Andy and Danai. They're not supposed to like the kissing scenes so fucking much. They're not supposed to lay their hands right on those places that feel so good. They're co-workers. Kissing and hugging is part of the job. A job is all it is. They simulate romance until the director calls cut, and then they get back to their lives. They get back to platonic friendship. They get back to pretending the lingering rise in their pulse means nothing, or that their quickened breath is just exertion from the Georgia heat. It's not caused by the taste of her lips, or the ghost of his touch.
Today is a dreaded day for both Andy and Danai. They've gotta film a sex scene, and cable TV's changed the rules quite a bit just since the Walking Dead first aired back in 2010 and Jon couldn't thrust to simulate fucking Sarah. Now there's a lot more skin allowed, thrusting is expected, moaning, too. It's a whole different game, all done in HD.
Of course, it does nothing to relieve their fears when they're told by the director this is the season finale. They've gotta up their game. The explosions have to be bigger, the drama more intense and, without a doubt, the sex needs to be graphic. They're gonna push the limits on that front this year. AMC needs high ratings and sex sells. They want the scene long, graphic, and to feel as genuine as they can make it. If they're not allowed to put a good cut on TV, they'll go for the gold for the DVD version, along with the cursing and the added gore.
The standard crew is cut back this time. The director wants his actors to feel cozy, at home, free to go for it without any unnecessary eyes watching today. The set is Richonne's bedroom while they've got the house to themselves. They've had some kind of scare, a close call. They've lost loved ones. They're emotional. The sex is intense.
Both Andy and Danai understand what's expected of them. They're just not sure how much of themselves they can put into this. Everybody knows that sex scenes are the worst to film. It's directed, planned, and frankly it can be embarrassing once the hips start rolling and crotches begin rubbing.
Tonight it's different. It's dark outside, late at night, everybody is tired from a long day. Rain's moved in to tap against the windows and pound on the roof. Andy's been doing exactly as told all night. Push Danai against the wall. Pull off her shirt. Kiss her here, there. Danai followed direction. Cup Andy's face, give us more feeling when he kisses your neck…
It's mechanical but still, somehow, they're more excited than they should be. When they come back from a coffee break the clocks inched past midnight. The director goes to a skeleton crew. The lights are softened. It's time to hit the sheets. Film this. Get it done, on schedule.
This is the moment they dread. Danai, especially isn't happy that she's got to take Andy between her thighs. She's got to simulate getting fucked but a simulation isn't what she wants. Not after months of playing lovers one moment, and then going back to platonic friends the next. When the third take falls flat the director does something he doesn't usually do: He tells them to wing it. Become Richonne and fuck like Richonne would fuck. He's gonna let them take the reins and bring this moment to life. Forget the crew. Forget him. Ad lib. Play it by ear.
Of course they know he doesn't mean for them to really fuck. They've got no intentions of doing so. They plan for a steamy make out session. Lots of kissing, and flashy groping. Exaggerated body movements to sell it. They're into it all, receiving only minimal direction.
Then it happens. Andy's kisses get deeper, almost greedy, as the moments pass. It's not long until Danai realizes those breathy little whimpers are born of real lust and her body responds. His hand gazes one breast, making her nipples perk up. His wet mouth on her neck feels just a little too good. She can't stop a real whimper. She can't stop her hands from seeking out his warm skin.
If he's worn a modesty sock he's slipped it because she can feel Andy's hardness now. She can see his uncertainty when he starts rolling his hips, and he's grinding his cock against her aching bud.
The director encourages them. Keep going. This is good shit.
Only it's hard to concentrate on him, now. It's hard to think about those in the room while Andy is on her, between her legs, his hardness massaging her clit with steady, slow movements of his hips. She wantonly raises her hips to respond, begging for more speed, more fiction. She feels her slick arousal soak through her meager cotton panties seconds later.
Andy feels it too. She can feel him fully harden against her. Feels his hand slip between them, the director and crew, friends and family, real life commitments, all forgotten in the heat of that moment. His fingers graze her, nudging panties aside, the only barrier between them, gone now. He's begging for permission to grind, just grind, skin to skin. It'll make the simulation even more realistic.
It's going well. Andy sets up a steady roll of his hips, and Danai knows he's got to be almost painfully aroused. They can smell her scent, her need, filling the space between their genuinely sweaty bodies. They're prepared to feel the guilt when the director yells cut in a few seconds.
Then…he's inside. Just the head of his cock. Andy stills, looks at Danai with a mixture of shock and lust. It was an accident, she knows he didn't mean to enter her, but he has, and damn her traitorous hips for rising up, pulling him in just a little more. Damn her for aching for penetration so intensely her hands grip his side's, pulls on him, pleads with him to bring her relief. She tangles a hand in his curly hair, whimpers, kisses him, and he responds.
When he slips in another inch they moan together. There's not a man or woman in that room unaware of what's started to happen, but the director isn't calling cut.
This time the thrust of Andy's hips is hard, needy, as needy as the cry from Danai's lips, and the way she wraps her legs around him. He's thrusting again, filling the set with the moist sounds of a hard cock moving in a dripping wet pussy.
The kisses are real and deep, the fucking is wet, the moans are evidence of their shared, desperate campaign to achieve climax. Andy's hips thrust harder, faster, one hand going to the wall over Danai's head as they give up all pretence that this is simulated sex for cable TV. Having an audience is an unexpected boon to the moment, and when Danai loses it, clutching Andy tight in an intense orgasm, she pulls him with her over the edge and they plunge headlong, together, into loud, sweaty satisfaction.
Cut.
That's a wrap.
Satisfied bodies don't outweigh the embarrassment. The director, the crew, they all know what they just witnessed. Of course not a word is spoken. The official story is they were just really into it, but it's simulated sex, not real. Of course it isn't real. Fans will love it, eat it up, never suspecting the truth that's on their TV screens.
When they dress, they barely look at one another. They hurry to their cars, desperate to get home and shower, sleep, rest. When Andy's eyes meet hers in the parking lot, she expects anger, guilt, shame. She sees none of that. In fact...She feels none of that, either. When she pulls onto the road to go home, she's excited for the next Richonne sex scene. She's got no doubt Andy is, too.