"Oh, for fuck's sake, Negan!" you exclaimed, staring at him in disdain.
He was dripping blood all over the white tiles, smiling sheepishly at you from the doorway. He had shed his leather jacket, leaving just a dark grey t-shirt, which had even darker grey patches on the left sleeve, thanks to the blood staining it from a cut across his bicep.
You had just finished cleaning up your exam room for the day, and weren't at all happy about him barging in after hours with yet another injury. Sure, you were the most qualified doctor on staff at The Sanctuary at the moment, especially after he had turned Dr. Carson extra crispy a few weeks ago.And, sure, it wasn't like seeing Negan up close and personal was a hardship. Anyone with a proclivity towards the male sex could take one look at the man and see his appeal. He had the whole 'you can't tell if I'm going to fuck you or kill you' style down to an art form, and damned if it didn't turn you on.
However, Mr. High and Mighty wasn't invincible...far from it. While the rest of the compound saw him as this big, unstoppable force, you saw a different side. You were the one who had to deal with all the cuts and scrapes that he seemed to accumulate on a much more frequent basis than anyone else in the compound. Some of his injuries were from battling it out with walkers or other communities...but a lot of them weren't. In fact, everyone else in the community would be surprised to know just how clumsy Negan really was.
You could still remember the first time he came to you, only a few days after you had arrived here. He had a cut across his cheek, just deep enough to need three stitches. You had been too intimidated, at the time, to ask how it had happened, but you didn't need to. He had been forthcoming with the information on his own, joking about how a tree branch had "came out of nowhere" and slapped him in the face, while he was out in the woods.
The next time he came to medical, a little over a week later, he was doing his damnedest not to limp from a sprained ankle. This time, the branch had been "lying in wait" on the ground, and he had snagged his foot on it. It became an almost weekly occurrence for him to show up unexpectedly with a new injury, usually right when you were finishing up for the day and no one else was around to see him. At this point, you were pretty certain that he purposely waited until it was just the two of you...or maybe that was just wishful thinking on your part.
Gesturing with your hand at the examination table, he took the cue and walked over to sit down, the sound of his butt hitting the crinkly white paper causing an unwilling grin to cross your lips. You hid it quickly behind a neutral expression before turning to face him, instead giving him your full 'I'm not amused' look. He just grinned in response.
"So, what did you do this time?" you asked.
"Got fucking grazed by a bullet," he nonchalantly replied.
Eyebrows raising in surprise, you parroted, "A bullet?"
"Yep," was his only reply. That was fine, since the less he wanted to talk, the faster you could get done and out of here.
The cut was just deep enough that you didn't feel comfortable letting it go without at least a couple of stitches to help it along, especially since he'd never listen to you and rest the arm long enough for it to heal on its own. He didn't move when you cleaned out the wound with alcohol, and only gave a minimal jerk when you deftly poked a needle through his arm to make the first stitch. The room was so quiet that the only noise was the buzzing of the overhead lights, so you almost stabbed his arm clean through when he unexpectedly broke the silence.
"When are you going to let me repay you for all this overtime you put into me?" he drawled. You didn't even have to look up to know that he was giving you his signature, dimpled grin.
"We've had this conversation before, Negan. My professional work stays professional."
"Yea, and as I've said before, that's a fucking boring-as-shit rule."
This was far from the first time that Negan had tried to get in your pants. In fact, you'd think something was wrong with him if he ever didn't try. At this point, you believed it was more out of habit, then any real belief on his end that he'd succeed. Luckily, he seemed unaware of just how tempting his offers always were, and how much self-control it took on your part to turn him down.
You were too useful here, to waste your talents sitting around as one of his wives, but that didn't mean that you were totally happy having a platonic relationship with him, either. No, you had craved more from the first time you saw him, desire fluttering in your belly at the sight of his salt-and-pepper beard on that perfect fucking face. Not to mention his long, lean body, that he wrapped up in a coating of "badass" via a leather jacket and barbed wire baseball bat. He was the type of man you would've stayed far away from in the past, but the apocalypse had made you a little more...open-minded.
However, you still weren't open-minded enough to want to hear about the group of other women he was fucking on the regular, and it was this topic that caused today's interaction to go in an unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome, direction.
You were finishing up the last couple of stitches when you commented that perhaps he should try not to piss off so many other communities, so that he wouldn't have to worry about getting shot as often. Instead of getting a rise out of him, he laughed off your suggestion.
"I'd say I came out of that situation more intact than my opponent, since all I got was a graze. Hell, I've received worse scratches after a night fucking Amber," he chuckled.
The mention of his wives caused you to grit your teeth, and you purposely poked him with the needle harder than usual, causing him to yelp and jump away from you.
"Stay still!" you lectured, tone chiding and annoyed.
"Fucking hell, woman! That hurt!" he exclaimed, brows furrowed and lower lip slightly poked out in what looked suspiciously like a pout. You suddenly had the strongest urge to lean over and take that lip tightly between your teeth, give him an injury more erotic than any of the others he wore.
Mentally shaking away the thought, you smiled sheepishly at him, batting your lashes in fake innocence, before replying, "Stop being so sensitive and let me finish the last stitch."
He mumbled something under his breath, too low for you to hear, and glared over at you, which just caused your grin to get even wider. More than anyone you had ever met, Negan knew how to push your buttons in a way that simultaneously infuriated you and turned you on. It was good to know that you were also able to push his buttons, and at the very least annoy the hell out of him when he said or did something that you didn't like. It'd be smart of him to remember, that while you held the needle, you held the power.
After finishing up the last stitch, you put away the gauze and other items, before washing your hands at the sink. Turning around, you were surprised to still find him standing there, watching you.
"Don't tell me you have another injury," you snarked, trying to hide your discomfort at his probing gaze.
"I think I do. And it's one that I really need you to take a look at, doc," he purred, coming closer.
Squinting your eyes in suspicion, you backed up a step, then another, but he continued to move towards you. While your interactions with him were flirty and sarcastic, they always stayed light-hearted. His current serious expression and intense gaze were new, and threw you a bit off balance.
"Ya see, my current problem, I'd say it's more...physiological," he continued.
"Oh?" you dumbly replied, tensing up as he came to a stop directly in front of you, causing your head to tilt back to keep his face in view. You wanted to make a sarcastic remark about him knowing such a big vocabulary word, but his proximity seemed to short circuit the part of your brain that created witty comebacks.
"Wanna know what the problem is?" he asked, voice dropping a few levels, his already husky rasp becoming even deeper and sending chills up your spine.
Knowing there was a good chance that it would be in your best interest not to know, you still tried to act unaffected, and casually replied, "Sure."
He sucked air in through his teeth, his eyes trailing down over your body, which was currently covered in a long, white doctor's coat. Not that it mattered, since his gaze seemed to see right through the fabric and to the curves of your body hidden underneath.
"My problem, is that my dick always gets fucking hard, the second I'm in the same room as you."
Shocked, you had no reply, instead staring up at him with wide eyes.
"So, what's your solution, doc? You got a cure for my ailment?"
Never one to let Negan throw you completely off balance, you mentally gathered yourself and gave an unamused roll of your eyes.
"My cure for that would be to say that you have two perfectly healthy hands, so use one of them." You were proud that your voice only sounded a little breathless.
His eyes darkened, and you were unsure if he was annoyed or humored by your response. You wanted to back up, put some distance between the two of you, but pride held you steady.
"Now, why would I do that, when I have multiple wives who are more than willing to take care of that problem for me?"
Clenching your jaw in annoyance, you shot back, "Then I suggest you go find one of them, and hope that your little problem doesn't go away once you leave this room."
You could tell by his scowl that he wasn't amused by your comment. Truth be told, both of you were teetering the line between wanting to rip the other's throat out and wanting to fuck each other until you couldn't walk straight.
"Little? Oh, doc, you've got me all wrong. This is a big problem. Massive. In fact, perhaps it's too fucking big for you to handle. I should probably go find Sherry or Amber, after all."
Sick of his jabs, you were unable to filter yourself, and retorted with a simple, "Fuck you."
He spread his arms out on either side of his waist, as if giving an invitation. "That's exactly what I'm trying to do, doc."
Officially pissed off, you responded automatically, totally ignoring the logical part of your brain that was screaming not to react. Your arm lifted up and back, fully meaning to slap the smug grin right off his maddenly handsome face. You instantly regretted this decision, when his own hand flew up, lightning-fast, and caught your wrist mid-swing. Using his large frame to his advantage, he forcefully backed you up a few steps, until you were pushed up against the nearest wall.
His eyes blazed with anger, as he leaned down until his mouth was right beside your ear. In a low, husky voice, he whispered, "Wanna try that again, sweetheart?"
Now would've been a good time to apologize, tell him that you'd never do it again. Say whatever submissive words he wanted to hear and get the hell out of there. However, submissive was never your style, and you weren't about to change your stripes now. Instead, perhaps it was time to do something that you had been fantasizing about for longer than you cared to admit.
"Nah, I have a better idea," you purred, before leaning up on tiptoe and pressing your lips into his own.
You could tell that he was taken off guard by the action, but he quickly recovered, his mouth coming to life against your own. He wasted no time in thrusting his tongue past your open lips when you let out a sigh, his body crowding yours against the wall. He still had a grip on your wrist, but it had loosened a bit, more a caress than a restraint.
Pulling back from him, you opened hazy eyes and looked up into his own pupil-blown gaze. It took all your remaining brain cells to give a witty retort.
"Was that more to your liking?"
He looked at you almost in awe for a moment, as if you were the first woman to sass him at a moment such as this. And perhaps you were. A grin broke out across his face, and he growled, "I thought you were supposed to keep me healthy, but you're gonna be the death of me, doc."
With that, he sealed his mouth back onto your own, releasing your wrist to slid his hand down and inside the front of the open white coat. His fingers coasted down over your waist and the top of your jeans, grabbing onto your hip and pulling you towards him.
Not one to be outdone, you shrugged the coat off your shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. Negan fingered the bottom of your t-shirt, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it up over your head, before he lowered his mouth to the underside of your jaw, licking and nipping a trail down the side of your throat and over the swell of your breasts, which were showcased by a plain white bra. Your lingerie was more functional than sexy, but Negan didn't seem to mind, especially since he was more focused on getting it off. His fingers deftly unhooked the bra, and you didn't hesitate to pull the straps down your arms and discard it on top of the growing pile of clothes on the floor.
He stopped and stared for a moment, puffing out a breath at the sight of you, bare from the waist up.
"I don't think I've ever seen a doctor this sexy in my entire fucking life," he said, eyes slowly trailing up to meet your own.
Any potential self-consciousness or fear of not matching up to his wives disappeared with his words. He watched as you reached down to unbutton your jeans, the tips of your fingers dipping slightly beneath the fabric. Feeling bold, your voice was husky as you jokingly said, "Better hurry and catch up, else I'm gonna start without you."
He froze for a split second, eyes zeroed in on the fingers half disappeared underneath your jeans, before he sprung into action. He whipped his own shirt up and over his head, and you knew you should reprimand him for being so uncaring of his fresh stitches, but honestly, you didn't care about them very much at the moment, either. You pulled the jeans down and off your legs as he unzipped his own pants, then got distracted by the sight of his bare body in front of you. His torso was covered in a delicious coating of salt-and-pepper chest hair that matched his beard, and he had various tattoos across his upper body which cemented your hypothesis that he had been a bad boy way before the apocalypse started. The thought caused a thrill to zing down your spine and settle warmly between your thighs, that such a sexy, powerful man had all his attention currently focused on you.
Stepping forward, you interrupted his attempt to push down his pants by pressing your mouth to his left nipple, tongue coming out to circle it, as your right hand slid down the front of his chest and cupped the bulge between his legs. He gave a surprised groan, his hand coming up to grab a fistful of your hair as a breathy, "Oh, fuck," left his lips.
His hips bucked into your hand, as you stroked him through the fabric of his briefs, his reaction to your touch making you feel powerful and in control. Grinning against his chest, you didn't pull back until both his nipples were rock hard and shining with saliva. Licking your lips, you gazed up at him, pleased to see that he already looked wrecked, eyes glazed and mouth slightly parted.
Side stepping between him and the wall, you walked around him and back towards the examination table. You pushed the panties down your legs as you walked, kicking them off mid-step, smiling at the rustle of jeans being discarded behind you. Tearing the strip of crinkly white paper off the table, you then turned around and leaned back against the front of it, hands resting back on the edge at either side of your hips.
You gasped at the sight of Negan fully naked, his erection swollen and bobbing as he kicked off his briefs, eyes blazing into your own. Giving a flirtatious smirk, you lifted a finger to your lips and appeared contemplative.
"My, that does look like a massive problem, after all," you joked.
It took him a second to get the reference, and when he did, he smirked before cockily (pun intended) strutting across the room towards you.
"Told ya, doc. Now, what's the cure gonna be?"
Reaching over to a nearby drawer, you pulled it open and grabbed one of the square foil packets inside. Tossing the condom at him, you replied, "First, put that on."
You were pleased when he didn't argue, but dutifully followed your order. Whether or not it was because you were still in your territory, this room being the one place where you were typically in charge of the situation, you found that you liked having the upper hand. Instinct told you that he was used to women being submissive and just lying there quietly, making him do all the work. That wasn't going to be the case with you.
Once he had the condom rolled on, you nodded approvingly and said, "Now, how do you want to take your medication? From the front-" you turned around, bending down to brace your hands on the plush surface of the table and look at him over your shoulder, "-or from the back?"
He gave a low snarl and was upon you in an instant, his body engulfing yours. He was hard and warm, his thighs spreading your own and the chest on his hair tickling along your back and ass. You cried out when he reached a hand between your thighs, fingers parting the dripping folds as he chuckled in your ear.
"Feels like you've got my dose ready to go, doc."
You couldn't keep up the charade, not with two of his fingers pressing up into you, stretching your wetness in preparation for the hard cock that was pressed against your inner thigh. Instead, you felt control of the situation switch over to him, as you braced your elbows on the table, spread your thighs even wider, and whimpered, "Fuck me, Negan. Fuck me now!"
His groan vibrated along your back, as he removed his fingers from your cunt and lined his dick up at your entrance. His hips pressed forward, as he slowly sunk into you. Fingers clawed at the shiny fabric of the table, back arching as you struggled to take all of him. Fuck, but he was big. There was a slight burn, as your walls stretched obscenely wide around his cock, but when he started rubbing your clit in slow circles with his fingers, the pain dissolved into pleasure.
"That's it, doc. Look at you, taking my cock like a champ."
Moaning in response, you pressed back against him when he withdrew, the two of you starting up a slow and steady rhythm. You were only partially aware of the dirty words he whispered in your ear, of sexy you looked and how fucking good you felt wrapped around his dick. Most of your attention was focused on the sensations, of the drag of his cock in and out of you. The fit was so tight that you could feel the veins on his dick pulse inside of you, the head of his cock catching on your sweet spot and making you cry out with each thrust.
Your back became sweaty from the heat of his chest, the muscles in your calves starting to burn from standing on tiptoe. He played with your nipples with one hand, the other zeroed in on your clit, testing out which amount of pressure caused you to shudder and learning how a well-placed pinch made you clench down hard on his dick. He played your body like a master, as you rolled your hips and tried not to pass out from the intensity of the pleasure coursing through your veins.
After holding you at the edge for what could've been minutes or hours, you had no idea, you felt Negan's hips pick up speed, a harsh grunt falling from his lips letting you know that he was close. The hand at your breasts trailed upwards, wrapping lightly around the front of your throat and using his grip to pull your upper body backwards, so that you were both standing upwards, rather than bent over the table. The change in angle caused his cock to go even deeper, and you clung to his arms with your hands, certain that you would collapse to the floor without him steadying you.
"You gonna come for me, doc? I want you to fucking come all over my dick, right here, against the same table where you see all your clients. That way, every time someone sits here, all you'll be able to think about is how I fucked you, of how hard you came."
As if the words brought about the action, the orgasm slammed into you, starting at your cunt and spreading in waves to every part of your body. You dimly heard your own voice crying out Negan's name, as he ground into you as deep as he could go and found his own release with a moan, bodies shuddering against one another as the pleasure consumed you both.
It was a good minute before either one of you was able to move from where you had slumped together over the table, breaths panting and bodies jerking with aftershocks. Turning around, you watched as Negan disposed of the condom, face flushing as you saw the wetness of your release matting his pubic hair.
"Damn, doc, I feel cured already," he preened, biting his lip and looking over your naked, well-fucked form.
Smiling back at him, you joked, "The first dose is usually a strong one. But you're going to need to get a long-term prescription, if you really want it to be effective."
He tucked his tongue into his cheek, eyes sparkling as he pressed his body back up against yours, causing a shudder to go through you.
"That so? Well, who am I to deny a doctor's orders," he said, grabbing you by the hips and lifting you up onto the table for round two.