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It happens during a supply run, of course. This sort of shit always happens on supply runs. It’s tiresome, quite frankly. Not that Negan allows that to stop him, swinging Lucille with a hoarse, wild laugh as the barbed bat crushes rotting bodies, flinging bits of skin, sinew, and bone with every turn. His girl’s always been there for him, and now ain’t no different.
The psychology of mankind has always been interesting, but this new world with walkers has brought out both deep darknesses and surprising glimmers of light. Most particularly when it comes to men like Rick motherfucking Grimes.
Case in point, the man who works for him, who hates his guts, doesn’t take the opportunity to hatchet Negan in the back as they smash and brutalize their way through an onslaught of the risen dead. More and more on these excursions, when faced with the real dangers, the kind that guarantee death and no mercy, Rick has begun covering his back. They don’t stumble into walkers enough for it to be incredibly obvious, but then, Negan has never been a dull-eyed kind of guy. He sees. He notices. He catches those glimpses into the hard, weary, battle-worn flickers of the former deputy’s heart.
In other words, Rick can threaten to end him one way or another, but when it comes to the living and the undead, the living still tend to side with their own.
Funny thing, survival. Even the thought brings a wild laugh out of Negan as he crushes a walker’s head in, knocking teeth out even as he lifts to swing at another undead shambling fuck.
The problem this time is that just when it looks like they’re gaining the upper hand, more walkers appear out of the fucking woodwork, drawn to the grunts and gurgling second-death rattles and sounds of brittle bones snapping and twining with sloughing flesh. In fact, they’ve been at this so long that even Negan is starting to tire.
Then a rumble of thunder rolls over them. With all the blood and viscera, he hasn’t realized how suddenly dark it got.
The sudden downpour brings a blessing and a curse. The walkers quickly struggle to keep footing in the rising mud—but so do they.
“Here!” Rick’s shout can barely be heard over the thunder closing in. Negan swipes water from his eyes, nearly blinded by lightning crashing what looks to be barely a mile from them. He has to draw on a seemingly ridiculous skillset from days past, dancing into drier patches of sopping earth, catching sight of a drenched man precariously balancing halfway up the opposite side of a hatch-style wire fence. Negan reaches the fence, gripping between the diamond holes with one hand as he shoves his boots into lower footholds and starts hauling himself up.
Above him, Rick curses. He swings the hatchet, narrowly missing Negan’s head and sinking into a walker reaching for his side. As Negan awkwardly grips with the hand still holding Lucille, he lets out a mean laugh. “Good save, Ricky.”
The other man scowls at him. “Drop the damn bat.”
A ripple of anger flows through Negan in tune with another clap of thunder. “Fuck you, Grimes.”
He does, however, haul himself up enough to sling Lucille over the top of the fence. The leverage gives him just enough to pull himself over, grunting as twisted wire digs against his stomach through the leather jacket.
A hand with the kind of death grip only walkers possess clamps around his ankle. Negan curses violently, kicking with his other foot. An old bone snaps, but the hold doesn’t loosen, attempting to drag him down.
It’s one of those moments that decides a new fork in the road. One leads to death and reanimation as a mindless, cannibalistic monster; a literal dead end. The other…
“Jesus!” The shout is nearly swallowed in the storm. Rain lashes his skin, and a jolt pulls his ankle briefly before the hold is gone. Negan wastes no time hauling himself over the fence, pushing off and landing in slick ground with a shocking pain up his lower back. His knuckles are white clutching Lucille, his last grip on sanity—
Strong arms haul him to his feet. Negan doesn’t put up any bravado, allowing the assist, head whipping around to see the likely source of their survival: a fortified hut, clearly abandoned, but encased in the fence and offering plenty of treacherous ground. For as old and ramshackle as the little building seems, it also appears to have sturdy bones, more like a small, severely outdated cabin.
Without a word, the two stumble for the building, slipping and sliding through mud and wet grass. The door opens easily. Negan slams it closed behind him, snorting to see Rick shaking and glaring at a dead flashlight. His hands tremble with nerves that Negan hasn’t seen him with in a long time.
“Don’t think those are rainproof,” sneers Negan.
Rick looks at him coldly. “Gimme a few minutes; I’m sure I could light that dry husk of a heart of yours on fire.”
Negan laughs. “If anyone can, Ricky boy, I’m sure it’s you.”
Rolling his eyes, Rick tosses the flashlight. There isn’t much light by which to navigate, but the flashes from the raging storm outside provide just enough in interims for them to find an oil lantern, a pile of dry rags, and half a box of matches. The two wipe their hands dry, working silently together. Rick changes out the charred wick near the end of its life for another he finds stashed in a sagging cardboard box, hands uncharacteristically shaky. Once he finally finishes, Negan gets the damn thing lit and surveys their little temporary hideout. Beside the door are two thick slabs of metal, and on either side of the jambs are husks of metal twisted into a ninety-degree angle.
He places the lantern on the ground. “C’mon.”
Rick is the kind of man who doesn’t need to be told twice. He helps Negan lift the heavy slabs into place, barring the only door. Even if the walkers could break the door down, the walls inside have been reinforced with concrete. Picking them off will be easy.
“D-don’t look like much from outside,” he hears Rick mutter with a soft clatter of teeth.
Negan’s mouth curls into an unkind smile. Sometimes it feels like that’s all he’s got left; the mean sneers, the cruel laughter. Still, his voice remains conversational enough when he answers. “Damn fortified in here, though.”
Rick doesn’t answer.
Negan strolls about, Lucille propped safely—protectively—on his shoulder. The home is about the size of a studio apartment back in the day. Likely built by some lone wolf years ago, given the openness of the toilet, cracked bathtub, and tiny kitchen that barely consists of counterspace and an empty slot where a fridge must once have been. no table, just a slab of wood propped on like crates in front of a couch. Without a bed, Negan surmises the couch doubled as the sleeping area. That or the previous owner slept on the floor.
He glances over, a cold shiver running down his spine. Rick is stripping out of his sluiced jacket, gooseflesh raised on his skin. Lips tinged blue, eyes tight.
Not a good sign.
And no wonder. Negan’s fucking freezing, too. Whatever was up with that out of nowhere storm, it brought a seasonally frigid cold along with it. Negan’s used to it… or was, before the world and everything they knew went to utter shit. Still, no amount of looking magically produces firewood, and the storm doesn’t sound like it’ll let up anytime soon.
Decided, Negan starts flinging open cupboards and anything else that could hide necessities. Most of what he finds are dented, burned, or otherwise abused pots and pans and cooking utensils, but eventually, when he pulls the cushions off the couch, he’s pleased to see it’s a fold-out.
“All right, Ricky boy,” he sing-songs, yanking the mattress up and out. “Time for beddy bye.”
Rick doesn’t answer again. He’s shivering now, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. When he opens his mouth, the light chatter of his teeth gives him away.
Negan snorts and starts toward him. For once, the other man doesn’t glare or flinch back, just staring dully as Negan sidles up to him. When he tugs at Rick’s dripping shirt, the man just stares at him and shivers more.
Well, fuck.
Barely keeping the material pinched between his thumb and forefinger, Negan speaks low but firm and clear. “You need to take off the clothes, dry off, and get under the blanket. And then you need to tolerate me doing the same thing.”
Rick’s eyes spark to life for a moment. He mumbles something but is nearly taken by another swift chill that stutters him into silence.
Jesus fuckin’ Christ.
“All right, Ricky-o,” drawls Negan. He tugs the shirt again, this time hard enough to loosen some from where it’s tucked inside his jeans. “Unless you wanna die like this, you’re gonna have to give up a lil of that ol’ wholehearted, southern modesty.”
It’s equal parts delightful and disturbing that Rick doesn’t fight him on this. As such, Negan keeps it perfunctory, stripping him quickly and tossing him a dry, thin blanket. Even then, Rick does little more than shiver in it, eyes distant and expression somewhere between resentful and morose. Negan doesn’t avert his gaze—he never does—but he is quick to peel the soaking jeans off the other man, along with his underwear, before tightening the blanket around him.
Then he sweeps Rick up into a bridal carry.
See, the Rick he knows, he’d writhe away, or scowl with death in his gaze, or even attempt a quick take-down only to fail. It’s a testament to how serious the situation is getting, or likely already is. Stubborn asshole like this deputy can’t help but keep his wounds to himself like a damn cat. Hell, it’s one thing Negan lo—
Cutting that thought off, Negan deposits Rick onto the shitty pull-out. The other man shivers violently. The blanket does no good if there’s no heat to retain. So Negan strips as well. Keeps Rick facing away, tugging down the damp blanket in spite of the pitiful protests before he yanks the man in close and pulls another blanket over them.
The first thing he registers is that Rick is freezing. He shouldn’t be, Negan is about as soaked as he is, but the man is like ice. Any chance Negan had at a boner is gone the second he yanks the other man back into his hold. He hisses, muffling a curse. The way Rick shakes, he gets the sneaking suspicion the deputy may want to snark back, but doesn’t have the energy to. Bastard.
Despite himself, Negan smiles.
“Lemme guess,” he says, rubbing Rick’s arm to encourage bloodflow. “You weren’t feeling well and the flashstorm made things worse.” Rick chatters something under his breath. Much as Negan would like to needle at him, he’s fairly tired, too. It’s been a damn long day.
Voice a quiet rumble, he says, “Go to sleep, darlin’.”
Rick says nothing. It takes Negan a moment to realize that he has, in fact, already done so. He snorts. “Jesus. Wouldn’t kill ya to talk more, you know.”
Rick says nothing.
With a shrug, Negan settles in. It’s likely the only chance he'll ever get to be like this with the man. May as well enjoy it.
***
Rick hasn’t had a good night’s sleep since… well, the apocalypse, sure, but even a decent one has been elusive since the last time he had sex with Lori. That memory is so painful, remembering the cold, almost clinical tone behind it, emotions he regrets and always will. He could have—should have—treated his late wife better.
So it’s easy to lose himself in a dream of comforting darkness. Of warm arms around him, hands whispering up his back, down over his ass. These aren’t shy touches, either; they’re eager, almost desperate, and his cock is like hot iron between his legs. The phantom molding him into sheer pleasure, encouraging him to grind against solid muscle, the friction dizzying until he’s near tears. It feels so damn wonderful, and the heat pooling low in his gut is building steadily—
Until those strong arms grasp him, twist him around, leaving him to hump at nothing. Rick tries to protest, but the dreamscape stifles all sound, frustrating him further. He can’t even hear the tone of the voice whispering to him, can only catch fragmented words in a dreamy quality, all sharp yet fuzzy around the edges: aw, honey… don’t cry… shh, shh… you’ll regret this…
The sorrow in those last words snap something inside him. Whatever has him tethered to the dream falls away, leaving Rick to land uncomfortably in his own body.
He blinks, disoriented. The first thing he notices, somewhat distantly, is that his dick is raging hard, twitching against some shitty bedsheets on a lumpy mattress. The second thing he realizes is that he’s warm—last he recalls, he was about shivering out of his boots. Perhaps even did. Wriggling his toes, he can tell now, for certain, that he’s fully nude. But he’s also warm. Dry. Being held. With strong arms banded around him, and a firm line against his ass—
Rick jolts, scrambling out of the hold. To his fury and astonishment, he earns a raspy laugh for his efforts, and the arms tighten. “Where ya goin’, sunshine?”
“What the fuck, Negan?” he spits between his teeth. “What the fuck—”
“Whoa, now, cowboy, hold your horses,” drawls Negan in that aggravatingly smooth way of his. “Ain’t nothin’ happened but you about freezing to death, and me saving your ass.”
“This what you call savin’?” Rick can’t keep the horror out of his voice. He’s getting flashes of Carl, of his boy thrown to the ground—
Negan seems to sense something, because one arm goes lax, hand petting over his forehead and back through his hair. “Hey, hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs in that rage-inducing, crooning way of his. “Now, Rick, just think for a second. I ain’t like that and you know it.”
As much as part of him wants to keep Negan securely in that Dangerous: Do Not Engage lockbox, Rick’s common sense is stronger. He breathes, slowly calming. Reminding himself that was Joe and his men, not Negan and his. He can hate them both and acknowledge their differences.
He saved Sasha from exactly this. You know he did.
Even so, his brief panic has cost him well-needed energy reserves. He slumps to the bed, pressing his eyes into his own bicep. God damn it. Negan saved his life. And—
“The hell’re you hard for?” he asks roughly into the mattress.
Negan chortles behind him. “Could ask you the same question, Sleepin’ Beauty.” Rick turns his head to scowl at him, and Negan chuckles. “I wasn’t the one humping you in my sleep. Let’s just get that clear now.” When Rick shifts, Negan places a hand on his hip. It’s hot, callused. Rick has to hide his face again, ashamed of the heat snaking up his flank from that mere touch… and from Negan’s blunt accusation. “Can’t blame a man for a reaction, just like I don’t blame you for gettin’ a stiffy from humping my leg like a bitch in heat.”
Rick scowls, loathing the heat in his cheeks.
“Must’ve been some dream. Who was it, hmm? Pretty samurai lady? Or the one who slapped me? She’s got some fire.”
“Shut up.”
Negan barks a laugh. “C’mon, Rick, you know me better than that. Have some goddamn manners for the man who saved your ass.”
“Jesus Christ,” ground out Rick. The innuendo isn’t even remotely subtle.
As though he never spoke, Negan continues. “I turned you over to spare you the embarrassment. All right, lil Ricky?” He taps Rick’s hip bone before placing his palm fully over it again. “Good? We square now?”
“Hell no,” he snaps back. Even then, there’s little bite to his voice. All else aside, he… he believes Negan on this one. After a long moment, he adds grittily, “S’fine.”
Quiet answers at first. Then another slight pat to his hip. “All righty then.”
Neither of them move.
Rick is stone still and silent. The fact Negan breathes so easily and calmly ratchets his anxiety up past eleven, well into the late teens if he’s counting. Worse is that the other man acts like this is normal; normal for them to lie on a shitty pull-out couch, hiding from walkers, under ratty blankets without a stitch of clothing in order to survive.
This shit ain’t normal. He knows that.
Neither is my dick still bein’ so damn hard.
His teeth ache from clenching them. Rick knows if he ends this now, they’ll just get back to work. Go on as normal, finish their supply run, get back none the worse for wear, even if with a few additional, harried questions.
He tells himself it makes perfect sense for Negan’s cock to be grazing, hot as sin and soft as silk, against his backside. He tells himself it makes perfect sense to calm his pulse to something a bit closer to normal, that it clears his head. He tells himself it makes perfect sense to twist, grasping the wrist attached to the hand on his hip, and roll over onto Negan, tangling the blankets. His breaths puff out in harsh gusts as the other man makes a show of tensing, his bemused grin betraying his curiosity just before Rick rolls his hips and their cocks brush against each other.
Negan’s reaction is instantaneous. He groans, arm limp under Rick’s hold, head falling back, hips shifting. It feels tenuous, restrained. Rick licks his lips and gives another testing grind, eyes fixated on how their dicks meet, skin on skin, flushed to flushed. His own length throbs. He was already beginning to leak, but it suddenly looks obscene to him, smearing across Negan’s hip.
He wonders how it’d taste, to lick himself off the other man’s sweat-dampened skin.
“Well,” rasps Negan, his eyes darkening with lust. “Aren’t we having a change of heart?”
Rick snorts as a shiver tingles up his spine. “Two birds, one stone.”
Negan’s gaze flits down, tongue pressed between his lips for a moment. Shiny and pink and tantalizing. Rick shudders again, nearly missing what the other man says. “Looks more like two pricks, one shitty situation.” Before Rick can retort, the other man’s free hand slides between them, wrapping firmly around their cocks. The added friction wrangles a gasp out of Rick, his hips thrusting out of control for a few weak moments. “Fucking hell, baby, that’s it.”
“Don’t call me that,” breathes Rick. Even so, he doesn’t try pulling away. It feels too damn good, reminding him of the delicious dream he was so rudely awakened from.
The hand around them squeezes. A strangled moan slithers out of Rick’s taut throat while Negan arches an eyebrow. His expression is one of bare interest, but the flush in his face and his hard dick bely his aloofness. “If we’re gonna do this, you’re gonna have to give me some leeway, darlin’.”
God, that’s even worse. Rick squeezes his eyes shut, hands drifting to Negan’s chest for support. The muscle there is firm and strong under a thick layer of hair that feels good to stroke his fingers through. “S-somethin’ else,” he croaks.
Negan hums thoughtfully. He gives their trapped erections a firm squeeze that makes Rick’s eyes roll into the back of his head. It’s a delectable, heady sort of heat that dances along his nerves, fissuring what tenable hold he has on his self-control. A low growl of pleasure from the other man’s throat inspires Rick to thrust into the other man’s hand in wanton desperation.
Rick moans when the other man languidly releases his own dick, stroking over Rick’s. With a start, he realizes that he’s begun leaking enough to create a slick noise when Negan pumps him with the slow quality of a man in no hurry.
“How ‘bout Georgia, then?”
What, does he have a… a fetish for pet names? Rick quickly bats that thought away. Gives a jerky nod. Tries not to think about the implications of that name.
Sounding satisfied, Negan gives his cock a firm squeeze. “Well then, Georgia,” he drawls, rolling his fingers over the wet head of Rick’s length and drawing out a keen. “We can keep goin’ like this. I’m amenable. But…”
Rick barely realizes he’s trailed off, expecting an answer. Fuck, it feels so good to be touched this intimately, it’s been so long…
“But?” he finally asks.
Another stroke drags an embarrassing sound from his throat. It’d be even more embarrassing if he wasn’t so into what Negan is doing to his dick.
With a leer, Negan says, “I’d rather fuck you.”
Jesus. Of course he would.
“Why?” grits Rick. His cock pulses at the thought, and he knows damn well Negan notices that and how he freshly leaks from it.
“Christ, Rick, why do you think?” Negan smooths his fist down, pulling back up slow and wet. “Cuz it feels fuckin’ fantastic.” He pauses, then flashes a sharp-toothed grin. “And I have a thing for being a man’s first.”
That gets a sharp laugh from Rick, even though it melts into a groan when Negan presses his thumb under the swollen head of his cock. “What… what makes you think… you’re my first?”
It must be the way he asks, taunting, that makes Negan’s hand pause and his head snap up. Dark eyes aflame with surprise and something deeper, darker, that sends a nearly fearful wave of arousal through him. The man is still holding his cock; of course he’s a little scared…
Even as he thinks it, Negan pulls his hand away. Grasps Rick’s waist, long legs kicking to flip them. Rick fights it until Negan pauses, then goes lax. The other man huffs an amused sound at the back of his neck. Negan completes the manhandling turn, getting Rick right back to where he was when he awoke. Only this time, he presses back into the hard, warm, firm plane of Negan’s body, groaning when that wonderfully skillful hand returns to his cock.
“Well,” says Negan softly. “Well, well, well. Who was it, Georgia?”
Rick heaves an annoyed sigh. “No one you know.”
“Gimme a name.”
“Why should I?”
Lips graze against his skin, surprisingly delicate, almost like a kiss… “If I can’t be your first dick, then I’ll be the best, Rick Grimes.”
With a start, Rick wonders how they got here. Is this happening…? Well, of course it is, but… how? Wasn’t a few hours ago that he damn near left Negan for the walkers outside the fence…
“Morgan,” he rasps. A dry, callused hand gropes his ass, squeezing. “H-he was… a friend… saved my life.”
“Saved your life,” drawls Negan. And if Rick didn’t know any better, he’d say the man sounded… jealous. “And you wanted to return the favor, that it?”
Rick jerks, nearly twisting out of the other man’s grip. He scowls over his shoulder, chest tight. “It wasn’t like that,” he growls. “Don’t fuckin’ even with me.”
Negan’s jaw tics. Then, smoothly, his features relax. “All right. You’re right. I’m sorry, Georgia.” Before Rick has time to process the apology, Negan dips his head closer, breath warm against Rick’s cheek. “You gonna let me kiss you now?”
The question damn near strikes Rick speechless. But he surprises his own damn self even more when he nods.
Everything about Negan runs on obfuscation and honesty, which is a compellingly frustrating mix if ever Rick dealt with one. So it takes him aback when Negan shifts, giving him the room to turn more onto his back. When Negan kisses him, Rick still expects rough and biting… not the slow, soft, wet contact that follows. Negan’s tongue laps at the seam of his lips; Rick feels helpless to give in. Worse, his dick is positively aching while they kiss. A rumble of pleasure vibrates into his mouth as Negan cups the back of his head, tilting him for a better angle. Rick tries not to give him the satisfaction of writhing; at the same time, the sensation of a strong, wet tongue exploring his mouth so thoroughly wrings a delicious moan from his own mouth.
Of course, Negan takes advantage of the position, hand snaking between their bodies, nails lightly dragging down his abdomen and to the next of thick curls at the base of his cock. Then he’s holding him, gently squeezing the head until Rick gasps into his mouth.
Negan chuckles, sounding breathless himself. His damp mouth trails down Rick’s throat, licking wet over his nipple before drawing it into his mouth.
“Oh, Jesus.” Rick moans, hand rubbing over his face. He’s half-pinned, one arm stuck useless beneath Negan’s weight while the other man laughs roughly; sucks and laps at his nipple, squeezing his dick in time with some internal rhythm.
“What’s wrong, Rick?” Negan switches to tormenting the other nipple, easing a slick whine from Rick’s throat. “Having trouble hating me now?”
Rick stifles a harsh cry with his hand, the sensation of teeth over the tender, reddened skin almost too much to bear. Somehow, he manages to say, “This… this is just… what do y’all call it… hate sex.”
Now Negan’s laugh is uproarious, earning a glare from Rick. The other man flashes him a wicked grin, releasing his cock to tweak his nipple. Rick yelps.
“Sure, Georgia,” says Negan smugly. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“Listen, you—”
Negan, of course, does not listen. He shimmies down Rick’s body. The sound of him slurping over the side of Rick’s cock wrenches another cry from him, as well as a renewed flush when a string of pre-cum briefly connects Negan’s tongue to his dick.
With a loud smack of his lips, Negan leers, “I’m listenin’,” and promptly swallows Rick down to the root.
The abrupt wet heat has Rick’s hips jolt. He must be out of his mind, because he pets Negan’s hair in apology, only to get a lustful growl in response before Negan wraps his lips around the head, sucking, throat flexing as though determined to drink him down.
“Oh… fuck.” It’s so good, so goddamn good. Rick is out of his mind with pleasure, bucking into the smooth velvet of Negan’s mouth. Rough hands grasp his hips and pin them. But that’s not retribution; no, that comes when Negan starts bobbing his head, each sucking stroke accompanied by the wild pressure of his tongue and a groan of appreciation. Rick muffles a wail into the crook of his elbow. Who the hell gave this man the right to be so good at this?
He’s trembling like a taut, live wire, heat burning behind his clenched eyelids, when Negan pulls off with a loud pop. Rick all but sobs. He’s trying to either smack or grab him, unsure which, but Negan just captures his wrist in a surprisingly tender hold. Lips wet with spit and pre-cum brush over each fingertip. Rick shakes under the sweet assault, trying not to swallow his own tongue.
“How ‘bout it?” murmurs Negan. Despite telling himself not to look, Rick opens his eyes, swallowing hard at the gentle expression on the mercurial man’s face. “Gonna let me put it in your ass?”
Rick blinks, cursing himself for the slow, syruppy way his brain formulates a response.
He nods, but adds in a throaty whisper, “If you got the supplies.”
Negan’s grin is fierce. “Shit outta luck on condoms, but I’m willin’ to bet I can find something to ease the way.”
Wait, find?
Before Rick can respond, Negan rolls off the couch. The creaky metal frame protests at the treatment while all the warmth flees with the other man. Rick fumbles for the blanket, but Negan is already on it, tucking the material tight around him with a rogueish wink.
“Don’t run off now.”
Rick almost snorts. Run off where? He’s buck-ass naked and the rain is still pattering against the windows, albeit not near as harshly as before.
He is, however, mesmerized by the thick length jutting shamelessly from between Negan’s hips as the dark-haired man putters out of sight. Rick catches a glimpse of his ass before the couch hides the rest. His eyes flutter closed, hand absently palming himself.
When his eyes open, he’s startled into a flush to see Negan watching him. Dark eyes rake hungrily over him, the tip of a pink tongue poking out from the corner of his lips. It’s a predatory look, yet strangely affectionate in a way that leaves Rick floundering in his emotions for a moment. He gives the base of his cock a firm squeeze, stuttering over a quiet whimper.
Negan’s head snaps up. When their gazes meet, Negan crawls back onto the bed, urging Rick onto his side. Rick catches a brief glimpse of a large, familiar plastic bottle with pale gold liquid. He draws a shivering breath, swallowing a moan when rough hands glide sweetly over him, tugging the blanket back over their hot bodies. It’s probably not necessary; at the same time, there’s a strange thrill at the idea of being unable to touch but not see.
The sound of a plastic cap unscrewing. A glug of liquid; something thin and cool dripping onto the bed and Rick’s hip. He bites his lip as Negan’s mouth grazes over his nape, damp with sweat.
“C’mon, Georgia,” murmurs the other man. A strong, thick arm slides under his body, cradling his waist the crook of his elbow. “Relax.”
“I am relaxed,” snaps Rick. Still, he draws in a steadying breath, hand reluctantly letting go of his dick when Negan’s trapped arm angles to grasp him. The dark-haired man’s teeth scrape against delicate skin, sufficiently distracting him until long fingers wrap around his length. Rick curls his lips between his teeth, muffling the humiliating, needy noise that tries to eke out.
“You aren’t,” returns Negan to his earlier statement, sounding too smug. “But you will be in a moment.” His hand gives a slow, firm stroke that wrings another desperate noise from Rick’s throat. His cock pulses, leaking freshly by the time Negan’s fingers massage over his sensitive tip.
Fuck, it feels good. He wants to hate it, but Rick is sinking into the pleasurable oblivion. Negan’s slick fingers tease between his asscheeks. Face hot, Rick reaches down with a shaking hand, pulling one aside to give him room.
Negan curses. “Rick Grimes,” be breathes, finger circling the taut pucker of muscle. The barest pressure draws out another choked whine, and Negan chuckles. “Don’t worry,” he teases meanly, “daddy’s got you.”
“Oh, shut u—hnnngh.” Rick’s words split in half as a finger slowly, gently breaches him. Either it’s been far too long that he’s forgotten the sensation, or Negan’s finger is especially thick pressing into him. Rick breathes harshly between his teeth, trying to relax into the invasion. All but fails until Negan gives his dick another agonizing, slow, smooth stroke, wrangling a deep, hoarse cry from him. He clenches around the intrusion, but effectively relaxes after, allowing Negan to carefully pump in and out.
“There we go.” Negan’s voice is a low rasp, his mouth peppering dry kisses along Rick’s shoulder. Slow, sweet pressure of another finger teases at his hole, drawing a moan from Rick. “There we go, Georgia. Perfect, just fuckin’ perfect.”
For once, there’s no mocking in his tone. The second finger works in, just as slippery as the first. Rick turns his head into his own arm, mouthing his bicep as Negan carefully strokes the slickness into him, spreading inside him, fingers twisting and gently curling.
Another stroke pulls more pre-cum from Rick’s cock. He moans into his arm, shuddering when Negan lets go to smear up some of the sticky, clearish fluid. His hand vanishes. It’s a bewildering moment before Negan’s hips shift away, taking the delicious heat of that cock with him. Rick protests wordlessly, trying to squirm back into him—and is halted when Negan trembles violently, upper body tensing against Rick’s back. A brief, pleasured grunt ruffles Rick’s damp hair.
He tries to twist, to see, but Negan moves his fingers again, now cautiously scissoring and working the taut furl open. The slightly sticky hand returns to Rick’s dick, thumb rubbing over his tip and shooting lightning through his veins in a sharp burn.
“That’s it.” Negan growls into his ear, causing Rick to arch and whine. “Keep relaxin’, that’s the way. Lemme work you open nice and easy, get you ready for my massive cock.”
Despite himself, Rick wheezes out a laugh. “Overstatement,” is all he can manage before Negan withdraws his fingers. He worries for a brief moment, especially when Negan lets go of him to slide his arm back out—but then the plastic cap unscrewing sounds again, followed by a glug.
Negan wedges his arm under again, quicker to hold his dick as his fingers resume their slide in—but this time it’s three, three of the damn things, and Rick garbles out startled nonsense, eyes closed and frowning at the sting that accompanies. Sure enough, however, a few good, gentle pumps in eases the pain, and Negan mouths over the muscle between his neck and shoulder, teeth almost threatening were it not for the spit-laden tongue soothing between them.
“Someone’s bein’ a smartass prick today.” Negan sneers and twists his fingers. “Can’t even be nice long enough to get fucked, goddamn.”
“Piss off,” manages Rick. Any other snark shreds to ribbons when Negan’s fingers twist again, grazing over something soft and insanely good. Rick attempts to hide his reaction, but Negan being frustratingly Negan, he notices.
“What’s this, then?” asks the other man, sickly sweet as he prods with the pads of his fingers. Biting his tongue does Rick no good, because the moment Negan presses against that gloriously sensitive area, he’s crying out. “Ohh, fuck, yeah, Georgia, that’s the spot, ain’t it? Feels damn good.” As he speaks, he starts drilling against his prostate. Rick shrieks, releasing his tenuous hold on his own asscheek to grip the sheets next to his face as pleasure sings through him. Negan shushes him, and despite himself, Rick obediently turns his face into the sheets, muffling his sounds. Fuck, it’s good, it’s been so damn long…
“Tell me.” Negan speaks conversationally with his fingers in Rick’s ass. The absurdity of it nearly sets Rick into a fit of laughter, blessedly staved off when Negan rubs against that sweet spot again. “Did Morgan make you feel this good?”
This time, Rick utters a rasping chuckle, melting into a whine when the fingers inside him press in deeper. “Yeah… actually.”
Negan makes a small noise, clearly dissatisfied with the response and pulls his fingers out. Choking, Rick says, No, no, no, wanting that satisfying fullness back, the unfiltered sparks in his veins—only to bite his tongue when the blunt head of what must be Negan’s cock.
Oh. Oh, fuck.
Negan stops, the hold on his dick loosening. “No?”
“Yes,” snaps Rick. He tries to roll his hips back, but Negan’s slippery hand still manages to halt him. “God damn it—”
“You were saying no.”
Rick groans, head thumping back to Negan’s shoulder. “I meant no, don’t go. Jesus fucking Christ, Negan, get inside me already!”
“Rude,” mutters Negan. Rick grits his teeth, nearly screaming in frustration when he feels the barest pressure against his slippery hole, only for it to retreat. “He bigger’n me, too?”
Rick snorts at the childlike resentment. “Bigger don’t mean better, so what’s it matter?”
For a moment, there’s no answer… then the sensation of teeth against his neck as Negan grins. At the low purr the other man’s voice takes on, Rick’s body betrays him with a violent, tingling shiver down his spine.
“Oh, don’t you worry there, Rick. I’ll make a size queen of you yet.”
“Wha—Negan!” He shoves his face back into the sheets, reflexively tensing when Negan starts to push in. Fuck, oh, god, he’s thick… he knew, he saw, but three fingers don’t mean shit compared to this.
“Shh, shh, shh.” Negan noses at his ear. “Just a bit more, that’s it, that’s good…”
Rick doesn’t know what the fuck that is supposed to mean, considering the barely muffled cry he emits when the head pops in. Both men still, panting. The sheets are hot under Rick’s body, a good swath crumpled into his sweaty hand. Behind him, tension thrums through Negan’s body, like he’s barely holding back.
For once, Rick’s thankful for that.
“All right, Georgia. Up, up.” A broad hand curls under his thigh, urging him to pull his knee toward his chest. It opens him up wider, eases a bit of the insane pressure, and Rick lets out a quiet sob of needy relief. The roughness of Negan’s beard is almost too much against his hypersensitive skin, rubbing against his nape and upper back. “Good there?” Rick nods frantically, and his reward is a startlingly gentle kiss under his ear. “Okay, Rick, gonna need you to lift your leg this way—I got you, come on, that’s it…”
Much as Rick half wants to punch him senseless for his verbal nonsense, he’s more distracted by the embarrassment of having his leg effectively spread for him, exposing him in a way he never truly has been before. He clenches his eyes shut, moaning when Negan starts sliding in a little more, smooth and thick and sweet.
It’s too good. He feels sweat prickling under his skin, heat threatening to burst forth. Rick breathes hot and deep through his mouth, trying to regain some semblance of composure… gone, when he looks down and can see how horribly he’s leaking.
“God damn,” breathes Negan, his voice a deep rasp. “You’re takin’ me like a damn whore, Rick, all nice n’ easy.”
“Shut up.” Or so he tries to say, but the words are barely a creaking whisper. He bites his hand as Negan slides in more, and pauses; more, then pauses; more, and Rick’s stuffed so full he’s ready to burst.
Of course, if Negan hears, he ignores him, focusing instead on how Rick’s head rolls, his muscles clench, his chest heaving. The moment Negan’s hips meet his ass, Rick lets out an explosive breath.
“There we are,” says Negan, almost gently. His warm hand rubs against Rick’s side, over his ass, giving a squeeze before drifting back to his hip. “All in. How’s it feel?”
Tempted as Rick is to lie, honestly slips out anyway. “Amazing,” he mumbles, covering his eyes with his hand. “Just… gimme a minute.”
“Mmm.”
It takes him some time to fully relax. He knows damn well it’ll hurt if he doesn’t, and so far, Negan has been startlingly good to him. To the point it makes Rick vaguely wonder if all of his wives are actually women.
In true Negan fashion, he doesn’t let the moment go in silence. Rough, dry lips drag over his nape, teeth grazing. “Talk to me,” murmurs the tyrant. “About your first time.”
What? Rick tries to turn his head, but Negan just mouths over his shoulder, making it impossible to meet his gaze anyway.
It takes a few intense minutes of enduring the semi-sweet assault of his mouth for Rick to finally speak. “Happened… happened twice. First time after he saved me.” Negan makes a noise of acknowledgement, the hand around Rick’s cock firming but not moving otherwise. After a stuttering inhale, Rick continues. “I… I knew my wife was still alive but… but… he had a son. He was asleep, and it was quiet. We had a few shots. Talked about things. I was still learnin’... but part of me…” He swallows in bitter memory. “Part of me thought maybe… maybe they really were dead.” Thankfully, Negan doesn’t ask who they were. “An’ the more we drank, the more it hit me, and…” He frowns as an echo of old emotions ripple over him. “And we just… kinda fell together.”
“Don’t wanna tell the dirty details, Georgia?”
Rick snorts. There’s something funny about having this conversation with his goddamned enemy balls-deep in his ass, lying there like they’re vacationing in the Bahamas. “He fucked me. I was on my stomach. He was kind and good at it.”
The hand around his dick squeezes. Rick shudders, feeling himself pulse and twitch and spurt pre-cum.
“And the second time?” prods Negan.
Rick shakes his head. “He didn’t recognize me at first. I wasn’t gonna… Carl was with me. And Michonne. They left for a bit, an’ I had to pull him back… he was broken, though. I couldn’t convince him to come with us.” Heat steals over his cheeks. “Honestly… I barely remember how it started. He said somethin’ about his penance, an’ I kissed him. Lori was gone. He’d lost everything. And we just…”
When he trails off, Negan actually allows the quiet to reign for a bit. It leaves Rick getting cold, remembering the distance in Morgan’s dark eyes, how sad the man looked even as they came in each other’s hands. How the guilt drove them into silence as they cleaned up and rebandaged Rick’s shoulder.
A gentle yet firm squeeze to his thigh jolts him back into his body. Though his leg has fallen a bit, Negan holds him open, strong hold unfaltering.
“Well then,” murmurs Negan, his voice kinder than Rick’s ever heard, “I’m glad you got to enjoy yourself, Rick.”
Stunned tears swarm Rick’s vision. He huffs to hide his shame, turning his head into the sheets, gripping handfuls of the material again.
“Do it.”
Even with that permission, Negan doesn’t move but to pet down Rick’s side. Then back up, curving a hand over his pec. Rick bites his lip, whining softly when Negan rolls a soft nipple between his fingers, gentle and sweet, until the flesh firms to a little nub under his ministrations.
“I will,” says Negan in belated answer to his demand. His voice lowers, dark and smooth as rich chocolate. “I’m gonna give it to you, Rick Grimes. Gonna give it to you nice and slow, work you all up. Oh, yes, I am. You’re gonna be begging to come, and I’m not gonna let you until you’re about delirious. Then, after you come, I’m gonna clean you up nice and neat, and you’re gonna get some damn good sleep, shake off the rest of that chill, before we have a nice, long talk about things.”
Rick bites the inside of his cheek. Each word got him burning hotter and hotter, and now he’s practically ablaze with need already.
“Does that sound good, darlin’?”
Don’t call me that.
But the words don’t form. Instead, he rasps through a thick swell of tears, “Yeah.”
Negan tightens his hold. Pulls out, slow, the dragging friction inside Rick ready to send him into a frenzy all on its down. Then he pushes back in, slick and wet and with a filthy squelch that pushes a tender cry out of Rick’s throat. He finds himself pushing back, wanting more, but Negan draws away again. Then he returns, hot and hard, this time gliding over his prostate with delicious intent. Rick stifles a wail into his arm, Jesus, that’s good, too damn good…
If there’s one thing Rick can give him, Negan has always been honest. He gives it to him slow and steady, stroking him every so often and with no discernible pattern. Rick reluctantly finds himself transforming into a mess of a body masquerading as a man. Every deep, grinding fuck in steals his breath as much as his sanity.
And, of course, Negan can’t shut the fuck up and let the moment happen.
“Rick fucking Grimes, you feel incredible. Never had an ass so divine, you’d best believe that.” Negan rubs his thumb over the obscenely wet tip of Rick’s cock, all but purring in his ear and eliciting a moan from him. “Should’ve taken even more time with you. Gotten a good taste first, made you come once already. You’re gonna want this again—yes, you are. And I’ll give it to you, sweet Georgia.” He punctuates the lustful threat with a slow circle of his hips, the thick tip of his cock tormenting his prostate and sending delectable lines of fire through Rick’s veins. “Would you be open to sucking my dick, too? Stuff that smartass mouth like I’m stuffing your tight little ass now?”
A broken, muffled sob shakes Rick for a moment. He manages to regain a shred of composure, though it doesn’t last long when Negan starts picking up the pace. Still steady, still slower than Rick can handle for much longer, he begins to fuck right into that wildly sweet spot.
“Yeah,” pants Negan, He squeezes Rick’s cock, chuckling when it halts his building orgasm while Rick shoves his face into the sheets to muffle his frustation. “I know I’d like that. Would you, darlin’? Wanna get a mouthful of Negan next time?”
Rick groans at the use of third person. “F-fucking… Christ, Negan, just…”
Negan thrusts in once, hard. The sudden, very much desired assault rips a hoarse wail from Rick’s throat. “Make up your mind, honey. Am I Christ or Negan?”
“Negan.” It’s less of an answer, more of a plea. The sweat is removing attrition from their bodies despite the blankets soaking a good bit of it up. “Stop talki…” He trails off with a warbling cry into the crook of his arm. Pleasure washes over him, building and building, cresting so high. Yet the walls he has built up seem to climb ever higher, keeping that orgasm just out of reach. “Negan, Negan please…”
“Yeah, baby. Keep sayin’ my name. I’ve got you.”
Rick is torn between elbowing him and sobbing. He settles for shouting into the sheets again, fisting a handful to his mouth. Negan’s thrusts are deep, his steel-hard cock sliding with brutal efficiency. The other man is panting and growling into his ear, and somehow it’s worse than him talking. Every low reverberation goes straight to Rick’s dick. Every wonderful stroke of Negan’s callused hand over the hot, hard flesh is wet and loud, even over the sounds of him driving every inch he has into him. Rick moans into his fistful of cloth.
Then, suddenly, Negan pulls completely out. Rick bursts into a sound sob, glaring wetly up at the other man as Negan rolls him onto his back. His scowl falters at the sight above him.
Negan looks utterly fuck-drunk. His dark eyes are wild, mouth parted as he heaves breath between reddened, sweat-dampened lips. Between his legs, his cock glistens proudly, visibly leaking himself a bit as his gaze razes over Rick’s body. Rick shakily reaches up, threading his fingers through the damp, dark hair on the other man’s chest, blunt nails scratching lightly down his torso and earning him a noise that, if he weren’t looking right at Negan, he’d think came from someone else entirely.
“Legs up, baby.” The same time Negan grits out the words, he’s wedging his knees under Rick’s thighs, hands clasping his hips. Rick obediently hooks his knees over Negan’s elbows, head thrown back when Negan pushes right into him with a groan.
The need to be filled is satiated immediately. Rick clamps a hand over his mouth, crying out as Negan sets a rapid, harsh pace that tears fire and lightning through Rick’s veins. Negan sounds damn near feral, harsh grunts and curses spilling past his lips as he fucks him.
“Tight, hot, Jesus, Rick.” Negan’s eyes pinch, his expression one of pained concentration. Rick can only answer with another moan. That seems to set Negan off even more, hips swiveling in search until he strikes gold. Rick wails, and Negan maneuvers his knees over his shoulders, folding him up tight, hands gripping Rick’s shoulders from underneath. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Rick, c’mon, baby, come for me.”
Rick is so, so close. He shoves his hand between their bodies in search of his cock, only for Negan to curl into him even further. His pre-slicked cock rubs sweet and heavy between them, his hand trapped uselessly as Negan uses him as he sees fit.
And fuck if Rick doesn’t love it.
Suddenly, Negan pushes his hand out of the way with his nose, kissing him hard on the mouth. Rick opens up, gasping, the hot exchange of breaths and searing gazes making him pulse and ache and—
“Negan.” It’s not a shout nor a loud cry. It’s whispered, as trapped between them as his other hand. He can see when it lands for Negan, because the way his expression flickers into something stunned and tender is that last push for Rick.
He comes between them, biting his tongue. No words escape, just choked, disconnected sounds as pleasure rips through him like an undertow, dragging him through the overwhelming bliss whether he likes it or not… and with Negan still fucking him, panting against his throat, he very, very much likes.
Rick’s ears buzz, the sound of his blood roaring to drown out all other sound but for the shattering way Negan curses against the soft skin of his throat. He’s dimly aware of clutching the other man through it all; of shaking when Negan’s grip shifts to his ass, grabbing two handfuls and prying him open impossibly wider.
So it is that when Rick regains some form of control over his tongue, he can only croak out one rough word. And he makes sure Negan can hear it:
“Inside.”
The effect is explosive. Negan’s hold tightens, losing his taut, steady control as he fucks him with abandon. Hips stuttering, voice rasping, and then he bites down on the thick muscle just below the side of Rick’s neck. Rick chokes and clamps down, nails digging in, just for Negan to gnaw almost terrifyingly before his hand grasps the length of Rick’s hair and yanks.
Rick doesn’t know what he screams. Maybe it’s not even a word. But it’s loud, far, far too loud, and his entire body is too small to encompass the oversensitivity of after. He hears the squelching noises increase filthily as Negan comes inside him, and it shakes him to the core, releasing outward in fine tremors. His throat is raw. His lungs ache. He can scarcely breathe when Negan kisses him again, deep and claiming, still trying to leave every last ounce of what he has to give right where Rick demanded it.
By the time it’s over, when Negan is doing little more than gasping and twitching, Rick feels like he’s had an otherworldly experience. He stares at the wood ceiling, dazed, sore yet strangely elated. Something about watching Negan, Negan, of all people, come so undone…
“You don’t own me.” He doesn’t know where the words come from, coarse as sandpaper. Negan stiffens in his arms, the slow relaxation replaced with thrumming tension. “That’s… that’s the first thing, Negan. You don’t own me.”
Surprisingly, Negan doesn’t so much as lift his head. He remains where he is, lips brushing against the rapidly forming bruise on Rick’s neck as he speaks in barely a whisper. “I do.”
“No, you don’t.” This comes out firmer—and this time, when Negan starts to push up and away, Rick stops him by threading his fingers through the short, dark hair and turning in for a kiss. It’s one-sided at first, not reciprocated, until Negan’s tongue swipes out to play. Both men are too breathless to take it much further than that, so they sink back onto the shitty bed.
For a while, there’s little more than the sound of walkers closing in. Then fumbling, banging, as the two remain quiet.
Hours later find them out cold, tangled in each other and the sweat-laden sheets. Rick breathing soft and steady, content, and Negan’s brow furrowed. The desperate sound of the hungry undead have lessened to near nothing, and rain patters against their small, temporary haven.
Even asleep, they know they do have much to talk about. And however it ends, it will change what is left of the world around them.