Closing the door quietly behind you, your eyes began to scan and document your new surroundings. You were in a surprisingly clean room that must be considered Negan's version of a living room. There was a sleek black leather couch pressed up against the wall to your left with a tall bookcase beside it. The bookcase was full of random trinkets and books, which normally would've caught your attention since you loved to read. However, you were too anxious to let your gaze fall on any one item for too long and so you continued to peruse the room.
Looking to the right you saw random end tables that held stacks of papers and more books. There was also a doorway leading to another room. The door was almost the entire way shut, but through the existing crack you swore you saw what looked like the end of a large bed. Trying not to panic at the thought that beyond that door was most likely Negan's bedroom, you jerked your gaze back to your more immediate surroundings. Straight in front of you was a large desk made of some shiny wood so dark it looked almost black. The desk also had stacks of books and papers spread on top of it. If you didn't know any better, you'd swear Negan was a fellow bibliophile. Interesting.
It was only after you had fully taken in all of the inanimate objects that you finally let your gaze trail over to the man who owned not only the items in this room, but what felt like every item and person in the entire compound. It was almost as if you had subconsciously known where he was this entire time, but your brain hadn't wanted to fully acknowledge him yet and so had stalled by staring at everything else in the room first. At this rate you were going to master the art of stalling in no time at all. Too bad that wasn't a skill you could put on your resume.
Negan stood on the other side of the room, his broad back facing you as he stared silently out a large window that must overlook the main grounds of the compound. He hadn't said a word or so much as moved since you entered the room, and his silence caused you to also stay frozen where you were right inside the doorway. Was he waiting for you to say something? Announce yourself? Stand in the doorway until your legs gave out from nervousness? You thought about walking over and sitting down on the couch, but that would give him the upper hand, literally, and you wanted to stay on an even playing field with him. Well, as even a playing field as was possible with your considerable height and size difference.
You were standing there for what felt like an eternity, your mind so immersed with the dilemma of what your next move should be that you jumped about a foot into the air when you heard him clear his throat. You watched warily as he finally turned from the window and fixed his gaze on you. His eyes drank in your appearance, from your slicked back bun and grey t-shirt down to your faded jeans and worn sneakers. It wasn't as if the apocalypse made it easy to be fashionable, but you still felt a little lacking in comparison to his immaculate outfit. How did he even find a leather jacket that fit so well? And only he could pair it with a red scarf and have it look masculine rather than ridiculous. Hell he was even wearing a pair of black leather gloves to complete his "I'm a total badass" image. You felt slightly relieved when you realized that Lucille was not currently part of his ensemble, but chances were she was lying around here somewhere.
"Well hello, doll. The fuck brings you here?"
You jolted at his gruff words as if you'd been shot then quickly glanced from side to side, almost expecting to see that some other "doll" had entered the room. Nope, you were alone. But why would he ask….what if Dwight had…oh you were going to KILL Dwight if he had brought you here under false pretenses.
"Uh…I thought you wanted me here. But if not, that's fine. I'll just be leaving then. Adios."
You started for the door, ready to bolt and go find Dwight so you could give him a slow and painful death, when Negan's chuckle caused you to turn back and face him.
"Oh, right," he said, tapping his palm against his temple as if he had only just remembered. "I did ask you here, didn't I? I wonder why the fuck I did that? Would you like to take a fucking guess?"
You had been in the room with him for not even five minutes and already you felt so off balance that you were pretty sure a gentle breeze could topple you over. Was this another game he was playing? And if so, what was the correct answer to his riddle? Part of you wanted to grovel and apologize and tell him whatever he wanted to hear so that you could get the fuck out of this room. Unfortunately, there was the other part of you that refused to back down and show any weakness or cowardice. Both parts warred inside of you, the offensive versus the defensive. In the end the offensive side kicked the defensive's ass, causing you to take two steps forward into the room and respond in a voice that was surprisingly calm and collected.
"Well, it might have something to do with last week. I believe there was a walker involved, as well as some berries. Ringing any bells?"
He gave a bark of laughter in response, his eyes twinkling as he grinned at you. "You're a fucking riot, doll. Hell, if I'd have known you were this spunky, I'd have fucking sent for you sooner." He walked around to the front of desk with his signature swagger and leaned back against the large wooden structure, his expression once again serious. He crossed his arms over his chest and appeared to be only half joking when he drawled, "so the fucking question now, doll, is how I'm to punish you for leaving the fucking compound."
You tried to swallow around the lump that instantly formed in your throat at his words. "How about I write an apology letter and say 50 Hail Marys?" you asked dryly, causing one side of Negan's lips to quirk upwards into a sideways smirk.
You felt so out of your league trying to verbally spar with him, but you also had a feeling that your wit and refusal to cower might be all that was keeping him in a playful mood. You really hoped you could keep up with him and didn't make a mistake or say something that crossed the line into foolish.
"You really think that would be enough when you not only fucking disobeyed my rule to stay within the sanctuary, but also fucking put yourself in danger and almost got your damn fucking face bit off?" he growled. He showed his pearly whites and lifted one arm to point a glove-covered finger at you and proclaim, "for that, you're gonna do more than fucking pray."
You wished you were actually a religious woman, because perhaps having prayer as a current option would keep your legs from starting to feel as though they were made of Jell-O, or help rid your throat of the lump that now felt as though it had grown to the size of a baseball.
Standing up from the desk, Negan took a few long strides across the room towards you, which in turn caused you to back up a step. "Perhaps I should start having my men watch you more closely, make sure you don't fucking escape again. Maybe we could even get a fucking collar for you, since you apparently need a tighter leash," he growled.
Your eyes felt wide as saucers as you watched Negan take a few more steps towards you, coming dangerously close to invading your personal space. You went to take another step back…only to feel yourself bump into the wall beside the doorway. Negan kept advancing, that damn perfect grin still on his face. Your emotions were currently flying all over the place. You were scared and about to piss your pants, but there was also another unidentifiable emotion that was curling through you. You were embarrassed to admit that when Negan had mentioned the collar you had felt a small rush of heat flare in your stomach and travel lower to settle in an area that you were NOT comfortable acknowledging at the moment.
Negan stopped directly in front of you. He brought up one hand and placed it on the wall beside your head, effectively caging you in. He was so close that you could count the individual teeth on his zippered jacket that was inches from your nose. You knew that if you looked up, his face would be right above yours. That filthy, beautiful mouth of his only inches away…
You wanted him.
The thought hit you in the gut like a ton of bricks as the source of the unidentifiable emotion you were feeling became known: it was desire. Realization hit you like a sledge hammer that you had been trying to deny this from the day you had first met him. It had only grown worse after your encounter in the woods, but you had still been able to fool yourself into thinking that you only felt gratitude towards him for killing the walker and not turning Lucille on you as well. And the disappointment you had felt when he hadn't shown up at dinner this past week? No, you had told yourself you were just annoyed that he acted as though he was above everyone else and wouldn't join them for a meal.
You currently found that your inner denial was crumbling as his musky smell filled your nostrils and his body heat seemed to envelope you like a cloak despite the fact that he hadn't even touched you. Yet.
Oh god, what was wrong with you?! This was wrong on so many levels. The man had multiple wives for Christ's sake! He was violent and domineering and arrogant as hell. None of those qualities should be attractive, and typically they weren't. But on him…
You felt more than saw him grin down at you, and if you listened hard enough you swore you could hear his breath passing in and out between his lips.
"You've gone awfully quiet, doll. Cat got your tongue?"
His voice. God, his voice. It was so deep and rough, like sandpaper running over gravel. And was it just your imagination, or did it sound even lower and huskier than usual?
You knew that you were going to hell for this, but you couldn't seem to stop yourself. Raising your head, you trailed your eyes up over his strong throat and grizzled chin and locked your gaze onto his. You knew that your expression wasn't showcasing only fear anymore. You could feel the flush that had started to spread over your cheeks, and your mouth was parted slightly to bring in enough oxygen to keep up with your accelerated heartbeat.
You couldn't repress a slight gasp when you saw an answering flare of heat enter Negan's eyes. You felt like you were being scorched by his tawny gaze. He brought up the gloved hand not on the wall and gently gripped your chin, the feel of the cool leather causing a slight shiver to go through you. You found yourself unable to break his stare, even though you were certain he could easily read the inner turmoil on your face.
It was he who finally broke eye contact, his gaze dropping down to focus on your parted lips. You felt almost dizzy, as though you were standing on a precipice and unsure which way lay heaven and which way hell.
Negan leaned down slightly until his face was so close to yours that it was difficult to keep him in focus. His lips were mere centimeters away from yours, and you felt the warm puffs of air leave his mouth as he purred, "Checkmate, doll. Your move."