It just fucking figures that the geek by the fence doesn’t decide to kick up a fuss until after Daryl’s gotten Beth stripped down to nothing but her panties and a smile.
Beth hums distractedly against Daryl’s mouth. “Y’wanna get that?” she mumbles, like she’s hinting for him to do something as mundane as getting up to answer the doorbell, and, fuck it, but he guesses that picking off walkers from a distance is their mundane nowadays. “Daryl. Are you gonna get that or not?”
“Nah.” He punctuates the sentiment with a bite to Beth’s lower lip, worrying it between his teeth like a slice of ripe fruit. He stretches it out before letting it snap back into place with a damp pop, then rolls his tongue across it to soothe the sting.
“You’re s’posed to be on watch,” Beth reminds him, trying to sound stern. Trying, because she’s still got her arms hooked around his neck, and she doesn’t seem all that inclined to let go. “I mean—” Daryl bites her throat, and she stumbles over what she was gonna say before soldiering stubbornly on. “I mean, if nothin’ else, it’s a real mood killer, don’t’cha think?”
The walker by the fence chooses that moment to make a thick gargling sound like it’s trying to snarl through a hole in its throat, and, hell, maybe it is. It ain’t like Columbian neckties have been known to slow these fuckers down.
Daryl drops his face against Beth’s sweaty shoulder, and she laughs at him as he cusses under his breath. Maybe her amusement at his expense shores up her strength of will, too, because she finally unlaces her arms from around his neck and lets them flop against the floor.
“G’on, Mr. Dixon.” Beth presses a kiss to his damp hairline. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
She damn well knows what that ‘Mr. Dixon’ shit does to him, the wily little brat. Daryl rumbles out a growl that’s only half pissed off and peels himself off of her with a tacky noise. He staggers to his feet, hitching up his unzipped pants before they can send him sprawling, getting sidetracked when Beth curves a hand over one of her tits to thumb idly at a flushed nipple.
Eyes front, Dixon. He can’t get this shit over with if he stands around ogling her, so he turns determinedly away, picking his crossbow up off the metal folding chair and cocking it with a grunt. It’s the middle of the damn day, and walkers ain’t the only things roaming around outdoors; there’s plenty of people up and about within the fences, too, working the fields, tossing footballs back and forth, whatever the fuck. Any one of them could look up, see the gleam of Daryl’s bare shoulders, and draw their own conclusions. Maybe they won’t draw the correct conclusion, though. Maybe they’ll just figure that he got overheated, on account of it’s noon, and also on account of this tower’s a fucking hotbox fit to boil a man alive.
Yeah, okay. Sure they will. As if anyone ’round here’s capable of minding their goddamn business. As if everyone and their mom didn’t think he was fucking Beth well before he actually started fucking Beth, the nosy fuckers.
He shoves all that into the do-not-think-about box and shuffles aside one of the corrugated metal sheets that they’ve set up as makeshift walls, propping his bow on the railing. The walker’s rattling the fence and growling through a nasty gash in its throat—so he was right about that—and it’s just the one, no big deal, but the last thing they need is for it to make too much ruckus and attract more of its reeking buddies.
So Daryl whistles for its attention, high and sharp. The fucker takes its sweet time tracking the sound, blinking stupidly in the bright sunlight filtering through the gauzy cloud cover, but it eventually focuses on Daryl, head cocked, the ragged slit in its throat on display.
Daryl wonders if it had that gash in its throat when it died, or if some poor dumb fuck figured a slit jugular would be enough to stave one of these fuckers off.
The walker untangles its fingers from the fence and staggers back a couple of steps, clumsily reorienting itself. Daryl sights down his bow and waits until the angle’s just right before firing off a bolt that nails the bastard right between its dull golden eyes. It goes down with a spray of blood and viscera, and Daryl’s struck by the same feeling of dissatisfaction he always gets when he kills a geek from up here where they can’t get at him, like he’s popping off rounds in a video game.
“Hate shootin’ them things from up here,” he grouches as he sets down his bow and nudges the sheet of metal back into place with his foot.
“Why?” Beth wants to know. “’Cause it’s too easy, or because it loses you a bolt?”
Both, Daryl was going to say, but he gets well and truly sidetracked by the picture Beth makes, sprawled out like a centerfold on the ugly camo sleeping bag, pale blond hair puddled around her head. Sweat glimmers on her breasts and on her round little belly, and her legs are crooked wide enough apart that Daryl can just make out the sticky film that’s spreading across the crotch of her white cotton panties.
Yeah, his girl wears white underpants. No, he still can’t figure out if she wears them because she likes them or because she likes to mess with him.
They’d been making out for a good half hour before the walker started fussing at the fence, and it ain’t just Beth’s panties that’re wet. Her chin’s damp with spit, and her mouth is slick and swollen and red as fresh blood oozing out of a wound. She meets Daryl’s eyes and crooks those lips into a smile that’s at once shy and knowing.
“Hm?” she prompts, and Daryl blinks stupidly, like he’s as brainless as that walker he just killed.
In his defense, he took one look at Beth’s underwear and fucking blipped out, so.
Fuck’s sake, asshole, get your shit together.
So he does. Get his shit together, that is. He shakes his head like a dog shedding water and drops to his knees, pants sagging around his hips and sliding inevitably down his thighs. He stretches out on top of Beth, deliberately rubbing his pecs against her tits ’cause she likes the way his chest hair scratches at her nipples, and far fucking be it from him not to give the girl exactly what she wants when she wants it.
Yeah, he’s whipped. So the fuck what? Jealous fuckers wish they were whipped by Beth goddamn Greene.
And Beth proves exactly why being pussy whipped is an honor and a privilege when she arches her hips and rubs the sticky crotch of her panties against Daryl’s straining inseam. “Missed you.”
Daryl dry humps her pussy like the teenager he isn’t and licks salt out of the hollow of her throat. “Was only gone a second.”
“Still too long.” Cool little fingers sneak past his waistband to grab two handfuls of his ass and grind his dick harder against her snatch. “You wanna?”
Fuck yeah, he does, but he can’t, and he intends to tell her as much, but he distracts his own damn self when he sucks her earlobe into his mouth, teeth clipping her earring. He’s never been able to tell if the stone set in the soft gold shell is a rhinestone or a diamond, and he’s too afraid to ask.
Diamonds in her goddamn ears. That’s some gourmet fucking pussy you bagged yourself right there, little brother. Y’oughta eat it off'a one’a them fancy-ass square plates they use at five-star restaurants, yessiree.
Thinking about his brother during sex with Beth is always a good way to stave off premature orgasms, but he’s gotten better at not shooting off like a bottle rocket as soon as Beth touches his bare skin, so he tells Merle to shut the fuck up and tries to remember what it was he was saying.
Oh, right. That.
“No condoms,” he reminds Beth, planting a necklace of biting kisses along her collarbones while his fingers rub her cunt’s puffy lips through the clingy cotton of those white goddamn panties.
And he’s not just saying that he forgot to bring a condom with him, is the thing. He means that there are literally no condoms to be had anywhere in the prison. They are collectively out of rubbers, and those weird diaphragm things, and also every last birth control pill that hasn’t expired yet.
Even if Daryl didn’t have anyone of his own to fuck, he’d still be aware of this because the birth control shortage was a top-priority item during yesterday morning’s council meeting, and on that note, he would literally rather get eaten alive by walkers than discuss condoms with the father of the girl he’s fucking ever again (at least Glenn was in the same boat as him, and that helped some, but Glenn’s agony was softened by the fact that he’s made an honest woman out of his respective Greene girl. Fucker).
Anyway, it turns out that folks get real pressed when they can’t fuck, as if the dumbasses don’t have hands and mouths, and Sasha had remarked fatalistically that there just might be a mutiny to contend with if they don’t restock on birth control, and fast.
Daryl wasn’t all that upset about the condom shortage, because, like he said, he’s got hands and a mouth, and it’s not like most women can actually get off from being fucked no matter what dickheads like his brother say to help themselves sleep at night.
So Daryl’s got no problems to speak of with the way things gotta be this round, but Beth makes an unhappy noise and squirms underneath of him, sliding her slit back and forth along his dick, and, fuck. Did he say he had his arousal under control? Girl just took a match to a gas tank.
“C’mon.” Beth scoops her fingers through his oily hair, the scratch of her nails setting his scalp to tingling. “I know you don’t have crabs or anythin’, ’less you got somethin’ you wanna tell me.”
Daryl huffs out a derisive laugh—yeah fucking right—only Beth gets real quiet, and when he props himself up on his elbows to look her in the face, she’s wearing a smile on her mouth, but her eyes are—well, Daryl doesn’t wanna say insecure, but, yeah. That.
Jesus tap dancing Christ, but the girl’s got it all backwards. She’s the one who’s got every goddamn reason to dump his ass for someone better.
But she’s already told him what she thinks of that shit, loudly and at length, and anyway, that’s not the point. He’s gotta focus on her, here, not his own sorry self.
“Nah, girl.” He rubs his thumb across her lower lip, pets her cheek with his fingers like he’s stroking a spooked cat. “Y’know that ain’t it.”
Beth lips at his thumb like she wants to suck it, and Daryl’s dick twitches because he can’t help but think of what he’d rather she suck. Fuck him, he’s a nasty old pervert, or at least he is now, at least he is with her. “You don’t wanna knock me up.”
No, no, he absolutely does fucking not, and he’s not clear on what he’d do if the thing that happened to Lori happened to Beth, but he knows it wouldn’t be pretty, and he knows it wouldn’t end well for him or anyone else in the vicinity.
Daryl presses nose to her temple. Breathes in her ripe, living smell. She’s good. He’s good. They’re all good.
Beth nudges the side of her face against his until he pulls back far enough to meet her eyes. She licks her lips and says, “We got morning after pills. I mean, I’m pretty sure we do. We did the last time I looked.”
Yeah, like the folks who can’t hold off on fucking until the next supply run haven’t already gone through that shit like candy. But Daryl doesn’t say that, because Beth’s smart, and she’d have put two and two together herself already. He just drops a kiss onto her mouth before starting a slow slide down her lean body, halting his progress every couple inches to suck patches of salty skin between his teeth and cover her with hickeys where other folks won’t see. Because, sure, everybody knows everybody else’s business around here, but that doesn’t mean that Daryl should test Hershel’s patience by covering his youngest daughter’s white throat in purple love bites.
Beth’s breathing evened out some while they were talking, but it’s started hitching in her lungs again by the time Daryl tugs her panties off and shoulders her legs apart, and he feels not a lick of shame when he crushes her underwear in his fist and rubs his nose against it like a hound being put on the scent.
God, she’s the best thing he’s ever smelled, but he’d rather inhale it at the source, so he drops her panties in a crumpled heap off to one side in favor of tracking that musky wet scent to her cunt’s glimmering slit. Part of him just wants to get right down to eating her until she cries, but the part of him that’s got an eye for aesthetics or whatever the fuck makes him stop and admire the look of her. Fat outer lips, long inner lips that are all the prettier for being just a little ragged and uneven, dark blond bush of pubic hair that he’s gotta comb out of the way if he wants to get at her clit.
She’s red down here, too, red like the lips on her face, red like the nipples he spent the better part of ten minutes working into tight little nubs. And it’s not like Daryl’s had his face in that many pussies throughout the years—try none, because Beth’s the first woman he’s ever gone down on—but he can still say unequivocally that Beth’s got the prettiest cunt there ever was. Fact.
“Should take a picture.” Beth’s tone is teasing, but her body language is impatient, fingers shifting restlessly against her belly like she wants to sink them between her legs and do all the work for him. “It’ll last longer.”
Girl’s got some brass fucking balls, sassing him while he’s got his teeth this close to her pussy. He bites her lips, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to make his goddamn point, and fixes her with a warning glare. She glares right back, though, sinking her fingers into his hair and tugging so it stings.
“You keep that up, I’ll bite you back,” she says, and a shiver walks up his spine, because, you know what? That doesn’t sound too bad to him. No, it does not.
This is about her, though, not him, and he’ll only be punishing himself if he refuses to eat her pussy, so he closes his lips around his teeth and sticks out his tongue. Licks her from taint to hood, and she showered this morning—he knows she did, ’cause he saw her leave the cell block with the other ladies and come back with damp hair and skin that smelled like one of those floral soaps that never fail to make his nose itch—but it’s a warm day, and he’s worked her into a sweat, so her smell’s a little ripe in that way that embarrasses her but he personally loves. He can’t get enough of the shit, and he especially loves it when the come from her most recent orgasm settles between the folds of her pussy lips in a sheer white grungy film.
Speaking of, he peels one of her outer lips away from the corresponding inner, and there it is. Guess her shower wasn’t as thorough as it could’ve been, which is fine by Daryl. He snakes his tongue between those lips and licks yesterday’s come up, rolling the taste across his palate like it’s fine wine or some shit—not that he knows anything about any kind of wine that doesn’t come in a box with a valve.
Beth huffs and gives Daryl’s hair another tug, harder than before. Just for that, he oughta keep on ignoring her neglected clit, but if he holds off for too long, she just might start up on asking him to fuck her again, and he can’t listen to that shit and be expected to hold out.
He grips her straining thigh with one hand and maneuvers the other between her legs, skimming his fingers up her cunt. Thumbs back her hood so her little clit pops out, and the fingers in his hair tense again, but not because she’s pissed. He works a glob of spit onto his tongue before he wraps it around that hard little bead like he’s sucking a lollipop or some shit, and he doesn’t have to look up at her to know that that slap of skin on skin he just heard corresponded with the hand she wrapped over her mouth to hold in her tiny wounded grunts.
Right. ’Cause they’re on watch, ostensibly, and they can’t go making too much noise if they don’t wanna attract more fence clingers, but, swear to God, if Daryl has to take his mouth off of Beth’s pussy to kill one of the things, he will climb down from this fucking tower and slaughter the bastard with his bare hands. Swear. To. God.
He doesn’t have to worry too much about that shit, though, because Beth’s used to forcing herself quiet, on account of you can’t get any privacy in this goddamn prison to save your life. She behaves herself, his girl, keeps her pretty little noises locked down in her throat while Daryl sucks on her sweet pussy. Her hips ride up against his face, smear her wet all over his beard like paint, and he slides his fingers into her cunt to give her something to bear down on while she squeezes out a shivering orgasm. He waits till she’s done, then pulls off with a slurp, licking her clit some more as he goes, and the noise she makes is almost loud enough to leak past her palm and into the air. Almost, but not quite. Like he said: she’s a good girl.
He licks her syrupy come off his lips, off his beard, and shoves his pants the rest of the way off until he’s buck fucking naked. The look Beth gives him is admiring but dazed, like she just got knocked on the head.
“Lord Jesus,” she mumbles, and Daryl fights not to be too pleased with himself, because Beth’s got even less practical experience than he has, and she probably only thinks he’s any good at sucking her off because she doesn’t know what good head feels like.
But you know what? Fuck it. If she wants to think he’s some kinda world champion pussy eater, who is he to take a pin to her balloon? Only thing that matters is that she enjoyed herself, and clearly she did.
He cares about getting Beth off first and foremost, but shit’s starting to get uncomfortable below the belt, so he slides his fingers through the mess clinging to her cunt, intending to get them all drenched in his spit and her come before wrapping them around his dick and jerking himself off against her shivering belly. Beth makes a protesting noise, though, stopping him short.
“No,” she says, and Daryl fucking freezes, stomach lurching sickly because what did he do wrong, did he hurt her—but she’s not finished. She tucks her hands behind her knees and draws her legs back, gets her cunt all fanned out. “No, Daryl, c’mon. C’mon.”
Daryl’s abdominal muscles jump, because, Christ. She’s holding her fucking legs open for him, showing off that wet pussy and inviting him inside. He clenches his jaw so hard it’s a wonder he doesn’t shatter his damn teeth, but no. They can’t be stupid about this. Daryl’s the older one, the one who oughta know better, so he’s gotta be fucking responsible or whatever the fuck and set the boundaries that’ll keep her safe.
Beth isn’t inclined to fight fair, though, letting go of one knee to comb her fingers through her pubes and stick them knuckle deep into that open little mouth. Daryl jerks his hand up and down his dick, knowing that he could come just from watching her play with herself. Maybe he should. Don’t gotta worry about fucking her bare if his dick’s gone soft.
Beth jerks her hips, fucks herself on her fingers. “C’mon. Please? Just a little.”
Fuck. Isn’t he the one who’s supposed to be saying that shit?
He’s got an idea, though. It ain’t exactly what Beth wants, but it’s close, and maybe it’ll do.
He shuffles forward on his knees, and Beth bites her lip on a smile, looking up at him like he just bought her a diamond necklace or some shit.
Could give her a pearl necklace, he thinks, and that mental voice doesn’t even sound anything like Merle. Nah, it’s all him, because fuck if Beth Greene doesn’t have a way of turning him into a depraved old pervert.
He lets go of his dick and grabs a pillow, folding the thing in half and shoving it under Beth’s ass to support her hips and lower back. He gets his arms hooked under her knees and pushes her legs back until she’s practically folded in half like the pillow beneath her ass, and then he slides his dick through the mess between her legs. Her hot little pussy lips hug his shaft like they’re kissing it, and Daryl has to go real still for a second so he doesn’t shoot off there and then.
Fuck. Fuck. Jesus fuck.
He said that out loud.
Beth doesn’t cuss, but her mouth catches around a soundless whine, head dropping back to thunk dully against the floor, white throat exposed. Daryl lowers his head to nip that throat, to taste the close, warm beat of her pulse.
He lifts off her throat and gets his knees braced, then, slides his dick all up and down her pussy, gets the underside all coated with her sticky filmy come. Makes all kinds of slick noises that remind him irresistibly of the sound of his fingers in a rabbit’s gutted belly, wet and nasty and so goddamn loud, almost gory.
Beth grapples at Daryl’s biceps, nails raking lines down his skin like the sting of a tattoo gun. She tosses her head back and forth, hair sticking to her neck, pleading with him under her breath.
“C’mon.” She gropes his arms, sneaks her hands along his shoulder blades to pet his scars. “C’mon, just for a second, just a little bit, c’mon, Daryl, please.”
Alright, alright. Fuck. Fucking fine.
Just for a second.
He drops one of her legs and wraps his hand around his dick, angling the head against the open gash of her cunt and shoving himself into that hot little funnel, and when her pussy constricts around him, it feels like two invisible hands have clamped down on either side of his head with the intent of squeezing his brain out through his ears, she’s so tight. He could spend the rest of their lives stretching out her pussy, and he thinks it would always feel like this, like it’s trying to choke the life right out of him.
He wouldn’t much mind if it did.
Beth sighs, one of those relieved noises people make when they can finally get off their feet after a long day of work, or when they’ve finally gotten a chance to piss after hours of holding it in. Daryl drops her other leg and braces himself on his forearms, knocks his forehead gently against hers.
“This what you fuckin’ wanted? Huh?” He twists his hips but doesn’t pull out, sliding his dick all around that slippery hot oven of a pussy. “This what you wanted, y’little cockslut?”
Beth shudders all over and chokes on a moan. It took Daryl forever to work up to talking to her during sex, and even longer than that to get up the nerve to say shit like this, but Beth fucking loves it, goes buck wild when he calls her a slut in the same crooning tone of voice he’d use to call her baby or sweetheart, and if Beth likes it, he likes it.
“Gave you my mouth an’ my fingers, wasn’t enough for you.” It’s a struggle to keep talking, to think through the shallow drag of his bare cock in her pussy, all that unfiltered sticky heat fit to boil him alive. Fuck, no wonder people take stupid-ass risks to feel this way. “Won’t settle the fuck down till ya get my cock in your pussy, will ya, ya fuckin’ brat?”
A soft moan trembles out of Beth’s throat, but her lips shiver into a self-satisfied little smile, and Daryl huffs out a laugh before forcing the growl back into his voice.
“The fuck you smirkin’ at?” Her grabs her by the jaw, tracks her own slick all across her face. “Huh? What’s so fuckin’ funny, you lil’ cumslut?”
The smirk doesn’t fade. No, it definitely does not. “Nothin’. Just—always get what I want from you, s’all.”
Affection punches Daryl right in the gut, a softer warmth than the boiling heat of his arousal, but he still snaps, “Won’t get nothin’ but a tanned hide ’less you mind me, girl.” It’s bullshit, because Daryl damn well knows he could never hurt her, couldn’t bring himself to do anything harsher than tap her lightly on the ass the way he’s already done several times now, all playful-like, but he can pretend. He feels safe enough with Beth to pretend.
Beth hugs him ’round his neck, sweaty skin slipping on his. She’s got him. He’s fine. They’re both fine.
They’re fine, so Daryl lifts up a little, far enough to watch his dick work in and out of Beth’s pussy, gleaming wet with her come, red and straining with arousal, and holy goddamn. She looks stretched to tearing, lips straining around his shaft, engorged clit popping out from under its hood.
And, fuck, but he’s thinking about what would happen if he did do something even stupider than what he’s doing already and came in that pussy. The threat of knocking her up makes his gut twist like he’s gonna be sick, but the thought of coming in her. That’s a different story.
’Cause, hell, he’s seen porn, even if it never really interested him much, all those waxed pussies and fake-ass moans. He knows what it’d look like if he did come in her. Can picture his spunk leaking out of her red little pussy and dribbling down her lips, catching in her pubes and pooling around her taint. And what if, what if she didn’t clean herself off right after, what if she let his jizz dry in a sticky white film on her pussy lips—
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Daryl yanks his dick out of her, and she whines. He shushes her, gets her turned over on her hands and knees, presses her lean thighs together before shoving his dick between them and fucking himself into that humid little clutch that feels real goddamn good but nowhere near as good as being strangled by her tight cunt.
Beth folds her arms and drops forwards, back arched; ass flush against his hips, his balls. “No,” she moans. “No, Daryl, c’mon, come in me, c’mon, just come in me.”
It’s like someone just shoved their hand into Daryl’s chest cavity and wrapped his heart all up in a tight fist, like they’re trying to squeeze the muscle until it pops. Holy fuck. Holy goddamn fuck, what is this girl even saying—is she trying to fucking kill him? Here Lies Daryl Dixon, Died Happy Inside of Beth Greene’s Pussy.
Except he’s not in her pussy, is the thing, and if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay the fuck out of it.
Beth slicks her pussy along his shaft like a dirty kiss, lips gliding through the pre-come dribbling out of him like water from a leaky faucet. She must not know what’s good for her, either, because she keeps saying, “C’mon, it’s okay, c’mon, Daryl.”
She’s the one who got her brains sucked out through her clit, but it’s Daryl’s skull that’s empty, because he shoves her thighs apart, angles his dick, and rams himself into her gaping cunt. Bites bruises into her hips with his fingernails, hefts her ass, and fucking rails her, eyes pinned to her rippling ass cheeks, to the grate of his pubic hair against her skin, to the flash of his sticky dick pistoning in and out of her.
Beth’s not even trying to be quiet anymore, and they’re high as fuck off the ground, but if someone ventured close enough to the tower, they could probably hear her making noises like a stuck goddamn pig, and Daryl should care, and he damn well does care, but then Beth gets a finger on her clit and fucking ripples around him, and his brain whites out.
He comes in her. Gets that clutching pussy all filthy with his spunk, and she keeps on flexing around him, wringing more and more out of him until he’s run fucking dry.
He comes down like he’s recovering from a fucking coronary, heart knocking too hard against his ribs, chest heaving, and he thinks, Shit. Fucking shit.
He braces his knees and yanks himself out of her, like that’s gonna make a goddamn difference now, except. Except his dick was stopping up his come, keeping it in her, and without anything to block it, it gushes out like a sluggish waterfall, dripping down her inner thighs and splashing onto the sleeping bag.
Daryl shudders, dick jerking like he could come again. Ho-lee shit.
But, no. Fuck. “Beth, I—”
Beth staves him off with a trembling hand. “Swear to God, Dixon, if you say you’re sorry, I will shove my foot up your ass.”
Daryl wheezes out a laugh that edges this close to hysterical, unable to look away from the spunk dripping out of Beth’s pussy, and, fuck, it’s even better than he pictured it, all that white on red.
“You been spendin’ too much time with me, talkin’ like that,” he mumbles, and sits back on his haunches with a wince. Jesus, he thinks he might’ve pulled something.
Beth collapses onto her front, then rolls onto her back, flushed all pink, fucking glowing. Shit. Maybe he’s a pussy, but Daryl’s so gone on this girl. So goddamn gone.
But then she wrinkles her nose, saws her legs, and curls her fingers into her pussy. Drags them back out, holds them up, and contemplates the thick strings of jizz that trail along her fanned fingers like a rope bridge.
No, seriously. Daryl’s not eighteen anymore. He cannot get it up again no matter what his body has to say to the contrary.
“S’messy,” Beth mumbles.
“Yeah,” Daryl snorts. “The fuck did you expect?”
She wipes her hand clean on the sleeping bag (Daryl’s gonna have to burn that fucking thing). “S’okay.” Her eyes flutter shut, lashes trembling against her cheeks. “You can clean it off’a me.”
At this rate, his dick’s gonna fall off.
A growl drifts through the air, and it takes Daryl several seconds too long to realize it’s coming from down on the ground and not out of his own chest.
“We got ourselves a fence clinger,” Beth says muzzily, eyes still firmly shut. Girl looks ready to conk the fuck out.
Daryl’s ready to conk the fuck out, but he can’t just yet. He grabs his boxers and wipes his dick dry, then steps into his jeans. He hates going commando—nothing more uncomfortable than getting your pubes stuck in your goddamn zipper—but he’s made his bed, so he guesses he’ll have to lie in it.
“I’ll get it,” he says as he does up his pants very, very carefully. Beth hums, halfway to sleep.
Daryl stops what he’s doing and watches his come leak out of her pussy. Resigns himself to making a trip to storage smelling like sex in a quest to find those morning after pills that he really, really hopes are still in stock.
First, though, he’s gotta take care of that walker. And then.
Daryl rolls his tongue over his bottom lip.
And then, maybe he’ll get to work on cleaning her up.
He’s got himself some ideas as to how he could go about that. Yeah, he really does.