A/N: A bit late, but I think it's still Friday for most of you? Thanks again for all the feedback, you are all so lovely! Enjoy! xx




Rick can't stop staring at the clock. Daryl can't help but notice.

"Ya got somewhere to be?" he asks, taking a swig of his beer, staring at the game on the screen.

"Nah," Rick sighs, shaking his head with a frown, "Beth's looking after the kids tonight. Don't have to relieve her until after eleven."

"You don't want Beth watching them, or something?" Daryl asks, and it's a stupid question, stupid because she's been Rick's babysitter all summer. Stupid because Judith adores her and Carl is half in love with her. Stupid because the girl is studying to be a teacher and this shit comes as easy as breathing to her.

So what the hell is Rick's problem?

"I think Beth has a boyfriend," Rick mutters, rubbing his eyes, "and I think he's coming over and they're…"

"They're what?" Daryl smirks, and Rick glares at him.

"I found a condom wrapper between the couch cushions," Rick states, tone very matter of fact, "and it ain't like Lori and I are getting crazy and fucking in every room like newlyweds."

"So?" Daryl takes a sip of his drink, eyes focused on the game.

"So, I can't have stuff like that going on in my house," Rick sighs, "and I told Hershel I'd keep an eye on her. Keep her safe."

"Keep her a virgin?" Daryl offers and Rick, mid-swig, chokes on his beer.

"What? No!" he exclaims, "I mean, it's none of my business. But I don't want her doing that under my roof."

"What are you gonna do, man," Daryl asks, "come home early, try and catch her in the act?"

"Tried that," Rick shakes his head, "a few times. Pretty sure she I'm super forgetful for a cop."

"You talked to Lori?"

"No!" Rick looks horrified, "You know she'll just ask her straight out. I need proof, Daryl. I need you."

"What the hell do you need me for?" Daryl's focus snaps towards his friend, throwing him a glare.

"Just go over there," Rick all but pleads, "pretend you're looking for me or something. See if you note anything that doesn't look quite right-"

"You want me to spy on your babysitter?"

Rick hesitates.

"Well, when you put it like that…yes."

"Fuck," Daryl curses shaking his head, "get one of those nanny cams if you're so worried."

"What, no!" Rick exclaims, "Beth's not an idiot, she already thinks something's up. And if I'm wrong, and she finds out I had these suspicions, she won't want to babysit for us anymore."

Daryl heaves a sigh. If it were anyone else…


"You'll do it?"

"Said fine, didn't I?"

And Rick doesn't push it. Buys another round and they finish watching the game in silence. And when they're leaving the bar, he hands him a scrap of paper with a date and a time.

Just call him Detective Daryl Dixon. Or some shit.




"Is Rick here?"

Seconds ago, he rang the Grimes' doorbell. Waited for the soft padding of feet, and the door to swing open to reveal the pretty blonde. All long legs and pale skin and cornflower blue eyes. Wearing tennis shoes and a short little sundress, he lets his gaze linger too long, and notes the blush that graces his cheeks under his scrutiny.

"Mister Dixon," she greets, opening the door, "he's not here right now, but you could wait for him? He should be back in an hour or so."

"Thanks," he mutters, entering the house, glancing briefly into the living room keeping his eyes and ears open.

"Ya want a drink?" Beth offers, walking towards the kitchen, and Daryl follows,
"Water, tea, coffee? I can grab you a soda or a beer from the basement?"

"Where's Lil' Asskicker?" Daryl asks, and Beth giggles.

"Judith is asleep."

Good. Real good.

"You know, I ain't here for Rick," Daryl states, leaning against the fridge.

"Oh," Beth's eyes widen, biting her lip, "then why are you here, Mister Dixon?"

"Rick thinks you're fucking some boy under his roof," Daryl replies nonchalantly, crossing his arms over his chest, "but we both know you ain't been fucking no boy."

Beth's inhale is audible, her hands gripping the countertop behind her.

"Mister Dixon," she exhales, pushing forward, moving to wrap her arms around his neck. He grabs her wrists, holds her at arms length, shaking his head.

"You've been careless, baby girl."

The girl whimpers, blue eyes dark, body completely on edge. Her body is a string pulled taut, on the point of snapping. On the point that she wants to snap.

She wants him. But, then again, she always does.

"I'm sorry, Mister Dixon," she breathes and his grip tightens on her wrists.

"How sorry?" He growls, low in his throat.

Really sorry, apparently, as she lowers to her knees, unbuckling his belt and letting his pants drop down his legs. His cock springs to attention; she's already got him so working up, with her panting and whimpering and breathy Mister Dixon's, that it's no surprise. The girl knows how to get him going, on words and body language alone.

Knows how to finish it too.

Takes him in her hot, wet mouth. All of him, and sometimes it's like the girl has no gag reflex, which isn't true, because one of his favourite sounds is her gagging around his cock.

Hell, any sound she makes is one of his favourite sounds.

She sucks at him, licks at him, like his dick is some sort of candy and fuck, sometimes he wishes he had one of those camera phones so he could film it or something. Just so he can remind himself that she is real. Sometimes he thinks she's a fantasy he made up, that every time they're together is just a dream. Because there's no way this girl can go from sweet babysitter one minute, to cock sucking slut the next.

Except she does. And she is real.

And Daryl Dixon must be the luckiest son of a bitch in the world.

"Fuck," he hisses, as she swirls her tongue around his tip, sucking him in, moving her mouth up and down his length. Feels that building sensation from within, the tightening in his balls. Feels the blood rushing to his head because this girl makes him dizzy and delirious and higher than any of his brother's drugs of choice.

When he comes, he comes hard, holding her head in place as she swallows every single drop. Finally lets her go, spent and satisfied, the weight of him falling against the fridge, the appliance shaking, jars inside ratting. Beth throws him a smirk, wipes the corners of mouth oh so delicately, and gets to her feet.

"I'm not done with you yet, Mister Dixon," she singsongs.

"That so?"

"Yep," she drawls, popping the p, "because I was thinking, while I was down on the ground, with your big cock in my mouth, that maybe this wasn't completely my fault. It was your condom. Not mine."

"What do you want, girl?" Daryl asks darkly, stalking towards her, backing her up against the counter.

"I want an apology," she breathes, chest pressed up against his, "a really, really good one."

He can give her that. He can give her that, and more. His lips crash against hers, tongue colliding in a battle of dominance. Because this is what this game is, right now, this push and pull that's sending them both over the edge. Her hands are tugging at his hair, and his are sliding up her dress, palming her tits, rolling her nipples between his fingers. She whimpers into his mouth, hitches her leg over his hip, but he knows what she wants, and he lifts her up, using the counter to keep them upright. The new angle allows him to deepen the kiss, take it further. It's frantic, it's possessive, it's a battle where they'll both come out the victor.

It's a battle where they'll both come.

Her hands find the hem of her dress, flinging it over her head. Her tennis shoes hit the floor behind him, and he barely registers the sound, not when he's trailing his tongue down her neck, down her chest, lavishing her breasts. Licking and biting and ultimately marking. Because this is their dance, this dance of lustful possession and in the morning they'll both wake up sporting the other's marks on their skin.

"I want…" she whines, bucking against him as he bites down gently on her nipple.

"What, girl?" he growls and she moans, head thrown back, grinding her panty-covered cunt against his cock.

"I want you to fuck me."

She squeals as he spins them around, her thighs tightening around him, arms wrapped around his neck. He manoeuvres them through the kitchen, into the living room, dropping her down onto the sofa. She lands with a bounce and he takes the moment to let his eyes trail up and down her body, flushed pink with excitement, lips swollen, hair mussed, panties absolutely soaked. He licks his lips and stalks towards her, like a hunter does its prey. It never feels like that, oh no; not when she has that devious glint in her eyes, not when her thighs part ever so slightly.

Not when he starts to think that maybe he's the one caught by her. Right where she wants him.

On top of her, under her, inside her.

He slides her panties down her thighs, over her knees. Scrunches them in his fist, inhales deeply, as if to memorise her scent. Her breath hitches, and when he glances at her, the look on her face is one of absolute desire. It's blue eyes bleeding into black. It's his matching hers, tenfold.

"Fuck me," she whispers.

He slides into her slowly, so slowly that she arches her back with a long, drawn out whine. Her tight heat stretches and encompasses him, walls pulsing around his cock and he feels on the edge of coming, just by being inside her. She whimpers, bucks her hips, begging him silently for more.

"How you want it, girl?" he asks, so casually, so nonchalant, he may as well have been asking her how she wants her eggs.


He thrusts slowly at first, building her up, setting the pace. She spurs him on with her own thrusts, and soon he pounding her into the sofa, sweat slickened bodies sliding against one another. He hooks a leg over his shoulder, and she cries out at the change in angle, and he hits a spot inside her that drives her absolutely wild. Grunting, he slides a hand between them, thumb finding her clit, rubbing hard little circles, bringing her closer to the edge.

When she comes, she comes hard, whimpering and crying and cursing his name. He keeps thrusting, keeps playing with her clit, drawing another orgasm out of her, her juices soaking his dick, and quite possibly the cushion beneath them.

And maybe that thought is what makes him come, that thought, and the fact that this is not their house and she is his best friend's babysitter and they are playing with fire. That they both get off on secrets and sneaking around and the possibility of being caught.

He comes long and hard, for the second time that day. Sliding out of her, he takes in her appearance; she thoroughly fucked, eyes heavy lidded, body utterly spent. She throws him a lazy smile, hand reaching up, trailing across his cheek. He bends down, presses a soft kiss to her lips, and she sighs contently against him.

"Hi," she breathes.

"Hey," he murmurs.

And he can't take his eyes off her. Can't bring himself to move.

Doesn't think he'll ever want to.




"She likes it!"

"Don't want my god-daughter to be watching this shit, is all."

Rick surveys the scene in front of him; Beth sitting on the couch, Daryl beside her, Judith perched in his lap. He's helped himself to a beer, and they're watching one of Judith's Barbie movies.

"It's about friendship, how is that bad?"

"Mama! Daddy!"

Judith bounds out of Daryl lap, and Rick swings her into a hug.

"You been good, Jude?"

"Look at what she's wearing! And a charm school? Ain't there one where Barbie is President or a CEO or somethin'?"

"Uncle Daryl is silly," the little girl giggles, and Lori chuckles.

"I think Daryl might have a point," Rick grins, pressing a kiss to the young girl's cheek. She passes the little girl to Lori, and gestures subtly for Daryl to follow him outside.

On the porch, Daryl lights a cigarette, inhaling slowly.


"Come on, brother," Rick sighs, "anything?"

"Girl was alone when I got here," Daryl shrugs, "didn't see no 'boy' around. Lil' Asskicker woke up from her nap and that's it. You sure it's hers? She doesn't seem like that type of girl, you know."

"Whose else could it be?" Rick asks, exasperatedly.

"Dunno," Daryl stamps out his cigarette, "Shane's a man whore, aint' he? Maybe it fell out of his pocket or somethin'."

Rick's brow furrows. It's not the most unlikely of scenarios. Actually, the more he thinks about it, the more likely it seems.

"Yeah," Rick nods, "you're probably right."

He feels a bit silly, jumping to conclusions. Beth Greene's a good girl. She wouldn't do something like that.

When she leaves for the day, Rick gives her an extra twenty for her troubles.