else she wouldn’t’ve forgone her underwear. God, what if he’d put a hand on her thigh under the table the way he sometimes likes to, and what if he’d found out she wasn’t wearing anything beneath her skirt that way? What if she’d grabbed that hand and pushed it higher till he felt the heat coming off her bare pussy, and what if he’d groaned softly and held his breath and fingered her while they were waiting on their food, making her squirm and throb and choke back a whimper because you’re such a goddamn tease, Beth, this’ll teach you not to fuckin’ mess with me.  

It wouldn’t’ve gone down like that. She knows it wouldn’t have. But, Jesus, thinking about him walking around with the smell of her pussy on his fingers all day sure is a heady fantasy.

Of course, even a fantasy as powerful as that one can’t live up to the reality of Daryl shoving his face into her cunt and tonguing her pussy lips apart with all the urgency of a starving man.

A breathless shout erupts from her throat, and Daryl’s quick to reach up and clamp a heavy hand over her mouth—a hand that smells like her pussy, ohGod—like he’s afraid that the noise’ll carry all the way to the house and alert her folks to what they’re getting up to over here. And Beth does not want that to happen, okay, she doesn’t, but if it did, could anybody really blame her? She doesn’t think so. She could have all the restraint of Christ in the wilderness, turning the Devil away again and again, and even then, she still doesn’t think she’d be able to keep quiet. Not with Daryl lapping at her clit like it’s spun from sugar and that sweet tooth of his needs satisfying. Not if her life depended on it.

It almost feels like her life depends on it, anyway, because her breath’s coming short in her lungs and her sweat’s gluing her hair to her temples. Because her pulse is pounding like a jackhammer in her throat and her wrists and down deep in the funnel of her cunt. It feels like she’s gonna die right here, like Daryl’s gonna suck her brains out through her clit and empty out her skull, and he’s barely gotten started.

She remembers. She remembers the first time he did this to her, right after the first time he fucked her in her dark bedroom with her friends and family setting fireworks off outside. It was her first time, and it might as well’ve been his too ’cause he’d never really wanted to do it until he met her, he told her so, and it hadn’t even occurred to her to ask him to go down on her, but he’d done it anyway. Almost as soon as he was finished wrecking her with his dick, he crawled down the bed and stuck his head between her thighs and wrecked her with his tongue, diving into her pussy with so much furious enthusiasm that she came within seconds, and hard enough that she nearly went blind.

This time is different. This time, he drags it out.

And maybe he’s teasing her and maybe he’s not, because while there’s no doubt in her mind that he wants to get back at her for blindsiding him earlier, it could just be that he wants to savor her, to roll her around his mouth like wine. He’s bound to drive her crazy either which way, flicking his tongue against her pulsing clit like he is, like they’ve got all the time in the world, and she’s not even gonna be sorry if she winds up yanking a few hanks of hair right out of his scalp for real. He’ll have it coming.

“Daryl, fuck, c’mon.” She pulls on his hair—doesn’t quite pull it out, actually, but it’s a near thing—and shoves her hips against his face, riding the hard line of his jaw and rolling her pussy against his tongue. “They’re gonna—God—they’re gonna notice we’re gone if you don’t hurry it up.”

“Uh-uh.” Daryl pulls off her clit with a slurp, come and saliva dripping off the tip of his tongue and rolling down his chin, and mouths at the line of tensed muscle in her thigh. “You’re the one who asked to get your pussy ate. Gonna take as long with you as I goddamn want.”

Beth breathes out hard through her nose, and if it sounds like she’s whining, that’s because she is. Because there’s a part of her that still can’t believe that the guy she’s had a crush on since she was sixteen years old would want to say these things to her, do these things to her, and it’s all so fucking devastating in the best possible way. That he’d want to map the freckles on her thighs with his tongue and follow them up to where her tan lines meet the milk-white skin she usually hides beneath her skirts, she can barely process any of it even as it’s happening, even as he lets up on nipping at her hipbones to dive back into her pussy face first. 

He gives her a long, hard lick, his breath scorching her skin and his saliva dripping down her thighs, his hand clamping down harder on her jaw when she jerks in his hold. It’s a good thing he’s covering her mouth, too, because she doesn’t think she could be quiet right now for the life of her, not even if it meant the difference between getting away with this undetected and shouting the rafters down, to hell with what her folks would think.

Because what started out as a shallow, sullen pulse deep in the recesses of her cunt has strengthened and spread, so it feels like she’s throbbing all over, like she’s nothing but one big open wound, pussy clenching up tighter and tighter with every pass of Daryl’s tongue. There’s nothing teasing about it now; he’s intent on getting her there, thirsty for it.

He’s holding on tight to her thigh, keeping her spread open nice and wide for him, murmuring filth into her pussy every time he pauses for breath, telling her how good she is, how hot, how bad he wants to make her come. Chills are racing up and down her thighs, and her toes are clenched so hard they’ve gone numb in her boots, hips grinding against Daryl’s face like they’ve got a will of their own. She’s covered in so much sweat and spit and come it feels like she’s melting, like she’s gonna ooze right through the itchy flannel blanket and into the floorboards, like what they’re doing is so hot it’s rearranged her molecular structure.

Just a little bit more, God, just lick her a little bit harder and she’ll come, she’ll come all over his face, she’ll drip all down his tongue and soak into his beard so all he’ll be able to taste is her pussy until the next time he brushes his teeth, so he won’t forget, can’t forget, that he’s hers, all hers, and—fuck

Her teeth sink into his palm, and she can’t tell if the salt on her tongue is just his sweat or if she bit him hard enough to draw blood. Either way, he doesn’t flinch and he doesn’t let up; just keeps working her through her orgasm, drawing it out, like he won’t be satisfied unless she’s still coming on herself long after he’s stopped touching her.

She doesn’t even know if that’s possible, but she’s still twitching and shuddering, anyway, when Daryl finally drags himself away from her pussy, rolling his tongue over his lips and chin like he doesn’t want any of her come to go to waste. He’s breathing hard, too, like he dove to the bottom of the pond out back and just broke the surface, chest heaving under his shirt as he rears back on his knees and fumbles for his belt, just about tearing his zipper off as he yanks it down so he can pull out his dick.

It’s flushed a painful-looking red, veins pulsing up and down the shaft, and leaking wet from the head. Must not be wet enough, though, because he drags his fingers through the mess between Beth’s legs, making her jump like he just stuck her with a pin, and wraps his slick hand around his dick to jerk himself off.

Oh, Jesus. Beth shudders from head to foot and reaches for him with shaky hands, and he comes to her, pinning her to the floorboards with his weight, pinning his dick to her stomach and jerking himself off against her. He rucks her skirt up even higher when it gets in the way, pushes it up above her navel, and then it’s just his hot, damp skin against hers, just that and her mouth fumbling for his, eating the taste of her own pussy off his tongue. He only lasts a few more seconds after that, so she’s still throbbing through the aftershocks of her own orgasm when he seizes up and shudders and spills wet across her abdomen.

God. Lord help her, but she’s gotta surprise him more often, if this is what happens when she does.

He sinks into her after, boneless, and she wraps her arms around his middle and bears his weight as best she can, because the pinch in her chest and the drying tackiness on her skin is worth being this close to him for just a little while longer. She combs her fingers through his sweaty hair and presses her lips to the underside of his jaw where his pulse is beginning to slow, rolls her tongue around her mouth and licks a musky film off her teeth.

“You should let me do that to you some time,” she says, voice coming out hoarse like she had done it to him, and she knows he knows what she’s talking about by the way he tenses up.

He always does that whenever she broaches the subject, always drags her back up his body whenever she starts heading south, and the only conclusion she can come to is that he thinks he’d be taking advantage of her, somehow, if he let her go down on him. But there’d be no advantage taken if she wanted to do it, and she does.

She wants to feel the weight of him on her tongue, wants the fullness of him in her mouth. Wants to drool all over his dick and suck him off the way he does her, till he’s tugging at her hair and biting his lip like she bit into his hand, begging her for it.

Daryl swallows; she feels the pull of muscles in his throat. “Don’t gotta,” he says, just as hoarsely as she had.

He makes it sound like an obligation, like he’s afraid that she thinks she owes him. She cups his sticky jaw in her hand and runs the tip of her nose up the bridge of his. Smiles into his eyes.

“I know I don’t have to. But I want to. Eventually. If you want it, too.”

He swallows again, throat clicking. She can tell by the half-panicked look in his eyes that he’s not ready to decide whether he wants it or not, and that’s fine. She can be patient. You have to be when you’re dealing with Daryl Dixon.

So she lets it go. Lets him sit up and pull his bandanna out of his back pocket, first cleaning up her and then himself. He balls it back up and stuffs it away to be chucked in the wash later, and helps her into a sitting position, running his fingers through her hair and doing his best to fix her wrecked ponytail.

“What?” he grumbles when she wrinkles her nose and laughs, which only makes her laugh harder.

“Nothin’. You just don’t need to bother.” She pulls his hands into her lap, cradling them against the warmth of her naked thighs. “Maggie’s gonna figure out what we were up to no matter how my hair looks.”

Daryl’s not looking at her anymore. His hands clench under hers. “Think she already figured it out.”

Beth turns to peer in the direction Daryl’s looking, out the gaping hayloft door, and, shit, there Maggie is, storming toward the barn with her head ducked like a charging bull’s. Beth can’t see the look on her face from here, but she really doesn’t need to. Maggie’s body language speaks for itself.

“Oh, crap,” Beth whispers, and ducks out of sight like it’ll make any difference, now. Daryl’s scrambling to do up his pants, cursing when his zipper snags in his pubic hair, and despite the fact that they’re both roughly five minutes away from getting their asses kicked clear across the county line, she can’t help but giggle at the picture he makes.

Daryl, by all accounts, is unamused. He finishes clipping his belt, then yanks her skirt down her legs. “You still gonna be laughin’ when your sister shoots me in the ass?”

Beth could pull her spaghetti straps into place herself, but she lets Daryl do it for her, anyway. “She wouldn’t do that.”

“Nah?”

“Nah. She’d aim for the head.”

Daryl’s mouth twists. “Forget your sister,” he says. “You’re gonna give me a fuckin’ aneurism ’fore she ever gets a chance to shoot me.”

Maggie’s calling her name now, but that doesn’t stop Beth from leaning into Daryl and grazing her lips against his. “Worth it, though, right?”

Because the asskicking she’s about to get is gonna be worth it to her. It’ll even be worth missing out on their date, because in the end, she was still able to snatch some time alone with Daryl, and ultimately, that’s really all she was after.

The orgasm was just a bonus.

Daryl grumbles noncommittally, but from the way his lips soften under hers, Beth figures that, yeah. He thinks it was worth it, too.