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you’re everything i shouldn’t be thinking about

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i. i got a million things that need to be done but, baby, i can only focus on one

 

Every weekend finds Daryl at the Greene family farm, doing whatever needs doing because long story short, he likes to work with his hands and the property can use whatever free labor it can get (and who doesn’t, anyway?), and Hershel Greene had taken a chance on Daryl a long time ago, when he was at his worst and didn’t have many other people around who were willing to put up with his shit.

It’s a debt he can’t rightly repay and he won’t say a word about it, he’ll just go on and do what needs done — fix the leaky patches in the roof, haul hay bales because apparently there’s a right place, right time for where hay bales are meant to go, get under the hood of the cars or the tractors when need be, whatever — because he owes Hershel.

Not by wanting to fuck the man’s daughter six ways to Sunday — the Lord’s day, which somehow makes the whole thing feel that much more incredibly indecently irredeemably wrong, and yet…

Well, you muck out the stables enough times and Daryl figures he gets a pass. Not that he’d ever say so to anybody, but it puts his own mind at ease a little, at least.

Beth Greene is something else, though. He likes the way she looks him straight in the eye and doesn’t take any shit, not from him or her sister or any of the younger farmhands. Likes her laugh, likes her legs, likes that smartass mouth of hers. Can think of a couple dozen things he’d like to do with that smartass mouth, too.

It’s a weird thing, when he realizes it. Daryl’s not used to those sorts of… inclinations. But he’s a straightforward kinda guy, no-nonsense, so when the thought crosses his mind that he wants to bend that girl over the hood of that really shitty Mustang she bought secondhand just ‘cause she could and ‘I liked the color,’ for Christ’s sake, he accepts it for what it is. Doesn’t mean he’d planned on doing anything about it, he was just gonna live with it, but then…

Well.

Well.

“Y’r car’s shit,” Daryl huffs as he rolls out from where he’d been checking out its underbelly. They’re in one of the work sheds, where the cars get stored when the weather’s bad. Right now it’s hot as hell and the only difference between inside and out is the shade, though it’s plenty bright with the open doors. “How many times I gotta tell y’ that ‘fore you sell the damn thing for parts, girl?”

“Don’t talk about Ophelia like that,” Beth shushes him from where she’s leaning against the hood next to him. He’s still laying on the creeper, so he’s got an eyeful of her bare legs; if only she were wearing a skirt, he could see right up it, but he likes thinking about stripping her out of those little denim shorts, too. “She’ll hear you.”

“Ophelia?” Daryl scoffs. “No wonder the damn engine’s fixin’ to fall out.”

“You know ‘bout Hamlet?”

“Merle likes to go out t’ that playhouse, time t’ time. Good beer.” Daryl wipes his hands on the bandana he keeps in his back pocket, but it doesn’t do much for the stains on his fingers. He thinks about the prints he could leave behind on Beth’s thighs. “Dunno why y’d name y’r car after any of ‘em. All got some stupid-ass name.”

He sits up with another huff, so that he’s about eye-level with the vee of Beth’s legs. His eyes flick to her zipper and he wonders if she’d hit him if he tried to shove his face between them, or if she’d let him go on and eat her pussy like he’s been wanting to.

Never wanted to do that before, but this is Beth and he wants to know what her cunt looks like, what it tastes like, which parts of it he could lick to make her pull his hair and groan his name in that pretty church choir voice of hers.

“Daaaaryl,” she whines, all pink pouty-lipped. She nudges him with the worn toe of her boot. “C’mon, I know you can fix it.”

He grabs at her prodding foot, wraps his oil-stained hand around her ankle. He’s never been much for touching, but he’s always looking for an excuse to make Beth shiver the way she does whenever he brushes his hands over her — just little things he could call accidents if he had to call them anything. But they make her cheeks go pink and her eyes dark and sometimes she inhales this giggly little breath that makes him want to pin her hands above her head and suck on her neck, so he can feel the vibrations of that giggle up and down her throat.

Christ, but he wants to fuck this girl. She’s so good, so pretty, so in his face all the damn time, making him want to get so in her frayed denim shorts that he can’t find his way back out of them again.

“Not worth fixin’,” Daryl tells her, same as he’s
told her a dozen times before. He’s still holding her ankle, finds himself wishing she was wearing her sneakers or moccasins today so that he could feel her skin, not the soft fake leather of her boot. “An’ you kick me one more time, I’m gonna lay y’r skinny ass out. Then you can crawl un’erneath this thing and try t’ fix it y’rself.”

Beth twists around to get a look behind her. Her shirt rides up some with the movement and makes Daryl’s throat go dry. “It ain’t that skinny.”

“Y’r scrawny, Greene,” he says, like it’s funny when it’s not even true. She’s all angles, Beth is, but he likes her ass just fine. Thinks about putting his hands on it, wonders if she’d want him to give it a couple sharp smacks and if it’d go as pink as her face tends to do.

So, nah, she’s not scrawny — or if she is, Daryl supposes scrawny’s just his type — but he likes to wind her up.

He releases her ankle to push himself up off the floor of the shed. His boots crunch and the creeper’s wheels squeak and Beth’s pouting at him again, all “If you’re gonna tease me, least you can do is fix Ophelia up for me. That’s a fair trade, ain’t it?”

“Nope.” Daryl digs around his pockets for a cigarette, knows he’s got a pack stashed somewhere but the thing gets squashed so much he can never tell where he put it. He glances back to Beth and one corner of his mouth twitches. “I’ll give y’ shit f’r free. Car’s gonna cost y’ lot more’n that.”

He fishes a cigarette from his shirt pocket, sticks it between his teeth just as Beth pinches his arm. “Ow, hell y’ do that f’r?”

“Best not be thinkin’ about lightin’ that thing in here, Daryl Dixon,” she scolds him.

“Why not?” Daryl chews on the filter, softening it. “What’f I fix y’r car for ya, huh?”

Her eyes go all bright and hopeful, like she really thinks he’s not fooling with her. “You gonna?”

“Hell nah, girl.” He snorts, smacks the hood of the thing, right next to Beth’s hip. “Piece’a junk.”

Beth makes an indignant sound in the back of her throat and kicks up the dirt at her feet. “God, Daryl, jeez, won’t you just try?”

“Tried b’fore. Told y’, not worth my time or y’r money.”

She tilts her head to one side, bats those baby blues at him. His dick twitches when he imagines her making that face at him from down on her knees. “Please, Daryl?”

Jesus, there’s one to file away for later use, huh?

He snorts again, as if that would clear his head. It’s too hot in the shed, too stuffy, too filled up with the way Beth smells, like sweet vanilla, the humid air stirring with her butterfly eyelashes.

He wants to feel her pussy flutter like that, around his fingers, his lapping tongue, his thrusting cock inside of her.

Somehow the Marlboro is damp between his lips, even as his mouth’s gone bone-dry. All he can think about is how bad he wants her, so much that he doesn’t even think about what it’s gonna sound like when he answers her on another snort, a chuckle, something heated deep beneath the surface of the words —

“Girl, you wanna beg me for somethin’, make it somethin’ actually worth my while.”

He says it, and he’s not even a little bit sorry that he did. Little embarrassed, maybe, but he doesn’t feel like bullshitting her, no more than Beth ever bullshits anybody. No, he’s not gonna tell her anything he’s thinking, he’s not gonna put that on her, but it’s hot and he spent the last quarter of an hour underneath a car he knows isn’t gonna work when what he wants is to spend his time underneath Beth instead.

Fuck, but he wants to get under her. Watch her ride him, urge her up to sit on his face so he can make her come like that, too. He just wants to touch her, any way he can manage it.

“Oh, yeah?” Beth crosses her arms, leans her head back a bit so she can get a good look at him — so she can try to see right through him that way she does, that way that gets him going like he never imagined it could. He doesn’t want people to get his number like that, but then Beth comes along and he wishes she could read his mind. “And what’d be worth your while, then, huh? Maybe I can trade that, do whatever it is and then you’ll take Ophelia serious.”

“Do whatever y’ want, ‘m still not fuckin’ with this car no more.”

He means it, too. She could promise him all those things he wants to do to her so bad it hurts, and he still wouldn’t bother with the Mustang anymore. Thing’s a death trap.

“Nuh-uh.” She shakes her head, pokes him in the chest. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

…Okay, so maybe he’d be willing to take another look at the engine, after all.

She’s not poking him now, but her hand’s still on his chest, fingers curled loosely into his shirtfront like she thinks he won’t notice and then she can leave them there. Or maybe she wants him to notice that she’s still touching him, that he’s still letting her.

Maybe he wants her to know that he wants to touch her, too. The way she’s looking at him now, he thinks that might be what she’s going for here.

Or maybe that’s just the heat and his own head talking, but…

His gaze flicks to her mouth. He licks his lips, upsetting the unlit cigarette between them, so he bites down on it to keep it in place. “Sure ‘bout that?”

“C’mon, Daryl” — she tugs at his top undone buttonhole — “ya think I’d kid you about my car?”

He huffs, breathes in that sweet smell of her so close. “I’ll take one more look at it. Tha’s it. Not that’ll do any damn good,” he adds on a low grumble.

She beams at him, all self-satisfied. “Thank you. Now what can I do for you, Mr. Dixon?”

All sorts of things, Daryl thinks. Wonders how she’d react to that, and decides to give it a shot. He can always say he’s just fucking with her; she’d believe that if it comes to it, and then he can just go home and drown himself in another cold shower over her.

He smirks a little, to hammer home the joke he might have to pretend this is. “Wanna take y’r shirt off for me?”

One of Beth’s eyebrows goes up, but she’s still grinning at him. Hasn’t smacked him upside the head and told him to watch his damn mouth, so he figures he’s doing alright.

She does ask him, though, “You kiddin’ with me, Daryl?”

That’s not a no, not a rejection. So he shrugs one shoulder, fingers twitching at his sides.

Beth looks him over, like she could find a surer answer somewhere other than the jerky movement of his shoulder. He thinks she must find it, maybe in the flushed tips of his ears or that twitch of his hands or in the way he’s looking at her without blinking. Steady.

God damn, but it’s hot in this fucking shed.

And then there goes that smile again, she takes a step back to give herself room because she’s saying “Alright,” nevermind the half-open doors leading to the world outside this stuffy stifling half-assed barn. She crosses her arms at her hips, and pulls her tank top up and over her head. It snags on her already mussed ponytail, but Daryl doesn’t notice that so much when he sees that lace thing she’s wearing underneath and the freckles on her stomach.

She tosses her shirt onto the windshield. “Hope you weren’t jokin’.”

“Nah.” His throat’s dry as his mouth. “Wasn’t jokin’.”

His eyes travel back up to meet hers. Catches her own twitch when he does, this little tic in her jaw like she wants to say something, but she can’t work the words past a hitched breath and that smile she just can’t help. Beth’s always got a grin in her back pocket, like she knows the world’s gonna give her just what she wants on a silver platter because, damn it, doesn’t she deserve that much?

Daryl might be biased, but he thinks she does.

“So…” Beth drums her fingers across the Mustang’s grill. “You want me to jus’ stand here for ya or what?”

After a cursory glance towards the doors where nobody is, thank Christ, Daryl shakes his head, just a little, just once. He straightens up from where he’d been leaning against the car. He spits his unused cigarette onto the ground and tells her, “Nah, get y’r ass up on that hood, girl.”

“My scrawny ass, y’mean,” Beth retorts, even as she does what he says because Beth Greene’s a good girl, after all.

That smirk crosses Daryl’s mouth again, just as he slides his hand up the smooth expanse of her leg, nudging the two apart so he can stand between them. But his hand doesn’t stop there, not ‘til he reaches her ass and gives it a short smack.

“Don’t matter. Still wanna get my hands on y’.”

“That right?” She lifts up a bit, so he can get a better hold on her, so that her lips are nothing but one more right move away from his.

If he had any control left to his name, it’s out those half-open barn doors now.

“Mm-huh,” he murmurs roughly, and he takes her mouth just the same way. Because fuck it, if she wants it too then he’s gonna give it to her.

There’s no more holding back, no more slamming on the brakes once this thing’s been started. Not unlike the crappy Mustang she’s perched on, the one that got him to where he wants to be so maybe Daryl could give it some credit.

Their lips part on contact, and she tastes every bit as sweet as she smells. Heavier, though — headier, like she’s got something even sweeter waiting for him if he plays his cards right. If she can taste the ashy residue from that Marlboro on his tongue, she doesn’t seem to mind it, if the way she’s suckign on his tongue is any sort of indication, and Daryl’s gotta believe that it is. He groans, kisses her harder when she does that, breathing deep through his nose so that he doesn’t have to take his mouth off of her.

He keeps one hand on her ass, to urge her hips to roll against his, while the other goes to cup her jaw, to thumb her lips farther apart so that he doesn’t miss kissing an inch of her sweet wet mouth.

There’s not any inch of her he wants to miss, though, so when she starts panting into the kiss he breaks it, to take his mouth down to map the curve of her neck. Beth’s hands move down his arms, around his waist and back again, like she can’t decide where to touch. When he sucks behind her ear, her nails bite into his sides and she gasp, this sweet — because she’s all sweet, Beth is — high and shaky thing.

“Somebody’s gonna hear us.”

Daryl hums into her skin. “Guess y’d better be quiet, then.”

She shivers when he says that, and her hips arch more purposefully up. He slips his hand between them, so he can undo the snap and zip of his jeans. Not so he can get inside of her — only not because he doesn’t have a condom, and fucking Beth’s one thing, knocking her up’s something else entirely because then this whole God-fearing town would know about it — but just to give himself a damn break. He’s been getting hard for her since he came out from under the car, with her booted ankles crossed next to him, her pussy within reach of his mouth that’s been begging for her. 

He moves his hands back up, so he can feel her up over that lacy thing she’s wearing, because he’d told her to take off her shirt for a reason so like hell is he not gonna get his hands on her tits.

She still doesn’t seem to know what to do with her own, ‘til she gets them on his face to make him look at her.

“Daryl…” She licks her lips, pupils blown wide and dark. “Tell me what you want. You’re so shy most’a the time. Sometimes I catch you lookin’ at me and I dunno what you’re thinkin.’ I wanna know.”

Well, if that’s what she wants, who the hell is he to say no to this girl?

“Wanna fuck you,” he tells her, hoarse when he plucks another kiss from her lips. He yanks her down the hood of the car some, so he can flex his own hips against her, so she can feel his hardness through both of their jeans. “Y’ ever done that before?”

“Couple’a times,” she admits.

The confession makes him hold her tighter, makes him pull another kiss from her mouth that’s harder and longer and has mine tumbling from the tip of his tongue right onto hers.

“Jus’ with me now, hear?” he says, not a question but an order, rumbled into the corner of her jaw. “Only gonna let me fuck you, ain’t that right, Beth? That what you want, yeah?”

When she nods, immediately and frantic, he kisses her again. Her sigh tastes like relief and amped-up nerves all at once. Daryl thinks he knows what to do with all that wound-up tension that’s got her coiled up like a spring, that’s got her hips moving along with his but all her little gasps and mewls are coming out with a high-pitched frustration at the end, like she likes what she’s getting but she needs more.

Daryl tugs at her shorts. “G’on, get the damn things off.”

“D’you wanna —”

“Ain’t got no rubbers,” he mutters. He throws another glance over his shoulder at the door, but nobody’s pointing a shotgun at him so he figures he’s got time to do what he wants to Beth on the hood of her shot-to-hell Mustang. “Gonna eat y’ out i’stead.”

“You’re gonna” — Beth blinks up at him, hand frozen on the button of her shorts. “What? What for?”

“What for?” Daryl echoes, just as confused as she is. Impatiently, he knocks her hand aside so he can get her pants off himself. “‘Cause I goddamn want to, ‘s why.”

Beth must want him to, too, because once Daryl’s got them loosened, she kicks out of those denim shorts quick enough. He runs the callused pad of his thumb across the band of her black cotton panties, then tugs them down along with him as he gets to his knees in front of her.

“Better keep that pretty trap’a yours shut, girl,” he warns between the kisses he sucks onto her inner thighs. He balls her panties up into his fist. “Else ‘m gonna have to shove these in y’r mouth, keep y’ quiet.”

He feels her muscles tense, hears her mumbled, half-giggled reply — “Yes, sir,” she says, and it makes him groan, makes him palm his hard cock through his jeans, makes him cover her pussy with his mouth before he’s got a chance to really look at it. All he knows is that it’s pink and dusky blonde and wet for him, and he guesses the only thing left to know is how she tastes.

The answer is hot and heady and that she tastes like she’s his, the way she breathes in sharp and grasps at his hair when he licks up into her. The way her raspy “Ooooh my god” trembles through her body so that he can taste her desperate pleasure in the flutter of her cunt.

His hands clench around her thighs to keep them still. Much as he’d like them to slam and tighten around his ears, Beth’s got more muscle to her than it looks and that shit hurts. The way she’s pulling on his hair does, too, but he likes that and it’s not gonna give him an accidental black eye, either.

When he flicks his tongue over her clit, a cry escapes before she can clamp her mouth shut tight. Daryl glances up to watch her, to find her eyes screwed closed and her lips pressed together so hard they’re outlined white, standing out stark against the pink of her face. He can see a purple mark blooming on her neck, too, where he’d sucked a little too enthusiastically.

That should make him worried that someone will see, that they’ll get found out, but instead it makes him suck just as enthusiastically on her clit. She shifts restlessly beneath his hold, gasping, biting down on her lip but still he hears her moan a low litany of his name.

“C’mon, Beth —” he whispers rough as he laps hungrily at her, the stubble of his beard scratching at her pristine white thighs. “C’mon, girl, y’ gonna come for me? Wanna taste this pussy when I get y’ off…”

Everything about her tightens up when he says that, when he licks her clit and then pushes his tongue inside of her. She tenses up, her grip twists in his hair, her whines slip from between her swollen lips, higher and higher, ‘til he moves his mouth just right, squeezes her ass and shoves her harder against his face.

He groans her name into her pussy and then she just falls apart, he can feel it, feels her come and then he does, too. Makes a damn mess of himself and he doesn’t care, it doesn’t matter, because he’s got his face buried in Beth’s cunt so it’s no wonder that his body spirals out of his control.

Because he got her off and it felt good, so good, how was he supposed to help himself?

They’re both panting, dizzy as they come down from that high. Beth is slumped over him, all warm and sweat-slicked. Daryl pulls more kisses from her trembling thighs, soothing away the shake as he runs his hands up and down them, too.

He looks up at her just as she’s pushing the hair, all but undone from its high ponytail now, back from her flushed face. Her pretty, chipped painted fingernails scrape over his scalp.

“So,” he says, voice gruff from loving on her cunt like he’d been, “still want me t’ take ‘nother look at y’r car or what?”

Beth laughs, breathless, and that makes Daryl go breathless, too.

“Or what,” she says, and then tugs him up towards her for another kiss.