It took another day to complete the other half of the roof and to tie it together in a structure sturdy enough to stand, but by the fourth night in camp a starter hut's been constructed and by that time Daryl's ready to surrender the night watch. Inside their tethered home is a bedroll of blankets, their feeble packs stashed at their heads, and the beginning of a shelf Beth is starting to dig out. The roof is too low for standing, only James' and Peter's is dug near deep enough for standing, and that was a long process not worth repeating. As it is though, they can kneel and still have head clearance above them — they can sit upright and be comfortable. Work remains to be done; there is the tunnel to dig to the fire pit, but the boys have all attested that is a slow endeavor, and the nights are still running warm to mild so they've got time there. Eventually they'll need to fortify the roof with scrap wood, plastics, or metals, and they'll have to weatherproof it and line it, and dig a rain trench around it, but they've got a space of their own, and in it, a bed.
And Daryl isn't letting another night pass with her going to it alone. They are silent when they make love. Tom and John stand watch several yards off, the others in their beds may be asleep or may not be, and in the shadows and the quiet Daryl's mouth finds hers, moving toward her soft and hungry and measured. He holds her head so tenderly in his hands and Beth wraps herself around him, impassioned and in love. Her top layers come off quickly and his are quick to follow. Their tongues dance, their breaths quicken, and the world around them fades to blackness as they zero in on one another in secret furtive motions in the dark.
Daryl's mouth travels in silence from her lips down her body to her chest as Beth works quickly to wriggle out of her jeans. With a strong tug Daryl helps her out of them and his eyes stop, and his breath stops— He hasn't seen her body in full in so long. Not since that house, where he'd made love to her so deliciously before everything went to shit and they were held at gunpoint and robbed and left for dead. But he isn't thinking of that bleak aftermath now; in this moment those dark thoughts are so far from his head as he looks at her in the night shadows, pale and slight, and perfect. In the stillness of this charged interlude, breathless with immediate anticipation, Beth watches his eyes on her and it feels as though he's already touching her. But not enough. So not near enough. Daryl wets his lips and his eyes blink beneath his set brow; her breasts call to him, as does the space between her thighs, and all she can think about is the weight of his body on top of hers, the rich touch of his warmth, the fierce flexing of his muscles, and the urgency of their mutual longing.
Two pairs of hands reach for his buckle at the same time and in a hurry his belt is undone and his trousers tugged down and then her legs wrap round him, pulling him to her and feverishly he follows, taking back his love in swift fervent muted thrusts— Their relief comes quickly, in frenzied silent constrictions and releases. Beth's blushed lips open in a sudden soundless gasp of completion — her fingertips squeezing him tighter as Daryl's stifled grunt is muffled into the graceful bend of her arcing throat.
Though all Beth wants is to hold him there to her, feeling connected and loved and warmly content, still aroused and deeply bound to him, Daryl does tear himself away, though he couldn't be certain he'd exerted his self-restraint quite as soon as he should have, so quickly and intensely had pleasure come to him. Beth watches his chest heave slowly in and out as she lies there, working too to catch her own breath. Beside him, she rises to also sit upright and there holds her naked body against his back, letting the inhales and exhales of his body slow and pace hers in time. She listens to him breathe; through the warm ringing in his ears, he listens to the creek, and the crickets, and the muffled sound of adolescent voices. Beth does not release him. Their bodies are heated and sticky, but as their passion dissipates into contentment the night air seeps in and their flesh grows cold and bumpy in the chill.
It's impossible for him to think of how he arrived here — this young beauty pressing herself against his bare scarred back. But she is, and he has no thought in him to recoil or to hide or to do anything but savor the pleasure of her skin against his and her breath on his shoulder. Her small hands reach round to his chest, where no doubt she feels the incessant beating of his heart.
His hand wiped clean Daryl holds her hand to him and bends his chin down to it. Breathing slowly, he kisses her. "Love you. Y'don't know how much."
Behind him still, Beth's embrace squeezes tighter. She presses her lips to the nape of his neck and speaks into him so that only he can hear, "Me too." She kisses him. "Me too." And she kisses him again. "So, so much." Once more her lips press against his skin and then he twists round into her, pulling her into his arms, lowering her back into their bed as he supports himself over her, melding with her in long deep kisses, nuzzling his face into her neck and her warmth.
"Beth." His voice is hoarse and hushed and meant only for her. She loves the sound of her name on his tongue; no one's ever made her feel so strong, so herself, so critical as when Daryl Dixon says her name. He says so much to her in that one syllable. Daryl speaks her name and so much is understood between them. She wonders if her own words fail to say all that she means them to. But words have never been all that binds her to him, or him to her, and so she does not linger on the thought but holds him tighter, kissing and nibbling at his ear, and strokes his long hair away from his much-loved face. Their eyes meet in the darkness, hers blue like a river, his deeper like the sea, and then she smiles at him. Her dimples and eyes crease in her genuine delight in him, and he kisses her charming nose, and, for good measure, her forehead, brushing his thumbs gently over her face as he does. And then her body shivers and he frees her to dress and Daryl himself pulls up and refastens his pants and pulls on his layers of shirts.
Dressed again, they settle together in their bedroll and pull close their blankets over them. Beth is growing tired of her jeans, and weary of being filthy. She wants a change of clothes. She wants these clothes to be washed. She wants something cozier against her skin for times like these, sweatpants maybe, not denim crusted stiff with sweat and dirt and blood. They'll need more clothes, and blankets, to be sure. What they have now will see them through some time longer, but it doesn't help each day to wake tensed and aching from the cold each night. It will not stay this warm forever; the seasons are already shifting.
In his arms, Beth does not fall asleep this night thinking of Maggie, or her father, or the others who are lost. She curls into Daryl and thinks only of him, and the improvements to be made on their little scavenged home. She thinks of the supplies they need and the runs they will make, and the safe closeness that they share. Thinking of him, their new friends, and this unlikely chance they came upon in the woods, Beth is happy when her eyes fall shut, hopeful and ready to work. Daryl keeps her close tucked in his arms, and sleeps, finally soundly.