Just a smutty, dirty little piece that I may or may not continue, dependant on your responses. Hint ;) Seriously though, was in the mood for this and so here we are. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead, or any of it's characters. I make no profit from this piece.
Hot, tired, frustrated. Hungry, thirsty, exhausted. Beth was all of those things combined, but there was something else amongst it. Something desperate and thick, something complex and too messy to even contemplate touching or trying to unravel. Something, that if she was smart, she would leave rightfully alone. It happened to boil down to one thing and one thing only: she was so goddamn horny. Days upon days of travel, of insufficient meals and lack of streams to wash in, endless hours of Daryl's silence and sweat trickling down the dip of her spine had led to the argument, where it first started, where she first identified it for what it was.
The stupid hunt for liquor was nothing but a pointless, ridiculous task to occupy her whole head, to set herself a target. To not think about the sword swinging into her daddy's neck or Maggie, or who was dead, who was alive. To not think about everything the prison represented, how well they were doing there, how close they were to making it a home. A stupid, pointless, fucking pathetic task that could have gotten them killed, all because Beth didn't want to face reality. It all ultimately led to one point. One very important point of self-realisation.
The explosive fight.
Daryl kicking up a storm and screaming his pain in her face, her desperate and pleading, dirty and weak. Not at all satisfied with her goddamn pathetic quest finally being completed either. It led to him taking up the crossbow, him locking his fingers around her wrist and hauling her ass outside. Led to him shooting and screaming, thick arm looping around her shoulders and holding her tight. Led to her cunt pulsing, her blood thickening, her head swimming. They were arguing and he was upset and she meant the things she was saying to him.
Yet through it all, despite her own repulsion, she could finally identify the emotions inside of her, buried under despair and anger, exhaustion and terror: she was so turned on. His arm around her shoulders, pinning him to her body, ass pressed to his cock. Her hands itching to grab him, stroke over his skin. The urge tearing her apart inside until her feet launched, throwing her whole body against his back, wrapping her arms around him. Listening to him cry for her father and still feeling that wet between her thighs. She was so fucking messed up, so wrong, so repulsive, but she was also so goddamn horny.
Beth held him for a long while, hands locked together, fingers clenched not only so that he couldn't pull away, but so that she resisted the urge to stroke him, touch him, grip him. So, she could contain herself.
She couldn't.
Her hands unclenched, her fingers spread wide and soon each fingertip was glued to his stomach, somehow having pushed past his shirt. Daryl had stopped crying, was no longer moving, no longer even breathing by the feel of it. Frozen stock still and she knew it was because he knew. Whether it was her touch or her heaving chest or her trembling hand, he knew.
"Beth." His voice was rough, unyielding, full of grit.
Her eyes fluttered shut, forehead falling between his shoulder blades. The fingertips across his stomach were bent, unkempt fingernails digging into his soft flesh. "I'm sorry."
Daryl was silent, perhaps because he wasn't sure what she was apologising for. That was okay, she would show him. Her fingertips spanned wider, slipping until they began to push past the waistband of Daryl's jeans. He hissed a breath, thick fingers locking tight around her wrist and holding her firm. "No."
Beth's cheeks flushed. Everything flushed. Mortification and embarrassment swirling like a storm through her whole body until she felt sick with it. "Okay."
He released her wrist, slowly, like she would force it, but she pulled her hand away and they went inside. They didn't talk about it and Beth tried not to think about it, until days later, to one specific night, when it all went to hell. They had stopped to wash in a stream and had taken turns to keep watch for each other. Daryl had gone first because they both knew she knew about the scars, but they both liked to pretend that wasn't the case and so he always washed first, so as to get out of the way her pointedly looking at everything but him. So, of course, when it's her turn, it all goes to shit. Because, you know, some fucker in the sky is laughing at her misery.
Half-naked, literally having just pulled her bra off to wash -pretty flat chested means she can go without it whilst it dries- the creek they're washing in is suddenly full of walkers. At least thirty, attracting more as they moan and groan, shambling across the grass with eager, outstretched hands. Beth tries to at least get her bra back on so that she can be semi-naked in the fight, but then Daryl's grabbing her up whilst she hastily grabs their packs, dropping everything with him shouting something about 'too many' then they're running as she grabs her soaked clothes, something she'll have to worry about later.
Her fingers hook around his neck and her bare breasts press to his shirt, still wet and clinging to the fabric. They run for a long while until Beth is shivering and Daryl's too tired to carry on. They find a shack similar to the one they burnt down in outward appearances, but inside isn't all that bad. There's a dusty, thin camping bed, a small chair and scattered, empty cans, but that's all.
Daryl slowly puts Beth down and she immediately releases the packs, her fingers tight and cramped. "Y'alrig-" he starts but cuts off as he finally seems to take in the state of her.
Old, long worn panties somewhat dry now but still damp, still thin enough to see every outline of her pussy, bare breasts and cold, goose bumped skin, damp hair clinging to her shoulders as it falls out of her sloppy ponytail. Again, it's one of those situations where she shouldn't be turned on, shouldn't be damp with more than water, but she is. She is because she's practically naked and Daryl's never seen her like this and he's staring.
Beth's whole body is cold but slowly her veins are thickening under Daryl's gaze and she's heating up fast, heart pounding and a hot flush unravelling down her spine. She should cover up, should grab her clothes, should do something, but she's frozen.
Daryl finally breaks the tension and clears his throat, glancing away with red cheeks. "M'sorry."
"It's okay," she whispers, bending to their packs. "Shit, I forgot I dropped my clothes in the water, they're soaked."
He squats down next to Beth and pulls out a shirt of his, the one he took off earlier today. "Didn't get chance to wash it," he mutters as he offers it.
Her trembling fingers take it because even if her pussy is a hot, burning inferno, the rest of her is not and she's freezing. She shrugs the shirt on, teeth chattering as she tries to do the buttons up with shaking fingers.
"Hey, Beth, y'alright?" Daryl presses in closer, eyes tight and anxious.
"F-fine. Just can't d-do these b-buttons." Her fingers slip again and she curses under her breath.
"C'mere, you ain't fine. You need to warm up." His voice takes on a small strain as he begins to do the buttons up for her, pushing her clumsy fingers aside.
Beth bites her lip, trying to quell the chattering teeth and any sounds that may fall out of her mouth at the feel of Daryl's calloused fingers brushing her soft skin. He buttons the shirt all the way to the top and she pulls at it, wrapping the edges over twice because it's so big on her. "Thanks."
"Need to warm y'up, nearly dark," he says as he moves away.
They spend the rest of the evening setting up their alarms. The windows were previously boarded up and they're done well, meaning light from inside won't attract walkers, so Daryl finds a bin and sets a small fire in it, in order for Beth to warm up. It's too late for him to go hunting, but they saved half a squirrel from the day before so they make do. She's quite warm now, thanks to the fire and there was a thin blanket on the camp bed; once she shook off the dust she wrapped it around her legs. Which leads them to now, side by side on the camp bed, warming by the fire and sucking their fingers clean of squirrel.
She feels somewhat sleepy, now she's warm but still that ever present ache is between her thighs. She fidgets, her pussy lips pressing against her underwear and her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. God, why? Why does her body insist that she feels like this? Especially when now is most definitely not the right time, if there ever would be a right time. Daryl already made it quite clear that he's not interested in her and she has to respect that. Honestly, Beth understands. She's half his age, he watched her father die and he probably loves her in the sweetest, most innocent way possible.
He's done nothing but shelter and protect her, feed her with his kills and watch her back so she can sleep or wash. She's young and not all that filled out, or even all that clean if she's totally honest with herself. Endless hot days and crappy, half-hearted washes, plus lack of razors mean she's beginning to get quite prickly and she's forever grubby. The idea of a brush could very honestly bring tears to her eyes. The little plait she keeps twisting into her hair is her own perverse way of pretending she's pulling off a wild rocker kind of hippie look.
God, it's a joke. How bad she wants to cum. To be fucked with a tongue or fingers or a cock, for someone to wrap their lips around her nipple, her clit. For big hands to hold her hips, squeeze her ass, her breasts, her thighs. It's a goddamn, cruel joke because she's travelling with the one man possibly on this Earth that doesn't want to touch her like that. So, what it all truly boils down to, is the fact that she's miserable. Horny and sweaty, hungry, thirsty, exhausted, stressed and downright miserable and just like the moonshine, it's fucking pathetic.
Because she just lost the most brilliant, most wonderful father and a new home, possibly her sister, other members of her rag-tag family, she could die at any moment, for any number of reasons and yet stupid, pathetic, little girl can't stop thinking about sex; is near delirious with the need to cum. Her pussy has been aching for days and she can't focus on anything, which is so ridiculously dangerous she would actually rather be bitten by a walker before she admits she's nearly gotten them killed day dreaming about being fucked.
It can't go on. It has to stop. So, when it's her turn for watch, when she's sure Daryl is well and truly asleep on the camp bed, her back against the door, knife on the floor at her hip, she pulls her underwear to the side and presses a fingertip to her clit. Beth has to muffle a gasp, biting hard on her lip and spreading her legs wider. Daryl is facing her on the bed and it's unnerving, watching his sleeping face, but he's a light sleeper and she has to keep her eye on him in case he starts to stir. The blanket is somewhat strewn over her knees, which does cover her legs and working hand, but it wouldn't take a genius to work out what she's doing.
She keeps her teeth sunken into her bottom lip and presses again, her legs jerking wildly. God, this is going to be hard, but it's also not going to be long. She wishes she could savour it, but it's too risky, so she slips down, pushing her fingers past her soaked lips to her dripping entrance. She dips, swiping the fluid up to her clit and back down again before she pushes in deep. Beth groans quietly, heart beating fast at the wet squelch that she prays doesn't truly echo the way she thinks it does. Holding her breath, she watches Daryl's face for movement but finds none there and slowly exhales.
God, it feels so good. Not quite what she wants. Not thick fingers or a hot, heavy cock, but it'll do. She presses in again, hooking her fingers up and sliding a little more down the door, spreading her legs wider. She's sweaty now, the anxiety almost an aphrodisiac, the way she could be caught. It's not something she's really wishing for because she'll die of embarrassment, but it's still a delicious thought that makes her pussy throb around her fingers. Beth starts to fuck herself quickly, trying to control her panting as she slides her finger in and out of her wet depths with hungry, sticky squelches, juices coating her fingers and her inner thighs.
Her legs are already trembling and she decides to push through it fast before Daryl really does wake up. The blanket is now far too overbearing so she kicks it away, so close to cumming that she can almost taste it, neck tipping back against the door and head falling against it.
Keeping one finger inside her dripping cunt, she uses her other hand to rub her clit in quick, rapid motions that make her head pound and her lip throb with the persistent bite of her teeth. It's so good, so fucking good she's nearly panting, turning her sweaty head into the crook of her elbow to muffle her moans as she shudders, spine snapping back and cum flooding out of her cunt, soaking her fingers.
She gasps, pressing in deep, in and out twice, hard and slow before she pulls out of her cunt, legs trembling. With her eyes still closed, Beth raises her soaked fingers to her lips, parting them and imagining other thick, calloused fingers dipping inside as she sucks the cum into her mouth. With a satisfied sigh, she opens her eyes, blearily blinking up at the ceiling. Just as she makes a grab for the blanket, a sound startles her. Her eyes snap to the bed, to find Daryl.
Awake.
Eyes hot and burning blue in the dark, intense and piercing as he stares at her through the dark strings of his hair. A hot pang punches her in the gut, her pussy throbbing and on display.
He can see everything.
He saw everything.
He knows.
Fuck.