Oooh, also do something like... Beth and Daryl spend the night in a barn and Beth takes first watch and wakes Daryl up tickling his nose with hay, lol.- Burningupasun
Between Still and Alone.
Waking Daryl Dixon
When he asked her what she was thinking, Beth's initial instinct was to say she wasn't thinking. That, however, was a lie. Because she had been thinking, she'd been thinking a lot of things. It was just that none of them were particularly good thoughts.
Really, it was all Daryl's fault (that was her story anyway, and yeah, she was gonna stick to it). He always took first watch, had since the very first night after the prison and they hadn't found reason to deviate. Except, they'd had to leave their camp last night before Daryl's watch ended when a herd wandered by, and they hadn't stopped moving all day, trying to stay ahead of the herd, until they found this old barn. They were both exhausted, but Daryl hadn't had any sleep at all. So, it was all his fault that Beth offered to take first watch.
What happened after that was entirely Daryl's fault, because he said yes.
Beth didn't often have to wake Daryl up when her watch ended, because second watch ended when the sun came up and with very few exceptions, Daryl woke at dawn. It was like he had some sort of internal clock.
She would say later (had anyone asked, but nobody did) that it was because they were in a barn that she thought to compare him to a rooster. She would blame the sleep depravation for making her just that little bit delirious enough to start wondering about the other name for rooster and how it might relate to Daryl. Because Beth Greene was a Good Girl, and if she were in her right mind she would never entertain such thoughts. Certainly not about Daryl Dixon.
(Again. Her story. Sticking to it.)
Which completely explained why Beth was doing more watching of Daryl than the general sort of watching she was meant to be doing. Of course, sitting up here in the hayloft meant they were marginally safer than out in the woods and she could hear just as well, thank you very much, without having to stare out into the darkness where she couldn't see a thing. Daryl, on the other hand, was right here, perfectly visible in the moonlight, and infinitely more interesting to look at than the whole lotta nothing outside.
Back to that thinking thing. Where she wanted to say she wasn't, but she was actually doing a lot. In particular, about how young Daryl looked when he slept deeply like he was right now, snoring away softly in the hay, or how plump his lips were, parted in sleep. And those arms. It was unfair of him to have arms like that. So, yes, she was thinking a lot, and more specifically, thinking a lot about Daryl, starting with his youthful slumbering look and ending, with, well, roosters.
(Yes. Roosters. It was entirely possible that along with being sleep deprived and delirious, she was also somewhat horny and nobody could blame a girl for looking, even if Daryl's loose jeans made rooster viewing a more or less futile activity.)
And none of that would've mattered, really, except tonight she was on first watch, and that meant she would have to wake Daryl up, which meant she was thinking about the rooster thing (both types), which meant that by the time it came to doing the actual waking, Beth was feeling more than a little... mischievous.
(Among, as established, other things.)
But. He had agreed to let her take first watch, so of course it was all Daryl's fault that she decided the best way to wake him up would be to tickle his nose with hay. He didn't rouse at first, just batted at the intrusion and slept on, so Beth kept tickling, getting a little bolder with each pass of hay until he jolted awake.
The thing about Daryl, the thing she forgot in all this hay tickling and rooster hunting, was how Daryl could go from dead asleep to wide awake in a matter of nanoseconds. The other thing she forgot was, well, she didn't think Daryl would care much for being tickled awake with hay. Consequently (and this is where it was definitely Daryl's fault) Beth was completely unprepared for what would henceforth be known as The Attack.
Daryl pounced, more like a barn cat than a rooster, but that was secondary to the fact that Daryl-the-barn-cat now had her pinned on her back in the hay.
His eyes were kind of catlike in a way now that she thought of it—and it was difficult not to when they were so close above her—and they glimmered intensely in the moonlight. “Best not be startin’ something you ain’t gonna finish, girl.”
For a moment, Beth was completely stunned, unable to move. But then one tiny little corner of Daryl's mouth twitched, so she reached up with the piece of hay and brushed it oh-so-slowly over his face.
It was then that Daryl attacked, an onslaught of torturous, tickling fingers on her belly, at her sides, while he pinned her to the floor with his knees on either side of her hips. She laughed and writhed and tried to escape, kicking her legs ineffectually, trying to roll to avoid his strikes but it was no use, she was good and pinned and completely breathless, but Beth Green was not going to go down without a fight.
She got a hand up beneath his shirt and wriggled her fingers up his side. Daryl jerked away but Beth was ready, and her other hand joined the first and now Daryl was laughing and trying to dodge her hands. It was in this moment of weakness that Beth pushed him off her and reversed their positions, climbing on top to attack him with jabs and tickles.
She hadn't a hope of keeping him there, not if he tried to get away, but she fought bravely, and when he bucked his hips to throw her off she locked her knees on either side and pitched forward, intending on pinning him down by the shoulders.
Several things happened then which completely spoiled her plan. Or not, depending on how she looked at it. (And still totally Daryl's fault.) The first was, Daryl caught her hands with his before she could reach his shoulders, holding her upright and above him. The second was, well, she found the rooster.
(About then she decided the rooster thing was silly and she really should consider abandoning that euphemism altogether.)
Daryl was hard and she was sitting right on top of him, straddling his hips, erection pressing right between her legs. She stared down at him and he stared up at her and for what seemed to be a Very Long Time, neither of them moved.
Then, because it wasn't just mischief burning in her veins tonight, Beth rocked her hips down into his and said, in a voice she barely recognized as her own, “Best not be startin’ something you can’t finish, Dixon.”
He swallowed hard and let out a ragged breath. “Beth.”
She rolled her hips against him again, hearing the warning in his voice and ignoring it altogether. He didn't warn her a second time, didn't stop her motions above him, just wove their fingers together and stared hard at her eyes and pushed his hips up to meet her from below.
Sometime later, when their clothes lay in several piles around the loft, Beth again trapped Daryl's hips between her thighs, and he guided her down onto his cock. And it was then, when he was fully inside her, and they started moving together, that Daryl moaned long and loud and looked up at Beth, eyes burning with a great many things.
“Beth. Jesus, sweetheart, what were you thinkin’?"
I wasn’t thinking, she wanted to say. She could hardly tell him about the roosters, and truth be told, she wasn't all that certain she could come up with a convincing story, not with a large portion of her brain currently occupied with how good Daryl felt inside her. She sighed and leaned forward as he sat up to meet her, pressing her forehead to his while riding his cock like she had wanted to all along.
“Nothing, Daryl,” she whispered, sliding her lips over his. “Nothing at all.”
(And they both knew it was a lie. But whatever. There were better things to focus on just then.)