Happy Bethyl Smut Week! :)
I guess this could be considered A/U for the Sea Swept Universe! Enjoy!
The ocean is rougher than normal.
The storm hit out of nowhere- leaving his men woefully unprepared for its violent downpour. They quickly pulled the anchor up, trying to steady the ship in turbulent waves. They scurry quickly, each man pulling in the large fishing nets and trying to reign in the sails. They are still too far out from their next port to spy land, and their best hope is to ride out the storm or find shallower waters to anchor in.
Daryl stands in the navigation room, watching the ship bob sickeningly in the waves. Years on the high seas have helped him acclimate to unpredictable waters, but this storm is one of the worst he's seen. He feels a trickle of queasiness make its way up his spine as the ships rises unevenly. The lightning strikes, lighting up the night sky for one blazing second, and Daryl spies two of his men struggling to pull in one of their hauls. The fishing net is tangled on something. The nets are too valuable to lose; days on sea without end leaves them with little options if they somehow run out of food. His staff has always made sure they've been fine so far, but he can never be too careful.
Daryl makes his way down to the deck, ignoring the gnawing feeling in his stomach and the icy rain on his face. He steadies himself as best he can, trying to keep his eyes focused on Glen and Dale- each man straining to pull the large net over the side of the ship.
"Daryl! It's stuck on something. It's too heavy!" Glen yells. The man is nearly completely soaked, his dark hair slicked to his forehead. He wipes uselessly at his eyes. The older man nods and tries to hold onto his end.
"I think it's caught on the rudder." Dale's voice is barely audible over the sound of the crashing waves. Daryl nods and makes his way to the rail. He holds on tightly, the bannister slick with rainwater and waves. The net is banging against the side of the ship, full to the brim with fish flopping in desperate hope of escape. Deanna will be thrilled. There's enough fish for a feast.
"I'm goin over." His voice is low, and Glen throws Dale a worried look.
"No, I'll go." Glen protests, his feet sliding as the net threatens to descend back to the ocean.
Daryl shakes his head, and hoists himself up the railing. Right below the bannister is a ladder, built into the side of the ship. He swings his legs over, and meets Glen's eyes as his boots hit the ladder.
"I'll be back."
Lightning strikes again, and for a moment the ocean stills. The ship steadies for a moment, and Daryl uses the opportunity to climb downward. He holds on as best he can- the ladder wet with the sea spray. He gets about halfway before he sneaks a peek downward. The waves lap at the ship angrily, and the water churns below him, dark and deep. He steadies himself for a second before continuing. The net is snagged on one of the rudders of the ship, its thick threads caught around one of the motionless oars.
Daryl isn't sure if it's bravery or stupidity that propels him forward, but he reaches the net easily, and fumbles for his knife. The rain hits him in the face, his vision blurred for a second. He works to cut away part of the net, his focus concentrated on that one spot of rope. If he can get it free, Dale and Glen should easily be able to hoist it back up. He keeps sawing away, until he hears a small whimper.
He freezes.
It's coming from the net, but all he can see are the slick shiny fish- still flopping- and the dark wet rope. He goes back to work, trying to hurry. The storm had granted him this temporary reprieve, but it won't last long.
He hears it again, and this time, he's sure he's lost his mind.
"Too many damn years at sea." He mutters, almost finished.
The net suddenly moves violently, banging against the side of the ship. Daryl nearly loses his grip, and manages to hold on for dear life. With a huge sense of relief, the net slips free from the rudder, and he stumbles back against the ladder. He takes one final look at his work, when he sees it.
Or her.
Two very large, very blue eyes peering at him from the net.
They move towards him. Blue eyes framed by matted wet hair, giving way to slender shoulders. He can't see much more, for the fish take up most of the space, along with the occasional group of sea weed.
Daryl shakes his head. The lightning strikes again- and this time he gets a better view of her.
She's stuck in the net with the fish, all pale skin and blonde hair – and one very long shimmering tail.
"I'm stuck." Her wide eyes take him in and for a long second, Daryl wonders if perhaps he's already fallen off the ship and crossed over. She tries to move towards him, but she's tangled and stuck beneath her former friends.
He doesn't say anything.
He quickly ascends the ladder, and manages to pull himself up over the rail, landing sloppily next to Glen. Glen yells for Dale to pull, and they each step back- tugging the net with them. Now free from the rudders, they pull easily and hoist it onto the deck. Daryl watches with wide eyes, searching for the girl.
There is nothing but fish and the sea weed, and Daryl manages to unsteadily climb to his feet.
"You ok, Captain?" Dale is watching him, trying to secure the net closed. "You look a little pale."
Glen lets out a short laugh. "He just climbed overboard during the worst storm ever. Of course he looks a little pale."
Daryl nods wordlessly as them, his eyes fixated on the small opening he cut at the bottom. There's no way she would have been able to slip through there…
He waves them off, and heads back to his cabin. He needs to dry off and get some sleep.
The storm continues on for almost a week.
He finds himself trying his best to navigate through the rough waters, and nearly weeps with relief when he realizes they are close to their next port. It may still be storming, but they can dock and get off the ship. He's never wished for steady land in all his years, but now he would give his left arm to set foot on dry land.
Glen appears in front of him, his face tinged with a hint of green. The last week has been kind to no one. "Ready to drop anchor as soon as you give notice."
Daryl nods, his eyes set ahead.
The port is quiet, but several of the workers head out to greet them and help them harbor the ship. When his boots touch the wooden dock, Daryl feels a sense of embarrassed elation. He needs a good meal that will stay in his stomach, a strong drink, and a bed not flanked by a sick bucket. The crew follows behind him obediently. Some will stay on board, in rotating shifts, to ensure that no one tries to come aboard and take anything from him. Others will follow him to the nearest beach motel- not anything to write home about- but good enough to stay until the storm passes.
The thunder cracks and Daryl throws one last look back at his ship. A slippery feeling- one that nags at him that he's left something behind- makes its way through him. He shakes his head and continues on. A few days rest will do him good.
His drink is strong and bitter, but it doesn't matter. It's warm down his throat, and it helps him forget the blue eyes that have stayed with him this last week. He's too ashamed to tell Glen or Dale what he saw down there. Daryl frowns, wondering how he could even be sure he really saw anything. The waitress sets down another amber colored drink in front of him, and he downs it without thinking. He doesn't have anywhere to be tonight. He can forget this shitty week and the fact that he's now a few days behind schedule. It's not until he's on his third drink does he realize he can see the ocean from here.
It beckons to him, and pulls at him with a strange lure.
He's never been great on land. He's been better navigating his way through rough waters and finding peace in discovering uncharted islands and small lands that he amusingly claims for his own. He's managed to hone his survival skills out there- able to survive with little- taking only what he needs. The exportation business, sometimes honest and sometimes dishonest, found him. He took it as a means to an end- the ability to stay at sea and return when he pleases.
The thought of his brother back home makes his chest hurt for a second, but he brushes it off. Merle has never needed him. No one really has. He walked out years ago, only seeking out Daryl when he needed something- money, a place to crash, a ship to hide on while the authorizes searched for him. He imagines Merle now, sitting beside him- mocking his thoughts while drinking an overpriced cocktail that Daryl would be forced to foot the bill for.
"A mermaid, baby brother? You outta your damn mind. Ain't no such thing as mermaids out there." Merle would smirk at him, and then pretend to be concerned. "Maybe you outta take a day off. Indulge a little."
Daryl swallows the last of his drink and leaves a generous tip, taking into account Merle's imaginary drink. His eye catches the back of the menu, a pirate captain standing next to a long, curly haired cartoon mermaid. He shoves it aside and heads out. He will check on his ship and then head back to the motel.
The ships bobs gently in the water, the storm mostly gone now. He boards it quietly, his boots echoing upon the wooden dock. It's impressive, he must admit. He's never given a shit about money, but after he made enough to take over the ship from the retiring captain, hire some of his own crew, and make some of his own trade deals- he had to admit he's glad he never spent much before. He's finally carved out something fairly nice for himself. He's not about to let a few strange visions ruin that.
Just as he knew it would, everything checks out. The crew on board greet him quietly, and he makes his way back towards the plank. He can sleep easily tonight. He's almost about to disembark when he hears it- a soft humming from the side of the ship. He frowns, and glances around. He makes his way to the railing, and glances over.
There is nothing but dark water, softly lapping at the ship's side.
He rubs a hand over his face. He can feel the effects of his drink seeping in. He's starting to feel tired, his bones heavy with each step. He heads back to the plank, and makes it halfway before the humming starts up again. He turns with surprise, and finds himself tripping over his own boots- falling down below into the cold waters. It hits him hard, the icy water attacking him. He surges forward, trying to find the surface. His clothes feel heavy, his boots weighing him down into the water. His lungs burn furiously; he fights his way up until his finally burst free above the surface. He gasps, trying to stay above water. He turns, trying to get back to the shore when he feels something grab his arm and pull.
Terror pricks through him, and he turns.
Blue eyes meet his.
She bobs in the water next to him; her hair wet against her shoulders, pooling into the ocean-her eyes wide and her lips parted in surprise.
"Are you stuck?"
It comes out as a whisper, and he would recognize that voice anywhere. She was in his net, there is no doubt in his mind now.
He sputters, shaking his head. This isn't happening. He needs to get to land. His legs are beginning to burn, the muscles over exerted now. "I need to get to shore." He manages to gasp it out, and she nods. She gently pushes him forward with surprising strength, and moments later, his boots graze the ocean floor.
She's still beside him, watching him intently. He manages to make his way to the bank of sand, and he flops down and tries to catch his breath. She bobs out in the ocean a few feet away from him. Under the moonlight her skin shines at him, wet from the ocean and shimmering from the night stars.
"You aren't real." He manages to gasp it out, and she looks insulted.
"Of course I'm real. I just saved your life." Her response is indignant, and she crosses her arms.
"You almost killed me! You and your damn humming." It still hurts to breathe. Daryl wipes at his face, his hands gritty with sea water. "I could have drowned." His voice is low, and she blinks at him before shrugging.
"I wanted to see you." She swims back a few feet, and to his disbelief, she leans back and her tail skims the surface before flashing back down under the water. "I wanted you to get closer."
"Closer?" He feels drunk now, his mind thick.
She nods, and easily slips forward a few feet. She lounges in the water effortlessly. "You saved my life. I wanted to thank you."
He frowns at her, for the second time this week wondering if he's not dead. "How'd I save your life, girl?"
She looks at him as if she can't believe he's asking her such a question. "You cut me out of your net. I was stuck, remember?"
He shakes his head. The section of rope he cut was much too small for her to get through. She's not that big from what he can gather, but she still too big to fit through the opening he made.
"Leave me alone." He says gruffly, shoving himself to his feet. "You're welcome for saving your life. But I have work to do."
She doesn't say anything, just continues to stare at him until there is a small wave beside her. A fish pops up beside her- the size of a small cat, colored with hideous shades of yellows and oranges. It swims angrily around her and she laughs at it, splashing it away.
"Go away, Coral. He's a nice man."
Daryl shakes his head and starts to back away. "I'm not a nice man."
The mermaid shakes her head and throws him a wide smile. "Oh but you are." She says it dreamily, gazing up him one last time. "I'll see you soon. You can thank me then." With that, she slips back under the water, and the fish follows after her. Daryl stares at the water for a moment and she pops back up- a good distance away from him. "My name's Beth!" She yells it out from the sea. He hears a splash and a giggle. "I said, go away Coral!"
He's been back at sea for a week, and luckily- there have been no signs of the mermaid, or Beth, or whatever she is. He steers the ship easily, pushing it west. He needs to make up a few days, and the weather should cooperate if he's lucky. He will be lucky. He almost always is.
Dale offers to take the wheel for the night, and Daryl happily agrees. He wants to talk to Deanna about their meal plan for the next few weeks. If she thinks they can make it, they will skip their usual stop in the islands and sail on.
He makes his way down below deck, enjoying the sense of normalcy that surrounds him. The smell of the ocean, the wood of the boat, the chatter of the crew around him. His home. Daryl makes his way towards the kitchen when he suddenly comes to a halt. Glen stands before him, his face panicked.
"There's a boat a few miles away. It's small, maybe a rowboat. It looks like there are a few survivors on it. Abraham thinks we should check it out." Daryl stifles the groan in his throat. He doesn't really have time to stop, let alone to bring strangers aboard his ship. But Glen is staring at him with a worried expression, and Daryl can tell that Abraham will be hard to convince otherwise.
"Fine. Fine. Keep me posted." Daryl mutters, and shoves past him. He tries not to let this ruin his good mood. With any luck it will be quick stop and they will be on their way.
When he makes his way back to his cabin, it's almost completely dark out. Deanna wasn't thrilled with skipping the islands "Well we can make it, but if anything happens you'll be eating spam for a few days until we dock in Colombia."- but she didn't protest too much. He takes the steps two at a time, and spies Abraham in front of his cabin door. Abraham glances up at him, and he uncrosses his arms.
"Daryl."
"Abraham." He stops in front of the door, hoping this is quick. He's looking forward to falling into his bed and sleeping away the night. Three days of the night watch have been more than enough.
"I put her in your room. She said she knew you."
"Who?" He cocks an eyebrow, wondering just what the hell this is about.
"The girl. From the boat. Said you saved her a week ago. Her name's Beth."
Daryl feels himself freeze, his blood turning cold. There's no way, no way, no way that Abraham just rescued the mermaid. It must be some sick coincidence.
Abraham shrugs beside him. "Nice girl. Don't remember you saving anyone, but she sure knows you." He pauses to look at Daryl. "Have a good night sir."
With that he leaves Daryl standing there, hand on the door knob of his room- his heart beating unsteadily.
It is her.
She's perched upon his bed, one of his dark button down shirts over her. Her hair is long, skimming her waist and much blonder in the candle light of his room. She's watching him carefully, her long pale legs tucked behind her.
"You aren't real." He mutters it out loud, shutting the door behind him.
She frowns, and shifts on the bed. He wonders where the tail went.
"I wish you'd stop saying that. I most certainly am real." She looks at him intently. "I just wanted to see you again. I only have tonight…" She trails off, her eyes falling to the bed.
Daryl hesitates before slowly walking towards her. "Where's your fish?"
She smiles widely and beams. "Coral's with your friend Dale. They said they would let him steer the ship!" Daryl grunts beside her, unhappy with the thought of some fish steering his ship.
"He have legs too now?" Beth nods, rising up onto her knees. He tries not to notice the way his shirt skims her thighs.
"Just for tonight though." There is a wistfulness in her voice, and Daryl stops trying to apply logic to the situation. He reaches the bed, and her fingers come up to gather into his shirt. In the warm light, she's the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. Her hair is as blonde as the sun that guides his ship, and her eyes are as blue as the skies that he sails beneath. She cocks her head at him, and pulls him closer.
"You never thanked me for saving your life." She whispers it, her face impossibly close to his. It takes only a second before he feels her lips against his, softer than he could have ever imagined. She pulls him closer to her, and he sighs against her mouth, his arms snaking around to crush her against him. Her fingers leave his shirt and tangle in the back of his hair.
He breaks away for a second, and she groans in frustration.
"Thank you for saving my life." His voice is low and rough and he pushes her back onto his bed. He kicks off his boots and climbs on top of her, pushing her down, his hips pressing her until she's trapped beneath him. She squirms deliciously beneath him, searching for friction. Daryl finds her neck, sucking against her skin, relishing in the faint trace of saltiness on her skin. She rakes at his back, and he uses his free hand to stop her, pinning her wrists to the bed.
"Hold still girl." He growls against her.
This is madness, he thinks. He kisses his way down her neck, until he reaches her collarbone. He sucks at her skin, marking her. She was a mermaid last week. His free hand skims down her side, trailing over her ribs and finally slipping beneath the hem of the shirt she wears. He shoves it up, his fingers greedily tracing up her skin. She arches against him.
"Please."
Daryl's hand move upwards, grazing the underside of her breast. She squirms with frustration, and his hand finally covers her, squeezing gently. He releases her pinned hand, and eases off of her.
"Daryl!" She protests. His hands reach for the bottom of the shirt, and he pulls it off her easily. She's a sight before him- completely nude with glowing pale skin. He can feel himself strain against his pants. It's been a long time since he's been with a woman in this way. He pushes her back against the bed, and this time, his mouth finds her nipple and she sighs below him.
"You saved me." She mumbles it out dreamily, her hands reaching for him. He continues his exploration of her, his mouth trailing down her stomach. "Take your pants off."
He smirks against her skin, and continues until he hits her hipbone. He manages to do undo his belt, and pushes off his pants and boxers at the same time. He continues lower, biting at the skin on the inside of her thigh.
"Daryl..." Her voice has a desperate edge to it, and it mirrors his own growing need. When his mouth finds her, she bucks against him, and her fingers tangle in his hair. She moans his name, gasping it out when he finds just the right spot. He strokes himself, groaning against her. She yanks at his hair, and holds his head in place. He sucks at her clit, until she sobs his name out, her legs shaking around him. He breaks free from her, and kisses his way back up to her neck.
"Oh Daryl." She sighs. He finds her mouth again, greedily kissing her. He pushes one of her knees back, and thrusts himself inside of her.
"Ohhhhh."
The lightning starts up again, but he doesn't notice. He sinks into her, drowning in the warm slickness of her. She inhales against him, aching to be closer to him. He pulls at her, one hand behind her, the other buried in her hair.
"Thank you for saving me." He says, unable to get close enough to her. He thrusts inside her, unwilling to break apart. "Thank you..."
She lets out a whimper below him, her hips trying desperately to match his.
"Beth." He groans her name, and in the distance, the thunder cracks. She tries to push herself up, and he relents. He adjusts them carefully, now sitting upright, and she straddles him, and slides down onto his length. His hand returns to her hair, and she tilts her neck to the side. His mouth zeros in on the warm skin, biting at her. The rain is starting now; the torrential downpour threatening to match the storm between them.
"You're mine." He growls. His release is impending, and he wishes to prolong this as much as possible. She is warm and sweet around him, her frantic whimpering of his name only pressing him on. He's not sure how long passes before she starts to tense up around him, her hips working furiously against his. He reaches between them, rubbing at her soft flesh until she groans his name and goes slack against him. He follows, seconds behind her. He feels boneless, her small weight pushing him backwards until they rest against his comforter.
It takes a long while for his breathing to return back to normal, and until then- he listens to hers. Her head is on his chest, and her hands clasped together in some sort of prayer towards him. It slows eventually, and he finds that again- he follows suit. He doesn't hear the rain anymore.
The ships settles into port a few days ahead of schedule.
Daryl is relieved. He'd been hoping to make up some time, and this will be more than enough to keep the man who calls himself the Governor of Colombia off his ass. The exchange is quick as always. He hands Daryl a wad of cash, along with several boxes to return back to Georgia, including a small crate of bags with a powder that Daryl tries his best to ignore.
"For your brother. A token of my thanks."
Daryls' stomach tightens, but he takes crates and bids the Governor farewell.
"I'll see you in a few months, Dixon." The Governor's voice sounds friendly, but Daryl knows it is anything but. "Enjoy your trip home."
Daryl nods and heads back to the ship, relieved to be done with this deal. Each time it's a little more than the last; more of the vaccine, more of the stolen goods or trade from the north, more men to serve in the Governor's army. Someday it will be too much, but for now, he will accept the work while he can.
Abraham meets him at a small beachside restaurant, and Daryl slides into the booth next to him.
"Everything go alright?" He's started on his beer already, and he motions for the waitress. She hands Daryl a menu before stepping away.
Daryl sighs. "Just fine."
Abraham nods and stares at his beer. He looks at Daryl for a moment before scratching at his neck. "I'm sorry about making you stop for that boat. Had I known it was empty, I wouldn't have said anything. I could have sworn there was someone on it."
Daryl looks up at him, confusion written on his face. He can still feel Beth beneath him, gasping out his name. "No one on it?" Abraham nods, looking embarrassed. "I must have been tired. Gave my shift to Glen and slept it off. Won't happen again, sir." With that, Abraham peels the label off his beer, and Daryl watches as the label rips off neatly.
Daryl only nods, and when the waitress reappears, he orders his dinner.
Beth had been gone when he had awakened in the morning, but the weight of her had remained on his chest. He couldn't say he was surprised, but the disappointment was heavy on him. She had driven him to the brink of madness, and very gently pushed him off. He hadn't minded, not the least bit. After all, she'd saved his life.
He leans back against the booth, and fidgets with the napkins. "S'All right. Had a rough week myself."
Abraham nods, grateful for Daryl's understanding. When the waitress returns with his drink, he catches a glimpse of the sea through the dirty window. If he listens hard enough, he can almost hear her humming the tune that will lure him back to the sea.