Like a Wedding Dress Needs Dirt
Rated: T for suggested sexual themes
A small, quick study of how Beth and Daryl's relationship would seem and be if they had one.
There was something sweet about the way he didn't look at her when she passed, but she still felt his eyes on her. The small smile on her lips as she passed, the swaying movement of her hips and the blonde ponytail that did the same thing- she knew that his eyes followed the movement, even if he wouldn't let her see him do it. Beth Greene knew a lot about Daryl Dixon... at least she knew a lot about his behavior, his quirks, his habits, his mannerisms. She didn't know anything about his past, except for the scars that he'd never show her, and the brother that leered at her and smirked at her like she was meat. She didn't like Merle. Although she pitied him, and was polite to him- but that was only something that her mother taught her. Daddy wasn't much to sitting her down and telling her how to behave, it was always her mother that told her how to talk, how to deal with people.
Her mother would shake her head at Beth's swaying hips, their actions only a little bit exaggerated for Daryl's enjoyment. A pendulum of clothed skin to leave him wondered what was underneath, and if it was as soft as it looked. Her mother would know with just a glance at Beth- and that glance would tell immediately her feelings about the rugged anti-hero. Her mother might also be able to get a little something more from Beth's darkened blue eyes- the thick lashes framing their obvious question and command to Daryl from across the room. And Daryl would feel her eyes like fire on him, a ray of blue he couldn't deny, and never could. Then he'd drop whatever he was doing and follow her so that they could be alone.
Beth couldn't remember how exactly it started. There was no definite moment when the natural urges finally took over. Maybe when Beth went to the Watch Tower to bring some hot cocoa to Daryl during the winter months- the only time they were ever away from prying eyes, away from questions and simple codes. Cold, as it always has, has it's ways of drawing another side of a person to the surface. Maybe it started with a touch, the brush of fingers, the press of arms or a chest to a back... Beth couldn't remember. There were so many touches, so many moments. Although Beth knew that before then there were always small smiles, lingering eyes and red cheeks.
Fingers in her hair, tight, strong hands that wound themselves around her like they were never going to let go. The sturdy muscles that felt like they were never going to fail. She was a child in his arms, but a woman in his eyes, a child at soul, but a woman in body and mind. She had kissed him first, she knew that. She teased him about that. Wound together like rope, a human braid of limbs and skin and breath, an entanglement she never wanted to pull herself from- she'd speak against his mouth, whispers that sent chills down his spine, whispers that made her feel even more like a woman.
And he'd say, "Ya always wanna sneak around in the dark..." his arms would be around her, the only thing keeping them warm would be a thin sheet on the washing room floor, "This has to be the third time this week."
And she'd smile against his mouth, their lips pressed together just enough to tease him, enough to make him want more- she'd say, "It's much more fun this way."
And then he'd smile, laughing at this small girl who'd chosen a broken man like him over everyone else.