It has been a difficult day, and an even more difficult week, and the last thing that Daryl Dixon wants to do is just sit around and do... well, absolutely nothing.

He isn't really all that sure about when Carol suddenly got to be so damned bossy, either, and it's with a grumble that he turns his back on her and marches away before their conversation is really finished. He knows in his heart that it's better now; now that she's brave and now that she's bold and now that she's anything but scared of anyone, especially someone like him. Daryl thinks that Carol might just be his best friend - well, her and Rick, even now that the former sheriff has found himself a little pre-occupied over the last few weeks with the idea of playing farmer - and he cares about her enough to be glad that the woman has finally grown some balls.

Still. Between them, there has always been a line. The woman could nag at him to shower and to clean up and to use his table manners as much as she damn well pleased, but there was a silent agreement between the two of them - one that they never spoke of, but one that was clearly understood on both sides - that there was a line that shouldn't be crossed with him, and as far as Daryl concerned, that was absolutely fine.

Now, though, it seems as though that damned line may as well have never even existed in the first place (and technically it didn't, because it's all metaphorical, but Daryl knows what he means by it, anyway); and just minutes ago, Carol has made it obvious how little she cares for the imaginary thing anyway. Instead of showing him that she remembers it's presence and it's importance, the grey haired woman stood tall in the middle of the communal dining area as she raised her voice at him and told him that he needed to get his ass back to his cell; told him that he needs to stay away from the council, stay away from - in her words - the entire population of the prison, too.

Twenty four hours, Carol had said through gritted teeth, her bright blue eyes blazing as she stared him down; shoulders hunched and arms crossed over her chest. At. Least.

So, here he is.

In reality, Daryl knows that Carol kind of has a point with everything that she's been saying to him - today and the days before. He knows that he isn't capable of performing miracles (hell, his pa had made sure that he had known that he was nothing special since the day that he was fucking born) and that he can't run on an empty tank as a result of the sleep deprivation.

Still, it doesn't change the fact that Daryl feels completely responsible for everything that happened on that day, and the lives that has changed as a result of it. And it definitely doesn't stop him from thinking about all of the possibilities, all of the things that could have happened too if anything had been different.

Because Daryl can easily acknowledge the fact that in reality, he and his people, they were lucky - things could have definitely took a much more horrific route than they did, and the route that they actually took was fucking bad enough. The Governor might have mowed down their fences (with a god-damned tank of all things, the fucking psychopath) and he might have decapitated Hershel Greene in front of the very eyes of his family members, too - not just his daughters, but his family; family like Glenn and Rick and Carl and Daryl - but things could have still be a hell of a lot worse.

And he doesn't know whether thinking about these sorts of things makes him an optimist or a pessimist, but as he lays himself down on his bunk and stares up at the tiled ceiling, he supposes that it does't really matter what he labels himself as in this world, anyway. Didn't matter when there was a world, 'cause nobody gave a shit about what or who he was back then, so why would it matter now?

As he re-lives the events of the past few days, Daryl thinks to himself about how there are a lot of at least's with this situation; and whilst that might be a positive thing, he can't be one hundred percent sure that it actually is. After what happened to them all four days ago, Daryl can't help but to think incredibly negatively of himself and he can't seem to help but second-guess himself, either; and he's doing it a lot more and a lot worse than he ever used to do before the Governor rocked up to their gates.

Which is saying something, surely, because he used to do it a hell of a lot, anyway.

And he thinks to himself that at least they had all stood their ground, united in defence of this building that they had worked for; refusing to back down to the first crazy person who strolled up to its gates. At least they had overpowered the man who demanded that they give to him what he suddenly wanted because he thought it was much better than what he already had, like a spoiled brat of a child in a sandpit who is jealous of another's toy.

And hell, at least they had won; at least they had fought as hard and as well as they could, and at least they had given it all that they had, and at least they had actually killed the psychopath himself - along with the rest of the assholes who had joined in with his twisted attempts to try and kill them and take over the prison.

Whilst Daryl thinks on and on about the whole thing a little bit more, he figures that in reality, there are actually quite a few at least's to their story.

Because at least they didn't lose too much during the crossfire and during the action. All that they had really lost was some ammo - well, a hell of a lot of it, really, but they still had a hell of a lot more and they could still find a hell of a lot more, too - and the odd few weapons, but nothing was necessarily worryingly missing, and it was nothing to fret or panic over, either. And at least they didn't have too many people who had been killed or injured, either - psychologically screwed, perhaps, but still breathing all the same.

And at least they were all together - which might have just been the most important at least of them all. At least they had each other to hold on to, even if they had nothing else, and at least they weren't all running in opposite directions across the state in numbered groups, not knowing whether the rest of their family was alive or dead. It was only afterwards that Daryl realised how fucking stupid they all really were for coasting by this last year or so without even having some sort of escape route in order, or a plan of what to do - where to go, where to meet - in case anything actually did happen to them or the prison.

The prison. At least they still had the prison. At least they still had their home.

Still, it as far as Daryl was concerned, it didn't necessarily matter what they still had - all that he could really mull over right now was what they had all lost; the things that they could never get back, the things that they should have probably done instead.

Because none of the at least's would ever bring Hershel back from the dead (at least not in the way that any of them would actually want him to be brought back like, anyway) and none of it would ever erase the image of the man who had always been like a father to him - like a father to all of them - smiling softly in the direction of his family as he had his head cut off by a psychopath with a stolen katana.

With a harsh rub against his face, Daryl tries his best to snap himself out of it - to push the image away from his mind.

Hell, maybe he is a pessimist, after all.




By the time that a shadow appears behind the curtain that Daryl has hung over the entrance to his cell (in replace of the barred door that was there when he first claimed this space as his own), it's growing dark outside; and the colours of the sunset are no doubt painting a beautiful picture as they dance over the exposed areas of the prison. Contrastingly, the area of his cell is dark and dull, basked in blacks and greys and lasting perfectly fine without any source of light.

It's just the way that Daryl likes it at the minute.

But then the curtain that usually dangles completely undisturbed is being tugged towards the side so that a slender body can slide through it, and the dark space of his cell lights up for a few long seconds before the curtain swishes and falls back into place, the light locked out once again - for now, at least. When he looks up from where he is sat against the headboard of the bunk, Daryl is completely surprised to see Beth Greene of all people stepping across the threshold of his cell; walking with grace and ease and confidence.

It is only her facial expression that really gives away the fact that she is nervous right now, because her body and the general way in which it moves around his cell could have completely fooled him entirely in regards to how she is feeling right now. In fact, he thinks to himself that it is as though the petite blonde is familiar here; with the walls and the floor and the curtain. Daryl knows it to be impossible because this is his space, not hers, and Beth has never once been in here before in her life.

Not many people have, actually, and those who do come never seem to stay for very long - they usually arrive just to drop in quickly to check that he's actually returned from a hunting trip or to say goodbye before they venture out on a run or to clarify something that they were uncertain of.

So he can surely be forgiven for being caught off guard at the sight of Beth gliding her way through his cell like it's her own, like it's always been her own.

Daryl notices now that the girl is carrying a tray in her hands; decorated with a plate full of stale crackers and then a bowl filled with some sort of hot liquid (he's betting on stew) placed next to a glass of water. Beth is balancing it perfectly in her skinny yet defined arms, and as the scent of the hot food - that Beth has most likely prepared from scratch, by herself, especially just for him, because that's what this girl just does without question and without any real thanks or appreciation - wafts into his nostrils, Daryl realises just how hungry he actually is.

His stomach growls loudly in approval as the smell invades his body, and whilst Daryl isn't at all phased or embarrassed by the sound - hell, it's one he's pretty much heard all of his life - he picks up on the fact that there is a hint of a smile tugging at her lips at the sound of it.

For a second, Daryl thinks to himself that she looks beautiful - damn girl always does, if he's honest about it - but then it registers in his mind that maybe her little smile would have been a little bit brighter for him had her daddy not been murdered in front of her very eyes just a few days before.

And god, now he feels like such a jackass for just thinking it,but he really can't help it. The image of Hershel being decapitated has haunted him since the moment that it happened, so he can't imagine how she is feeling right now.

"Hey," Beth says, and the sound of her voice cuts him off from his wandering thoughts.

Her late greeting comes out sounding all sorts of awkward, but he knows that it's probably just his presence making the whole interaction between them seem that way - he has a bad habit of making everything awkward, he's noticed - and not for the first time, Daryl picks up on the staggering height difference that lies between them. Beth is anything but shy right in this moment as she locks her baby blue eyes directly onto his, but her neck is literally craning upwards so that she can actually look at him, and the realisation of that makes him want to chuckle to himself.

The smile that had been itching to spread out onto her cheeks just a couple of seconds before had faded at this point, and Daryl put it down to the fact that it most likely had something to do with the solemn expression that he wore on his own face, as opposed to her being able to read his morbid mind. As the two stare each other down, Daryl notices the way that her bright blue eyes squint and then trail all over his features, taking every little detail of him in.

And then she frowns, and it feels like his heart has dropped inside of his chest.

Carefully, Beth outstretches her pale arms so that she is extending the tray of food out towards him, and Daryl doesn't do much in acknowledgement of the action before he quickly accepts it from her with a jerky nod of his head. As he holds the tray towards him, the steam that is rising from the stew wafts over his chin and heads directly up into his nose; and fuck, whatever the hell the girl has gone and made, she has really out-done herself with.

The hunter is pretty sure that nothing else that he has ever eaten before in his life has ever smelt so damned good before - that, or he's just a lot hungrier than he thought was really possible.

"You make this?" Daryl grunts at her, his eyes flicking back up to burn across from hers instead of looking down at the stew as he had been doing.

Clearly, the question surprises her almost as much as it surprises him when it rumbles from within his chest, because her light blue eyes widen a little at his words and her cheeks flush ever so slightly. Beth looks like a deer caught in headlights, and it honestly is adorable.

Internally, though, Daryl can't help but kick himself - because really?

This girl's daddy had been slaughtered right before her very eyes not even one week ago, and the first thing that he has said to her since that occurrence - as in literally, the very first thing - has been regarding stew.


And god, he is such a fucking piece of work - really, he is. It's stupid, in all honesty, and he has always been useless around women - nothing at all like his older brother or his pa, both whom seemed to ooze confidence - and he has always been useless around Beth especially. Probably because she's pretty and young and good and is the complete polar opposite of him.

But this? Asking her about the fucking stew? That is just taking the cake, and it is so him in every single fucked up way.


It takes Daryl a moment to actually notice the fact that Beth smiles at his question, though - whether it feels like the most awkward, most insensitive, most stupid question he's ever asked anyone in his life - and although it's only another little smile, it's still a god-damned smile nonetheless. That alone makes him stop in his thoughts and momentarily wonder over whether or not he might have gone and said something along the right lines to her, and although he doesn't entertain the idea for very long, it does cross Daryl's mind that perhaps this is what she needs right now - a distraction, a pretence; for someone to not mollycoddle her or bombard her with intrusive topics of conversation.

The sight of Beth nodding her head up and down in response to the stupid question causes Daryl to finally snap back into reality, and the blonde doesn't break eye contact with him as she speaks. "Yeah," Beth says to him, and the smile on her face widens a little as a breathy giggle escapes her lips, and Daryl can see the pearly whites of her straight teeth. "Yeah, I did."

Tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, Beth seems to be uncertain of what to say now; and if Daryl is being honest with himself, he's equally just as stumped. It isn't as though he's never spoken to Beth before, because he has, but he feels like he's walking on eggshells around her now that her daddy is dead.

And, as horrible as it probably makes him sound, he sure as hell can't be the only one in this prison who remembers what happened the last time that she lost someone important to her.

As silence stretches between the pair of them, Daryl begins to feel even more awkward than he did before, and he clears his throat once again in an attempt to make some sort of noise to disturb the uncomfortable quiet, and it's him who breaks the eye contact that they have both been holding up until now so that he can properly inspect the food that she has placed neatly onto the tray.

With a shaky breath, Daryl comments on the food with a grunted out "smells good," and god, now he seriously wants to kick himself, because really?

It turns out that he's a lot more worse with women - with Beth - than he ever thought to be possible until right now, and that's not even him being pessimistic about it. Now, he's just being realistic.

Considering the fact that the little conversation he has entertained her with so far sure as hell ain't been too great, Daryl thinks to himself that Beth will just leave - and that's pretty much fine by him, anyway, because it's not as though there's much else for either of them to say to one another. But instead of turning around to exit his cell without another word, Beth just continues to stand there and smile at him.

She's not showing her teeth to him now, but once again he thinks to himself that she's still actually smiling - her daddy has just died and she hasn't shattered another mirror and she hasn't tried to kill herself and she's brought him food and she's fucking smiling at him of all people - and he realises then that Beth Greene is the prettiest thing that he has ever seen.

As her light blue eyes begin to trail around the cell that he has claimed as his own, taking everything around her in, Daryl figures that he'll just leave her to do whatever the hell she wants - after all, it ain't like he has much in here for her to snoop around with - and he busies himself by sitting down on the creaky bunk of his bed. Placing the tray beside him on the mattress, Daryl wraps his large hands around the scalding bowl of stew without so much as wincing, and he doesn't even spare the silver spoon that she has placed on the tray for him a second glance and instead lifts the bowl up in his hands and tilts it into his mouth, slurping greedily at the contents of it.

Daryl ignores the burning sensation of the scorching hot liquid as it tumbles down his throat, and he instead concentrates on the way that it fills up his stomach; and in just a matter of minutes, he is finished with it, and Daryl slams the bowl a little too harshly against the tray - causing her to jump slightly - before he turns his attention to the crackers.

From the corner of his eye, Daryl notes that Beth is staring directly at him - not trying to be discreet about it, literally staring - and as crumbs spill down onto his jeans as he takes several bites out of the assortment of stale crackers, Beth opens her mouth to ask him something.

"Are you okay?"

The words aren't unfamiliar from her, and he remembers that time in her cell after Zach had died; remembers the way that her arms felt wrapped around him, remembers the concern that laced her gentle voice as she comforted him. This isn't that day - this is a new day - but he is overwhelmed with the feeling that he has been here before, that they have been here before, and the guilty feeling that pools in his stomach is almost too much to bare.

"Should probably be me askin' you tha'," Daryl says to her, his voice raspy and thick with emotion. The frown on his face is prominent as he stares down at the rest of the crackers on the plate, and all of a sudden the hunter doesn't feel very hungry any more.

He isn't actually looking at her, but he can still see her (sort of) from the corner of his eye, and he notes that she looks to be deep in thought as she shrugs her shoulders half-heartedly. "Probably," Beth says, her voice nowhere near as wavering as his own, and then - before he has time to actually register what it is that she's doing - the pretty blonde is sitting herself down beside him on the bed, the bunk creaking and groaning underneath her as she shifts around to get comfortable.

And hell, she really does look like she belongs in here; and that thought alone is troublesome enough.

"I'd rather you didn't, though," Beth continues, looking straight at him as she speaks, and it is pure instinct alone that makes sure that Daryl can't help but to turn his head so that he is looking right back at her, too. The girl is so much closer than he had anticipated her to be, and the proximity of her throws him a little, but he tries not to show it too much in his expression.

But then one of her hands slides onto his knee, and his deep blue eyes glance down to look at it - at her clean, pale hand contrasting against the rough, dirty and torn denim of his unwashed jeans - and then they shoot back up to hers as she gives it the slightest squeeze.

"You didn't answer my question," Beth breathes, and after the distraction of her hand squeezing his knee, Daryl has completely forgotten what she even asked him in the first place. "Are you okay?"

He should nod his head up and down and insist to Beth that he is absolutely fine.

And really, he should brush her hand away from his knee - maybe gently, maybe not; he doesn't think that it would really matter either way, so long as she took the hint and realised that she shouldn't be touching him.

And whilst he's at it, he should really get her to leave his cell entirely, maybe even with clear instructions not to bother coming back - to remind her that she doesn't have the right to just parade in here like she own the damned place; like she knows him, like she knows anything.

Maybe he should, but he doesn't.

With a shake of his head from side to side, Daryl lets out a shaky breath, his eyes falling down so that he is staring at her hand on his knee. "Nah, Beth," he murmurs, voice soft and quiet in the darkness of his cell. "Ain't okay at all."

It takes a lot for him to admit it, although he doesn't really understand why the words fall out of his mouth so easily now that she has asked him. And yet without another word, her small hand moves from his knee so that it can instead be placed next to his - their palms pressed together - and in the same beat, her skinny fingers interlace with his own.

The sensation is completely foreign to him, and Daryl can't remember the last time that anyone held his hand, but it doesn't necessarily feel bad, even though he knows that it probably should.

And when she leans her head onto his shoulder and begins to swipe her thumb up and down over his hand, well - that doesn't feel bad at all, either.




They start to see more of each other over the course of the next few days.

It's not as though it's something that either of them has brought up in conversation, but it seems as though Beth is coming up to his cell and more and more over the course of the last few days; and whilst she usually brings meals along with her - usually food that she has prepared especially just for him - there are also other times when she brings nothing to his cell but her company.

Those are the times when no excuses are needed between them and the others - the times when Beth is coming to visit him just because she wants to, not because she feels as though she has to; and those are his favourite times.




At some point or another, the two of them had fallen asleep in the bunk of his cell, and Daryl stirs awake during the middle of the night to find that her leg is draped across his thighs and her arms are tucked tightly around his waist. The blonde is whimpering into his chest in her sleep, and despite the lack of light in his cell, Daryl can tell that she is frowning.

Not wanting to jerk her awake all of a sudden and frighten her, Daryl instead moves one of his large hands so that it is placed in the nest of her soft, blonde hair, and he begins to slowly pet at her, his fingers swiftly moving through the thick strands in what he hopes is a soothing motion. Hushed sounds fall from his lips as her whimpers begin to die down, and once the girl stops stirring in her sleep and seems to be finally at peace once again, he can't help himself but to press a chaste kiss against her forehead.

Before he can question his instinctive actions - 'cause fuck, it's really so unlike him to be anything like this at all; especially considering the fact that he has never, ever done this before - his eyes are drifting to a close, and within just a matter of minutes, Daryl is fast asleep again.




Sex with Beth is something that Daryl has never allowed himself to think about because he knows that all it would do is torture him even more than she already is doing, and he isn't that much of a self-loathing idiot to bask in the thought of what it would feel like to be buried deep inside of her. He knows what everybody else in the prison thinks about him - can see it in their faces every time that the two of them emerge from his cell together or whenever one of them approaches the other - but it doesn't really matter what they all think.

It doesn't matter what Maggie thinks, either; but surprisingly enough, Beth's older sister seems to be coping just fine with the fact that the nineteen year old is getting a little too close for comfort with Daryl Dixon, of all people. He reasons with himself that it's more than likely because of the fact that Maggie knows that there's nothing romantic going on between them both - no doubt Beth has already cleared that up with her enough times over the course of the last few weeks since the Governor attacked the prison and the two of them became much closer than they ever were before - but it's difficult to pin it just to that when everyone else is looking at him as though they know exactly what he's doing.

But nothing between Daryl and Beth has ever been romantic, and he can't help himself but to snap at Carol when she calmly tells him that he needs to treat the blonde a little bit better.

"Ain't nothin' to treat her better about," he hisses, eyes narrowing in Carol's direction. "Ain't like she's my fuckin' girlfriend. Christ."

The grey-haired woman doesn't bother to respond to him about it and instead just rolls her eyes in his direction, clearly exasperated with it all. Daryl is pleased that Carol doesn't bring the matter of Beth up to him again, because he really doesn't think that he would have the patience for it, but stating the truth - telling someone that Beth isn't his - leaves a nasty taste in his mouth, which in turn leaves him feeling all sorts of confused.

Maybe he just needs a drink.




The next time that Beth comes to visit him, it is during the middle of the night; and Daryl hasn't been too sure up until now what it was that had been keeping him awake. For what had felt like forever, he had been lay on his back, blinking up at the ceiling and mulling over his thoughts. But now that she is there - floating around the privacy curtain of his cell in a way that reminds him of the first time that she ever came here, the first time that she ever invaded his space - he thinks that his inability to sleep might have been because of her own.

And fuck, that's weird and sounds completely crazy - but it's also kind of doesn't.

These days, it seems as though the pair of them are completely in sync with one another, and Daryl thinks that it might go without saying that he wouldn't have been able to sleep because somewhere in the same building, she wasn't able to sleep, either.

As she silently clambers into the bed beside him, Daryl notices that all that Beth is wearing is a tiny little tank top - without a god-damned bra, either, but he won't think on about that too much - and a pair of cotton shorts. Neither of them say anything to one another as she scoots closer towards him, and Daryl waits patiently for her to get herself into a comfortable position in bed and -

His name is falling from her lips, and Daryl automatically grunts at her in acknowledgement of her gentle calling before her palm surprisingly comes to rest on his stubbled cheek. It's been a few days since he's shaved, and he knows that he really needs to clean himself up, but there seems to be a lot better things to be thinking about other than how he looks.

"Hey," she whispers into the darkness, and she is so close to him that he can feel her breath against his face.

"Hey," he responds, his voice just as quiet as hers; and apparently that is all that she needed to hear from him because before Daryl even realises what she's doing, Beth is wrapping her arms around his neck and is pressing her lips to his in a chaste kiss.

His eyes fling open into the darkness of the cell out of sheer and utter surprise, and within one single heartbeat, Beth has positioned them so that they have rolled over; and now he is pinned underneath the feather-like weight of her on the mattress. Her pale, exposed legs are now positioned on either side of his thighs so that she is effectively straddling him, and her core is pressed against his hardening dick through the material of his sweatpants and her pyjama shorts.

From the way in which Daryl can feel her juices dripping through the thin material of her shorts, no doubt leaving a damp stain on his sweatpants, the hunter is absolutely certain that the girl ain't wearing any panties to match perfectly with her absent bra.

The thought alone of her exposed pussy is enough to cause him to inadvertently thrust his hips upwards and into her, and Beth moans at his body's enthusiastic response to her position - the movement causing his dick to twitch inside of the sweatpants he's wearing - before she deepens the kiss that she initiated just moments before.

Beth's tongue darts out of her mouth to trail against his bottom lip; and despite the fact that it has literally been years since Daryl has kissed anybody, he finds himself responding to her by opening his mouth and prodding his tongue against her own. He takes the happy noises that she is making as a sign that he is doing well, doing good, and so he continues to keep up with what he's doing and hopes that he doesn't somehow fuck this up.

The blonde doesn't seem willing to waste any time at all in her administrations, and she quickly begins to press herself up and down the length of him with a decent amount of pressure; moaning into his mouth as their kisses become much more hot and passionate. Daryl's large hands naturally wander onto her ass - half of it exposed, the other half covered by the shorts - and he gives it a long squeeze as she moves herself against him.

There is a part of him that really cannot quite accept the fact that this right now is real - that it isn't all just some sort of sexual fantasy or dream, that she really is there on top of him with her tongue in his mouth, dry-humping his cock - but as soon as her hand snakes down underneath the elastic band of his sweatpants and her thumb swipes against the thick amount of pre-cum that is already leaking from him, he suddenly feels very much awake once more.

Beth's name falls out of his lips before he can even realise what it is that he's saying and evidently, the girl likes it a fucking lot, because she grins into their kiss at the sound before nipping lightly on his bottom lip. With a gentle sigh, Beth uses her hand to pull down the sweatpants so that the full length of his cock is exposed to the warm air of the cell; and she releases his lip from her teeth as soon as her hand wraps tightly around his swollen cock.

It all happens before Daryl even has the opportunity to release another shaky breath from his lips, and as Beth begins to pump the foreskin of his cock up and down, he feels her beginning to shift slightly on top of him. Her hips raise into the air so that she is no longer pressed against him so tightly, and then when she lowers herself back down onto the length of his dick just moments later - releasing his cock from her tight fist so that she can grind herself against him once more - Daryl registers the fact that she has pulled the pyjama shorts to one side.

It means that it is her bare, soaking wet centre that is pressed against him - not her cunt through her pants, but literally just her cunt and his cock and nothing else - and now that there is no barrier between the two of them, Daryl realises just how wet Beth really is. The thought of that alone is enough to make him buck his hips in a desperate manner once again, and Beth gasps loudly into the cell as she sits up straight, her palms moving up to rest flat against his chest as she rubs her dripping pussy against his cock, her entire body trembling slightly along with her movements.

Daryl's hands rest on her ass even when she pushes herself up slightly and lines up the head of his cock with her dripping entrance, and he squeezes the flesh of her once again as she slowly glides down the length of him.

"Fuck, Beth," he breathes out, voice raspy as she applies more pressure to his chest. "You're so fuckin' wet, girl."

The blonde is usually so damned talkative with him, but it appears that she's really just too far gone right now to respond coherently, and so instead she just hums pleasantly in response to his words. Part of Daryl feels as though their roles have been reversed - what, with him using his words and her not seeming to know quite what to say - but once her pussy has completely sucked in the long length of him, it seems as though she has remembered how to speak.

"Oh my god," Beth breathes, the soaking wet walls of her core squeezing around his dick. "Daryl, you feel so, so good."

And then she starts to bounce on top of him; not necessarily fast, but not slow, either, and Daryl thinks to himself that he has never felt anything so fucking wonderful in his whole entire life.

Her name tumbles from his lips over and over again as she rides him, and even though her shorts are only pulled to the side and her tank top is still on and Daryl can't see a god-damned thing in this dark cell, he knows in his heart that she is the most beautiful thing alive right now. He has absolutely no idea why the fuck she wants to be near him in this way, but as she leans back slightly so that the angle of her thrusts means his cock hits a deeper spot within her than it did before, she lets out a long, loud moan and Daryl decides that he doesn't give a shit about why she wants him.

All he knows is that he wants her, too - hell, he's wanted her for such a long time, he just wouldn't admit it to himself until tonight - and that's surely got to be enough.

The sound of their panting in the cell is loud, but the sound of her dripping cunt squelching as she slides up and down his cock is even louder, and that alone causes him to twitch inside of her. With a groan, Daryl fights back his impending release; but it's been such a long time since he's been with anyone, and to top it all off, he knows for a fact that he has never in his life been with anyone as tight and as hot and as fucking soaked as Beth Greene.

So he squeezes her ass one last time with both of his hands before he brings one of them up to his lips and sucks on his thumb for a second or two, gathering enough spit on it to ensure that it's moist enough to rub against her, and then he's moving it in circles over her swollen little clit in an attempt to speed up the process of her orgasm.

Clearly, it works, because Beth jerks against him in surprise before she starts to bounce on his dick even faster and harder; and she's whimpering now - things like oh and yes and Daryl, please - and it has to be one of the hottest things that he has ever heard in his life. One of his hands is still squeezing her ass, and he thinks that his nails might be digging into her flesh a little too harshly; but Beth doesn't complain once or try and get him to move away, so Daryl keeps his grip on her firm and tight as she moves up and down his cock.

It's when her walls begin to clench and unclench around him at a rapid pace that Daryl thinks to himself that he probably won't last much longer, and that is the moment that he speeds up the circles that he's drawing on her clit and increases the pressure of them, too. At this point, Beth is practically screaming into the darkness of the cell and neither of them are even attempting to muffle her cries - meaning that anyone and everyone can hear them and know what they are doing - but considering how much he wants her and how good her tight pussy feels wrapped around him like a glove, Daryl doesn't give a shit who hears them fucking and who doesn't.

"C'mon, Beth," he murmurs, raising and lowering his hips in time with hers in order to meet her thrusts, pounding into her as she rides his cock. "Gotta cum for me, girl. Gotta cum -"

And god, cum she does - all over his cock with what he should really consider to be a scream, but instead he classes it as a shout, and she is literally gushing all around him as her body shivers and shudders and jerks uncontrollably. The feel of her squeezing him so tightly is all that he needs to simultaneously push him over the edge, and he doesn't know how on earth he manages it, but somehow Daryl finds the ability to pull her hips upwards and drag her further onto him so that his thick, creamy cum spurts out onto her ass and her cotton shorts and onto his bare abdominal area, too.

As he comes down from the high of his orgasm, Daryl nudges Beth's clit with the pad of his thumb once more - causing her entire body to convulse again - before he drops his arms heavily by his sides, a huff escaping his lips as he does so; and then Beth practically collapses on top of him. Her heart is hammering violently against her small chest as she whimpers into his neck, and instantly, his tired arms are wrapped around her middle.

"I gotcha, girl," Daryl says into the darkness, his voice barely above a whisper as he murmurs just above her ear. "S'fine. I've gotcha."

With a nod of her head, Beth snuggles herself closer towards him; and despite the fact that neither of them are quite ready to drift off just yet - after what has just happened between them, Daryl knows that there is without a doubt a need for them both to have some form of conversation tonight - he is content to just lie there with her nestled in his arms for now, not concerned in the slightest about anything - or anyone - else.

Better late than never, right?