Walking Dead 1. Chapter 1

**AN: So in my line of getting some ideas out there that have been driving me mad to get out of my head, I figured that I would go ahead and offer this one for those who are interested.**

**This is the first story I've done that's primarily a Mandrea story with Caryl as a secondary ship. Usually my stories are the other way around. However, I've had the hankering to play with Mandrea as a primary ship for a while and figured I'd finally give in. This is an AU…no Walkers.**

**For those who are new to my stories, I do take characters OOC from time to time to suit the world that I've built for them to play in and that might be the case here as well. **

**As I said before, I mostly wanted to start this story to play with this pair so we'll see where all I end up going. I'm sure that it will possibly (probably) end up being at least somewhat smutty since that tends to happen with me and Mandrea. **

**If it needs to be said, I do not own the Walking Dead or its characters. I'm just playing with them. The only things that I own are the plot and the OCs that I created. **

**I hope you enjoy the first chapter! Let me know what you think! **

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Merle had one damn thing on his mind when he got to the Coyote Crossing bar…and it was the same damn thing he had on his mind just about every time he walked into any place with a similar appearance and atmosphere.

He had full intentions of getting fucked up enough not to remember anything that had happened during the whole damn day…and he had high hopes of finding some piece around there he hadn't already topped once or twice before while managing to avoid any overly clingy previous conquests.

Coyote Crossing was a newer bar for him…about half an hour's drive away from where the hell he usually went, but he'd really run the pickings dry at the last place and it was time to branch out. He wasn't much for seconds…and he sure as shit wasn't given to liking thirds.

Merle walked into the dirty bar, taking in all the glory that it had to offer in a matter of minutes. Once you'd been in any place like this it was all the same.

The varying levels of drunks holding down their given locations throughout were a given…most of them locals and many of them he'd get to know on one level or another before he branched out, hoping to find another bar within driving distance of where he hung his hat.

The barmaids were important to know and to know well…but you didn't fuck them. Fucking them could ruin your whole experience at the bar because as soon as you loved one and left them, if they were of the clingy variety, then you couldn't go back to the place without dealing with them hanging on you…why didn't you call me? Didn't you miss me? When the hell we gonna see each other again? Not to mention that a pissed off bar-bitch was worse than a thorn stuck in your ass when you were looking to meet someone new…someone different.

It was best, if there was one that just begged to be banged, to safe that little treat for last and move to her when you'd cleared the rest of the place out of its goods…then you could hope that by the time you made the rounds again and ended back up there, not only the clientele had been refreshed, but the barmaids were new as well.

And more importantly than the barmaids, the most important people to know of all of them perhaps, were the proprietors. Merle always made it a point to at least get on speaking terms with whoever owned whatever bar he was in.

They had the goods…and if you were in good with them, they didn't bitch about tabs that didn't always get paid on time and they might even be kind enough to point you in the direction of some new, fresh face that you might have missed as you surveyed the possibilities before.

It was an art form, really, and it was one that Merle had mastered like some people might master painting fine damn pictures or playing instruments…or planning bank heists.

Scoring ass, booze, and the occasional extra substance good for providing entertainment in dirty bars…that was what the hell Merle was good at doing.

Merle scoped the place out quickly enough and made his way to the bar, his first stop at any new location, pounding his hand down to draw the attention of the man behind it…a man who looked about as bored as a body could be.

When Merle announced his presence, though, the young man behind the bar shifted his weight and set his body in a forward motion.

"What'll it be?" He asked.

Merle hummed to himself.

"Whisky…" Merle said. "Cheapest damn rot gut ya got…"

The young man nodded his head and a moment later produced a bottle and a shot glass from under the bar that he filled and slid toward Merle. Merle downed it quickly and waved the young man to pour him another, downing it just as quickly before leaving the glass to be refilled and sit a moment.

Merle looked around the place, noticing that the bored young man behind the bar didn't seem in any hurry to move from where he was…but the place was really only a pulse or two away from being dead, so Merle didn't see where he had too much to scurry off to. Even the two working barmaids in the joint were barely working…one of them watching a dart game while the other chatted up a table she was probably hoping for decent tips from.

"This place always so damn dead or it a special occasion?" Merle asked the man behind the bar.

And apparently the question was amusing because the young man chuckled and Merle echoed it to keep from being left out of the joke.

"Tuesday night…nothin' here on Tuesday except the die hards and the newcomers…and some damn times the newcomers lookin' to be die hards," the young man said.

Merle chuckled and offered a hand to the young man. The young man took it shook it with all the force Merle figured a body of his size could muster…if he was really old enough to be serving liquor, Merle would be surprised. His parents probably owned the joint…give it to him to run…some kind of job for a kid who might not find work elsewhere, Merle figured.

"Merle Dixon," Merle offered.

"Timothy…Tim…Burns," Tim responded.

The pickings were slim when it came to women in the bar, Merle could see that at a glance…and he hoped it was owing to the fact, like Tim had said, that it was Tuesday. Otherwise the Coyote Crossing might not turn out to be the kind of place that Merle had much need to frequent.

There were, as was customary at any of these places, the two or three old road whores, as Merle typically thought of them. They were always gathered together until they were pulled apart…usually by people so damn drunk that staying on their feet had become a full body sport. They were past their prime…or if they weren't…they sure as hell looked it. And they were always a rough and rowdy bunch just as likely to end up in a bar brawl as any of the burly ass men in the joint.

Merle steered clear of those because they were typically regulars…and a fuck and run could bite you in the ass real damn quick with one of them.

Other than that, it looked to him that just about every other piece that was in there…and that was still less than he could count on one hand…was paired up.

He'd either gotten there too damn late and missed his window of opportunity, or it was still too damn early and he just had to wait on one of the assholes to get up and move along to happier trails.

Either damn way, Merle was set to have a few more drinks before he had to slow his ass down to guarantee that he could drive back to where the hell he was staying without getting noticed by any of the nice officers.

Merle downed the shot in front of him and nodded at Tim who was watching him because there was relatively little else to watch in the place and then he sunk into his stool and settled in to shoot the shit with the boy…mostly working to find out what he could about who owned the place and what the hell a good damn night might look like there.

And he found out he was right…he'd called it in the air. Tim's parents owned the place and he worked it with the promise that one day all this…all the damn glory that was the hole in the wall bar that smelled of cigarettes and stale ass liquor…could someday be his.

And he found out that, at least Thursday through Saturday, the Coyote Crossing was a promising place for finding some pussy…Thursday being ladies' night and the kind of night that brought a smile to Merle's face when he found an establishment that offered one.

Ladies' night meant a lot of ladies…and it also meant the good damn chance that a lot of them were showing up looking for something…something he was more than happy to give them.

He might not score tonight…but Thursday it was sounding like he could have the damn pick of the litter…and he was already flying high on just the prospect.

Merle was leaning on his elbow, Tim having abandoned him to go and tend some drunks at the corner of the bar on the other side, and thinking about if it wouldn't be time to call the night a loss soon and pull it in for the night when a peroxide blonde, dressed to at least wound, saddled up to the bar and banged the palm of her hand down, three stools away from Merle.

And he recognized her as one of the women that had been paired up earlier…one who had caught his attention but was working to catch the attention of the man across the booth from her…but a quick glance in her old direction told Merle that her deal had fallen through…and tuning in on her conversation with Tim just sealed it.

"Place has gone to hell Tim when I gotta buy my own drinks," the blonde declared with a laugh.

"Shit went to hell when you started comin' in to drink on Tuesday's, Andrea," Tim declared, sliding a drink across the bar toward the blonde.

Seeing his window open up and not wanting to let the fresh ass box of Trojans he bought go to waste, Merle slipped off his stool and crossed over quickly enough to offer out a piece of folding money, sliding it almost under the blonde's nose.

"Lady's drinkin' on me, buddy," Merle said. He slipped onto the stool next to the blonde…Andrea…without asking permission, having found years ago that the next steps came easier if they didn't have the chance to refuse him the first move toward setting something up.

Andrea cut her eyes at him, sizing him up…trying to decide if she was going to be a bitch or if she was going to play the game. Merle knew that look…it was an exciting ass look to see in the eye of a woman at a bar.

Because there were typically two kinds of women at bars like these. There were the ones who didn't know how to play the game, and those who did. The ones who didn't know how to play the game were easy to spot. They were big eyed and flattered by every move you made. They were amazed to see you winning them over, inch by inch, step by step, and wore the same damn look of wonder that a kid got when you pulled a quarter from behind their ear and they weren't expecting it.

They were easy to win over, but fucking them was typically less exciting than anything your right hand and a bottle of lotion could bring you…because they didn't know what the hell they were doing there any better than they knew what the hell they were doing in a bar.

But the ones who knew how to play the game? They were a breed apart. And you could land with a sweet one…just like honey on your tongue…or you could land with a hellcat and a half. Therein lie the gamble.

But it was a gamble that Merle would take every damn time because whether she was sweet or whether she was hell…if a woman could play the game she could most likely light your ass up in the bedroom.

Apparently Andrea decided her prospects weren't too damn good, because her face dissolved a little and lost some of the hardness that she'd been wearing while deciding if she was going to accept his drink or tell him to go to hell.

"Quite the gentleman?" She said in a tone of voice that left it up to interpretation if it was a statement or a question.

Merle grunted and nodded his head.

"Fine woman such as yaself deserves that…ain't that right?" Merle asked, raising his eyebrow at her.

She smiled softly. She wasn't showing her cards. Sweet or hellcat…she was keeping it under wraps.

"You drinking too…or just watching me?" Andrea asked.

Merle chuckled and waved Tim down, asking for another drink, and then he lit a cigarette and offered her the pack. When she accepted, he lit her cigarette and smirked to himself at the way her lips curled into a smile as she exhaled the smoke of the first drag.

"Name's Andrea," Andrea offered.

Merle snickered and offered a hand to her.

"Got a last damn name or ya like fuckin' Cher?" Merle asked.

Andrea smiled.

She took his hand, shaking it gently and without any real commitment and she retracted it quickly, wrapping it back around the glass she was sipping from.

"Don't do last names," Andrea offered, turning her attention back to her drink.

Merle licked his lips when he noticed her not looking at him. He took the moment to look her up and down. She would do fine…just fine…and he wondered why the hell the asshole that had her hooked earlier would be dumb enough to let her spit bait and not go in after her…and if that wasn't the case and he threw her back…Merle figured the asshole really was a dumb fuck.

She was built nice…nicer than most of the women that he'd picked up in places like this. She had smooth legs that went all the way up…enough tits to get a good damn handful without worrying that the things were going to drag the ground behind her when she ditched her shirt…and enough ass and padding, from what he could tell, to guarantee he wouldn't get the sickening dig of hip bones trying to gut his ass when he had her legs as close to her damn ears as he could possibly get them.

"You got a name or are you just keeping that a secret?" Andrea asked, some sarcasm seeping into her voice.

Merle chuckled.

"Merle…Merle Dixon," he commented. "Might oughta remember that shit…ya gon' need it later…"

And it was a risky move. It was a move that had a fifty fifty chance of paying off. Some women would take the line as their sign to check the hell out of there and go somewhere else…but others would accept it, find it amusing…and those were usually the ones that were more inclined, or had already decided, to ride your dick later on in the span of an evening.

When Andrea smirked but didn't balk at the line, Merle smiled to himself.

The Coyote Crossing might not be such a bust after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Here we go, a second chapter. I'm not 100% pleased with it, but it takes me a while sometimes to get into my "rhythm" with stories…so it is what it is. **

**I guess there's something of a smut warning, but I'll go ahead and let anyone who doesn't know it already know that my Mandrea fics tend to be somewhat smuttier than any of my other fics…I don't know why…it just happens more often. There's also an AN at the end that you should read so that you're not shocked/offended/etc. at any point with the smut.**

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Andrea hadn't driven to the Coyote Crossing…Merle had learned that as their evening had drawn to a close and they had waited out last call. She'd come with the asshole who'd ditched her.

And Merle figured it was his loss because he'd fed her enough drinks to have her making bad decisions even if she hadn't come with that in mind…which she clearly had.

When they'd finally left the bar, Merle had helped her out to his truck. He was drunk, but she was a little bit drunker and loose slag over old, uneven asphalt was a well-known enemy to high heels…especially if the person operating the heels was at least two sheets to the wind.

And by the glory of all his practice driving under the influence without appearing to local law enforcement to be that way, Merle got them back to the trailer that he shared with his brother…or rather the trailer that he shared with his brother whenever the hell is brother bothered to be home…he was shacking up half the damn time with his girlfriend…or she would occasionally spend the night at the trailer…so he wasn't quite as permanent a feature in Merle's life as he once had been.

"Home Sweet Fuckin' Home, Sugah," Merle said, guiding the woman into the trailer.

And having left behind the rocky parking lot, she was steadier on her feet than he'd thought she was.

And she wasted no time making herself at home, ridding her feet of the shoes that were trying to break her neck just as she came in the door.

The change made her shrink a few inches, but Merle wasn't interested in her height.

"Well isn't this…cozy," she mused, looking around the trailer that had been manufactured forever ago and held a décor that Merle teased was "retro chic" after he saw the term somewhere, and not even knowing what the hell it meant, took a shine to it.

"You done drinkin' or just gettin' started?" Merle asked.

Now that he realized the blonde was not nearly as drunk as he thought she'd been when she was tottering on the rocks outside Coyote Crossing, he didn't feel the need to cut her off to keep her from passing out cold.

"Got a bathroom? I'd like to freshen up…and I'll have a drink…" Andrea said.

Merle gestured with his hand toward the hallway where she'd find the only bathroom in the place beside the little one in his brother's room that was more like a closet with a toilet and a sink that didn't work half the time and sent a howling noise through one whole side of the place when you used it that sounded like foxes in heat.

"Right down there…ya want'cha whiskey straight up or on the rocks?" Merle asked.

"Straight up," Andrea responded, heading toward the bathroom that Merle had pointed out to her.

Merle's practice with women was something almost tried and true for him…but already things were different with Andrea.

Usually he brought them home with him if they drove. The fact that they could be sober enough to make it his trailer meant that, after sweating some of the alcohol out of their systems, he didn't feel like they were stranded and he had no problem telling them to up and get their asses back to their own homes.

If the women didn't drive…he typically would spring for one of the cheap ass motel rooms on the edge of town…twenty bucks was a fair price for a lay and a foolproof escape plan…and there he'd leave their asses when he was done…and they could figure out their own way home in the morning whenever they checked out of the place.

But with Andrea he'd already brought her home, not exactly sure why even, instead of going to a motel…which meant that he was going to have to take her home when it was time for her to go to keep from being an even bigger asshole than he normally embraced being.

He figured, though, that he could deal with that shit later…right now it was time to reap the rewards of having spent all night drinking with her…though it hadn't been the worst company he'd ever kept at a bar such as Coyote Crossing.

When Andrea came back through the kitchen, she was shaking out her hair, apparently having removed whatever implement had been holding it up, and she offered him a smile as she took the glass from his hand that he offered her.

"You live alone?" She asked.

"Nah…my brother lives here…when he ain't shackin' up with his girl," Merle said.

He hoped she didn't think that he was like his brother…because they had entirely different views on women, domesticity, and what they hell they wanted out of life. Daryl was the sweet one and he'd offered himself up to be neutered quick enough. That wasn't Merle's cup of tea.

Andrea raised an eyebrow at Merle and smirked.

"You got a bedroom…or are you the couch dwelling type?" She asked, waving her whiskey glass under her nose to find, probably to her surprise, that Merle's personal stock boasted good liquor.

Merle smirked and lowered his eyebrows at her.

She knew how to play the game alright…and Merle was relieved to think that she had just as little interest in shacking up as he did. She knew why the hell they were here…and it wasn't to pick out fucking curtains and talk about what the hell to name their future kids.

They were here to fuck, plain and simple…it's what she wanted…and he was a man who aimed to please.

"Right through here, darlin'," Merle growled, leading the way to his room.

Merle's room was simple enough. He wasn't one for flash and flair and he sure as shit wasn't one of those people who wasted his time and his energy on things like decorating. He had furniture he'd picked up second hand and it existed to fill functions…that was it.

And honestly, he had nice sheets and pillows…but the only reason he could even boast having that was because Daryl's little girlfriend, a practical living Betty Crocker or something, had come through when she'd started staying there and replaced a lot of the shit that they'd had forever…linens included.

"Nice," Andrea purred, sitting down on Merle's bed. He closed the bedroom door, just in case Daryl were to come in at some point, and leaned against the wall, nursing his whiskey. He wasn't going to bark orders at her or tell her she couldn't sit on the bed…she looked like a woman who had put on a show or two in her life and he was curious to see how the hell she might choreograph things.

"How…" Merle stopped and sucked his teeth. For some women…the doe eyed innocents who didn't know what the fuck was really going on…he might try to sugar coat shit a little…but for Andrea, he didn't feel like the extra spoonful of sugar was needed. "How ya wanna do this shit?"

Andrea hummed and changed her position, crossing her legs and leaning on the one arm that wasn't holding her drink.

"Oh…you've got more than one move in your bag of tricks?" She asked.

Merle chuckled at the challenge.

"Darlin'…I got all the damn moves…what's ya pleasure?" Merle asked.

Andrea echoed his sucking of teeth and tasted the amber liquid that she wasn't drinking with the same fever that she'd employed in the bar.

She tipped her head to the side.

"I don't think you could handle it," she said. She made a face that looked a little like she was disappointed in whatever she was thinking about. "So…we'll just go with whatever you had in mind…"

Merle raised an eyebrow at her new challenge.

He considered himself pretty sexually well-versed…and he didn't like the suggestion that there was anything that this blonde could desire or dish out that his ass couldn't carry.

"Fuck's ya pleasure?" He growled again. "Don't reckon ya know what the hell I can handle an' what the hell I can't…"

She smirked at him and leaned, putting her glass on the nightstand. She got to her feet then, standing in place, and she worked her way out of the clothes she was wearing with enough grace that he couldn't begin to think that this was a woman who had very little practice taking her clothes off for show.

And once she was stripped of them, she stood there in front of him in a black lace bra and matching thongs…and that coupled with the fact that she was clearly meticulously groomed made Merle lick his lips quickly and confirmed for him the fact that she hadn't ended up here by accident…this was no accident at all.

"You like what you see?" She asked, running her fingers in the waist band of the black thongs and tipping her head to the side.

Merle chuckled and put his own glass down before he stepped toward her and wrapped his arms around her, unashamedly cupping her ass and pulling her up and against him.

And when she moved, licking his neck, he thought it was nice…he couldn't imagine what the hell might have led her to think he couldn't take anything she could dish out…and do so gladly. But he wasn't expecting her to latch her teeth onto him and he shoved her off out of the shock, hard enough to send her bouncing to the bed that was behind her to break her fall.

And she pulled her legs up, chuckling quietly as he rubbed at the spot where he was sure she'd at least slightly broken the skin.

"What's ya fuckin' problem?" He spat. "Crazy ass bitch!"

Andrea laughed lightly.

"Take your clothes off," she said. "Unless you're leaving them on for some reason…"

Merle wanted to be pissed that the bitch had up and bit him, but she was there and she was looking pretty damn hot...and she was half naked and wanting what he wanted to give her…so he wasn't going to be too damn pissed.

Merle took off his clothes with less interest in putting on a show than she'd shown in her stripping. He wasn't playing games and he wasn't pretending that he wasn't already turned on…not that he could really hide it since he didn't even bother to try to wow her with his plaid boxer shorts.

He went to the nightstand and yanked the drawer open, fishing out the box of condoms and tossing one onto the bed so that it landed beside her.

She picked it up nonchalantly and opened it, offering him the condom to put on…so he stroked himself and did exactly what she'd insinuated he should.

And it didn't take them long to find each other and to tangle up in the first of kisses and gropes. And it didn't take Merle long to get rid of the bra that was keeping him away from the tits that he wanted to spend a little quality time with and that she allowed him, tossing her head back and digging her fingers into his head like she was demanding that he stay there…worshipping the breasts that his tongue and teeth were finding much to their liking.

"None of this love making, flowers and candy bullshit," Andrea said in a throatier voice than before as she shifted around on the bed, ridding herself of the underwear that she was wearing so that it dropped to the floor with everything else that had been cast off. "I'm here for you to fuck me…"

Merle chuckled, slipping his hand down to tease her and caress her, growing harder at finding her as wet and ready as she was. She wasn't playing around…and she wasn't going to be one of those that he had to spend half the night trying to work up to the whole reason that he'd brought her there.

"However ya want it, sugah," Merle said, pushing two of his fingers inside of her quickly and without warning…smiling at the way that she looked surprised at first and then she purred at him, moving up to lick at the spot on his neck that earlier she'd bit while he worked her.

He had a feeling…though he wasn't sure how much of it he dared to explore at the moment…that there might be more to this woman than he'd even suspected when she raked her nails down his back, biting at his chest. It wasn't something he was used to, but at the moment it wasn't something he disliked either…and he liked the jolt it sent through him.

And Merle sometimes felt sorry when he got, as he thought, a little out of hand and maybe fucked a woman a little harder or rougher than he'd intended.

He was an asshole, after all, but he still held something of pride in the fact that he treated the women he was with, while he was with them, with as much physical respect as he felt he should. And even though he didn't really want to see their asses anymore after they left…he didn't want them leaving feeling like it had been a total fuck up on their part to have ever gone with him in the first place.

And he was sure that was why there were always those that tried to come back for more…there were always those who thought that once should turn into twice…and twice should turn into picking out the damn curtains and naming the future kids.

But he knew by the time they both collapsed, sweaty and both a little bloody in places from the sex that had almost dissolved into a battle of sorts between them, that he'd been anything but gentle and anything but respectful with the woman.

But this time, he didn't feel sorry for it…because he had done, each step of the way, what the fuck she'd asked him to do…no matter how much it had thrown him for a moment and made him have to remind himself that she was far more sober than he'd originally thought…and that she was sober enough to know what the hell she was getting off from and what she wasn't.

And they'd both gotten off…and Merle felt tired and invigorated at the same damn time…so he figured it was mission accomplished.

Andrea got out of the bed, and Merle's first thought was that she was leaving…already knowing the drill and recognizing this for exactly what it was, but then he remembered that she didn't have a car.

"Fuck you goin'?" He asked.

She smiled at him.

"Refresh my drink…rinse off a little in the bathroom…that fine with you?" She asked.

He grunted and got up himself. Rinsing off might not be a bad idea because he had plenty on him he could stand to sleep without.

"Listen…I'ma take ya ass home…first damn thing in the mornin'…" he said.

Andrea nodded her head.

"Wouldn't expect any different," she said before she walked out the bedroom door…naked and apparently not even giving a fuck to check and see if Daryl might have come in during their little rendez-vous.

Merle stood there for a moment, shaking his head to himself.

He'd picked up a lot of damn women in his life…but he had a feeling that this one, well, she was a breed all her own. 

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

**AN: So it should be said that the way in which I write Merle and Andrea usually has them both (at least eventually) sharing a certain "kink" with each other.**

**And they enjoy rough (and sometimes violent) flings with one another. But I know that for some people this is problematic or you want to assume the worst.**

**So I'm asking you to remember that they are two (fictional…but that's always beside the point) consenting adults who have a certain kink that they share with each other. Their games are just that…games…that they play with each other. They may insult/berate/etc. each other and things like that, but both of them do it as part of the game.**

**Nothing between them is a genuine act of violence or abuse. I don't condone that in any way. It is simply a way that they choose to perform with one another from time to time for their mutual pleasure. I just felt I should explain this before anything happens that gets anyone up in arms. **


End file.
