Negan's Evening at Bat
Disclaimer: Obviously we own none of the characters.
Large, rough hands slowly caressed the lengths of her smooth curves. The warm autumn sunlight gently illuminated brown wood and reflected off of deep hazel eyes. Negan sits upon a stool with his beloved Lucille cradled in his lap. Slowly, carefully, he begins to unwind the barbed wire from around her tip and coil it neatly on the floor. With long, slow strokes of a damp cloth, the dried blood from their last victim is wiped away. "Fucking beautiful darling. Fuck. It's almost too much wood for me to handle," Negan laughed to himself. Or, rather, to Lucille. Unfortunately, as hard as Negan scrubbed, he could not quite get all of the deep red stain out of the end of Lucille. He glanced at his hands and noticed that they, too, were now a deep, dirty red. "Fuck, its fucking gone every-fucking-where. We're gonna need a proper fucking wash." Negan got up off the stool with a grunt, taking his beloved bat with him and trudged off to the adjoining bathroom.
He considered the sink for a brief moment but decided the tub might serve his purposes better. Laying Lucille down gently on the lip of the tub, Negan switched on the tap and tossed some soap in. When the tub was filled and the bathroom appropriately steamy, he rolled up his shirtsleeves and proceeded to dunk Lucille in the bathwater. The stain proved to be resilient, however, and the increasing roughness of Negan's strokes had the unfortunate effect of splashing some of the bloody water down the front of his shirt. "Aw, fuck darlin'," Negan growled. "I'm almost as wet as you are," he added as a gleeful afterthought. "Looks like I'll have to be joining you." He quickly stripped himself of his shirt and pants and kicked his boots into the corner. Negan stepped into the tub, careful to nudge Lucille aside, and slid down to immerse himself briefly before sitting up. He looked thoughtfully at the bat, a soapy hand trailing down his chest and abdomen to wrap around his rapidly growing erection. Negan groaned softly and raised Lucille to his face, resting her tip just beneath his nose. He broke for a moment, "I may have six wives, but shit Lucille, you're the only one who makes me feel like a fucking man," he choked out. He slid the handle of the bat between his legs to apply pressure to the hot, throbbing mass that rested there. "Ohhhhhh fuck baby," Negan moaned as he increased his pace. He dipped his head for the briefest of moments and licked up the exposed length of the bat before passionately slobbering at the tip. "Here we fucking go. Hold the fuck on." Suddenly he rose up, turned around, and bent himself over, put one leg up on the side of the tub, and grabbed some lube off the counter. Overeager, he squirted half the bottle into one hand, smeared himself down and shoved the bat up his hairy ass.
Post-coitus, a pleased Negan reclined in the now half-empty tub-one hand behind his head, the other cradling Lucille (re-cleaned) against his shoulder, and a bit of blood down the side of his face where he had accidentally bashed his face into the side of the tub. "Fucking hell Lucille. You know, I almost prize your wood as much as mine."