It starts as a quick, rough fuck on the frigid concrete floor of the pantry, Rick’s jeans halfway off and still clinging to one leg for dear life the same way Negan clings to Rick’s hips as he shoves in.
After, they straighten their clothes with haste- or rather, Rick straightens his clothes and tries to ignore the wet mess soaking through his boxers while Negan idly runs a long-fingered hand through his unkempt hair. Hair that Rick made unkempt. Fingers that have been inside him.
It occurs to Rick that this is over before it’s even begun. It’s not like he doesn’t know that it’s fucked all the way up. As Negan so eloquently puts it, “it’s the most up something can be fucked.”
How nobody else in Alexandria notices is beyond Rick’s comprehension.
It’s teeth on his neck in the dead of night between pickups. He’s not sure how it got this way, how he ended up with a hand around Negan’s throat as he sits on the man’s cock, split open in more ways than one.
He feels out of his mind with it- and hell, maybe he is. It sure as shit would explain a thing or two.
It seems like everyone in Alexandria is seeing someone. Rosita’s got her fingers laced through Tara’s, Michonne and Sasha are inseparable. It’s strange, being the odd man out.
He wonders if they feel the same around him and Negan. He shouldn’t want them to, but he could fill a book with all the things he shouldn’t want but does anyway.
It’s Negan’s legs so tight around Rick’s pounding hips that he’s sure the man is trying to break him in half. Too late.
It occurs to him the more he learns about Negan that what they’re doing is the littlest of Negan’s sins. How do the seven deadliest get ranked, anyway? Rick can tick off the ones Negan indulges- wrath, greed, gluttony, pride.
Lust seems to pale in comparison, but in Rick, it’s his most damning trait, his greatest failure. Every time Negan shows up at the gate with that look on his face, tongue between his teeth and a glint in his drab eyes like hellfire, Rick feels like he’s taking the Devil’s hand.
It’s a kiss so hard that Rick tastes blood and wants more, like the man has turned him into a goddamned vampire. When he rushes home after to clean up, his lips are bruised and swollen.
Negan has wives for this, is probably fucking a half dozen other people on the side. He doesn’t need this, not like Rick does, and it’s a fact Rick can never, never forget no matter how hard he tries. He doesn’t want to think about what that means.
It’s all he thinks about when he has space to breathe, which admittedly is almost fucking never these days, but still.
His nights are sleepless and spent staring at his ceiling tracing the patterns there with his eyes and turning the whole situation over in his mind again and again like a stone.
What the fuck am I doing what am I doing what am I doing?
It’s easier not to think about it when it’s happening. When Negan has him in the back of the RV that he first dragged him into on that night, when they’re stripped and on each other like wild animals.
It’s not a pretty thing, not ever, ever, ever. Rick bites like a dog backed into a corner, Negan laughs wildly like everything is just one big fucking joke to him, they come away bruised and bloody and marked inside and out.
“Fucking take it, Rick.”
He is. Negan knows this, though.
Rick’s got blood under his nails from Negan’s back, his dick is so hard and wet where it’s trapped between them that he feels like he’s losing his goddamned mind, and Negan’s been keeping up a steady stream of grunts interlaced with utter filth hissed into Rick’s ear.
He finishes inside of Rick, the feel of it filthy and perfect.
It’s with Negan’s come between his asscheeks and Negan’s mouth on his dick and Negan’s fingers digging bruises into his thighs that Rick comes so hard his vision goes white.
“Same time next week, sheriff?” Negan’s got his jacket back on, though it’s unzipped. Rick’s still slumped against the wall, his clothes strewn, trying to catch his breath.
He should say no, but-
“Yeah. Next week.”
Negan’s got his number, and Rick just keeps picking up when he calls.