Lips on You

by Genevieve Darcy Granger

You've always admired pretty Jailbird Negan, and when he offers you something, you can't refuse. But this is going to be on your terms.

It was a thankless job, but somebody had to do it. You were tasked by Rick to take care of Negan today since both he and Michonne would be out on that run to Washington, D.C. Occasionally this would happen, where he would ask you to be the one to take care of Negan, and he could only ever really ask you because everyone else was either too scared or had too much of a history that they couldn't be trusted not to kill him. But that's why Rick could ask you; because even though you weren't afraid to kill if you had to, it wasn't your first instinct to do it. You supposed Rick liked you for that, your levelheadedness and ability to somehow be empathetic at the end of the dog-eat-dog world. That was your nature, but so was being a bit of a bitch who took no shit and wasn't afraid to take charge. So, you were temporarily placed in charge of Negan.

After you saw Rick and the others off at the gate, you went back to your house to make Negan's breakfast. Rick had left you a small basket of what were supposed to be Negan's food rations for the day, but you never fed Negan the rations because…well, just because. The rations didn't look appetizing for you to eat and you intimately knew what it was like to be starving, so you used some of your rations to make his breakfast instead. He deserved a nice meal once and a while, despite everything he's done. Also, it helped that you enjoyed the simple pleasure of cooking for two instead of one.

Today you really splurged. You used up not only the last of your sorghum to make pancakes, but you also used up your secret supply of syrup and Kingdom bacon. It felt like almost pre-Apocalypse food, maybe just as good if you wanted to brag on yourself. Almost as an afterthought, just because there needed to be something healthy on the plate, you grabbed the last apple from the bowl and figured that Negan at least would eat it before it would rot. You weren't exactly the best eater, still managing to be picky at the end of the world. Figures. But hell, who wouldn't kill for a Kit-Kat bar?

With Negan's plate piled high with crispy bacon and syrupy pancakes, you made your way to the building where his cell was. You even had a book tucked on your arm for him. Honestly, you doubted he would want to even read The Great Gatsby, but you figured it wouldn't hurt to offer anyway. You made sure you had another copy of the book anyway, that way if he ripped it up or something you wouldn't be hurt. Just a little disappointed, maybe.

When you entered his cell, it was as quiet as the grave, and because of the dim lighting, you had to focus on your feet as you walked down the stairs, extra careful to not trip and spill Negan's breakfast. Once you reached the bottom of the steps, you looked up and you were a little surprised to see Negan was still in bed on his side and under the blankets, facing the wall. At first, you were a tad bit slighted, thinking that he was ignoring you on purpose, which was strange because he usually only gave Rick the silent treatment – for obvious reasons. But then as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you noticed the steady rise and fall of his shoulder and heard the soft snoring; he was sleeping.

It should have been strange for you to recognize how much that simple sight brought a smile to your face and a twinge to your heart, but you long ago had come to terms with all of that. Despite Negan being a killer and all that, he was still handsome and more importantly, extremely human. Being one of his caregivers, you had seen him at his most vulnerable, remembering the winter where he got a bad case of the sniffles and went through at least half a dozen of the tissue boxes you got him. You also had caught him crying once one early morning. You just made a quick breakfast of oatmeal with a couple of strawberries because you had a promised to help Gabriel with fixing his church, and Negan had probably just woken up – from a nightmare, you suspected – when you caught him off-guard. Rather than saying anything or sticking around for him to snap at you, you had quickly passed him his still steaming breakfast and promised to come back later for lunch before making your escape. You hadn't brought it up since, and neither had Negan.

Now, you stood here, debating whether or not to disturb his sleep or to just leave his breakfast on the floor for him to get whenever he woke up. Ultimately, you decided it would really be much better if it was warm, and who knows if a bug or something else would come and skittered across his food. That would just be gross. Also, since you were being honest with yourself, you just wanted to check and see if he was okay.

"Negan?" You kept your voice soft, though you were sure he'd rather be woken up to a hand on his shoulder again. "Negan, wake up. I have breakfast for you."

Slowly, he roused himself from sleep as his snoring abruptly cut off. He sat up, still resolutely facing the wall, and rubbed a hand across his tired eyes and the salt-and-pepper beard around his mouth. Then he rolled his head around on his neck, loosening up his shoulders, before he finally, finally twisted his body around to look at you.

"Oh, it's you, darlin'." He made no move to get up. "Where's Rick? And Michonne?"

Fighting to keep your expression composed because, of course, he would prefer them over you, you quietly answered, "They went out on a run to get a few supplies. They probably won't be back until late tonight."

"Hmm." Negan shifted in his bed, throwing off his blankets until they were bunched up at the foot of the mattress. He assumed the position that you normally found him in, which was back against the wall and knees drawn up to his chest with his arms wrapped around his skinny legs. One would almost think that Negan was being mistreated, but no. He had been that skinny even when he was king shit back at the Sanctuary. Some people had all the luck.

Shifting on your feet, you gently suggested, "Are you hungry? I have your breakfast here. Pancakes, bacon, and an apple. It's still warm, too."

Watching you through distrustful, slitted eyes, Negan questioned, "That's not my normal breakfast. Did you make that for me? Does Rick know?"

"If you don't want it, I can make something else." It wasn't exactly a threat, but it got the reaction you wanted.

Slowly, with all the grace and bottled-up energy of a panther locked in a cage, Negan climbed out of bed and stalked right up to the bars, expectantly holding his hand out to take his breakfast. You slid the plate through the horizontal slot in the bars, and as Negan accepted the tray from you, your fingertips generously brushed together. It was such a simple touch for you that you didn't think twice about it. Hell, you shared more generous touches just knocking elbows in the garden with Jadis or horsing around with Tara. But Negan reacted like you burned him. He snatched his plate away with such vigor, simultaneously sucking in a deep breath through his nose, that the apple almost rolled off the tray. Instead it caught in the thick syrup and stuck, saved for now.

Still, you were concerned by his reaction. "Are you okay?"

"It's nothing," he snapped, tone waspish, and he avoided looking at you as he escaped back to his bed. Since utensils were against the rules, he had to eat his food with his fingers, and as you watched him pick up the syrup-saturated pancakes, you suddenly felt very guilty for giving him such a difficult breakfast to eat. An idea came to you, though, and you turned towards the stairs. "Where are you going?"

The unexpected sound of his voice nearly made you jump out of your skin. Looking over your shoulder at him, you saw that he had the pancake raised midway to his mouth and he was looking at you unexpectantly. A memory of the old world drifted across your mind, completely unbidden, of how your dog or cat would look at you before you left for work. Though Negan's mouth was a disapproving line, his eyes – so bright even in the darkness – vividly conveyed an emotion that was almost like fear. Almost. You doubted he was afraid of anything except for dying because that's what this world did to people.

"I'm just going to go get a rag for you. I figure sticky, greasy hands wouldn't be very much fun for you."

"That would depend on why my hands are sticky, darlin'." And then Negan promptly took a bite of his pancake, and you continued on your way upstairs to grab a dampened washcloth for him. By the time you came back with the washcloth dripping in your hand, Negan had cleaned half his plate and was now steadily chomping on the apple. All of the pancakes were gone.

"Were the pancakes good?"

"Mhm," Negan answered around his food, his mouth still full. Now that you were back in the room, his eyes transferred from his plate to you. Since there was nothing else to do but wait for him to clean his plate, you unabashedly stared back. It didn't escape your notice how his beard was shining from the juices of the apple, or how often his pink tongue flashed across his lips before he took a bite. He was very handsome, after all.

"Talk to me," he abruptly ordered and then munched loudly on his apple.

Blinking, your mind suddenly drew a blank on what to talk about. "Oh. What do you want me to talk about?"

"I dunno. You don't have to tell me who were before because that shit hardly seems to matter anymore. You don't have to fucking tell me what the hell is going on up there because Rick just seems to fucking love rubbing my nose in it. But you can fucking imagine how crazy it can get in here with just me and the walls, so I'd appreciate if you would just talk to me about something."

A little overwhelmed because Negan has never said so much to you before – especially something that could almost be considered a confession – you said the first thing that came to mind. "You're very beautiful, you know that?"

Now it was his turn to be dumbfounded. He really hadn't expected you to say that after pushing you to talk, and he had frozen in place, lips latched around the apple as he had just sunk his teeth in past the skin.

Pushing aside your embarrassment (because what did you have to be embarrassed about when this man couldn't do anything to hurt you except run his mouth to Michonne and Rick, who wouldn't believe him anyway), you pressed on before he could open his mouth again and ruin it. "I mean, I know you're well aware that you're a good-looking guy. Handsome. Sexy. Whatever you wanna call it. But you're actually really beautiful. I think it's because all the parts just add up with you. Pretty eyes – with fucking long eyelashes, too, now I'm jealous of that. Nice, white smile. Strong jawline. High cheekbones. Nice coloring, nice hair, good physique. Kissable mouth. But you know what my favorite part is? Your nose. It's weird, I dunno, but you have a pretty nose. Completes the profile."

You mercifully stopped talking, and Negan unfroze and started placidly polishing off the rest of his apple. The both of you were back to silence again, and you pressed your lips together tightly to prevent another confession from bursting through into the air. Throughout it all, you and Negan had still locked eyes, and now you were playing a game of chicken to see who would look away first. You knew it wouldn't be you; and you were right.

Negan's eyes flickered down to his plate where he set the picked-over apple core and then gingerly picked up a piece of bacon. "You can keep talking. What kind of fucker doesn't like getting his ego stroked for fucking free?"

Discretely, you let out a breath and then surprised yourself when you so easily acquiesced to his demand. "Before, in the old world, I would've taken one look at a guy like you and just kept on walking because I know how it is. But now, I don't know. I guess it's a privilege that I get to be one of the ones that looks at you. Don't take that too highly, though, okay? We don't have T.V. anymore, and like, we rarely get a chance at a movie night. But you're just…I don't know. You're very beautiful like this."

Sliding his tongue over his front teeth, Negan picked up another slice of bacon. "You're repeating yourself now, darlin'." Well, shit, he was getting confident again. "Why don't you tell me what you would do to me if you were inside my little cell, huh?"

Really, you can't say you were surprised by the turn he was taking something as simple as the appreciation of beauty into something dirty. But considering what you knew of him before with six wives sating his appetite and the giggles you'd shared with Michonne (and Rick) about how he hit on her (and Rick) a lot, you really weren't all that surprised. He was lonely and this was only a game for him, to keep him entertained. "You think this is phone sex, but it's not. I'm not telling you what you want to hear – because why should I? I'm just…just being honest."

"Come on," Negan said in something dangerously close to a whine, "give me something to work with here, darlin'. It's been nothing but my hand and my very vivid, very active imagination for a while. I can't even get a sad, eye-contactless hand job out of Rick's tight ass whenever he's done here."

"And you think, what? That I'm easy or something?" You're not angry, but you could feel yourself getting there if you weren't careful. It was time to leave soon. "I may not be beautiful like you, but that doesn't mean I need anything like that."

Nibbling delicately on his last piece of bacon, savoring the taste, Negan scoffed at you and dramatically rolled his eyes looking all the while like a sullen teenager. "Fuck all that noise. When's the last time you've gotten any?"

You'd be damn if you'd tell him that you've never gotten any. So far masturbation had worked out well for you. If you were the romantic type – which you only were on your most maudlin days – you'd make the excuse that your soulmate must have died or something and you just never got the chance to meet the one. But most days, since you were in the painful habit of being honest with yourself, you just knew it was because even though several people caught your eye, you just…didn't have the balls to go after that, especially since you knew that you never caught anyone's eye.

So, you didn't quite lie to him, but you didn't tell him the truth either. "Oh, I'm kept satisfied. You don't have to worry about that; not that I would expect you to."

"So you're saying," Negan pointed an accusing finger at you, "that even if I fucking begged you, you wouldn't come in here and let me take care of your fucking needs?"

Once again, your mouth got away from you. "Well, if you're the one begging, I'd be the one taking care of your needs."

Negan's eyes sparkled at you, and they lit up the whole dark room. Sitting forward in his bed, he said with an eager grin plastered to his face, "You're shitting me. You'd come in here and take care of me, darlin'? I'm not the type who takes shit lying down."

This was the first time that you saw him like this, smiling like he meant it instead of maliciously. If you thought he was beautiful before, he was practically radiant now. Maybe a little selfishly, you wanted to keep him smiling so you entertained his hypotheticals. "Let's just say, that I don't think you're in any position to make demands – and that I prefer it when I'm in charge." With a shrug, you clarified, "I just feel more confident that way. Comfortable. It makes me feel good to satisfy my partner's needs first."

At that, Negan's eyes darkened and you thought you had made a mistake until you realized that it was out of lust. You were actually turning him on. "Shit, I like the sound of that. You'd just let me be a fucking pillow princess while you do all the work?"

"That's the idea." You flexed your fingers nervously, and then noticed that his plate was empty. "Come pass me your plate, Negan, and I'll give you this rag so you can clean your hands and face."

With a slight chuckle, Negan did as you said. This time, however, when his fingertips slid against yours, the movement seemed almost deliberate on his part, and you swore you saw him shiver. But then he was taking the rag and gratefully scrubbing at his face and neck and hands, and you were distracted by watching him. He made the most delicious little noises as he hummed to himself, and when he looked back up at you again, you were unapologetic for staring.

"I'll see you for lunch, Negan."

A look of crushing disappointment flitted across his face.

As an apology, you remembered the copy of The Great Gatsby, and gingerly offered it to him. "I know this isn't the kind of carnal entertainment you're looking for, but it's a good book anyway."

Without complaint Negan took it and wandered a little despondently back to his bed. On your way out as you glanced over your shoulder to check on him one last time, you saw that his nose was already in the book and he was curled up on his sad, little bed again. And even as you made your way outside to catch up on some of your duties, at the back of your mind, you were already entertaining the idea of giving him what he wants.

---

You spent your entire day in the gardens. While your hands were busy pruning and weeding, your mind was definitely elsewhere – specifically with Negan. Why not give him what he wanted? What was the harm? Except, well, escape. But he'd be dead before he'd even make it to the gate. It was a busy, bustling day. And Rick is gone, so if he never found out, you could almost make this a regular thing…

Your thoughts were getting away from you. When the sun was directly overhead, you took your break to go make yourself (and Negan) lunch. On your way, you stopped by Rick's house to check on your friend, who was tasked to be Judith's babysitter. Honestly, you preferred being Negan's babysitter. Judith was at the terrible two's stage of life, fighting naps and constantly asking the hard questions. Sometimes she asked where Carl was, and Aunt Maggie and Uncle Glenn. More often than not, though, she just asked when Mommy and Daddy would come back. You did not envy your friend for that position; and you especially did not envy them for the day that one of them might not ever come back.

But also, Judith was getting potty-trained and you drew the line at that, too. Rick never made you empty Negan's shit bucket, thank Christ. You were sure that if you did, you would die of embarrassment – and probably Negan, too. After seeing that your friend and Judith were fine playing with chalk on the sidewalk, you continued to your house for lunch.

Compared to breakfast, lunch was simple: egg salad. You'd kill for a sandwich with turkey lunch meat and you wanted to kick yourself for complaining about your packed lunches from before. At the very least, though, you hoped that Negan liked egg salad and made your way to his cell. This time, though, you didn't eat first; he was lonely, and you could spare a few minutes to eat alongside him instead of just awkwardly standing there and watching. And if your mouth was too busy chewing and swallowing to run your mouth again, then that would just be as much as a coincidence as it would be a blessing.

As you made your way down the stairs, you were thankful it was a little brighter now that that the sun was able to leak more of its light through the little window on the west wall. It gave Negan the most perfect view of the sunsets every night if he stood on his bed to watch, but you doubted that he'd appreciate sunsets after all this time. He probably would rather see a sunrise.

When you reached the bottom, you looked over to Negan's cell. It looked like Negan had not moved since this morning, and even though he doubtlessly heard you enter, he did not look up at you. "You're still reading? It's more like a novella than a novel, so I thought you might've already finished it. But if you're savoring it, that's pretty smart."

"I didn't fucking savor it," Negan said flatly. He delicately turned a page, and his eyes darted back and forth over it. "I'm on my second read-through." Dog-earing the page to keep his place, Negan closed the book with a small snap and tossed it to the foot of his bed. "It helps that I already knew the fucking story before you gave it to me. Tom's a dick."

Laughing, you reached your hand through the bars, offering him his sandwich. "Yeah, everyone in that book is kind of an asshole. But I like Fitzgerald's writing style. Easier to understand than Shakespeare, but not so colloquial as Faulkner or fucking boring like Hemmingway. Still poetry in a sense."

Negan climbed out of bed and stretched his arms above his head. His palms flattened against the short ceiling, and your mouth turned downward in sympathy. Then your eyes drifted downward as a patch of skin was revealed on Negan's flat stomach, and you unconsciously licked your lips in response. Lucky for you, Negan didn't notice since his eyes were squeezed shut, and he continued to stretch until his back popped. He made a deep, growl of pleasure and then sighed softly through his nose as he ambled towards you and took his lunch. Again, his hands generously brushed against yours, and this time you watched his face for clues. A softness flashed over his eyes, and then it was gone again as he pulled away, sniffing at his sandwich curiously.

"Egg salad," you told him. "The mayonnaise is a homemade recipe so I hope you like it."

Negan took a very deliberate bite, and his tongue snaked out to lick around his mouth. "Well, you're definitely a better fucking cook than Rick."

"What about better than Michonne? I know you can tell the difference in their cooking."

"Better than her, too." Negan flopped on the bed again. His tone was wry as he teased, "But Michonne has never fucking made me pancakes and bacon in bed before."

Smiling to yourself, you started on your own sandwich, sitting on the stairs so that you still had a good view of Negan while you ate. For a moment, it was peaceful as the two of you focused on your sandwiches. You suspected Negan liked the company even when there wasn't any conversation, just for the sake of hearing someone else's breathing and know that they're there and you're not alone.

Okay, well you had succeeded in making yourself sad, and thankfully just as you were searching for something else to think about, Negan spoke up from inside his cell. "Darlin'?"

"Hm?" You flicked your eyes over in his direction, and he was finished with his sandwich, sitting crisscross-apple-sauce on his bed with his elbows on his thighs, staring at you.

"Have you given any more thought to this mornin'?" The way he asked so casually, his chin doing that little bounce when he talked was so distracting that at first you weren't sure what he was referring to.

"Um…"

With a soft snort, his head dropped as he looked at his lap, and then he lifted his face again. "I guess that's a no," he drawled sardonically.

Understanding dawned on you, and you blushed despite yourself. "You mean your…proposition for sex?"

"If you want to be so formal about it, I fucking guess so." He waved his hand in the air so carelessly, but then when he lowered it again, he gripped his opposite wrist so tight that you suspected that might be an act.

"You really are so lonely if you're asking me."

His fingers flexed minutely. "Lonely…horny…bored. Does it fucking matter? You can say yes or no. Doesn't change anything."

"What, you don't think I'd be a good enough lay that you wouldn't just fall in love with all this?" Using the hand that was holding your sandwich, you gestured at yourself, running your free hand down her chest and over your thigh. Some mayonnaise dripped on your shirt and you had the decency to laugh at yourself. You picked up your shirt and brought it to your mouth, licking the stray mayonnaise away, and when you looked up at him, he was smirking at you, of course. But with a hungry gleam in his eye, too. Oh. Well, then.

"What do you got to lose, darlin'?" Looking a little bit like the old Negan, some of his cockiness returned with the proud lift of his stubbled chin. "I know my way around. I can make it so good for you."

"Mhm," you mumbled around another bite of your sandwich. He really was a little silver-tongued devil. "You know," you started after swallowing, "if anybody found out you can kiss books and breakfast in bed goodbye. They'll never trust me again. Instead of being put on guard duty for you, I'll probably be punished with…something. I dunno. I haven't gotten in trouble yet."

"You don't have to worry about me kissin' and tellin' on you." His eyes darkened as he watched you suck your fingers clean after polishing off the rest of your sandwich. "It doesn't have to be a regular thing. Just this once."

"Wow." You scrubbed the back of your hand over your mouth. "You drive a hard bargain," you sarcastically replied.

Not at all deterred, Negan narrowed his eyes at you and slowly allowed himself a sly smile. Damn it, he was using his good looks against you; really, you shouldn't have called him beautiful this morning. "Tell you what, darlin'. How about you come over here and kiss me, and if you don't think there's a spark, then I'll drop this for good."

Suspicious, you tilted your head at him. "You'd be satisfied with just a kiss?" Privately, you wondered if your heart was about to beat out of your chest with how fast it was going. You were honestly considering kissing him. Strike that, you were going to kiss him. The problem was that you were certain you were a terrible kisser; you had no experience to speak of. "Just one kiss? Through the bars, of course."

"Of course," he crooned in agreement, already sensing that he had you wrapped around his finger, "but I doubt this would be a measly kiss. I bet I can get your head to fucking spin."

Sliding off the stairs, you hesitantly took the three steps forward to stand in front of his cell. "Just a kiss, then." Gathering your courage, it was your turn to lift your chin at him. "So, are you going to come over here and get it or what?"

With that same bright smile that you so loved from this morning, Negan crawled out of bed and padded over on bare feet to you. "Am I allowed to reach through the bars?"

"Yeah, but there's no point in groping me." You turned your head towards the wall where the cell keys always hung, taunting him. "I don't have a weapon on me either, so if this is an excuse to distract me or hold me hostage, good fucking luck."

"Wouldn't dream about it," he murmured, and his hands slid through the bars until they were wrapped around your waist. You were surprised when he didn't immediately just palm at your ass, but he must've known that you wouldn't have tolerated that. Or maybe you were being too harsh in your judgement and subsequent expectations of him, and he was actually a gentleman. Doubtful. Still, Negan was gentle as he guided you forward and he shortened the distance as well as he pressed himself completely against the bars. But he was waiting, either for your permission or for you to make the first move.

You decided to go with the latter. Taking a deep breath to fortify yourself, you swayed forward on the balls of your feet to close the distance, angling your mouth towards his – and then Negan met you there.

The cold bars of the cell on either side of your cheeks should have deterred you or maybe at least make the kiss a little uncomfortable, but it did no such thing. If anything, there were blissfully cool against your blush and grounded you to him as his mouth sensuously slid across yours. He was right to be so cocky; he was a fantastic kisser.

If anything, you thought his kissing style might be more aggressive than this, but while it passionate and consuming, it was also desperate. Your eyes momentarily opened and you took note of how Negan's eyelashes were a dark smudge against his cheekbones and there was a tightness around his eyes like someone fighting wakefulness to stay within a dream. Negan's hand lifted to try and cup your jaw, but the maneuver was awkward because of the placement of the bars. With a soft growl of frustration, his hand slipped down to your neck, and the placement was so soft that you did not fear for your life.

Negan nipped at your bottom lip, suckling it into his mouth and pulling it down to open your mouth. His tongue swept inside and swirled around your tongue, greedy for the taste and you forgot to be embarrassed about the taste of your egg salad sandwich until you pulled away to draw much needed air into your lungs.

You opened your eyes first and you had the gut-satisfying pleasure of watching him blindly chase after your mouth until his jaw clipped against the cell bar. Then he opened his hazel eyes and crooked a wry smile at you. Unconsciously, you mirrored the gesture and then awkwardly looked away. Somewhere in the middle of kissing him you had grabbed the cell bar to support yourself, and when you let go your fingers still wanted to curl and your knees wobbled. Negan's hands were still on your waist, and he steadied you before once again withdrawing inside his cell.

"Good, right?"

Your tongue around your mouth, savoring the faint taste of him. "Better than I expected."

He chuffed a laugh. "Not easily impressed, huh?" He tilted his head, smiling broadly at you, and if the environment around you could melt away and if you could turn back time, you were sure that this could've been a flirting encounter at the coffeeshop. Life was funny and cruel like that. "So whaddya say? Helluva kiss like that deserves a reward."

"For me?" You pointed at your chest. "Or for you?" Now it was your turn to reach through the bars as you gently touched your index finger to his sternum.

Moving deliberately slow, Negan reached up and curled his fingers around your wrist, cradling your hand to his chest. "Why not the both of us, darlin'? Or hell, it can just be you." He pulled your hand up to his mouth and placed a whiskery, ticklish kiss across your knuckles. "I could just use my mouth on you. Never even gotta touch my dick." Turning over your hand, he placed another kiss on your palm, his breath warm and damp and his lips soft on your callouses.

He was right about getting your head to spin, but it was practically swimming now as you watched him. Something he said though, jogged your brain into thinking again, and you got an idea. You disentangled your hand from his and pulled it back on your side of the bars. "When's the last time you've had a bath?"

Blinking, he considered your question. "Three days, I think. I'm not sure. It all sort of blends together at some point." He shrugged, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"I'm going to get a basin of water and a washcloth." You leaned in closer and lowered your voice to a whisper. "And then I'm gonna kiss every square inch of your body after I scrub you down." Before he could react, you pulled away and went to fetch the items in question. Your face was scarlet, but also held a smile to complement it.

When you came back down Negan was already stripped down to the skin, completely naked and sitting on his bed. Mercifully, his groin was swathed in shadow and hidden behind the copy of The Great Gatsby that you had lent him as he was bent over with his elbows on his knees, feet flat on the floor. As soon as he saw you, he abandoned the book to the side and stood up. Somehow, you managed to keep your eyes on his face even though he made no move to cover himself.

"Bath time?"

Setting the basin and dry washcloth aside on the table, you grabbed the handcuffs and approached the cell. "Ground rules first." The handcuffs dangled off your index finger and managed the catch the some of the afternoon sunlight brilliantly.

His eyes dropped to the handcuffs and thought you saw a flash of disappointment before he looked back up at you with his mask of carefully crafted confidence. "Kinky."

The corner of your mouth twitched. "First rule is that you have to wear these and you have to do what I say. The minute you stop listening, I'll leave."

With a nod, Negan reached for your outstretched hand and took the offered handcuffs. "Okay." He clipped one wrist and with the practice of a prisoner who had to do with often looped his arms behind his back and snapped the other into place. With his hands behind his back like this, it caused his chest to puff out and his shoulders to straighten, and his sex was put on display from where it was nestled in his nest of curls. Even with the slight chill of the cell, he was…big. You quickly looked back at his smug face.

"Second rule is that you can't tell anyone and you can't bring this up again to me unless we're alone." You bit your lip, and then added, "This doesn't have to be a one-time thing, but that doesn't mean this will be a regular thing, okay?"

Eyes shining, Negan nodded. "Okay," he consented. He took a step back to make room for her to enter, silently inviting her in.

"The last thing," you said, and went to get the keys to the cell. It was heavy and cold in your hand, and when you shoved it in the lock it protested with a loud clang and unlocked with a quieter click. On rusty, squeaky hinges the door swung open towards you. "This is going to be about you, not about me."

Negan's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "You mean you don't want…?"

Shaking your head, you tucked the key into your back pocket, not willing to risk getting caught in the cell and found out by anyone. You didn't bother to explain that you would be too embarrassed to strip down in front of him, to explain your virgin status, to have an imprisoned man – someone you didn't love – be your first. This way you could explore, gain experience to please a lover, and that was good enough for you. Besides, you privately thought to yourself as you picked up the basin and washcloth again, trying to be careful not to slosh any of the hot water on your hands or the floor, with a beautiful body like that, Negan deserved to be worshipped.

You stepped inside and up to Negan. Stretching up on your toes, you captured his mouth in a kiss and Negan hummed, obviously pleased. Drawing away before it could get too intense, you marveled at how he was practically quivering in his need for you. "How do you want me?" He growled.

"Just like this for now." Then you knelt on the floor and placed the basin to the side. Studiously, you ignored how you were now eye-level to his pelvis and dipped the faded blue washcloth in the steaming water. When you turned back to him, his cock was half-hard and right there in your face, and you inhaled sharply through your nose in surprise. To be fair, he hadn't moved a muscle and when you looked up at him, he was staring at you with dark eyes and his lips pressed together in a thin line. With the washcloth in hand, you pushed yourself to your feet and gently soaped up his shoulders, your free hand on his waist to steady him.

Using small circular motions, you lathered his skin, fingers and palms skating over every inch of him as you worked your way around his torso. He was pleasantly hairy, the right amount so that he had a generous smattering over his pectoral muscles that thickened into a line around his navel and shot down to a thick bush. His arms had the usual amount of hair for a man, and his back only a light dusting across his shoulders. Negan's ass was practically hairless when you walked around him to wash his back and peek between his fingers at the dimpled cheeks. That was your only disappoint so far.

Upon a closer inspection you thought that he might've once had freckles across his shoulder blades from the sun, but so many years of being bundled away from walkers and then stuffed in a cell with a tiny window had caused them to fade.

And, of course, he was littered with tattoos, the typical macho-man ones that would be more fitting for someone from a motorcycle gang, someone like Daryl you imagined. He had the skull and cross bones, at least two crosses, a black bird that might've been a dove, and two hearts. On the inside of his forearm he had an old fashion pistol that reminded you of Rick's colt python. Each and everyone one of the tattoos were completely black; no color. You took extra care when you washed these as if afraid you might swipe away the art.

It also hadn't escaped your notice that even though you were gentle and almost clinical as you washed him, Negan trembled underneath your fingertips. You might've thought that he had a chill from the water or maybe it was because he was naked and half-hard even though you had wet to travel below the waist. But then, as you curiously trailed your fingers over his flank where he had a faded scar that you couldn't tell was pre or post apocalypse, you realized that he was trembling because he hadn't been touched so long.

The thought startled you and really struck a chord. Your eyes dropped to his hands were his fingers rhythmically flexed in the air, and you remembered all those times you caught him touching himself. Not like that, but more like scratching his beard or through his short hair, or having his arms wrapped around his middle or his legs. You had thought that he might've just been defensive or maybe something as superficial as being cold, but now as you considered it…

Human beings were not solitary creatures. If babies weren't held very often, they would die – even if they were properly fed and taken care of otherwise. Negan himself, you know, never lacked for touch before his imprisonment. Even without his six wives, you had personally seen him touch many people, even his own Saviors in a friendly way, like forehead touches. On enemies like Rick, Negan wasn't one to shy away and he used touch as an intimidation tactic. After he was all healed up from his throat and thrown in here, he's been left to wither like a flower out of the sun.

No wonder he would beg for someone like you.

Now that thought nearly did make you cry. Circling around in front of him again, you paused and took in his face. There was a wetness in his own dark, hazel eyes and he had been gnawing at his bottom lip. You tugged it free with your finger. "None of that," you lightly admonished, and then told him honestly, "I want to hear you."

You didn't think it was possible, but his eyes darkened further. "Please," he whispered, "please."

Reaching up the soapy washcloth, you sensuously dragged it around his neck. His ropey scar was faded silver, but was still no less angry looking. Apparently, it was sensitive, too, because his Adam's apple jumped beneath your fingertips. "Please what?"

"Please, please, keep fucking touching me." He confirmed your suspicions. "Touch me like you mean it." His shoulders tensed, and you suspected that if it weren't for the handcuffs, he'd be leading your hands where he wanted them.

As it is, you got to take it at your own pace, and you decided to momentarily drop the washcloth in the basin again. With both hands free, your brought them to his face, scratching your fingernails over his stubbled cheeks and then pulling him down for another searing kiss. Negan practically whimpered into your mouth, hungry for more, and he insistently wrapped his tongue around yours. You allowed yourself to get caught up in the moment for a bit, letting him have the brief control of plundering your mouth. The tip of his nose pressed against your cheekbone, and you wondered if it was hurting him and he was ignoring it, or if he just really didn't care. Finally, you pulled away and you tapped on his chest, urging him to stand up straight again.

It took a supreme amount of effort on his part, but he did as he was told, and you dropped your hands to his shoulders, pleased with his obedient behavior. With your eyes locked with his, you held his gaze as he allowed your palms to slip toward, tracing around his pectoral muscles. He was a slight man, not heavily muscled, but not exactly skin and bones either. His soft stomach, something that hadn't faded away yet even with his mediocre prison diet, and the iron strength of his arms and legs were testaments against him being perceived as weak or scrawny. Still, he could be a little chestier, but you weren't going to tell him that.

"So beautiful," you said instead, and finally dragged your eyes away from his own to gaze your fill at his soapy chest. "You have perfect nipples." Your fingertips teased around them, cutting paths through the suds and hair. With each passing revolution around his nipples, the tips of your fingers edged closer and closer, and they were already hardened into needy peeks from your heavy breathing alone. He smelled clean like the soap, and it was a heady fragrance.

Once your fingers finally brushed over his nipples, Negan whined and then immediately cut himself off, closing his eyes against the picture of you. "No. Look at me." He did as you said. "I said I wanted to hear you. You're allowed to talk, you know."

"Fuck," Negan muttered, "I can't help it, darlin'. It's been…been a long time." He glanced down meaningfully, and you looked down past his nipples to see that his cock was fully hard now and straining towards you.

"How good is your recovery time?"

"What? Uh," Negan frowned slightly, and you could practically see the hamster on the wheel in his head as he considered your question, "I'm not getting any younger, but I can go at least two rounds. Maybe three at the most, if I push myself."

"We can probably do three," you said casually even though you were flicking at his nipples, tugging and pulling just to watch his face contort in pleasure. "They shouldn't be back until dark, and no one is going to be looking for me." That last part might've been said in a maudlin way any other time, but currently you didn't give a shit when you were plucking on his nipples like you were playing a harp. "You think you can come for me like this?"

"Shit." Negan's head dropped back and he panted up at the ceiling while you tweaked him in the exact same way you liked to play with your own nipples. Under your touch, his chest was heaving and you could tell that he was pushing himself into your touch, swaying forward on his toes. "Shit," he repeated breathlessly, "yes, I'm so fucking close, darlin'."

Strumming your thumbs over his nipples faster, you looked down at his hard cock. The head of it was on full display, lacking a foreskin, and it was angry-looking in its redness, swollen and needy. A bright wet spot bejeweled the tip, and you licked your lips thoughtfully. You definitely wanted to try oral with him.

All too soon, Negan let out a groan that was louder than the others and you watched him come, spurting upwards on his lower stomach. His abdominal muscles rippled violently as his orgasm tore through him, and you were entranced. It's been a while since you've been able to watch porn. "Just beautiful," you murmured to him, and Negan's postured sagged a little even as he preened under your praise.

Taking advantage of his weakened state, you gripped him by the back of his head and pulled him down from a plundering kiss. This time you suckled his bottom lip into you mouth, kissing so hard you were sure his mouth would be bruised, and nipping so much that it would be swollen, though you were careful not to accidentally pierce the sensitive skin with your teeth. His facial hair burned around your mouth, but you ignored it as his mouth willingly opened to yours and you snuck your tongue inside. Your tongue briefly burrowed between his bottom row of teeth and his lip before twisting to the side over the pouch of his cheek. His tongue writhed under yours and you coaxed it out to play and then sucked on it hard. Negan keened in pleasure, and you pulled away again.

As if nothing had happened, you bent to retrieve the washcloth again and then wiped away evidence of his arousal still clinging to his stomach, caught in his happy trail and around the outside of his navel. Then you tenderly washed over his flaccid sex, taking care to avoid overstimulating him. Still, he let out a quivering sigh at the touch of the warm washcloth to his cock, and grabbed his hip, giving it a squeeze in a silent apology. His top half clean, you sunk to your knees to complete the process, and the action had his sated cock twitching in interest.

God, but he had legs for damn miles. You washed him tenderly around his balls and worked your way downwards. The backs of his knees were ticklish and after his orgasm he was especially shaking and tired. After reaching around and swiping the washcloth over his cute little ass (and you couldn't resist but grab a handful and pinch, which rewarded you with a small squeak from him), you urged him to sit down on the edge of his cot and spread his legs. Grateful to be off his feet, he was like putty in your hands as you scrubbed him over.

When you caught his heel Cinderella-style and held him steady to wash the soles of his feet, you learned something very interesting about Negan. For one, his feet weren't ticklish at all, not even when you soaped between his toes. For another, he had a fetish and he moaned loudly when you dug your thumb into the high arch of his foot. "Fuck, that feels so fucking good, darlin'." At this angle, you saw his cock throb and valiantly attempt to rise again so soon.

Once again abandoning the washcloth in the basin, you shifted from your knees to your bottom, figuring to get comfortable while you were down here. "Want a foot massage?" You needlessly asked while you started to firmly rub his feet with your sudsy hands.

"Mmm," Negan purred, and he dropped backwards, which was a little awkward a position considering he was handcuffed and he was practically sitting on his hands. Thankfully, his shoulder blades against the cinderblock wall supported the brunt of his weight, but still, you could imagine how he would be uncomfortable. "Fuck, you could probably hump my foot and I'll come again in no time flat."

Blushing wildly, you switched to the other foot. "I'm not gonna do that, so you're just gonna have to settle for this."

Thumping his head against the wall, Negan moaned again, "Works for me, darlin'. Fuck. I'm boneless."

Fascinated, you raked your nails over the sole of his foot and he bucked his hips wildly, breathing through his nose with his teeth clenched tight, white and on display. In a position like this, the sun was perfectly angled through the window that his skin was glistening with the water and glowing. If he was beautiful before, he was sinfully angelic now, a few stray soap bubbles in his chest hair iridescent rainbows shining on the surface. If he wasn't handcuffed, you were sure he'd be touching himself, but as it is his half-hard cock pulsed lazily on his thigh, tempting you.

"Christ, darlin', can you at least suck my toes or fucking something," Negan wheedled you, confirming your thoughts. "Touch my dick. Play with my nut sack. Fucking something."

"You want me to suck your toes? Really? Seriously?"

"Well, it's not like I can suck yours," he pouted at you. Negan flexed his stomach, rutting his erection in the air as it was fully hard now. "Please." His forehead shined with sweat that threatened to spill into his creased eyes. "Please."

Well, you weren't going to suck his toes no matter how much he begged, but you slid your hands up his legs towards his cock. You could no longer resist but to please him. Shyly, you cupped your palms over his sack and Negan groaned, his eyes slipping shut. "That's it, darlin'." Encouraged, you teased around the loose skin, dipping your fingertips in between and then curiously sliding downward over his perineum.

As he tracked your progress downward, Negan spread his legs open wider to accommodate you and made a choking noise that was seemingly half-surprise and half-delight. "Fuuuck, darlin', are you gonna finger me open right here?"

Finger him? You hadn't thought about it, but…you could try. It's the least you could do since you refused to suck toes. You always liked fingering yourself, anyway, so how could it be any different? Determined, you took a firm hold of his cock and slicked it over with your hand in a firm grip. With the other hand, though, you swirled around the rim of his anus before you wormed your index finger inside. Thanks to your hands being wet and soapy, he yielded underneath you easily and you added another finger inside, stretching him slightly.

"Yesss," he hissed, and you could see that he was struggling to both buck down on your fingers and to thrust into your slickened hand. "You don't have to be so gentle, darlin'. Fuck me open and give me the reach around. I can fucking take it."

When you looked up at him, though, his face was pinched as he was visibly holding himself back from being overwhelmed so soon. You decided to take it slow, let him savor it then. "Shh. I'm the one taking care of you, remember?" You reminded him in a low voice, or well, what you tried as your sexy, seductive voice.

As Negan looked down at you with an open, vulnerable face, he crooked his jaw and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, groaning. Turning your attention back to the task at hand, you alternated between slowly jerking him off with the tightest grip you could manage without feeling like you were going to hurt him and scissoring him open on your fingers. You leaned forward, peppering kisses up his thigh as you went, and his skin tasted clean as you steadily licked upward.

"Fuck, fuck," Negan chanted, and his muscles tightened underneath your tongue, thighs going hard as rocks. "Yes, darlin', yes, please touch me."

"Mm, you're so beautiful, Negan." Peeking up at him from between his legs, you attached your lips high on his inner thigh, nibbling slightly. "So beautiful just like this. I think you were made for this." You sucked a hickey into his skin, watching it bloom as red as a rose right where his leg met the pelvis. "Absolutely fucking gorgeous, and so responsive."

Right on cue, Negan moaned into the air and it rang off the cinderblock walls. You kissed him higher, nuzzle your nose on the underside of his balls and then easing your mouth down to where your fingers were buried inside him. Your tongue flicked over the outer ring and this close to him you saw him tremble. Scissoring him open on your fingers, you slipped your tongue inside and swirled, repeated the actions you did on his mouth, and his walls fluttered around you, desperately trying to suck you deeper inside. Removing your fingers, you indulged him and pressed your face closer, the tip of your nose intersecting between his balls. His pubic hair tickled, but not unpleasantly. It felt no different than the stubble around his mouth.

"Darlin'," Negan growled, "fucking hell. Please…" Funny how before you never heard that word from him, but tonight it was like that was all he knew.

Your jaw was getting tired, so you backed away and went back to using your fingers on him. This time inside of scissoring them, you curled your fingers, searching for his prostate. You found it on your second pass and you knew that's what it was because Negan practically howled before he nearly bit through his bottom lip.

"Negan," you chided and then switched over to a purr, "let me hear you scream." You brushed your fingertips over his prostate again and then rotated your wrist as you pumped his dick in your fist.

"Mmm faster, please, faster." The tendons in his neck were standing out in relief and his chest was heaving. His nipples were erect, abused, and abandoned, and he was swathed in a fine layer of sweat now. He'd need another bath after this, but you wouldn't mind giving him another pass over. After all, you had a promise to keep.

You heeded his pleads, passing your first over his cock in a quickening rhythm, matching your loud heartbeat in your ears. Towards the head of his cock you started switching your thumb up over the underside of the tip, stimulating his glands and catching the precious drops of precome to smear over the rest of him. Negan pulsed in your hand, a live thing like a rod of steel wrapped in velvet. You had never touched anything so hard and yet so soft.

Following your instincts, you dipped your head down and ran your tongue up his shaft, pausing in the motions of your hand. Your hot breath washed over him and he sighed in relief. Momentarily, your fingers crooked in his ass stilled as you concentrated on stroking your tongue all over him, ducking back down to suck his balls into your mouth again. They jumped, sensitive to the suction, and then you kissed your way back up to the head of his cock and wrapped your lips around it.

"Oh fuck!" Negan unintentionally humped upwards into your mouth and you instinctively curled your fingers inside him to pull him back down again. Slowly, you worked out a rhythm with him this way, unable to deep throat him or allow him to fuck your mouth so long as you teased around his prostate. Already as overly sensitized as he was, Negan was making sounds he would probably be so embarrassed by later if the memory of what you were doing with your mouth and hands wasn't so sweet and keeping him warm at night in this lonely, cold cell.

As you got braver, you lowered your mouth on him farther and farther with every pass, and you could tell that he wasn't going to be able to hold out much longer for you like this. Not while you had two fingers in his ass and your other hand juggling his balls. Negan lifted his feet, hooking his ankles around your hips and his thighs pillowed on your shoulders. All those times working in the garden and hauling sacks of vegetables came in handy as you rode it out underneath his weight and kicking heels, digging into your ass desperately.

Drooling around his cock, you looked up from your handiwork and as soon as you made eye-contact with him, he cried out your name and came without warning. Or maybe your name was the warning. He never used your name, preferring to stick to his epithets that way. Really, you thought that he had forgotten your name, but clearly that wasn't the case. You never heard your name sound so sweet as it fell from his lips in a near musical litany. His voice went deeper than you ever heard it before and then you heard his toes crack loudly as he curled them so hard, pressing them against you to hold you close.

His come shot down your throat three times, and you only managed not to choke because you had your throat so relaxed. You definitely believed that that was a matter of luck over skill, and you were also definitely keeping that in mind for next time.

Next time.

Yes, there would be a next time, you decided right then and there. His come was bitter, almost like black licorice, which you personally abhorred because who in their right mind actually liked black licorice over red? Or licorice at all considering the texture. His come had an odd texture, too, something too slick to be naturally pleasant, but as you watched his face contort in pleasure with his mouth dropped open wide, you decided it was worth it for him. He deserved the treat.

Milking his orgasm, you repetitively brushed your fingertips over your prostate and he did a full body writhe underneath your sucking mouth. By now, his screams were wordless and leaned more towards a higher pitch. It was a beautiful sound. When you finally released him from your mouth, you just sat back on his heels and watched, thrusting your fingers deep inside of him. You practically wrung the orgasm from his body, every drop of pleasure washing over his frayed and flayed nerve endings. Only when he started tremoring in the aftershocks did you pull your fingers out with a wet pop, and then Negan went to jelly on his cot.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was his heavy breathing and your calmer breathing in comparison. Your eyes drifted over to the window and noted that it must've been at least two hours past that you've been down here. The only hadn't been raised yet, so you weren't worried. When you looked back at Negan, he was already staring at you and you nearly flinched away from the intensity of his gaze, as heavy as his palm had been earlier when it caressed your cheek.

"That was the shit," Negan huffed.

"I didn't think it was that bad," you said, your insecurity overtaking your sense of hearing.

"No, no, not shit. I said that was the shit." Negan weakly smiled at you, more of a flash of his dimples than any of his shiny teeth on display. "You were far, far from fucking shitty, darlin'. Fuck, please, you gotta let me fuck you for real one day."

"Oh, I dunno," your eyes dropped, uncharacteristically submissive considering everything that just transpired between you two just now. You picked up the sodden washcloth from the basin again. The water had long gone tepid. "After all that, I would think you'd like me to get a toy to use on you for next time."

"Hell, if you bring me a toy, I might actually just fall in love with you," Negan teased. Well, he sounded like he was teasing, but when you looked up into his smiling eyes, they were so soft and gentle. "Can the handcuffs come off now, please? I'm nearly dislocated a fucking shoulder back there. That would be a little awkward to explain to Doc Siddiq."

Glancing over him, you made a moue of sympathy with your lips pursed. "If I do that…you know you can't leave, right?"

"Darlin', I just had a helluva orgasm and I can't feel my fingers or my toes." He shifted, a grimace of discomfort passing over his face as quick as a shadow. "And I am buck ass naked. While I have nothing to be ashamed about, I don't think I wanna go out there and streak through Alexandria. I have the nastiest fucking feeling that nobody would have the mercy in their hearts to dress me up nice before they'd let my ass turn into a dead one."

Pushing yourself to your feet with a slight grunt of effort, you argued, "I think you'd be surprised at just how much mercy we Alexandrians have."

"No," Negan lightly disagreed, and his eyes raked over your form from top to bottom before steadily holding your gaze again. "I think I know exactly how merciful you are."

At first, you thought he was talking about Rick sparing his life, but then you realized once you saw how his hazel eyes simmered with building lust again. You blushed and turned away to get the handcuffs. The cell door had never shut. When you came back you had to help him turn on his side so you could get to the cuffs and when they came off, he slowly brought his hands around in front of him and rubbed at his aching wrists. He remained on his back in his bed, only moving enough to roll in a more comfortable position. You returned the handcuffs to their place and returned to finish the bath.

Negan startled at the first touch of the washcloth to his skin, and you immediately apologized. "Sorry, it's a little cool, but I thought that that would feel like a relief since you're sweating so much."

"It's not that." Negan was slurring his words. "I didn't think you were coming back in here. And 'm tired." His eyes were half-lidded and he stretched up to grab his squashed, pitiful pillow, which he unceremoniously shoved under his cheek. "Nearly fell asleep."

The circles of red around his wrists caught your attention, and so you caught a hold of his hands. You wrapped the washcloth around his wrist, not knowing what else to do and hoped at least that the coolness would relieve some of the ache and take the redness away. Maybe there would be bruises, which was never your intention, but you had to be cautious about this. Maybe in time…but you weren't going to let your thoughts wander there.

Once you were satisfied with his wrists, you returned to running the washcloth over his naked body, more or less sluicing him that trying to clean him. The soap had fizzled out into a few suds and bubbles. Negan watched you in silence, not protesting the treatment at all. You knew that when he was under Siddiq's care in the infirmary, he was handcuffed to the bed and subjected to sponge baths and bed pans. This was probably a much better experience for him, and he lounged as lazy as a cat in a patch of sunlight under your soft touch.

In fact, he was in the sunlight, rapidly warming up and then alternately cooling down as you playfully drizzled water over his chest and stomach. With your unoccupied hand, you just brushed your fingertips over him idly. You didn't toy with his nipples or try to coax his cock into rising again. Instead, you just walked your fingers up and down his legs and fondly stroked over his feet. Christ. How could this man be beautiful everywhere because he had the most slender, pleasing feet you've ever seen? Not overly hairy and no weirdly shaped toes. It was almost unfair about how beautiful he was.

Eventually, the washcloth was once again left submerged at the bottom of the basin as you returned your hands to his body. Without any prompting from you, Negan rolled on his stomach and your dug your fingertips into his muscles, massaging the tension away. He let loose little grunts, groans, and sighs, completely lax underneath you with his eyes slipped shut. It was like he was a pad of butter melting away and slipping between your fingers. You even massaged the slight globes of his ass and his legs naturally fell open, but you resisted the urge to finger him again, choosing to keep this nonsexual. Besides, after the orgasm he just had, you doubted he would be able to go again.

You worked your way back up his body again, this time with your lips. All of your kisses were gentle, not seeing the point of hickies when this was to be your secret. The hickey on his inner thigh was personally enough for you anyway. Kiss after kiss you peppered up his spine, and you kissed the odd places like the backs of his knees even though he jerked – ticklish – and his elbows and the tops of his feet. Kisses were generously littered over his stomach and chest and up his throat over his scar tissue.

And finally, finally, you sunk your fingers into his short hair, combing your nails over his scalp. Negan, with his eyes still closed, obediently lifted his head and you placed your last kiss to his mouth after worshipping his face in butterfly kisses. This kiss was nothing like the others because it was dry and chaste, just a brush of your lips over his, really. It was a fitting end, and to you it was a wordless promise that you would have more and devour him again. This was no longer just practice for a real partner; you decided that you wanted him.

"Goodnight," you murmured in his ear and gave a parting stroke down his back with an ending pat on his flat rear. "Enjoy your nap. I'll be back with dinner. Do you want another book, then? Though, you'll have to promise me you won't read in the dark. It's bad for your eyes and Siddiq isn't an optometrist."

"Another book would be fucking great." Negan's voice was rough, voice thick with some emotion you were too afraid to identify. Still, you could tell he was so, so tired, but more importantly, content. "Also, can you bring more toilet paper? I'm about to run out."

"No problem." You collected the basin and left his cell, gently shutting the door behind you and locking it again. The keys were returned to their spot on the wall, and no one would be the wiser.

"Darlin'?" Negan raised his voice to be heard, though he hadn't opened his eyes again.

"Yes, Negan?"

"Can I ask you for one more thing?"

Pressing your lips together, you considered his question, unsure of what he might ask when he was in a mood like this. "What do you want?"

"Can I get some socks? This floor is cold, and dirty."

Smiling to yourself, you shook your head and started up the stairs with the basin half-full in your arms, sloshing quietly against the sides. "I'll be sure to grab you a fuzzy pair."

And it wasn't until you reached the top of the stairs that you heard his first and quiet, "Thank you."