**Author's Note: I know that The Sanctuary doesn't have running water in the show or comics, but hey, in ID world, it does :P**
Negan's bed was like being atop a cloud, causing you to sleep peacefully and undisturbed until morning. When you woke up, there was sunlight streaming through the large windows, beams of it scattered across the room. It was so comfortable, cuddled up under the sheets with the soft mattress underneath you and even softer pillow caressing your cheek, that it took a while to remember why you should be anything but calm and relaxed.
You were lying in Negan's bed, without pants, and had no idea how many people in the compound knew about you being here. The thoughts caused a small headache to start, and you groaned in frustration. Was it too much to ask, to just lie here peacefully? Apparently so, since your brain was hitting you with all kinds of various questions and concerns.
After last night, and the conversation between the two of you, was it possible that you and Negan were actually on the road to recovery, where your relationship was concerned? Wait…relationship? Why would you call it that?
You lay there, mulling the word over in your head. Relationship. You weren't sure if it really fit the situation, but then again, this was the apocalypse. And how exactly did one develop a relationship when the dead roamed the earth and every day could possibly be one's last? And how do you develop a relationship with a man who already has five wives?
Your brain was really starting to piss you off, and make your headache worse.
Pushing back the covers, you sat up in the bed, grateful that there was no dizziness or nausea. You actually felt a lot better than you had last night, minus the headache. And the events out in the woods were clearer now, including your fall. You guessed that you had tripped over a branch or log of some sort, and most likely smacked your head off a rock. You remembered fighting off a small herd of walkers, and being exhausted after doing so, due to lack of sleep, lack of food, and overall lack of emotional stability. So, while it might be a hit to your ego, it was really no surprise that you had been so off-kilter as to make a stupid mistake and fall. You were just lucky that the mistake hadn't been a fatal one.
Looking at the sheets, you saw that the note was still lying down by your legs. You picked it up, reading first one side of the note and then the other, before reaching over and laying it on the bedside table to deal with later. Right now, you had more pressing concerns…such as finding pants.
There was a black and grey wall clock, over near the door to the office, that showcased it was almost 9am. Most of the compound was probably already up and at 'em, doing their various tasks. You also would guess that Negan was awake, and possibly gone, but weren't completely sure. There was no noise coming from behind the closed door that led to his office, but that didn't mean he wasn't in there.
Swinging your legs off the side of the bed, you stood up and pulled the large top sheet off the bed. You wrapped the silky, crimson fabric around your waist multiple times, like a makeshift skirt, and walked hesitantly across the soft square carpet towards the door. Your left ankle was a tad sore, probably from where it had caught on the branch, and gave a tiny zing of pain with each step that was annoying but ignorable. When you reached the office door, you slowly opened it a few inches and stuck your head through…and found the room empty.
God damnit, you thought, and closed the door again. Why the hell couldn't Negan have at least had the decency to leave you a pair of pants? He had to have known that you would wake up and feel trapped in here, without any. In fact, you were almost certain he had done this on purpose, either just to be a cocky jerk, or because he didn't want you running off again.
Walking back across the room, you contemplated what to do next. You could always try to make a run for it, back to your bedroom. Wearing Negan's bed sheets for everyone to see? Yea, right.
Walking over near the table and chairs, you saw that Negan's gloves were still lying on top of the smooth surface. Picking one up, you gave a tiny shiver at the feel of the buttery leather. Images of Negan's glove-covered fingers trailing across your arm, wrapped around your neck, and coasting down over your mound flashed through your mind, causing you to drop the glove back onto the table.
You glanced over at the dark, wooden armoire, where Negan had pulled out the dark green jeans last night. Perhaps, you could just borrow a pair of his pants, until you could get your own? Walking over to the large piece of furniture, you pulled open the same drawer, and struck gold. There were various pants in the drawer, all folded neatly. It felt strangely intimate to be looking at his clothing like this, and you quickly grabbed a pair of light grey sweatpants, which were lying on top, and shut the drawer.
Looking to the left of the armoire, you noticed a door that had previously never really caught your attention. You had vaguely known it was there, but had always assumed it was just a closet of sorts, and were usually too focused on interacting with Negan when in this room to give it much thought. However, now that you were alone, you found your curiosity piqued. If it was a closet, perhaps he had a robe of some sort in it, which would cover you up more. A robe would also look more ambiguous, and if you met anyone in the halls on the way back to your room, they might just assume you were coming back from the showering area. However, wearing a pair of Negan's pants would look much more obviously out of place, since they would be so long and baggy on you. But, it was bad enough to open one of Negan's drawers and steal a pair of sweatpants…did you dare open up his closet and go through his things, as well?
If he had left you a pair of your own pants, you wouldn't have to go through his things, your subconscious said, seeming more assertive and sure of itself than it had been all week.
Decision made, you stepped up to the door, tucked the sweatpants under your arm, and turned the metal knob. When the door opened, your jaw promptly dropped open in shock.
It wasn't a closet, after all. It was a private bathroom.
Stepping hesitantly across the threshold, any thoughts of finding a robe forgotten, you took in this new discovery. Clean, grey-tiled floors and walls showcased a bathroom fit for a king. The large sink was made from a chocolate-colored wood, and you walked over to stare at your reflection in the large, rectangular mirror that was above it. You took in the slight bags under your eyes and the thin layer of grime that was still stuck to your face. Your hair had either fallen out of its bun, or Negan had taken it down when he changed your clothes last night, and it was currently snarling over your shoulders, all knotted and dirty from lying on the ground out in the woods. You stood there, staring at your reflection and debating your next move. Deciding that the temptation of getting clean was greater than running back to your room, you closed the bathroom door, locked it, and let the bed sheet fall to the floor.
You laid the folded sweatpants on the shiny sink countertop, then walked towards the shower, which had darker grey tiles and was big enough to fit a small orgy. The thought made you wonder if Negan had indeed ever had an orgy with his wives in here, but then you remembered that they weren't allowed in his bedroom, which meant they probably couldn't access the bathroom, either. Opening the large glass door, you pulled off your clothes, tossed them to the floor, and stepped inside the massive shower.
Turning the knobs, you gasped in satisfaction as hot water flowed out and hit your body. The water in the public showering rooms would get lukewarm, but not overly hot. However, the water that came out of Negan's shower was so hot that you had to fumble with the knobs to make it a bit cooler. As if it wasn't unfair enough that he had a huge, fancy bedroom and huge, private bathroom, he also had scalding hot water. Perks of being the leader, your subconscious commented.
There was a rack of showering products underneath the showerhead, and you reached out for the bottle of liquid body wash. Popping open the cap, you inhaled as a spicy yet woodsy smell drifted out, like cinnamon sprinkled over cedar. It smelled like Negan, which both made you smile and clench your thighs in desire. You put a dollop of the liquid into your palm and lathered it up, before coating your entire body in the masculine scent.
Reaching up, you plucked the showerhead from its base and ran it up and down your body, sighing as the warm water washed away the suds. Once fully rinsed, you replaced the showerhead and turned to grab the shampoo, hoping that Negan wouldn't mind too much that you were stealing some of his products. He probably has an entire bin full of replacements somewhere around here, your subconscious hushed, too blissed-out from this delicious experience to worry.
Negan's shampoo smelled minty and clean, a refreshing smell that offset the stronger scent of the body wash perfectly. You lathered up your hair, careful to be gentle with the back of your scalp, which was still tender from the fall. You stood under the warm spray of water until long after the shampoo was gone from your hair, then reached for the conditioner. You almost laughed at the realization that it was the same brand and corresponding smell as the shampoo. Only Negan would have matching products.
When your hair was conditioned and rinsed, you finally turned off the water and opened the door to grab one of the large, fluffy grey towels that were folded neatly in a pile on a nearby counter. They were thick and luxurious, and this entire showering experience was like the pre-apocalypse equivalent of going to a fancy spa. Drying off your body, before wrapping the towel around your hair, you retrieved your clothes from their pile on the floor and put on the bra and light blue t-shirt. You really wished that you could put on a fresh pair of underwear, but that would have to wait until you returned to your own room. Not wanting to put the dirty pair back on, you hesitated, contemplating, before giving a mental 'fuck it' and pulling on Negan's sweatpants, sans panties. They were surprisingly comfortable, although you had to roll up the cuffs a few times so that they weren't dragging on the ground.
Walking over to the sink, you scanned the countertop. There was a dish with bar soap on it, and a toothbrush holder, which held a singular, white and blue toothbrush, with a tube of toothpaste beside it. You were impressed to see that the toothpaste was neatly rolled up at the bottom, rather than randomly squeezed and mangled in the middle. Realizing how ridiculous it was to care how Negan used his toothpaste, you jerked your gaze away and focused on the rows of drawers on the front of the sink. Opening the top left drawer, you gazed at the contents, which included a straight razor and some shaving cream, but not what you were looking for.
Opening the next drawer, you smiled in victory at the discovery of a comb. It was lying beside a jar of the pomade that Negan must use to slick back his dark locks. Unwinding the towel from your hair, you refolded and set it on the sink countertop before starting to work the comb through the knots and snags in your hair. When you were satisfied, and all snarls and loose hair had been discarded in the small, off-white trashcan, you replaced the comb, grabbed the panties, and picked up the bed sheet, which was still lying in front of the door. Unlocking and opening the door, you stepped out into the cooler bedroom, the locked-up steam from the hot shower escaping with you.
You stopped dead at the sight of Negan sitting at the table, in the chair facing you. Well, shit.
You stood there awkwardly, waiting to see if he would be pissed that you had gone snooping around his room and used his private bathroom. He was leaning back in the chair, arms crossed over his broad chest, which was clad only in the white t-shirt he had grabbed from the armoire last night. His eyes scanned up and down your body, and his face and voice were devoid of emotion as he asked, "Are those my fucking pants?"
Clenching the sheet, you scanned his face, trying to read his expression. Unsure whether he was pissed, in a good mood, or still deciding, you deadpanned, "I couldn't find my own."
He nodded, hooded eyes scanning down over your body again, slower this time, inspecting what wasn't hidden by the sheet that was balled up in your fists. His expression was still flat, but you were almost certain his eyes were twinkling as he took in your appearance.
"How's your head feel?" he questioned casually.
"It's a bit tender, but otherwise alright," you answered honestly.
"Any dizzy spells or nausea?" he pressed.
"Nope, not since last night," you replied. Although his affect was neutral, you knew that he was asking these questions to assess if you were capable of leaving his room and being on your own. You were touched that he seemed to care, but also, you were craving some privacy, back in your own room, to process everything.
Unfurling himself from the chair, Negan stood up to his impressive height and put out his arm, showcasing the table in invitation. It was then that you saw there was a tray on the table, which held a bowl of what appeared to be oatmeal, along with a glass of water. He had brought you breakfast.
Your subconscious was squealing at his kind gesture, while your brain reminded you firmly that you were indeed hungry, and needed to eat. Your stomach chimed in with its own gurgle in support of this idea. It wasn't until you were well-rested, clean, and had pants on, that you finally let yourself realize just how ravenous you were. Suddenly, the plain and boring oatmeal sounded extra appetizing, and you wanted nothing more than to dig in.
Moving towards the bed, meaning to put down the sheet, Negan instead reached out and took the crimson mass from your hands before saying, "Sit and eat, doll. You took so fucking long in the bathroom that it's probably cold til now."
You sat down at the table, picking up the spoon and unceremoniously shoveling a dollop of oatmeal into your mouth, not even caring what temperature it was. You watched curiously as Negan walked over to the side of the bed and shook out the bundled sheet. Holding onto one end, he jerked his arms upwards, causing the sheet to expand and float up over the mattress before settling down across the wide expanse. You saw a small wad of fabric go shooting straight up in the air when he had jerked the sheet, before landing on the floor at the foot of the bed.
Negan walked over and picked up the ball of light blue fabric, shaking it out. You choked on your mouthful of oatmeal at the realization that he was holding your panties. You had completely forgotten that you had been holding them with the sheet, due to being distracted by Negan's appearance and the oatmeal.
Coughing loudly, you reached for the glass of water and gulped frantically to clear your airway. When you were finally able to breathe, and more composed, you saw that Negan was still standing there holding your underwear up in front of him. He was staring at them thoughtfully, and you felt your face burn with heat, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow you whole.
Negan's gaze lifted, pinning you to the chair as he huskily asked, "Doll…are you wearing my pants without any fucking panties?"
If there was a god left in this universe, the humane thing for them to do would be to strike you down right then and there. Just one lightning bolt would be all it would take to put you out of your misery. Sadly, there was no divine intervention, and your face was fire-engine red as you squeaked, "Maybe?"
Negan continued to stare, trapping your gaze with his own, and you vehemently wished you knew what he was thinking. However, from the way his eyes were searing into you, the pupils dilating and a muscle in the side of his jaw ticking, you were pretty sure you had a good idea of how he was reacting to the discovery. You wanted to lower your eyes and check the front of his pants, but knew that you would have massive heart failure if you saw physical evidence of how much your panty-less state affected him.
Negan cleared his throat and tossed the underwear down onto the mattress, before walking calmly past you and towards the bathroom. Opening the door, his voice was raspy as he threw back over his shoulder, "Finish eating, and I'll walk you back to your room when I'm done."
With that, he closed the door, and a minute later you heard the sound of water running, signaling that he was also taking a shower. Standing up, you darted over to the bed and grabbed the panties off the mattress, tucking them down the front of your t-shirt and into your bra. You really wanted to just bolt back to your room, especially since you noticed that your boots were now sitting at the foot of the bed, courtesy of Negan. They were nice and clean, devoid of any dirt or scuffs from being outside. Grabbing them and walking back over to the chair, you slid them on, not even caring that you didn't have on any socks, then turned to finish the bowl of oatmeal.
You tried not to envision Negan showering on the other side of the door, really you did. However, your brain wasn't cooperating, and mental images of him in that large shower, naked, filtered through your mind. You imagined him using the same body wash and shampoo you had used, imagined him standing barefoot and naked in the same exact place you had been just minutes before. How the water would trail over his big, muscular body, chasing away the suds and caressing all that tan expanse of flesh, the same way you imagined caressing him with your fingers and tongue…
The sound of the water shutting off brought you back to reality. You fidgeted in your chair, trying to arrange yourself into a relaxed position, one that would say "I totally wasn't thinking about you naked just now." Giving up, you stood from the chair and walked over by the foot of the bed, feeling a bit more in control when on your feet.
A couple minutes later, Negan walked out of the bathroom in his own cloud of steam…and he was shirtless.
He had put the dark green jeans back on, along with his boots, but from the waist up, it was all skin. Finding yourself unable to look away, you took in his broad shoulders, muscular chest, and flat stomach. A layer of salt-and-pepper chest hair started at his chest and trailed down over his long torso before disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. He had a tattoo on his left pec, which looked like bandana-wearing skull in front of crisscrossed rifles. The multiple tattoos on his arms were also visible. You had wondered more times than you cared to admit what he would look like without a shirt on, and now, your hypothesis was confirmed.
He was utterly, and completely…sexy as fuck.
You continued to stare as he walked over to the armoire, seemingly unaware of the fact that you were currently turning into a large pile of drool. He turned away to open one of the armoire drawers, giving you a first-class view of his muscular, tan back, which was broad at the shoulders and tapered down to his waist like an inverted triangle. For someone so long and lean, he still showcased a fair amount of muscle. Your brain was busy short-circuiting, while your subconscious lay on the floor, passed out from excitement.
He pulled another one of the generic, white t-shirts out of the armoire and pulled it up over his head, effectively ending your appraisal of his half-naked form. He then turned to you, hair wet and slicked back off his face, his expression calmer now than it had been before, when he was holding your underwear. However, you saw his eyes flicker over to the spot on the bed where he had left the panties, before they roamed back down your body, as if he was trying to figure out if you had put them back on or not.
Meeting your gaze, he simply asked, "You ready?"
Oh, what a loaded question, your subconscious cooed, revived, but still stretched out on the floor.
Afraid that you would start blushing again, you gave a simple nod in response and turned to precede him out of the bedroom. You really hoped that you hadn't made an obvious wet spot in the crotch of his pants with your body's unabashed reaction to his bare flesh. When you entered the office, Negan walked over to the desk, grabbing his leather jacket off the back of the chair and shrugging it over his shoulders. You watched as the t-shirt strained over his chest and stomach as he put the jacket on. He left the jacket unzipped, and forewent the scarf, which was folded on his desk, in favor of grabbing Lucille from where she was leaning against the wall and giving her a twirl before he walked back over to you.
He opened the door and allowed you to walk out into the hallway first, before the two of you started down the hallway together, side by side. The moment took you back to the last time he had walked you back to your room. It had been the night you drank Jameson together…the night Negan had started to open up and show you the man underneath the Broadway show. Over the past 24 hours, you had seen more of what kind of man was laying underneath, both emotionally and physically, and you were still trying to cope with those discoveries. You had a lot to think about, you both did, but for right now, it was nice to try and pretend like things were the same as before. Like you both hadn't said those hurtful things in the garden…like Negan hadn't confessed to feeling worry and fear for you, and hinted that he did indeed care, possibly more than you had ever realized. No, you're not going to think about that right now. Not until he's out of sight and you can lock yourself away in your room and process it all.
You both walked down the staircase to your floor, and thankfully only passed two young men in the hall, both of whom looked at you and Negan curiously. You vehemently hoped they hadn't noticed that your pants were too baggy and long to be your own, as they instead seemed preoccupied with falling to their knees as the two of you walked by.
When you reached the door to your room, you turned the knob and opened the door a crack before turning to Negan. A small smile curved your lips as you looked up at him and truthfully said, "Thank you."
He mirrored your grin with one of his own, eyes twinkling as he purred, "You're welcome, doll."
You watched as he turned with a wink and gave his signature swagger back down the hall, twirling Lucille over his shoulder and whistling, just like the last time he had dropped you off.
However, you should've known that this wasn't going to be the same as last time, and that things had been going way too smoothly this morning. That hoping for a peaceful and quiet moment to yourself would be too much to ask. Pushing the door open the rest of the way, it wasn't until you stepped into your bedroom that you noticed you weren't alone.
There, sitting on the edge of your bed, face showcasing both worry and relief, was Ben.