Title: "Weep and Moan"
Series: When the Levee Breaks
Author: Green Owl
Word Count: 2,500+
Pairing: Merle Dixon + Beth Greene
Rating: M (Dixon tongue & smut)
Summary: In her soul, Beth felt they were connected. Both of them had been underestimated since day one. She was Maggie Greene's wilting wallflower of a little sister; he was Daryl Dixon's fuming fuck-up of an older brother. There was no room for either of them to play any other parts but those. AU, Sympathy for the Devil-verse.
Author Notes: The prompt from One-Handed Muse read like this: "Beth. Merle. Thunderstorm. Prison rooftop. Dirty. Sweaty. Sex. (And yes, Merle did go down on her, like that's even a question.)" Signed, sealed, delivered, it's yours, darlin', or will be once I finish this. And many, many thanks to Silksteel, who has graciously permitted me to use her "chemistry set" (Sympathy for the Devil, which you must read because it's fucking spectacular!) while I played in the METH Lab.
Disclaimer: I don't own or buy/sell/process this mind crack - I just abuse the hell out of it.
Beth set her lips in a determined line as she made her way up to the roof.
She dreaded that she was going to have to corner him, but there was no other way she could think of to get him to talk to her.
He'd been actively dodging her since the previous evening, doing everything he could to place as much physical space between them as possible.
And he still wouldn't look at her.
It was her fault.
Nothing like being in the wrong place at the wrong time to mess up everything.
The water from the showers in the basement of Cell Block C came out in two temperatures: slightly chilly and all-out pucker factor.
Beth had recently begun taking her showers late at night because she found that the tanks retained enough heat to bring the water up to the former level of cool. That way, she at least had a prayer of being able to scrub herself down without the fear of her nipples imploding. She also liked to wash at that time of the day because she had the block all to herself and could preserve what little was left of her modesty.
Truth be told, there was another, less logical, more emotional, reason she preferred that hour of the night, but she hated herself for having it.
If she'd had to share space with any of the members of their group (which in her mind included the prodigal Andrea and recent addition, Sasha), she wouldn't have minded. They treated her as an adult, as someone whose contribution was valued. She felt safe with them. But the idea of being nude in front of that Woodbury woman was enough for her to forego the pleasure of an early morning coating of frigid gooseflesh and delay her ablutions until after Judith's midnight feeding.
Beth could still hear that woman's mocking voice ringing in her ears as she slipped down the cool concrete stairs in her bare feet.
Merle, please, she's maybe a heartbeat away from tattooing your name on her ass.
Even after all this time, the memory of Karen's careless whisper to the elder of the Dixon brothers as they stripped and cleaned their weapons before dinner still had the power to bring most of the blood in Beth's body to her cheeks.
So she was attracted to him.
So what?
She was a teenager. She was allowed to have crushes. It was a normal and healthy part of growing up. She'd had one on Jimmy, and, for one hot second, maybe just the hint of one on Shane. Now she'd fixated the bulk of her emotional hormonal surplus on Merle Dixon. No big deal.
Except that she wasn't allowed to have it in secret.
Before the advent of the Woodbury inhabitants, there had been a tacit agreement among the members of their group: gossip had no place in survival. Maggie and Glenn's sexual energy was sufficient to recharge every single spent battery in the prison. Carl's cold rage could have kept them in ice water throughout most of the sweltering Georgia summer. The gentle tension rolling between Carol and Daryl was enough to power a major city. But no one talked about it openly.
That all changed when that yellow and black school bus stopped in the yard and discharged a small host of men, women, and children who had no concept of the value of silence. They chattered like wasps swarming around a porch light, commenting on this, that, everything. And most frequently heard amongst the violations of their peace and quiet was that woman's meddlesome voice.
"Aren't you a little young, kid?" Karen had asked her at the dinner table last night, nodding towards Judith, who was resting peacefully in Beth's arms.
"It's not hers," Andrea had assured her.
"Oh, then whose is it?"
"Lori's," Michonne had responded in a matter-of-fact manner.
"Hmmm. Where's she?"
"Dead," Carol had answered tersely.
"How?" Karen had pressed.
"Giving birth," Maggie had replied, not trying to conceal her disdain for the woman's inappropriate line of questioning.
"Oh." Karen had the grace to look ashamed as she glanced at Beth. "You look so comfortable holding her, I thought she was yours."
Beth had met that woman's dark gaze, and it took every last bit of her Christian charity not to add a sarcastic edge to her soft reply as she cuddled Judith closer and rubbed the baby's back. "Appearances can be deceiving."
That's how most of their interactions had gone since the group had swelled; Karen making assumptions about Beth based on her physical appearance and voicing them, Beth having to bite her tongue and be polite because that's how her parents raised her and she'd die before saying anything to disgrace herself or them.
The pressure of keeping her temper was enough to make a grown man weep, and Beth wasn't even of legal drinking age yet.
The next morning, when she declined to shower with the rest of the woman, Carol had been the first one to understand.
She didn't say anything, just nodded at Beth, and kept the group moving towards the showers.
Carol was awesome like that.
Now as Beth made her way down the hall to the showers, she felt a sense of relief. She might be showering alone in the pitch dark, but the water would be a little bit warmer, and she wouldn't have to stand naked in the same room with that woman, who would doubtless be comparing her fully mature and very feminine body against Beth's still developing figure.
A sound stopped her in her tracks as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light.
Well, actually, two sounds.
One was the sound of the water running.
Someone was in there.
The other was the sound of a man's voice, calling out "Hell's bells, darlin', get your sweet ass in here already!"
And that someone was Merle.
Beth had never seen a naked man before.
Her mother had preached and practiced modesty. The lesson had been lost on Annette Greene's wild, willful, skinny-dipper of a stepdaughter Margaret Grace, but sweet, biddable, little Elizabeth Anne took her momma's words and example to heart. Even in the high heat of summer, Beth kept herself properly covered at all times. None of Jimmy's begging or pleading had ever led to her permitting him to take or give any liberties, either tactile or visual, with her body or his.
She had never even been curious about another person's bare flesh until that moment that Merle Dixon, like a rebel with his little child bride, had lifted her into his massive arms and carried her over the threshold of their makeshift home.
Now it was all she could do to keep her hands and eyes to herself. In addition to her six senses, she'd developed a seventh, an almost preternatural awareness of where he was at all times. It made her skin hot and her hair stand up and knees knock together, and there was nothing she could do about it.
And that's what bothered Beth so deeply, that the wicked witch of Woodbury had seen right through the desperate barricade of false tranquility she had so carefully erected around her emotions and splattered the ugly truth all over the wall.
Yes, she burned. But for what, she had no idea. She just wanted to be near him, speak with him, have him treat her with that strange brand of respect and admiration that he'd exhibited since that night.
Was it too much to believe that he could feel the same about her? He initiated their eye contact as often as she did. He found meaningless reasons to sit next to her, and to touch her, but in ways that could never be misconstrued as anything but perfectly respectful. He went out of his way to make her laugh as he told her stories of his reckless youth.
In her soul, Beth felt they were connected. Both of them had been underestimated since day one. She was Maggie Greene's wilting wallflower of a little sister; he was Daryl Dixon's fuming fuck-up of an older brother. There was no room for either of them to play any other parts but those.
Except that they had both defied people's expectations; he when he'd gone alone to take the fight to the Governor, she when she'd gone alone into Woodbury to rescue him. She'd given him his first taste of compassion. He'd inspired her to commit an act that took an enormous amount of courage. Thanks to each other, neither of them would ever be the same.
And now she was left with a maelstrom of feelings that need some kind of outlet, some form of physical expression.
As luck would have it, here was temptation, right around the corner. She would have no one to blame but herself if she gave into it. If she was smart, she'd go back to her bunk and go to sleep.
Beth felt a shiver of apprehension and curiosity shoot through her skin as she peered into the tiled darkness.
At first all she sensed was movement in the deep shadows, the sound of water sheeting off of his skin, the smell of pine tar soap diffused throughout the room. Her vision sharpened as her eyes continued to adjust to the absence of light, and she began to see the outline of him in the gloom. He was an imposing mountain of a man, seemingly chiseled head to toe from solid rock, and her palms tingled for the feel of him.
"Well don't just stand there, woman, come on in," he rasped impatiently, not turning around.
Was he serious?
Beth bit her lips and stepped into the room, mindful of the slick tiles under her feet.
"Took ya long enough," he grumbled as he raised his handless arm above his head and rubbed the soap down the right part of his torso. He held the bar up for her to take. "Get mah back, why dontcha?"
She swallowed, suddenly unsure. She wasn't wearing her cowboy boots, and her steps had been nimble and noiseless. He thought she was someone else. He probably though she was that woman.
The thought spiked her arteries with hot, acrid jealousy. When he found out she wasn't Karen, he was going to be…well, she didn't know, but she was certain she didn't want to find out.
But there he was, standing in the dark, under the water, a defenseless demon whose lines she wanted desperately to trace.
She stepped forward, stifling her surprise at the coolness of the water as it soaked through her shirt and shorts, and took the soap.
"Fuck me, that feels fantastic," Merle purred, dropping his chin to his chest as she worked her soap-slicked hands gently over his shoulders and down his spine.
She agreed silently as she reveled in the texture of his cool, rough skin. He was covered in scars. Some were smooth and some were ragged, some were old and some were new, and they joined together to form an agonizing roadmap of the abuse he'd suffered throughout his life. Many people might have thought them hideous, but they were all the more beautiful to her because they spoke of his will to survive.
"Got me a powerful crick in mah neck, darlin'," he whispered, placing his forearms against the shower wall and leaning against it. "Do ya mind?"
Beth grinned as she lathered up her hands, placed the soap on nearby shelf, and applied her fingers to the area in question.
She heard his breath hiss out from between his clenched teeth as he relaxed into the pressure of her thumbs, and she was reminded of the serpent in the Garden of Eden.
"Goddamn, woman, where'd you learn that trick?" he asked as she forced the heels of her hands down his slick skin, gently dragging her nails in their wake.
She didn't answer as she felt a sudden surge of sympathy for Eve. There was no point. All that mattered was that she, as young and inexperienced as she was, had one thing up on that woman.
"Feels good," he murmured as she reached the base of his spine.
She sucked in a breath as his left arm snaked across his body and his hand grasped her right wrist. He tugged on her until she was flush against him, her left cheek resting between his shoulderblades, her other arm wrapping around his torso to stabilize her.
What was he…?
Her eyes flew open as she felt his hand guide her to a part of his body that was not cold in the slightest.
Good Lord.
"Take it easy," he instructed as he wrapped her slippery fingers around himself. "Been a long time."
Beth froze. She had no experience with this at all. He would know.
Oh no.
"Such a fuckin' tease," he chuckled as he enfolded her small hand in his huge fist and slowly dragged them both up and down. "Actin' like ya never done it before."
She was a farm girl. She'd seen animals mating. She knew the mechanics.
But this…this was unfamiliar and strange and startling and…
He moaned and she felt the sound skitter down her throat down, down, down into the juncture of her thighs. She stifled a whimper and tried to relieve the unexpected pressure by pressing her hips against him, but it didn't help. The feeling of him in her grip, the guttural sounds he was making, the smell and taste of his skin, it was making her forget all about the chill of the water.
"That's it, darlin'," he growled softly as she maintained the rhythm he'd set. "So fuckin' good."
Beth smiled as she burrowed her face into his back. Was this the magic that Maggie had warned her about? This glorious feeling of conquest that came from being able to please the one man she wanted above all others?
"Stop," he protested as he put his hand on hers to still it. "Ya hafta stop, or I'm gonna be useless to ya."
She obeyed, her breath hitching as she leisurely released him. Maybe she could escape, run back the way she came?
He cut off that option when he spun around faster than she thought a human could move, shoved her up against the hard, cold wall, and slammed his mouth down over hers.
She couldn't move, could hardly breathe. It wasn't like the last time he'd kissed her. It wasn't gentle or tender or careful.
His harsh mouth was devouring hers, robbing her of thought and speech, and his hand was just as mind-numbing, gripping her backside and holding her still as he ground himself against her.
She knew exactly when he recognized her. It was when his hand skimmed up to cup the slight weight of her breast in his palm, and his thumb flicked against her nipple. It was at that moment that she gasped and he identified her voice.
"Jesus fuckin' Christ, girlie!" he roared as he shoved himself away from her. "What tha fuck ya think yer doin'?!"
Beth didn't answer.
She couldn't.
All she could do was run.