A/N: Written for a prompt on tumblr's richonnejustdesserts: Rick and Michonne are actors in a show and their characters start a relationship and somehow they start to develop feelings for each other in real life.
Thank you to the anonymous tumblr user for the amazing prompt :) Enjoy!

"We should probably talk about what happened."

The words came out louder than he intended them to, a product of his still-frayed nerve endings and the adrenaline from practically chasing her down.

"Rick, it's ok. I really don't think we need to." She assumed a wide-eyed, doe-in-the-headlights expression, her dark irises whipping quickly to his face and away.

"Michonne, we really do," it was a testament to the seriousness of the situation that Rick was the one to insist on conversation. He was not generally a huge advocate of sharing his feelings. However, desperate times called for desperate measures.

"I get it, Rick, I do," her voice was gentler now, the sultry tone she used during their serious scenes, the kind the fans went wild for. Rick had seen the posts online, the fanatic dissections of the chemistry he and his real-life best friend had onscreen. He'd always figured it was just that: friendship.

Today's scene had blown that illusion to bits.

"I need to explain," he paused, suddenly realizing that he must have chased her off the set and halfway up the stairs to her trailer. She paused, mid-escape, her hand was on the door handle, her body half turned away from him.

"There's nothing to explain," desperation crept into her voice. Rick felt panic rip through him. Michonne had never sought to avoid him before. "I get it," she glanced over her shoulder, still unable to meet his eyes. "Guys can't always control their…reactions."

It was Rick's turn to blush, the embarrassment from their shoot this morning burning into his cheeks. "It's not that. Not just that," he amended. "It's never…" he took a deep breath, steadying himself. Dozens of people were milling around onset. He was not eager to have them all know. "Can we please go inside and talk about this?" he asked Michonne, his expression pleading.

He could see her cracking, taking pity on him. "All right," she said quietly, swinging the door open. She walked ahead of him, climbing the stairs, her hips swaying. It was all he could do not to stare. He knew what the skin there felt like now, knew that his hands almost fit completely around her trim waist, that other parts of her caused his palms to overflow.

He shook his head. He was in enough trouble as it was. This was his best friend, his co-star, his leading lady. He needed to get this under control for the sake of the show and their friendship.

Her trailer smelled the way it always did, like cocoa butter lotion and whatever tea she drank this morning. It brought immediate comfort. Rick breathed deep, steadying himself.

"What is it you wanted to say?" she sat on the couch in one corner, her arms crossed over her breasts. Rick cautiously sat next to her, incredibly aware of their proximity. He never had to consider whether he was crossing a line with Michonne before, whether his presence was wanted. It was off-putting to see her avoiding contact with him.

Rick opened his mouth, determined to get this conversation going. "First off, I'm sorry," he began, his southern accent sounding rough to his ears after a whole morning of using his character's cultured tones. He plowed ahead. "I've had sex scenes before," it was an odd announcement, but it felt necessary.

"I know," Michonne laughed lightly. Rick felt himself smile. She'd been on set that day, seen the awkwardness unfold. What should have been a routine make-out scene had ended in a bloody lip. The story was now infamous on set.

"My point is, that's never happened before." He drummed his hands on his legs nervously.

"Jessie didn't get your engine going?" there was too much glee in Michonne's carefully controlled tone. It sparked something in him. She never before had spoken about her opinion of the whole Jessie-fiasco, even as controversy roiled around her. Michonne was classy to the end.

"You know I didn't like her." Rick rolled his eyes. Just the thought of the bottle-blonde actress made him shudder. The fans hadn't liked her at all. Thankfully, they hadn't had to suffer her presence very long.

"She liked you," Michonne was grinning now, reverting to the familiar territory of humor. Her arms uncrossed and she let them drop down to the cushions beside them.

He smiled, "Maybe. It didn't really matter." Rick had happily put the incident behind him, grateful to be out of the tabloids and celebrity blogs.

Michonne nodded then, her eyes finding his for a long moment. "Well, it's nothing to be ashamed of. I would have been kind of insulted, if you didn't have a … reaction." Michonne giggled again, a nervous sound Rick hadn't heard before. "I'm sure it won't happen again."

And here was the crux of the problem. Rick was sure it would happen again. The character he played had finally realized his feelings for Michonne's character. The scene was a long time in the making, a heavy kiss that moved to the bedroom. The lights were nothing new, the crew was nothing new, Michonne was nothing new.

His reaction to her was completely new.

Somewhere in between take 3 and 4, kissing Michonne had gone from a carefully staged act to something altogether different. Her lips on his were so plush, her skin so warm and pliant, and the gasps she made in between breaths…

He was completely worked up by the time the scene changed to the bedroom. When he had to climb on top of his co-star and best friend, she noticed. Her professionalism carried them both through the embarrassment, but one glaring fact remained.

"Michonne, we've worked on this show for, what now? 4 seasons together?" he asked her.

She nodded cautiously, shifting on the couch cushions. Her leg brushed his. She did not pull back.

"And we've been friends for almost all of it," Rick recounted. Their relationship had been easy, natural from the first day they had stepped onto this set. It made work easy, pleasant, something he looked forward to everyday, even when the workdays spanned over 12 hours. Her sense of humor, her work ethic, her kindness, her activism, they were all pieces of a person that Rick valued deeply.

"Best friends," she agreed, licking her lips nervously.

"I can tell you anything?" his heart was racing, liable to simply burst through his ribcage in a splash of gore that the effects department would have been envious of.

"Rick, of course," her concern won out again. She shifted her body towards him.

"I realized something today," he started slowly, hoping she'd catch on. She stared back at him, her long lashes fluttering. "Michonne," Rick began again, stuttering. "I—"

"Maybe you just need to rehearse," she suggested, cutting him off.

"Rehearse?" his pulse was thrumming in his ears, blood pounding through his veins.

"Kissing each other…it's new," she was talking much too fast now. "I mean, I felt something too, but it's probably because we've never done it before. And both of us are attractive, so the first time it was bound to happen. Maybe we just need to rehearse."

"Wait a minute," Rick shook his head, attempting to understand her point. "What do you mean you felt something too?"

She flushed suddenly, her dark skin going coppery beneath her cheeks. "We're only human. It was a good kiss."

This felt like a sinful understatement. The echo of it still lingered on his lips. "Just a good kiss?" he was desperate for answers.

"The show has been working up to it. We didn't think it would happen, especially after the whole Jessie mess," Michonne showed her cards again, scoffing around the woman's name. "It's understandable that we got a little emotional." Her eyes drifted again. She picked at a stray thread on the couch.

"So did you feel something physical, or emotional?" Rick asked, pinning her with his gaze. She held eye contact, her breathing becoming erratic beneath her costume. He'd seen it hundreds of times since they'd started on this journey, knew every stitch of fabric that made it up.

Now he wondered what was beneath it.

"Because," he ventured, his voice cracking again beneath his southern accent. He wondered vaguely if this would somehow be easier to do in his character's voice. "I felt a little bit of both. More than a little bit."

"What do you mean?" her voice was that throaty whisper again. Heat coursed through him.

"I mean, I realized today that you're not just my best friend." He took a shaky breath at the same time that Michonne let out a gasp. "I think I have feelings for you Michonne."

The statement hung in the air, suspended between the two of them.

"You realized that now?" she clearly did not believe him. He didn't blame her. They'd spent years together and he'd never let on even a hint. All of his affection for her, all of his kind deeds, the time spent together, escorting her up red carpets and sitting close to her in dark theaters, it could all be covered under the guise of work, or friendship. He had even convinced himself.

His body knew better. He knew better now.

"I think I've known for a while." The admission was like a weight had been lifted, even as she stared in disbelief. "I just finally couldn't deny it anymore. Not after today. Not after—"

Before he finished his sentence, Michonne leaned forward and roughly seized the back of his head. Her fingers laced through the curls at the nape of his neck as she dragged him forward, pressing her lips to his for the second time that day. Rick froze, his body paralyzed, his mind struggling to catch up.

Her intentions became clear when Michonne's other hand gripped high on his thigh, coming dangerously close.

"Michonne," her name slipped from between his gritted teeth when she pulled back to breathe. He was teetering dangerously on the edge. There were no cameras in here, no sound crew, no lighting, but Michonne was still kissing him.

Her response was to crawl into his lap, pushing him backwards across her couch. Her lips found his, coaxing his mouth open. Rick's mind raced, wondering what was happening, torn between stopping her to talk it out and wrapping his arms around her and pulling her tight against him.

She stretched across him, her hips aligned with his waist, leaning forward and arching her back. Rick's control held on by a thread. With great effort, he managed to speak.

"Michonne, what are you doing?" he opened his eyes and took her in, her round dark eyes and long lashes, her full lips and beautiful nose, the contrast of her skin on his. Her breathing was heavy, her chest heaving. Her mouth fell open as she looked down at him.

"What took you so long?" she asked quietly. Her fingers worked under the hem of his costume, holding on tight.

Rick sat up, wrapping his arms around her waist. Michonne sat still in his lap, her eyes wildly searching his face. In answer, Rick kissed her gently on the lips, then the forehead, then her cheek. Her breath hitched with every display of affection.

"I don't know, 'Chonne," he whispered, delighting in the shudder that went through her. "I wish I'd realized it months ago. Years ago." Four years of wasted time, of avoiding the elephant in the room.

"Are you sure?" her expression was serious, even as she trembled in his arms.

"Yes," the answer came quickly and easily. It had taken him years to realize it, but there was no going back now. "Do you feel the same?" he needed her answer.

She worried her lower lip between her teeth. "I do," her quiet confession set something in motion that Rick hadn't realized he'd been waiting for their whole relationship.

Seamlessly, he flipped her over. His name escaped her lips on a gasp as he settled on top of her. He kissed her again, grateful for the privacy of her trailer, for the opportunity to explore his feelings away from prying eyes. A thought occurred to him.

"To be clear," he started, lifting up enough to look at her. She was panting, her lips parted, painting such an enticing picture that Rick nearly lost his train of thought. "This isn't rehearsal, right?"

She laughed again, the sound ricocheting off the walls of her trailer. "No," she insisted, pulling him back down to her. To drive her point home, she curled her fingers into the waistband of his pants, grinning as he groaned at the sensation. He shed the offending object quickly, tossing it to the ground with no consideration for the costume department. Michonne's clothing joined in quick succession.

There was no embarrassment this time, no interruptions. Rick didn't struggle to avert his eyes from every inch of her. He kissed her dark skin, laving his tongue over her, listening to the sounds she made. Her nails dug into his shoulders, her legs ran up and down his waist, her whole body tightening beneath him like a spring.

"Rick," she whined his name, rolling her hips into his, consciously seeking out the hardness that had so embarrassed them both just a few hours ago. "Please," she pled with him.

Happily, he indulged her.

The two of them would have been mortified to know how thin the walls of the trailer were, or how fragile the shocks were. They were too occupied to notice the small crowd that had gathered just outside.

"About time," the grip, a muscular and blunt redhead named Abe announced unceremoniously.

A camera man named Glenn agreed. The pair of them paused outside the trailer for a few seconds, watching it bounce.

"Guess we should just take a lunch break," Glenn sat his camera down, leading the rest of the crew off towards the craft services table.

Inside, Rick and Michonne collapsed into each other. Rick managed to roll behind her on the couch, curving his body around his.

"I think we're going to have another problem with the scene," she exhaled, arching her back into him.

"What's that?" he kissed the back of her neck, inhaling her sweet scent.

"I'm not sure I'm going to be able to control myself," she rolled her hips backwards against him.

"Tease," he accused, his energy returning.

"Who's teasing?" Michonne countered, spinning around to kiss him again. Rick wrapped her in his arms, all thought of work forgotten.