A/N: I'm back! This fic was written for the Richonne Writers Network's AU Scene Writing Challenge. I hope you like it :).

"Wow. Your eyes are the most beautiful I've ever seen," Michonne Ibori purred as she leaned against the large bar.

"What a coincidence: you're the drunkest I've ever seen you," Rick Grimes retorted in amusement from the other side.

"I'm not drunk," Michonne protested as she moved her black clutch back and forth on the bar with her index finger. She took a sip of her cranberry martini without a drop of irony.

"You're not drunk, but you can't drive either."

He was partly to blame. His company was only responsible for catering the gala celebrating the 150th anniversary of Lendric, a giant in the world of financial services. However, when he'd spotted his favorite Trader at the cash bar as the party had wound down, he had followed her. Eventually, he'd moved behind the bar to whip up her favorite drink every time she asked for it. He'd also at one point sent a text to the sponsor of the bar, a good friend of his who had been socializing at the party, asking that Michonne not be charged for the rest of her drinks.

Michonne's red lips widened into an amused smile as she shifted on tired feet. "Would you like to drive me home?"

"I think that position's already taken," Rick replied, his eyes flitting to the outrageous diamond ring on her finger.

Michonne eyed the 15-carat oval promise.

"Everything alright?" Rick asked. It was a question he'd been dying to ask her all night. He'd been observing her, and she'd seemed disengaged, her smiles not quite meeting her eyes as she'd made her rounds around the crowded room, most times with her fiancé attached to her arm.

"Everything's great. Everything should be great. I mean, I'm about to marry a man who doesn't know how to cook," she said as she alternated lifting her legs to give her toes and soles a break from the heels.

"I don't think he's known how to cook in all the years you've been with him."

"Exactly," she said, like he'd voiced the secret knowledge. "Does it make any sense for two people who don't know how to cook to marry each other?"

Rick chuckled. She was having doubts about spending the rest of her life with good 'ole Mike, and he wasn't surprised. He'd known Michonne for about two years and over the course of that time they'd crafted and maintained a rapport that was frequently flirtatious, especially when they were alone. She used to be a lunch time regular at his restaurant. One month into her engagement, she'd traded that in for regularly stopping by the place after work so that he could cook her dinner. That had been going on for four months now. It was so inappropriate.

He was completely in love with her.

Also inappropriate.

And he was sure that she at least liked him back. He knew that she was attracted to him. The lingering looks and deliberate blinks left no doubt in his imagination.

"You're not trapped, you know," he said. "In this day and age, women are free to call off engagements without repercussion."

"Ah, but you are wrong." Michonne turned her head from the bar to scan the large, dark room. It was filled with tables that were decorated with beautiful, fake candles. But fancy-fake.

Rick's staff had already removed all of the plates and silverware. The music that flowed out of the speakers was slow, very slow, a signal to the tipsy stragglers that they didn't have to go home, but they had to get the hell up out of there.

"What time is it?" she asked, turning back to Rick.

"Almost one thirty," Rick answered without checking his watch.

"My feet are killing me."

"I don't know why you're standing. Why am I wrong?"

"Sometime in the last five years I've been with Mike, my reputation became his reputation and vice versa. If I end this engagement, people will definitely talk, especially Black people. We're unicorns in this industry, you know, which makes us a power couple. We were featured on Black Enterprise!"

"So you wouldn't be a power couple. You'd just be a Black woman kicking ass and making money."

"I'm not just anything, Rick."

"Exactly. You're not just his other half. You never were."

Michonne titled her head and smiled. "I love it when you cheer for me. It makes me happy. Among other things."

Rick maintained the same easy smile, but his nostrils flared. He could ask, or he could leave well enough alone.

"What other things?"

Michonne straightened and began making her way to the other side of the bar. "Give me a massage, please. My feet are killing me."

Rick's heart sped up at the request. "Uh, I don't think we can do that," he said as he looked around the room. It was now empty, except for the two of them. But Mike was definitely around somewhere.

"A friend can't give a friend a massage?"

"Not when they're committed," he said, sounding slightly panicked. "Not in this day and age, not in any day and age. Michonne."

She was around the bar now, stalking to him in a tight, long-sleeved black dress that reached just below her knees. It was brought to life by a gold belt around her waist. Every time he'd gotten a full view of her tonight, he had stirred for her, and this time was no different. He'd spent a good part of the night picturing her getting dressed for the party at his place, which meant he'd spent a good part of the night in a low state of arousal.

She came to a stop before him, her diamond chandelier earrings swinging slightly. "I'm a Trader, Rick. I'm all about taking risks. And you're a risk that I've…just been sitting on," she said contemplatively, mostly to herself.

She came closer. Too close, her soft breasts resting against his chest. He took a deep breath to calm his attraction and caressed her chest in the process. It didn't help when she looked down at where their bodies touched.

She lifted her smoky eyes to meet his. She tilted her head and said, "Next time, you should come to my place for dinner."

"You can-"

He cleared his throat and tried again.

"You can't cook."

"Wrong again, Mr. Grimes. I've been perfecting my veal piccata to taste like yours, the sauce and everything, and I think I've got it. Let me cook for you for once."

The hairs on Rick's arms raised under his expensive suit. He wondered if she felt the charge in the air as much as he did. She should. She was creating it.

Rick placed his hand on the bar and scanned the room, thinking. Whatever she had in mind, and he was certain he knew what she had in mind, he did not want to encourage it. Not like this.

"You should give it to Mike," he said as he turned back to her. "See what he thinks."

She stepped back like he'd slapped her. "I've been practicing it for you," she said, all traces of sensuality gone from her voice. "Just you."

"Is this you taking a risk? Making me food?" He was irritated now.

Michonne's eyes hardened at the challenge.

Mike entered the room, and Rick forced his face to relax.

"Good, you're here," Mike said, his voice commanding the room as he neared the bar. "I was afraid I was going to have to go looking for you. Rick! Amazing food as always. Top notch service."

"Thanks," Rick said as he turned to fully face the approaching man. "I've been giving Lendric my best for fifteen years, but I really think this year's going to be tough to beat."

"I have no doubt you'll top it, and I can't wait," Mike said as he reached the bar. Leaning against it, he turned his attention to Michonne. "You ready to go?"

Rick looked at Michonne and found that, unlike him, she had not relaxed her face. Until now. When she turned to Mike, her eyes softened and her facial muscles relaxed. She looked dangerous.

"Yes," she answered. "My feet are killing me."

"Then let's get you home, or do you want to come to my place?"

"Actually, I want a foot massage."

"Then my place it is," Mike said, grinning.

Rick took a step back and lowered his gaze. He looked forward to the end of this.

"No," Michonne answered. "I want Rick to give me the massage. I want him to come to my place, because he's never seen it."

Rick's eyes widened and snapped up to look at her. The rest of his body was stone still.

"And then we're going to go to sleep. Nothing major, just sleep," she said, shrugging as she looked in Rick's direction.

Mike laughed awkwardly. "What are you talking about?" he asked slowly.

Michonne took off the engagement ring and bounced it in her palm twice. She laid it on the bar in front of Mike.

"I'm not interested in this," she said. "I'm sorry. I'm not. I swear something in me stopped the moment I said yes. I didn't realize it at the time, but I've known it for a while now. And I can't believe I'm the only one of us who feels it. Or doesn't feel it," she said.

She turned sharply to face Rick and raised her eyebrows.

Rick didn't know who was more shocked, him or Mike. He felt one thing that Mike probably wouldn't be feeling for a while, however: excitement.

Michonne held out her hand, palm up. Rick took it, a smile spreading on his handsome face. Michonne grabbed her clutch and led him from behind the bar.

"Are you serious?" Mike asked behind them.

"Yes," Michonne said, her heels clacking on the tile floor as Rick fell into step beside her.

He shook his head, grinning as he interlaced their fingers together. He was so in love with her.

As soon as they left the grand ballroom, Michonne stopped and turned to him. "How was that?"

Rick shook his head again, still unable to wipe the smile from his face. "Good. Pretty good. But you owe me more than a not drunk declaration at one thirty in the morning."

Michonne nodded somberly. "You don't have to come to my place. You can just drop me off."

He raised his brows. "No more massage?"

Michonne smiled. "I'm saying that we can do this at your pace. I get it," she said, throwing her eyes at the ballroom to indicate Mike.

Rick inhaled in thought. It was time to put his money where his mouth was. Should he go to her place or just drop her off?

"It's just a massage and sleep," Michonne said.

Rick laughed. "No, it wouldn't be. I mean, it would be, if that's really what you want, but…my intentions…aren't to just sleep."

Michonne smiled, looking more beautiful than she did mere seconds ago. He found her beauty ever-evolving.

"In that case, definitely drop me off," she said. "I wouldn't want to tempt you."

He stepped closer to her and caressed the back of her hand with his fingers. "Michonne, you're tempting me right now."

She had been tempting him since the beginning. And he had resisted his impulse every time, never doing anything overt to come between her and Mike, never making himself a competitor.

So he decided that they could walk and chew gum at the same time. They could have tonight and have the adult talk another day.

"We'll go to your place," he said.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

She gave him another killer smile. "Good. I have plans for you for the ride there."

Rick exhaled through his nose, his eyes falling to her plump red lips.

They were firm and masterful as they slid up and down his dick. He had one hand on the wheel and one on her head as he wound through the streets that would get him to her place. He shifted in his seat, careful not to exert too much pressure on his Maserati's sensitive gas pedal. He was about to catch a cramp in his foot, he was holding it so stiff, but he did not want to rear end the car in front of him.

There was no music playing. Only the wet sounds of her pleasuring him and his euphoric grunts and hisses filled the car.

"You have no idea how much I've wanted this," she said breathlessly before taking him again with a gratified moan.

Rick quickly put the car on cruise control and let it guide itself. "Michonne," he sighed. His hold on her head tightened as he got closer. She moaned again, louder this time, and it reverberated through every cell in his body.

"I'm almost there," he choked out. He saw cars ahead of him line up, a red light, and quickly switched the cruise control off. He put his foot on the break and gingerly came to a stop, using every ounce of his depleting control. He threw the car in park and gripped her head again.

There were cars on either side of him, so he tried not to be obvious, but the starved sounds she made as she devoured his dick pulled his eyes down. She had one hand on his thigh and the other propped on the middle console as she went to town on him.

The light turned green, so he shifted back into drive and took off. The fact that she was laser focused on what she was doing turned him on even more. He'd weaved countless fantasies where she offered to go down on him after a dinner at the restaurant to thank him.

Reality was blowing his fantasies to smithereens. Her mouth was a warm, wet refuge for his dick.

He clumsily put the car on cruise control. "I'm coming," he grunted as his orgasm began to lash at him, starting at his crotch and overtaking the rest of his body. He put his other hand on the wheel and pushed his back against the plush seat as his hips bucked uncontrollably, giving her something different to drink.

"Mm-hmmm," she moaned salaciously as she imbibed his come, seeming to like it as much as she liked everything else he fed her.

He sighed loudly when his orgasm abated, his body slumping. A full-body tremble snaked through him, surprising him.

Michonne kissed the tip of his dick.

The light in front of them was yellow, so he took the car off cruise control and began to slow down. He chanced a look to his left. The female driver was staring straight ahead, but she was shaking her head, a smile eating at her. Her passenger, another woman looked over at them and met his eyes, gasped, and quickly looked to her friend.

Rick looked in front of him and bit his bottom lip, smiling as he came to a stop.

"Can I come up?" Michonne asked.

"Definitely not."

She laughed. She proceeded to lightly bite his shaft, making him laugh and tremble again.

The light turned green, and he caressed her back as they took off.

The End