A/N: Negan : Rick
(Sunday 2:25 PM)
Honestly, fuck the Braves
(Sunday 2:30 PM)
hello to you too
(Sunday 2:30 PM)
Skipping, remember?
(Sunday 2:31 PM)
Can you believe this shit
(Sunday 2:34 PM)
I guess there's a game?
(Sunday 2:35 PM)
More like a massacre. Why do we have such a shitty team
(Sunday 2:40 PM)
Maybe you oughta coach em then
(Sunday 2:41 PM)
Ha!
(Sunday 3:01 PM)
What are you doing right this second
(Sunday 3:07 PM)
Grocery shopping
(Sunday 3:08 PM)
Pathetic. When you're done we should go for a drink
(Sunday 3:13 PM)
I don't have a babysitter for Judith
(Sunday 3:15 PM)
Fucking make Carl do it. That's what teenagers are for
(Sunday 3:17 PM)
Maybe some other time
(Sunday 3:18 PM)
Goddamn you're boring
(Sunday 3:24 PM)
Is that why you wanna get a drink with me?
(Read 3:24 PM)
(Monday 6:59 AM)
Rise and shine pRick
(Monday 7:01 AM)
I have an alarm yknow
(Monday 7:02 AM)
Bet it doesn't have my winning personality
(Monday 11:06 AM)
I thought you should know I'm having the best goddamn burger in the entire fucking world right now
(Monday 11:09 AM)
Was sending a picture really necessary?
(Monday 11:11 AM)
Soak it in, Grimes
(Monday 12:24 PM)
What the fuck is that? Is that supposed to be food?
(Monday 12:26 PM)
It's chicken and rice, you dick
(Monday 12:28 PM)
It looks like a goddamn trainwreck
(Monday 12:31 PM)
So I'm not the best cook. Carl didn't mind
(Monday 12:33 PM)
You fed that to your kids? I'm calling CPS this is unacceptable
(Monday 3:45 PM)
Bars should really give you a discount for bringing your own shot glass
(Monday 3:48 PM)
Should you be drinking now?
(Monday 3:50 PM)
The real question, cowboy, is why shouldn't I be drinking now?
(Monday 3:52 PM)
You do realize I'm not an actual cowboy, right?
(Monday 3:53 PM)
I blame the hat
(Monday 6:14 PM)
Just a friendly reminder not to feed your kids garbage for dinner again tonight.
(Monday 6:20 PM)
That doesn't sound very friendly
(Monday 6:21 PM)
:-)
(Monday 6:22 PM)
That's... better?
(Monday 9:41 PM)
All these uptight cocksuckers at the laundromat acting like you're not supposed to bring your own liquor
(Monday 9:50 PM)
You don't realize how hard I'm trying not to call you an alcoholic
(Monday 9:52 PM)
Sober Me appreciates your restraint
(Monday 9:54 PM)
You brought alcohol to a laundromat. You're not sober
(Read 9:55 PM)
(Tuesday 2:09 AM)
You awake?
(Tuesday 2:12 AM)
What the fuck why aren't you asleep
(Tuesday 2:14 AM)
Bad night
(Tuesday 2:15 AM)
You need to learn how to cook or else this is just gonna keep happening
(Tuesday 2:18 AM)
I was called to the scene of Lori's accident and some nights it all comes back
(Tuesday 2:20 AM)
Holy shit. I'm sorry.
(Tuesday 2:20 AM)
That's fucked the fuck up
(Tuesday 2:21 AM)
It feels better to talk to someone. Carl's out of the question. I don't want him to worry.
(Tuesday 2:23 AM)
What do you usually do instead of talk
(Tuesday 2:24 AM)
Drink
(Tuesday 2:25 AM)
And you were busting my balls? Asshole
(Tuesday 2:26 AM)
You were doing laundry why would you need to be drunk
(Tuesday 2:27 AM)
Why the fuck not
(Tuesday 2:29 AM)
I worry about your liver
(Tuesday 2:30 AM)
It's the hardest working goddamn liver in the world
(Tuesday 8:03 AM)
Are you hungover?
(Tuesday 8:05 AM)
Keep your fucking voice down, Grimes
There are rough, wide hands around Rick's hips, a bristly mouth dragging over the back of his neck, and Rick's being pushed down, and something's sliding inside of him, hot and thick and alive, and it shouldn't feel good, but it does, and Rick hears himself groan an appreciative, hungry noise he ought to be ashamed of, and he's being fucked nice and hard, like he's always wanted. He doesn't know who's behind him, if the identity of the person currently pounding into Rick's ass is important, but then he feels a rough, rumbling purr against the shell of his ear and hears, "Shit, cowboy, you're a bit of a slut," and, oh Jesus, he recognizes that voice, and Rick's bolting awake like there's a gun barrel jammed against his temple.
His heart is pounding, his entire body covered in a sheen of sweat, every limb shaking like he's actually been fucked.
What the actual hell is wrong with his brain? There's no reason for him to have these filthy fucking thoughts in his head about Negan of all people. That's his son's baseball coach, for Christ's sake. And also a dude, which Rick can't recall ever being attracted to before. At least, not like this. Sure, he's noticed a good-looking guy or two—or ten—but what the hell was he gonna do about it? Just a passing interest, a raised eyebrow at a nice pair of cheekbones or strong forearms. And that had been it.
Rick takes slow, deep breaths, trying to calm the shaking. His cock, he notices, is rock-hard, bulging painfully in his boxers. This isn't the kind of thing you just ignore. But, God, why Negan? Rick could fantasize about any man in the world—someone famous and charming and handsome—but no, his stupid brain picks the obnoxious asshole with an ego the size of a goddamn planet.
Rick briefly wonders if Negan's dick is as big as his talk, before his rational side graciously shuts down that train of thought before it leaves the station. But not before his own cock twitches in anticipation. Rick holds his breath, hears the still-manic pulse of his heart in his ears, blood rushing in an overwhelming crash of vacant sound.
Don't you fucking do it. Don't you dare.
Rick brushes his palm over his erection, and, oh God, it's so fucking good, just that barely-there slide of his hand, and he grits a sound through his teeth that's messy and raw.
Fuck it.
He's not thinking of Negan as he shoves his hand down his boxers and grips his cock. He's not thinking about Negan when he strokes and squeezes and swallows back a moan, not when his hips rock and sway into his fist and short, breathy grunts slip past his lips, and definitely not as his orgasm hits him like a sucker-punch, stealing the breath from his lungs as he shoots hot and messy over his fist.
He's not thinking about Negan.
He's not.
He's not.
"Should Carl be texting you in class?"
Rick sort of jumps, pocketing his phone after his deputy Shane's voice comes right the hell out of nowhere.
They're having lunch in Rick's car, parked in the Taco Bell lot, and Rick had been texting back and forth with Negan, his fingers leaving invisible smudges on the screen.
"It's not Carl," Rick says, trying to sound like it's no big deal.
Shane looks at him in disbelief. "Who else texts you? And makes you laugh?"
"You."
"Do you see a phone in my hands?"
Shane's holding an enormous burrito, so, no.
"Who is it? Did you finally take my advice and get Tinder?"
"It's just a friend," Rick says, and already he can hear that he's the worst liar in the world right now. "Nothing serious."
"Bullshit," Shane laughs. "You've been texting non-stop the last couple days."
"Just talking." Rick wants to add he's got zero romantic feelings for this person, but that would only spur Shane to ask why the hell Rick's talking to a woman he doesn't want to bang. God, please let Shane continue to think it's a woman. Rick doesn't want to imagine the shitstorm in store for him if Shane finds out he's texting another guy in a way that might be considered flirty.
But it's totally not flirty. Negan seems kind of pathetic and lonely, considering his flagrant alcohol consumption and texts at odd hours, so Rick's only just providing him with someone to talk to.
"Man, you need to get laid," Shane says, shaking his head as though he's disappointed in Rick's life choices.
"I'm taking it slow. You don't see me with a revolving door of girlfriends."
Shane scowls like that's a personal attack, which, yeah, it kind of is. "And you don't see me just talking to some chick."
"Which is probably why you haven't had a stable relationship in years."
"Stable relationships are for horses," Shane scoffs, and Rick groans, but he thinks if Negan had said it he would've laughed.
Speak of the devil...
Rick's phone buzzes in his pocket.
(Wednesday 11:15 AM)
Busy tonight?
Rick stares at the words. They don't change. He's tempted to say yes and brush Negan off, but when was the last time he went out and enjoyed himself? Shane usually invites him out, but Rick knows what that will entail: strip clubs or bars with loud, drunk women trying to get a piece of him. He doesn't think Negan will try to hook him up with anyone, at least.
(Wednesday 11:17 AM)
What do you have in mind?
Shane watches Rick text and shakes his head again with a scoff that says can you believe this asshole?
(Wednesday 11:18 AM)
Dinner? You should probably see what real food is supposed to look like
(Wednesday 11:19 AM)
Ok but I'm not putting out
(Wednesday 11:19 AM)
Tease
Nope, totally not flirty at all.
(Wednesday 11:21 AM)
I reserve the right to judge your cooking
(Wednesday 11:23 AM)
Nope, cause I don't cook. We're going out.
Rick's pulse races.
(Wednesday 11:24 AM)
In public?
(Wednesday 11:25 AM)
Embarrassed to be seen with me? That would hurt my feelings if I gave a shit what you think.
(Wednesday 11:25 AM)
Which I don't.
(Wednesday 11:27 AM)
I'm not embarrassed. I just don't want the whole town in my business.
"Give me that," Shane says, snatching Rick's phone out of his hand.
"Hey!"
Shane ignores him, reading over the conversation. "Lucifer, huh? Angel in the streets, devil in the sheets?"
Rick's face feels like it's on fire. "I told you it's not like that."
"Y'all are flirtin' an awful lot for it to just be nothing."
Oh God, are they flirting? Is that what's going on here and Rick's just too oblivious to realize it? Is Negan flirting with him? Is he flirting with Negan?
Rick doesn't know anything anymore.
The phone buzzes in Shane's hand, and Shane reads the new message onscreen. "'Okay, we'll do it your way.'" He look at Rick. "And which way is that? Doggy-style?"
Rick grabs his phone back like it holds the cure for all the world's ailments. "Do I need to remind you I carry a gun?"
Shane holds his hands up in surrender. "Look, ain't nobody prouder than me if you're gettin' some. Lord knows it's about time. And if you don't want anybody knowin' about it, fine. I won't say a word."
Rick almost wants to let Shane go on believing that's what's happening, but if he does it won't end there. Shane will eventually ask for follow-ups and pictures and want to meet this Lucifer, and the whole thing will spiral into one of those ridiculous sitcom clichés that you roll your eyes at until it happens to you.
What the hell has Rick gotten himself into?