Negan knew it was naïve, and downright not a good idea. Still, he liked bending the rules as far as he could, within reason, of course. He liked the thrill of knowing he was with someone he wasn't supposed to. There was an edge of danger that made those endorphins fly.
To be fair, in a world where the words imprinted on your goddamn arm dictated who you should spend the rest of your life with, there were so few options of who was willing to break the norms. Not that Negan wasn't looking for his soulmate per se, shit, he'd like to, but it was hard to take any of that seriously when the words on his arm were hurled at him every single day of his God-given life.
"Shut the hell up."
"Negan, shut the hell up."
"Shut the hell up, man."
"Christ almighty, Negan. Fucking shut the hell up."
It was supposed to be life-affirming and warm and fuzzy when you heard those sweet, special words. Negan just got a headache and wondered whether or not he should give them his number.
That's how it was with Lucille. More often than not, after a long day of being cramped in a high school for nearly eight hours, Negan liked to stop and get himself a drink. Unwind, relax, whatever.
When Negan drank, he got loud. Loud and boisterous and very confrontational.
On that night, Negan slammed his glass on the countertop. "Another one, pretty please," he said, tapping his fingers like a drummer.
"I'm going to have to cut you off," the bartender said, taking the glass and wiping it down.
"Me? You're going to cut me off? Uh, that wouldn't be wise, buddy boy."
"I've lost count how many times I've served you, which is already negligent on my part. Cutting you off."
Negan pounded a hand on the counter. "Not fair! Totally not cool!"
"Shut the hell up! It's for your own good, dumbass."
He raised his eyebrows and swiveled in his chair, rolling his head and looking toward who dared speak to him like that. He met the eyes of a dark-haired woman, sipping on a drink. She seemed to be with a friend, but that didn't matter. Negan poked his tongue against his cheek, smiling. "Nice legs. How far do they go up?"
The woman shook her head, peering in her drink, stirring with her straw. "Far enough," she said, staring at him, dead on, and slipped the straw in her mouth.
Negan squinted. "Huh."
In five minutes flat, Negan had the woman bent over the restroom's sink, dress hiked up, and seeing just how far up those legs went. His hands were on her hips, and her hands were pressed against the mirror, and Negan stared at those words on her arm.
Nice day.
Negan snorted. "Fucking boring."
"What?"
"Nothing, darling. Keep that pretty mouth shut, would ya? 'ppreciate it."
Time moved pretty damn fast after that. Negan knew it was naïve and foolish, but Lucille was special. Good lay, and she knew just how to scratch his back. So, he married her. Negan was a simple man.
Going into the marriage, they both knew it was going to be tough. Two people marrying, and their words didn't match up? That was destined for trouble. It didn't matter. Negan liked going home to Lucille every night, even if that meant he took a few detours before he stepped through the front door. He couldn't help it. In the back of his mind, he knew it wasn't fair to Lucille to go chasing after every fucking person who said those words to him. It wasn't wrong to find the right answer, Negan told himself every time he was balls deep in some poor broad or man.
Negan would grab their arms and pin them above their head, glancing, searching, hoping to find his own voice on their skin. He always got angry when they didn't match. Half the time, he didn't even want to finish, but mama didn't raise a quitter.
Lucille was quiet when Negan dragged his feet to bed, landing face first into his pillow. She didn't mention anything about the infidelity, but she must have known. Hell, Negan wouldn't have blamed her if she was stepping out, too. They were doomed from the start.
Negan was fate's bitch. Apparently, he had the perfect face for spitting on and smashing it to the ground. Lucky for Negan, he liked dirty. Though, there were some things fate threw at him that Negan wasn't prepared for.
Like Lucille getting cancer.
Like Lucille dying.
Now that was a fucking bummer.
It was frowned upon, heavily advised against. "You know you won't really be happy, right?"
"I think I can make my own decisions," Rick said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Me and Lori, we're happy. We can make this work."
"You might be happy now, but how long will that even last? The honeymoon only goes for so long, Richie."
Rick kept the words on his arm hidden. His sleeves were kept rolled to a point, even when the temperature threatened triple digits. No one asked, and when he received a few looks, he played them off. They just thought Rick modest. Lori showed hers with pride, and even seemed to convince herself that Rick had said those words to her.
"I wasn't told how gorgeous you were," Shane had said, when Rick introduced them. Rick, frozen at Lori's side, stared at Shane as he and Lori hugged, exchanged pleasantries.
"Please, that isn't necessary."
Weeks later, when he and Shane were on patrol, Rick pointed toward the window. "What the hell is that?" Shane turned to look, and Rick leaned in enough to glance at his arm.
"There's nothing there, Rick."
Rick, jaw clenched, hands tight against the steering wheel, nodded. "You're right. Must have been mistaken."
Carl came along, and they were fine. First grade, second grade, third grade, middle school, and they were fine. Rick got shot and went into a coma, and they were fine. Hours cut at work, and they were fine. Judith came along, and they were not fine.
Rick held the infant in his arms, looking down into eyes that weren't his own. He put on a smile, the best he could manage, and pressed a kiss to Judith's forehead. Shane smacked him on the shoulder. "Good work, man. Looks just like you."
He laughed, repositioning her in his arms. "Yeah."
He didn't have the heart to talk to Lori, and so they went with the blissful ignorance and relative peace.
Until Lori got sick.
Until Lori died.
Rick was stuck, wondering what he was going to do. Suddenly, there seemed to be a lot of options.
Negan paced the bar, pool cue in hand, twirling it like a baton. "Come on. There has to be one sorry shit here that's game. Or am I just going to stand here like I'm in fucking marching band? I mean, I don't have much experience in that department, but I am sure I can learn."
"Man, shut the hell up."
Instinctively, Negan spun on his heel, pool cue swinging out. He pointed it at the man who spoke, whistling. "Well, would you look at this shit? Who called the goddamn cops on me?" Negan narrowed his eyes and turned, waving the pool cue toward the bartender. He brandished it, threateningly. "I know it was you, jackass! I'm a paying customer!" Negan chuckled and faced the police officer, who was currently sporting a rather confused expression on his face. His hands were on his hips, and he was staring at Negan, lips pressed together. Negan bopped him on the head with the stick. "Skedaddle the fuck outta here, officer. I'm minding my own business."
He knocked away the pool cue and grabbed it with his other hand. It was tossed on the pool table, falling against the billiards that Negan had worked oh so hard on to line up. Negan frowned. "Now, listen here, Officer No Fun Club, but I—"
"—will you come with me?" he interrupted, reaching out and grabbing Negan's arm, fingers digging into his bicep. He pulled Negan across the room, toward the front door. The patrons in the bar clapped and yelled. Negan was pushed out first. "Looks like you don't have that many fans."
Negan turned around, walking backward. "Fuck 'em. Don't matter." He pointed at him again. "What's your name?"
"Rick."
"Now, Rick, I'm sure we can work this out. No reason for handcuffs or drives downtown." Negan ran into a streetlight, and he put his hands behind his back, fingers wrapping around the post.
Rick stayed where he was, near the bar's entrance, and was still giving Negan that same damn look. "What are you talking about?"
"Ever heard of the skin flute? I can play a mean—hey!" Rick moved toward him, hand on his hip and the other rubbing his forehead. He reached around him, prying Negan's fingers off the streetlight, and yanked his arm closer. "Am I being assaulted by an officer of the law? I can write you up."
When Rick couldn't get the sleeve of Negan's leather jacket up past his wrist, he sighed and shook his head. Rick took a step back and waved a hand. "Take off your jacket."
Negan leaned his head back, bumping it against the lamppost. "What if I don't?"
"Then I'll tase you. Take off your jacket."
"I would say I'd like dinner first, but that would be a big fat lie." Negan shrugged his arm out of his jacket and extended it, swaying his hips, head cocking. "Happy?"
Rick studied him for a minute, nose wrinkled, and carefully took a step forward. He touched Negan's wrist, fingers wrapping around him, and then flipped his arm over. He stared at the words buried in Negan's skin and blinked once, twice, three times.
"Uh, is there a problem, officer?" Negan shook his arm out of Rick's hold with ease. He slipped the jacket back on, zipping it up, tongue in between his lips.
Rick didn't look at him. He shook his head. "No, of course not." Rick turned away from him and started walking back toward the curb, where his cruiser was parked. "Get out of here. Don't drive. Call a cab."
Negan frowned. "I thought I was going to ride in the cop car! I wanted to honk the horn and sound the sirens!" The car abruptly started, and Rick peeled out without another word. Negan stayed there, leaned against the streetlight, and rubbed his arm. "What a sack of shit," he breathed out.
It was only after Negan had tossed back a few aspirin and threw himself on the bed when he put things together. Rick. Arm. The thing. The thing thing. Negan laughed, arms wrapped around his stomach. "Holy shit!"
The cruiser rolled to a stop sign, and when he was certain no one was around, Rick settled back in his seat and undone the buttons on his sleeve, fingers catching on fabric for seconds and not doing much at all. Rick cursed underneath his breath, and once the buttons were undone, he rolled the sleeve up, pushing it to the crook of his elbow. He looked down at the words on his arm, the words he hid from everyone, and felt his lips quiver.
He traced the words with a single finger.
Well, would you look at this shit.
Not romantic or charming in the slightest, and as soon as Rick realized what those words meant, he dreaded meeting his soulmate. Those words didn't particularly provide a good first impression. And yet.
Rick didn't even know his name.
He couldn't describe what he felt when he first saw the man, but there was something going on in his stomach. As he looked back, when he was sitting in the cruiser, listening to the scanner, and took the call of a disturbance at a nearby bar, there had been something to it. Rick wasn't usually eager to address meager things such as bar scrabbles. The easy stuff had been pushed on him, ever since he got shot, and it didn't matter how many times he'd told the chief he had fully recovered. Grunt work for Rick Grimes. Good, respected officer before, now cast aside, wounded, and a shell of a man. Did you hear he didn't even marry his soulmate?
Now, it seemed he had met him. Rick rubbed at an eye, scratched his nose, and gave those words one last look. He placed his hands back on the wheel, sleeve still rolled up, and continued with his drive. Rick didn't know his next course of action. He could do nothing, but that wasn't what the world had planned.
Carl was playing with Judith in the living room, or he was mostly occupying himself. Judith was asleep on the floor, while Carl sat next to her, putting together a log cabin. Rick watched them for a moment from the doorway. "Hey."
Setting down the half-finished toy, Carl looked at him. "Hey." He narrowed his eyes. "Something happen?"
Rick walked into the room, crouching to pick up Judith. She stirred little, and he held her to his chest. "Why do you think something happened?" he asked, hand patting Judith's back.
Carl said nothing, shrugged, and looked at his father's arm. He stood up and wiped his palms against his jeans. "I'll be in my room," he said and left. Rick watched, and while he wanted to go after him, he couldn't find the heart. When Lori died, Rick told Carl that they weren't a match. He couldn't leave Carl in the dark. Then again, there were some things Carl shouldn't know. Carl had asked him who were their matches, if his mom dying would change anything with Rick. Rick said he didn't know, on all fronts.
He rocked Judith in his arms, humming softly as he walked through the house. It was dark, getting late, and Rick realized how lonely the house could be when you had a teenage son and a young daughter. When Lori died, he became more shut in, not that it was intentional. He just didn't see the point of reaching out. Shane never dropped by either, not to see Carl, not to see Judith, not to check on Rick. He was transferred to another police department, shortly after the funeral.
"I met someone today," he told Judith, her fists against his shirt. "I don't know much about him yet," Rick said, shutting the bedroom door with a foot, "but I think he's special."
Judith squirmed in his arms. She didn't want to hear him talk, hear him discuss the fucked up ways of the world, but he wasn't about to tell Carl.
"Stop your fussing," Rick whispered, lowering her into the crib. He pulled the blankets, tucking them around her. "I met him..." He paused. "Yeah, I met him on the job. I guess. Don't want to go too much into the details there." Rick sat on the edge of the bed, falling back against the covers. He stretched out his arms, extending them on either side.
This wasn't going to work out. The man had the cops called on him. Rick wasn't particularly fond of the frequent scum he had to pull out of bars every weekend or so, and he didn't know how he would be able to coexist with a man like that. Maybe it was a one-time thing. Maybe he didn't have to do anything with this piece of information. It was nice knowing who's words he had on his skin, but that didn't mean anything, right? Right? Rick had spent a good portion of his life actively denying himself what fate had planned, and look where he was now.
Maybe it was worth a shot, but Rick didn't know where to start.
Now, Negan was a fairly smart guy, or he liked to tell his reflection that in the mornings while he scrubbed the sleep away. He was pretty intuitive, could tell how people were feeling, and especially knew what they thought about him. Nine times out of ten, it was negative, but Negan didn't mind. He knew he was a fucking saint, and his opinion was all that matter. If people happened to agree with him, then that was all hunky dory.
Negan was a smart man, and thus he was often correct about a load of things. He was positive about three things, three things he told himself when he woke up every morning. One, despite being a fucking saint, he didn't deserve to be happy. Two, Officer Rick was his goddamn soulmate. And three, he didn't deserve to be happy. Keeping himself grounded, always the realistic one.
While he knew those facts to be true, he absolutely did not like revealing his inner most thoughts. Kept him vulnerable, at risk, not cool.
Those facts often conflicted with others. For instance, number two conflicted with number one and by extension, number three. Being with his soulmate was definitely going to end up with him being happy, which, you guessed it, didn't go together with Negan being Negan. Besides, he could be wrong. Rick whatshisface might not be his soulmate. Sure, the man was, let's face it, pretty hot, and Negan felt all warm and fuzzy when he heard those special words, but he always felt all warm and fuzzy when someone shouted those words at him. Since he hadn't seen the fucking words on Rick's skin, he was free to chase and frolic as much as he liked. Hell, being married didn't even stop him.
Maybe one day he'd change. Ha!
Negan grunted, hips and half-hard cock digging in the sink. He tightened his grip on it, knuckles white. "Easy there, killer."
"Didn't say you could talk," the man said, thrusting into him again and again. Negan bowed his head, forehead pressing against the cool glass of the mirror. His eyes closed, and he groaned. Next to his head, the man pressed his palm flat against the wall, shifting his hips and getting a better angle.
Tipping his head to the side and cracking open an eye, Negan glanced at his arm.
I've got a parrot back home.
Negan laughed. "What a load of fucking shit."
The man slipped his fingers around Negan's throat. "Am I doing something wrong, princess?"
"The flag's at fucking half-staff, so you tell me."
His arms were pulled behind his back, the cock currently in his ass was suddenly gone, and Negan tumbled out of the bathroom. He fell to the floor, on his hands and knees, and laughed, shaking his head. "Man, you are not a generous guy, are you?" Negan raised up on his knees, leaning back on his heels, and pulled up his pants. "If I want my ass rubbed raw, and my fucking dick ignored, then I know who to call." He zipped up, fingers curling around the button, and received a kick to the mouth.
Negan fell, laughing, and spat out blood. "Whoa, Mr. Tough Guy!" He swallowed, tasting far too much copper, and spat and spat and gagged. Negan turned on his side, shaking his head and staring at the audience that had formed. "Who do I look like? Fucking Kitty Genovese?"
A kick to his ribs, and that was enough to make Negan black out.
Rick pushed aside the curtain and stepped forward. "To my understanding, there was a dispute at the bar you were at, and you might want to"—he froze, hand still on the curtain—"press charges."
The man from the bar met his gaze, an ice pack in hand and pressed to his jaw. "Officer Rick! How are you doing on this fine evening?" He spoke clearly, though there was an indication of pain in those tired eyes.
He hesitated next to the curtain, breathed in, and walked over to the bed. "Seems like I should be asking you that," he said, standing next to him.
The man chuckled, a hint of a wince after. "You should see the other guy."
"Are you pressing charges? That's why I'm here." Rick set his hands on his hips, tipping his head to the side. He furrowed his brows and carefully reached out, touching his wrist and pulling the ice pack away. Eyes remaining on Rick's face, he did nothing to stop him. Rick frowned and held the ice pack, shaking his head. "Kicked in the jaw?"
"Yes, Captain Obvious."
"I thought I was Officer No Fun Club?"
"Oh, Rick, I'm touched. You remembered." He smiled at him, showing bloodied teeth.
Rick gave him a look and gingerly pressed the pack to his cheek. "What's your name?"
He lifted his hand, touching the ice pack. Rick let his fingers linger, knuckles brushing against each other, and pulled his hand away. He flexed his fingers and held his hands behind his back. Rick cleared his throat, and the man smiled. "I'm Negan. You felt that, too?"
"Excuse me?"
"Hell, I don't know. I lost a shit ton of blood." Negan leaned back, settling against the pillows and bed. "Guy I was fucking called me a princess. I'm sure that constitutes a hate crime."
Rick raised his brows. "So, you are pressing charges?"
"Shit no. I deserve to get my ass beat." Rick set a hand on the bed rail and leaned against it, bowing his head. Negan adjusted the pack in his hand. "Don't give me that concerned dad look. I don't want to hear any of that motivational, self-esteem shit."
Negan narrowed his eyes at Rick, holding his attention, fingers tight against the ice pack. Rick swallowed and nodded. "Fine." He studied Negan's bruised cheek, underneath the flicks of gray in his stubble, his abused lips. His skin was pale and clammy, and a strand of hair was plastered to his forehead. Rick reached out and brushed it away. Negan lowered his hand, furrowed his brow, and gave Rick a strange, contemplative look. Rick took a step back. "If there isn't anything I can do, I'll be on my way. I'd tell you to stay out of trouble, but running into you twice on the job?" He shrugged. "Seems unlikely." Rick stared at Negan, his previously unnamed, unknown match, and slowly nodded. "Nice to meet you, Negan." He turned away and began to leave, until–
"Wait." Rick looked over his shoulder, watching as Negan pushed himself up, wincing as the ice pack was abandoned, and he held a hand to his side. He sat there for a moment, catching his breath. Negan gestured. "Believe it or not, I don't have a ride home."
"I believe it."
Negan paused, eyes narrowed, and lifted the ice pack to his face. "You going to offer me a ride, or am I just embarrassing myself?"
"Both." Rick nodded over his shoulder. "I'll get a nurse, see if there's anything else you need done. Don't make me regret this."
"Rick, my man, you are not gonna regret a thing."
"As much as I'd like to sit behind that cage, I gotta call shotgun." Negan strolled ahead of Rick, right to the passenger's side. He yanked on the handle, frowned, and glanced at Rick.
"Will you give me a second?" Rick said, catching up to him. He unlocked the car door and flipped the switch for Negan.
Negan pulled open the door and slipped inside, falling into his seat. He sat there for a moment, leaned back, and sighed. Jesus, his head hurt, his goddamn ribs. He knew that guy was trouble, but damn, he really wanted to get dicked down. Is that a crime? Negan shifted in his seat, wrinkling his nose. He felt Rick's eyes on him. Negan rubbed at his thighs. "What."
Rick leaned over him, hand on top of his, and reached for the door handle, pulling it closed. Negan opened his eyes and turned his head, staring at Rick. They were inches from each other, just for a second, before Rick moved back into his space, hands on the wheel. "How're you feeling?" he asked and started the car.
He sighed again, loudly, and stretched out his legs, lifting one to rest his foot on the dash. "Like fucking shit, Rick. Thanks for asking." As the car started to move, Negan scrunched up his face. "You got any aspirin in this shit?" He moved his leg and glanced around.
"No."
"Well, hell." Negan leaned back again, pressing a palm to his side.
"You'll be home soon... maybe."
"Yeah, turn here." Negan tipped his head to the side, looking over at Rick. Officer Rick. He pursed his lips, tongue passing over his teeth and shivering at the taste. He reached over, pulling open the glove compartment. The drawer fell open, papers and other miscellaneous items toppling to the floor. "Whoa ho!"
Rick glanced his way. "Can you keep your hands to yourself?" He shook his head and looked back at the road.
Negan grabbed a handful of papers and flipped through them. "Grimes! Richard Grimes." Negan shoved them back into the compartment. Something, somewhere, in his chest tightened. "That's fucking weird."
"What is?"
He was about to spit out "feelings, man" but he was definitely not going to talk about his feelings with Richard Grimes, no matter who he might or might not be. Negan leaned down, grabbing a pair of handcuffs. Must have come out of the glove compartment. Negan held them in his hands, eyes narrowed. He opened one up and fixed it around his wrist. At the 'click', Rick whipped his head toward him. "Negan. Don't."
Negan snapped the second on his other wrist. He lifted his arms, wiggling his fingers. "Hope you have a key!"
Rick rolled his eyes. "'Course I do."
"Then you have nothing to worry about, do you?" Rick's only response was a sigh, as he lapsed into silence, continuing to drive. Negan pulled his arms away as far as they could go. He watched the chains rattle, the cuffs dig into his skin. He didn't need any other things on his skin—tattoos, bruises, blood. Negan lowered his arms, resting his hands in his lap, and looked toward Rick. He studied him, at the faint stubble on his cheeks and jaw, his brown hair long enough to curl at the ends. Negan wanted to pull it.
He straightened up, biting the inside of his cheek, and reached over, touching Rick's wrist. Gentle and cautious. He didn't want Rick to crash. Irresponsible. Negan pulled his hand closer. Rick glanced over, but didn't fight back. "What are you doing?"
"Wanna check something," Negan said and pushed the sleeve of Rick's jacket, his shirt, up to his elbow. Rick tensed under his touch, though did nothing to stop him. He had taken a gander at Negan's arm–might as well let him do the same.
"Well, would you look at this shit," Negan read, the words echoing and simplifying all that was running through his head. He looked at Rick, Rick, who had his eyes fixed on the road and nowhere else. It was different from having a hunch, from thinking hey, maybe this guy could be the real deal. Negan had spent his time chasing person after person, every time he had his own words thrown at him. When it came down to it, when he had them against him or he was bent over in some corner, flesh to flesh, and he caught a glimpse of their arms, just to see meaningless words staring back at him... it almost made Negan want to give up. He thought he would have given up with Lucille, but he kept chasing.
This time, seeing his voice on Rick's skin, was fucking surreal. It made him want to stop chasing, stop running, and just fucking breathe for once.
"Yeah," Rick said, voice strained as he broke the silence.
Negan couldn't take his eyes off the damn thing. He traced the edge of a letter with his thumb, watching as bumps spread along Rick's arm. Negan leaned in, brushing his lips against his skin, lingering, before pressing a kiss to the center of the text. His jaw hurt, his lips were sore, but damn, did he think this was necessary. He could cry, if he wanted. He definitely felt like it. Fucking eyes stung like nobody's business.
But Negan couldn't cry. He didn't know Rick, well he did but... Whatever. Doesn't matter. No crying from Negan.
He pulled back, staring down at those words on Rick's arm, and wet his lips. Negan breathed in, pushing the pain in his ribs to the farthest corner of his mind, and looked at Rick. "I'm gonna need you to kiss me, Rick."
Rick took his arm from Negan, fingers finding the steering wheel. He didn't look at him, slightly shaking his head. "I'm driving."
"Fucking pull over and kiss me."
Though Rick didn't give him a verbal reply, he did respond, by glancing around and turning into the closest parking lot. It belonged to a gas station. Negan laughed. Classy.
Rick switched off the car and reached out, hands cupping Negan's cheeks. Negan stared at Rick, eyebrows raised. He couldn't explain the look in Rick's eyes, and at the moment, he didn't really care to know. The only thing he cared about were how pink Rick's lips were.
Slowly, Rick leaned in, as if he was trying to savor the moment. Fuck that. Negan closed the gap, lips pressing to Rick's. The pressure was firm and caused just a bit of soreness, but Negan didn't care. He didn't care. One of Rick's hands cradled the back of his head, fingers lightly scratching at his scalp. Their lips moved against each other's, parting to allow tongues to poke and prod. Negan reached out, grabbing a handful of Rick's shirt. He pulled him as close as he could, tilting his head to the side. It wasn't just the general rush he got when he kissed someone. There was something else to it. If Negan kept a running list of unbelievably perfect moments, this would be near the top. It might even be number one, and they hadn't even touched dicks yet.
Negan pulled back with a nip to Rick's lower lip, and leaned forward, foreheads together. He stared at those lips, watching as Rick caught his breath.
"That was good," he said.
"You're telling me. Get these goddamn handcuffs off."
Rick kissed him once more, lips already parted and tongue ready. He held Negan steady as he did, fingers tight against his throat. Negan swallowed. Now, he didn't know that was a thing he was interested in. Rick pulled back, rather abruptly, but Negan wasn't going to complain if he was going to get these fucking cuffs off. Rick sniffed and straightened up in his seat, searching through compartments and sliding drawers. He found the key, and Negan offered his hands. Rick worked on the lock. "You're an idiot."
Negan rubbed his wrists once the handcuffs fell off. Rick picked them up and stuffed them into his coat pocket, along with the key. "Whatever," he said. "Sit on my lap."
He received a huff, but Rick took off his seatbelt and crawled over all the same. Negan leaned back in his seat, arms at his sides, in an open, welcoming gesture. Rick was all legs for a moment, knee banging on the door as he hovered next to Negan. He looked up at Rick, swallowing. Negan reached out, hand to his chest. He hooked his fingers underneath Rick's shirt collar and yanked him closer. "Sit."
"It's a tight fit," Rick grunted.
Negan laughed. "Fuck yeah."
Rick adjusted his position, sitting on Negan's lap, with his knees digging in the seat on either side of him. A hand was on a shoulder, the other on the back of Negan's head, as they kissed again. Negan let out a sigh against Rick's lips. This was much more preferable. His hands lowered and rested on his hips, pulling him close. Rick obliged, pressing right up to Negan's chest, grip tightened. As more weight and pressure was added to Negan, the pain in his chest increased. He sucked in a breath, gasping, and he turned away from Rick. Negan shut his eyes, hand dropping from Rick's hip to press to his side. Rick pulled back, sitting on Negan's legs.
Negan, smiling, shook his head. "This is a load of shit." He opened his eyes, glancing at the window. He curled his fingers, lightly rubbing at the sore ribs. "Last time I pick up someone in a bar."
"Is it?"
He turned, looking at Rick, at his soft expression and expectant gaze. Negan quirked an eyebrow. "Who fucking knows," he said. Was that just a general question, or was Rick, god forbid, hinting at commitment? That would not fly right now. Negan knew the stakes, and he would not divulge. Not now. Negan glanced at Rick, his mouth, and wet his lips. "Kiss me again."
Rick hesitated, just a moment, and leaned back in, kissing Negan again and again.
One of the best things about kissing men, Negan decided, was the feeling of their facial hair rubbing against yours. Beard burn, great thing.
He ignored the dull pain in his chest, the ache in his jaw, and picked at the buttons on Rick's shirt. Negan pulled away, turning his attention to the remaining buttons on the uniform. He wasn't greeted with skin, like he expected, but a bulletproof vest over a tank top. Negan fell back against the seat. "Man, does this put shit in perspective."
Rick ran a hand through his hair, again, sitting back on Negan's legs. "The cruiser didn't? The handcuffs?"
"Shut up." Negan shook his head, reaching out, tucking his fingers in Rick's pants. He tugged. Negan narrowed his eyes and lifted a hand, fingers tracing along Rick's belt. "Got a fucking gun, too," he murmured.
"Look at me," Rick said. Negan looked up at him through his eyelashes, fingers still roaming. He touched the weapon, and Rick dropped a hand to grab Negan's wrist. "Don't."
"Have you ever been shot, Rick?"
Rick froze, and Negan laughed. "Oh, shit. You have. Sorry, sore subject?"
He didn't say anything, eyes lowered as he worked off his belt. Rick set it aside, in the driver's seat, and looked at Negan, hand on the headrest. "We're not discussing this. Not now."
"You're telling me we're gonna see each other again?"
This time, Rick smiled, eyes narrowed and playful. "Depends on how well you get me off."
Negan laughed again. "Rick! I am not going to disappoint, that I can promise."
They kissed some more, hands lowering and hips shifting to undo pants and belts. Negan reached Rick's cock first, wrapping his fingers around the length. He took all the gasps Rick gave him and wanted to bottle them up, replay them in the middle of the night when he was lonely. Rick grabbed Negan's dick in response, grip warm and rough. Negan leaned forward, nose to Rick's throat. He didn't talk, for once Negan didn't want to. He listened to Rick against him, hips moving, rocking. Negan bowed his head, hollowed his cheeks, and spit into his palm. He took Rick's cock back in hand, sliding skin against skin.
Rick's touches to his own cock were haphazard and not consistent, but Negan didn't care. He was taking it as a compliment. He must be doing so well at getting Rick off that he couldn't think straight. Well, straight enough. It was good enough for Negan. Rick was doing loads better than that idiot at the bar. He thought, for a split second, that the reason for that was obvious.
Of course! It makes sense! Rick is your–
No.
Soon, Rick was spilling into Negan's hand, and Negan squeezed and squeezed. He murmured underneath his breath, a low "give me all of it", to Rick's parted lips.
While Negan would have laid there, too spent to do much else, Rick did the opposite. After a few minutes of recovery, with his face buried in Negan's hair, he pushed his dick back into his pants, buttoning back up, and moved. Rick scooted back into the driver's seat, picking up his belt and fixing it around him. Negan watched Rick with heavy-lidded eyes, a constant smile on his lips. Rick sniffed and moved to the edge, leaning over, fingers around Negan's cock, as he took him into his mouth.
"There we fucking go," Negan breathed out, spreading his legs and moving his hips. He lifted a foot, pressing the button to the glove compartment, and took a napkin, wiping away Rick's spunk from his hand. "You know exactly what you're doing." He shut the compartment with another kick and kept his eyes on Rick, Rick and that incredibly skilled tongue of his. Some things just weren't fair. Negan slid his fingers through Rick's hair, curling around those brown locks.
He listened as Rick gagged, felt as drool rolled out of his mouth and down his cock, and Negan held him there, until his stomach gave that familiar lurch. Negan shut his eyes, grip tightening in Rick's hair. "I'm gonna fucking come, babe."
Rick pulled back, looking up at Negan, lips red and cheeks flushed. He said nothing, and that was fine with Negan. He came with a groan, a strip landing across Rick's lips, right before he stretched out his tongue to get the rest.
They were quiet as they shifted around. Rick sat up, and Negan watched as he licked his lips, wiping away the last traces of come from his face. Negan reached over and dragged the napkin along Rick's lips. Least he could do. He stuffed the napkin in the cup holder and put his cock back in his pants, raising his hips to pull them up. Negan sighed, eyes closed as he tipped his head back. "Shit, if I fucking knew getting off with you would be so good, I would have hunted you down." Negan laughed, looking Rick's way, tongue sliding over the front of his teeth. For a second, he thought they would share a laugh, but the expression on Rick's face indicated anything but.
Rick had placed his hands back on the steering wheel, and while it was dark outside, Negan could tell he was gripping it. His eyes were narrowed, lips pressed together, and head tipped to the side. "Let's get you home," Rick said and snapped on his seatbelt.
Negan didn't know what he was supposed to be feeling, but he was damn certain it shouldn't have made his eyes sting.
Rick stopped outside Negan's house, staring at the darkest corner of the street. For a moment, Rick wanted to turn off the car and follow Negan into the house, but he wasn't sure that would be a good idea. They both knew now that they were a match, soulmates, and Rick had no idea how to proceed. They've gotten off together. Was that going to be it?
"We're here," Rick said, when Negan made no move to get out of the car. He was sitting there, eyes ahead and narrowed. Rick wet his lips and looked down, rubbing his palms into the steering wheel. "This is your house, yeah?"
Negan sighed, lowering his head and shutting his eyes. "Yeah." He rubbed at his face and knocked his knuckles against the glove compartment. It opened, and Negan poked around, taking out a notepad and a pen. Rick watched him with a furrowed brow. Negan clicked the pen several times before he scribbled on the paper. He ripped it off, smashed it in his fist, and shoved the pen and pad back into the compartment. Negan glanced Rick's way and tossed the paper. "Here. Call me."
Rick looked down and picked up the crushed paper. He unfolded it, reading the digits. Rick nodded. "Okay."
"Good." Negan lifted a hand, grabbed the back of Rick's neck, and kissed him. There was a hint of desperation that mimicked the kisses they shared earlier, but this... this was different. Rick touched Negan's chest and slowly pulled away. He breathed in, taking his time with opening his eyes and staring at Negan. Rick lowered his hand, and Negan swiped his tongue over his lips. "Come inside."
Rick shook his head. "I can't," he murmured.
"Why the fuck not?" Negan asked, palm against Rick's cheek. "Sucked my dick, but don't want to spend the night?"
He looked down, shaking his head again. Rick lifted his head, meeting Negan's eyes. "That isn't it."
"Then what is it, Rick?"
"I have kids. At home." Rick pulled away, sitting back in his seat.
"Shit," Negan breathed out, rubbing his face.
Rick frowned and reached over, unlocking Negan's door. "Yeah."
"How old?" Rick furrowed his brow and looked at him. Negan gestured. "I wanna know. How old are the little tykes?"
"Well, only one is a tyke." Rick scratched his neck. "Judith. Then I have a son. Carl."
"Hold the fuck up. Carl? Carl Grimes?" Rick blinked and nodded. Negan laughed. "Ho-oly shit. That kid's got attitude. He's your son?"
"Yeah. How do you know Carl?"
"I teach at the high school," Negan said, crossing his arms over his chest. Rick raised his brows. Negan snorted. "Yeah, I get that a lot."
Rick absently touched the steering wheel. "I can't imagine you being a teacher."
"I love it. Those kids brighten my day, well, when they're not pissing me off."
Rick smiled and looked ahead, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on his thigh. "I'll call you," Rick said. "I've... I have a good feeling about this."
"Really now." Negan clicked his tongue and pushed open the car door. He dragged himself out of the seat, out of the car, and stretched once he was standing. Negan shut the door with a kick and turned, tapping on the window. Rick pushed the button, rolling it down, and looked toward Negan, who ducked his head into the car. "One more kiss."
Rick smiled, the corners of his lips curling. He leaned over and pressed his lips to Negan's, lingering for a couple seconds. He returned to his spot, hands finding themselves back on the wheel. Negan hummed, rubbing his lips, and pulled back. "I've got a good feeling, too, Rick." Negan patted the top of the car and pushed off of it, walking toward his dark house and heading inside.
He had head rushes, butterflies and knots in his stomach, but Rick had never felt this way with Lori. Rick waited until the front door closed, and a light flicked on, before driving off.
Negan wasn't much for epiphanies and sudden realizations. He was glad to be simple and straightforward. It was easy. No expectations. Though, now, things were changing.
For once, he could be happy. Negan took an aspirin, changed his clothes, and laid down in bed.
He will be happy.
Did he deserve it?
Yes.
Negan held his pillow to his face and cried. He cried and cried, until his goddamn head hurt and his throat was sore.
From across the room, his phone rang. Negan roughly rubbed at his eyes and rolled out of bed. Hand to his side and the legs of his sweats dragging across the floor, Negan fished out his phone from his pants. He leaned against the wall, eyes narrowing at the lit screen.
Negan smiled, head tipping back. His throat raw, voice raspy, phone to ear, he said, "Well, would you look at this shit."
"Shut the hell up."