Title: The One With Andrea's Book
Disclaimer: Very much not mine.
Summary: "Where are you going?" he asks. "The vicar won't be home for hours."
Note: Based on the episode of Friends where Joey finds Rachel's dirty book. (Yep.)
(Guys, just a warning: this is such a stupid, silly little idea of a fic that I wrote it and never posted it, especially once Andrea got separated from the group. But I saw this episode of Friends again the other night, and you know what? After that finale, I think stupid and silly might be called for. So, here.)
Daryl stands inside the entrance of Andrea's tent, arms crossed over his chest.
He knows she's got his knife stashed somewhere. She keeps stealing it, saying that she likes it better than any of hers, whatever that means, and for the most part, he doesn't care.
There's a decent-sized deer, though, freshly killed and waiting to be taken care of, and honestly, that's the best knife he has for the job.
As he crouches down beside her bed, comprised of a sleeping bag and pillow and a couple of worn blankets, he feels a brief stab of guilt, knowing that he probably shouldn't be in here rifling through her things. He certainly doesn't want to be there, at any rate.
Hell, if she wasn't out on patrol, he would've just asked her for the damn knife.
He shakes the feeling off. Whatever. Venison will be a nice change for the group, and he thinks she'll probably appreciate it enough that she won't care if he had to go through her things.
Daryl moves one of the blankets aside and begins his search. He finds an extra gun, tucked safely under her pillow. He finds a pair of canvas shoes. He finds her small collection of clothes, his face growing warm when he realizes he's picked up a pair of her underwear.
He picks up a book, glancing at it briefly, and smiles when he finds his knife hidden underneath it. He tucks the blade into his belt and starts to replace the book when his brain suddenly processes the cover and he pulls it back for a second look.
The Vicar's Daughter.
There's a picture of a woman wearing an old-fashioned peasant blouse, her full breasts straining against the fabric, eyes closed as she leans into a handsome man with flowing hair, an open white shirt and washboard abs.
With a quick check to make sure no one's watching, he opens the book to a random page and starts to read.
'Zelda looked at the chimney sweep. Her father, the vicar, wouldn't be home for hours. Her loins were burning. She threw caution to the wind and reached out and grabbed his -'
Daryl's eyes widen. "Holy shit," he mumbles, his eyes continuing to skim along the page. "This is a dirty book."
Later, when they're the last two sitting around the fire, Andrea smiles and says, "If you'd have told me a year ago that I'd not only be eating deer meat, but that I'd enjoy it, I would've said you were crazy."
Daryl snorts. "It's not prime rib, is it?"
"No, it's not," she admits. "But it's not bad, either. And it's definitely a nice change of pace from squirrel." She knocks his shoulder with hers. "Thanks, Daryl."
He ducks his head, nodding. "You're welcome," he mumbles.
She gives his forearm a quick squeeze and stands up, stretching her arms over her head. "You staying out here?" she asks, gesturing toward the fire.
"Yeah," he says with a shrug. "Little while longer."
She nods. "Well, I'll see you in the morning."
As she starts walking away, he watches her, chewing his bottom lip. Something in him realizes that her company is actually nice – nice enough that he wants her to stay a while longer – and he decides that it might be fun to tease her a bit.
"Where are you going?" he asks. "The vicar won't be home for hours."
Andrea freezes, then turns back to him, narrowing her eyes. "Where did you learn that word?"
"Where do you think?" he asks, watching panic flash across her face. "Zelda?"
She gasps. "You found my book?!"
Daryl can't stop the rare grin that stretches across his face. "Yeah, I did."
"But… how… when…" she stammers, searching for words. "Why were you in my tent?"
"I needed the knife you keep taking from me for the deer," he says. He shrugs. "You were out."
"You just said you liked that deer, so don't go complaining," he tells her, pointing his finger. "Besides, I wouldn't have to go in there if you didn't keep stealing it."
She smacks his arm hard, but her mouth twitches upwards. "I found it during one of the supply runs," she admits, covering her face with her hands. "It was on a shelf in a pharmacy, and I was tired of reading Dale's awful old books, okay?"
"You don't have to explain your porn book," he smirks.
"You're right, I don't, and it is not porn!" Andrea laughs. She glances around to make sure nobody in the tents heard her and sits next to him again.
"Oh, really?" he snorts. "Been a while, but it seemed like it to me."
She eyes him. "How much did you read, Dixon?"
He turns a little pink, shrugs, and she grins widely.
"Anyway, it's… erotic fiction," she says defensively, ton belying the look on her face. "That's not really porn. And even if it was, I'm not ashamed of my book."
"Okay," he says teasingly.
"Okay," she says right back. "So."
He stares at her, almost like he's sizing her up. "What's the point, anyway?" he asks.
"What do you mean?"
He shrugs. "Seems boring. Just… reading about it."
She crosses her arms over her chest and smirks. "It's not just reading about sex," she says. "That's why it's not porn. It's got… characters, and a storyline, and romance." She shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe men are more… visual, with that stuff."
He clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably in his seat, trying not to think about his own favorite visuals. "Yeah, maybe."
Andrea smiles at him. "So, it's not porn."
"Yeah, yeah." After a few quiet, awkward moments, he says, "Uh, sorry I went through your stuff."
"Don't worry about it," she says, waving him off. "But just for the record?" She pokes his arm. "It's going to take more than a good dinner to make me forgive you this easily next time."
He raises an eyebrow. "I'll remember that."
They sit in silence for a little while, watching the fire, until she elbows his side. "You know, you can borrow it if you want."
"The knife? It's mine."
"I meant the book."
He just looks at her.
"Seriously, Daryl. You don't have to go snooping around," she ribs him, grinning. "Just ask."
He snorts a laugh. "No thanks." A beat, and then he adds, "Let me know when you find some Playboys."
She laughs, and watches him poke at the fire with a long stick for a minute before speaking up again. "So…" Andrea starts. "Been a while, huh?"
Daryl bristles and drops the stick. He eyes her, squinting in the darkness to gauge her intentions. "What about it?"
"How are your loins? Burning?"
With a quick glance around at the camp, she throws caution to the wind, reaches out, and grabs him, palming the front of his jeans roughly. He startles, but doesn't move to take her hand away.
"What do you say, chimney sweep?" She squeezes him, eliciting a small moan, and leans up to pull his earlobe between her teeth. "The vicar won't be home for hours."