Chapter Text
It’s a prison, there’s no denying that—even though he’s being kept in Negan’s well-appointed room with its comfortable furniture and easy access to alcohol and snacks, it’s not like Rick is free to roam around the factory, let alone leave its confines. There’s nothing he can do about it besides from pace restlessly like an animal caught in a trap, momentarily subdued but just waiting for the opportunity to strike.
Rick needs to get back to Alexandria. He can’t imagine what his people are doing in his absence, if they think Negan’s killed him and strung his body up on the fence or if Negan’s told them that he’s well and truly made Rick his bitch. Rick’s jaw tightens, teeth gritting together painfully. Negan wouldn’t, he’s almost sure of it, if only so that he could make the announcement when Rick’s there to see the shock and pity and disgust plainly visible on his friends’ faces.
But it’s not like he’s a particularly well-kept secret at the Sanctuary. He’s been here for over a week now, and, although Negan seems to enjoy nothing more than riling him up, the man is still the leader of at least a hundred people here, and he can’t spend all his time with Rick. Which means that, every so often, a Savior knocks on the door and pokes their head in to check on him, occasionally delivering a meal or book or present from Negan to him. It’s infuriating. Rick is better than this. But he endures it anyway because he knows it’s the safest option for his family.
What really grates on him is that some of these guards are more confident than they have any right to be. Rick might be trapped here, victim to Negan’s whims—he doesn’t think about how much he craves the painful way the two of them move against each other, every clash electric and invigorating—but he resents having to put up with these lackeys most of all, disgusted by their audacity and the way they seem to think that their being Saviors gives them any right to torment him. Too many of the people assigned to watch him are drunk on power and all the worse for it, greeting him with leers and roving eyes that hover knowingly on the bite marks Negan’s left on his neck.
Rick wants to tear those guards apart; he could, and both he and Negan know it, and the fact that he doesn’t only spurs Negan on and assures him of Rick’s subservience. But everyone has their limits—Rick can tolerate the snickers and the stares that are no worse than Negan’s lewd jokes and disgusting insinuations (what right does he even have to be upset if it’s all true?), but people have started to become bolder the longer he’s been sequestered in Negan’s bedroom. It’s an untenable situation; too many of them are starting to crowd around the opened door and watch him like an animal in a zoo. His breaking point is quickly approaching, and Rick can’t deny that some sick part of him is looking forward to it. It’s past time to rip off the bandage.
It would be easier to feel guilty if the scenario weren’t quite so egregious. Rick is minding his own business, laying flat on his back on the bed and staring up at the ceiling. He feels naked even though he’s fully clothed, robbed of his gun and his hatchet and his freedom. The door creaks open, and his eyes flick over to see who’s there: clearly not Negan, who always announces his presence with the same pattern of knocks.
There’s some Savior striding into the room—no two, three of them, all ones that Rick vaguely recognizes. He sits up but doesn’t pay them any further attention. They aren’t worth it. He needs to save his energy for trying to convince Negan to let him go home.
“Look how the mighty have fallen.” Rick’s head turns to take in the sight of the first Savior’s wide grin and confident stance, hands planted firmly on his hips. “Looks like Negan’s little whore is making himself nice and comfortable.”
Rick stands slowly, icy glare trained on the men. In another situation, his look alone would be enough to make most people back down, but the Saviors seem to be under the impression that they’ve smelt blood in the water. Unfortunately for them, Rick is far from weak and is quickly reaching the end of his patience. He’s like a spring wound too tightly, and all that pressure needs an outlet.
“What did you just call me?” he asks, crossing the room. The men are armed, but their weapons are still at their sides. It hadn’t started out like that; when his imprisonment had first begun, everyone had been wary and on their guard around him, ready for the minutest sign of an escape attempt. Of course he’d never had any intention of playing into their expectations. But now, the time has finally come to make these sons of bitches regret underestimating him. “I don’t think I heard you right.”
The bastard grins and leans in, bringing his face closer to Rick’s. Idiot. “You heard me.” One of the guys behind him shifts on his feet, and Rick considers how long it’ll take for the backup to drag him off the douchebag in charge. Probably long enough. “We know why you’re not down in a cell. Bet you’re a real good lay; Negan always looks pretty damn satisfied when he leaves here. Do you think taking his dick up your ass makes him go easy on your people?” He chuckles and grins, shoving a nasty smile right in Rick’s face. “Nah, we’re fucking them just as hard as before.”
Rick knows he could use his words and defuse the situation by reminding this asshole about Negan’s possessiveness and how easy it would be for Rick to stretch the truth just enough to get his face burned off, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t need Negan’s help to solve his problems. This fucker is going down. At his own hands.
It’s all premeditated. Rick knows exactly what he’s doing as he clocks the cocky bastard in the jaw, sending him reeling back. The other two Saviors move in his periphery, hands going for their guns, but Rick knows they won’t kill him; they’d have hell to pay with Negan if they made that mistake. In the moment of shocked silence, he dives forward and tackles the man he’d just attacked, sending him to the ground with a loud crack as the back of his head connects with the concrete floor.
Rick is on him in an instant, knee shoved into his stomach as he rains blows onto his face even as the man below him tries in vain to shove him off. The man’s nose gives way beneath his fist, and hot blood coats his knuckles in time for him to crack the bastard’s cheekbone. It’s a strange balance: Rick is choosing this, caving in to his own needs and desperate wants, but he also feels almost disconnected from his body, ears ringing and eyes blurring as more and more red obscures his vision.
Then there’s hands on him, yanking him back—the lackeys. Rick strikes out with his elbow and delivers a sharp kick, getting one of them in the knee and making him crumple to the floor to join his associate. Unfortunately, the last Savior is still standing unscathed and he manages to drag a combative Rick to his feet. It’s a mistake he won’t be quick to make again; Rick socks him hard enough in the solar plexus to make him fold in on himself with a wheeze. Rick’s about to hit him again, but then his leg’s being wrenched out from under him, and he can’t help but fall to the ground.
Immediate pain explodes across Rick’s face, centered white-hot on his left temple. His head is spinning, and he thinks he can feel blood dripping down his cheek. Rick opens his eyes (when had he closed them?), and the man he’d knocked down is shouting and brandishing his gun in his face.
“You stupid motherfucker! What the fuck was that, jumping the shit out of Mitch? What the fuck was that for, huh?”
There’s flecks of blood on the gun—his blood, he’d been smacked across the face with that thing—but Rick’s eyes track lazily to the fury turning the man’s face bright red as he shouts. Every heartbeat sends a fresh throb of pain through the bruise blossoming on his brow, and yet Rick finds himself undeterred. If they were going to shoot him, they’d have done it already.
“Don’t play dumb.” Rick’s hands dart forward as he springs into action, twisting the Savior’s wrist almost to the breaking point before the man drops the gun with a yelp and a curse. That draws the attention of his buddy, the one who’d moved after being hit in the stomach to tend to the brutalized Mitch, but not before Rick lands a solid right hook.
“Take it easy!”
Rick thrashes when strong arms wrap around him from behind, reining him in and preventing him from continuing to wail on his new target. He snarls, but the knock to the head has made him just woozy enough to be unable to escape, despite his sharp kicks and continued struggle.
“Let me go,” Rick demands, voice rough with exertion. Beads of sweat trail down the back of his neck and his forehead, mixing with the blood still seeping from his wound. “I thought you wanted to see Negan’s little whore earning his keep.”
“Fucking animal!” Blinding pain again as the other Savior—the one not groaning in pain and lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood—slugs him in the mouth and makes him bite his tongue and the inside of his cheek. Copper blooms across Rick’s palate, and he spits it directly onto the furious face in front of him.
The Savior rears back to hit him again, Rick’s blood and saliva dripping down his cheek, but a soft and instantly recognizable pattern of knocks causes everyone to freeze in their tracks. Rick looks to the door, and his body is instantly alight with a renewed frenzy.
“I sure as shit would fucking hate to be interrupting anything here, but I was wondering… just what the fuck we have going on here.”
It’s Negan. Of course it’s Negan. He’s standing in the doorway with his leather jacket and trademark loose posture, but there’s something sharp in the way he’s gripping Lucille and how his dark eyes are narrowed and focused on the scene unfolding in front of him. Rick tears himself free as the grip of the man holding him loosens in shocked response to the unamused glare his boss is giving him.
“These are some fine people you have working for you,” Rick snarls, completely ignoring the pain and chaos he’s caused, meeting Negan’s gaze. “I didn’t think you would look kindly on this type of behavior.”
“You attacked us!” the Savior on the ground croaks, pushing himself into a seated position. Pride swells in Rick’s chest at how destroyed his face looks; maybe he’ll think twice the next time he wants to talk shit. The man gets shakily to his feet and turns to Negan, who looks down his nose at him. “You need to do something about him. He’s out of control!”
Rick takes a step forward, absolutely infuriated at how this asshole’s trying to twist the facts and more than ready to go another round, but Negan speaks before he can do anything regrettable.
“Get out.”
The Saviors shift nervously, but Negan’s hard expression dissuades them from protesting.
“You’ve done enough. I’ll handle this myself.” His tone is light enough, but something ugly and dangerous lurks almost visibly beneath it.
The interlopers shuffle awkwardly out of the room, casting the occasional glance back at the tense confrontation between Rick and Negan, who closes and locks the door as soon as they’ve crossed the threshold. Rick glares at him across the room, and Negan regards him coolly, walking over to the seating area to settle Lucille on a couch before turning to face Rick with his arms folded across his chest.
“You wanna tell me what the fuck happened here, Rick?”
Rick laughs mirthlessly. The cruel grin that breaks across his lips shows the film of blood over his teeth and highlights the traces of madness burning in his eyes. “Do you have the slightest idea what your thugs have been doing?” He doesn’t notice that he’s advancing across the space between them toward Negan until they’re directly face-to-face. Rick’s wounded temple throbs as he glares up into Negan’s nonplussed visage.
“What do you think happened here?” Rick’s voice is rough, his breaths coming fast and uneven. There’s blood on his face and his hands, and he finds himself almost trembling with the adrenaline that had started flowing as soon as he had started his rampage—and he isn’t done yet. Negan’s sleazy, confident, hungry grin is the last thing he sees as he grabs handfuls of Negan’s lapels and brings their mouths together in a furious clash of tongues and teeth.
Negan groans, and Rick thinks he catches a muttered Goddamn! as he forces his tongue into Negan’s mouth and leans forward into him, forcing him back onto the couch. Someone’s foot kicks out as Rick pins Negan down, knocking Lucille onto the floor, but neither of them pay her any attention. Rick has his hand around Negan’s throat, tilting his face up to get a better angle for slotting their mouths together, and Negan is pushing up into him, reciprocating with an intensity Rick hadn’t seen coming.
“You’re a crazy son of a bitch, aren’t you?” Negan is laughing, and his gloved hand is tangled in Rick’s hair, yanking him away with a sharp pain that only goes straight to Rick’s hardening dick. He’s long past caring what that might say about his morals and only bothers to struggle against Negan’s hold in an attempt to get back closer to him. “You’re a fucking murderer under that sweet little look, isn’t that right? Show me, baby.”
Rick doesn’t know if he wants to pull away or fight to get closer as Negan reaches toward his mouth; his indecision gives Negan the time he needs to hook his thumb on Rick’s lip and drag it down to expose his bloody teeth. “You’re my killer now, though. Can’t have you losing your shit on my people.”
“You know they earned it,” Rick snarls. “I don’t have to tell you for you to know.”
Negan hums in vague agreement and pulls Rick in for another kiss, which Rick quickly renders fierce and breathless, nipping at Negan’s lips and rolling their hips together. He can feel that Negan’s getting hard too—why wouldn’t he be, when Rick is more than ready to go? But it’s not going to go the way things between them usually do, not if Rick gets his way, and he’s absolutely committed to making that happen. If Negan’s going to keep him here, the least he can do is bend to Rick’s desires from time to time.
“It tastes like you licked Lucille.” Negan’s panting by the time Rick pulls away, but Rick clearly still has more ahead of him if he wants to see him unable to make stupid comments. He can work with that. “You want me to fuck you stupid? Get all that tension out? Show me what you need, Rick.”
The certain and self-satisfied smirk falls away from his face as Rick doesn’t start working on taking his jeans off but instead sinks to his knees in front of the couch. Rick reaches for Negan’s hips and gestures impatiently. “Sit up.” Negan obeys immediately, seemingly without thought, dark eyes locked on Rick’s blood-spattered face.
Rick’s nimble fingers make quick work of his belt and fly as Negan’s hand—the ungloved left one, all the better to feel him with, Rick notices—finds its way into his hair, grabbing a tight handful of his curls. “Is this your way of apologizing for beating the shit out of my men?” There’s a haughty, joking overtone to the quip, but Rick can hear the thick lust lying beneath the surface. Negan’s cock is hard and hot in his hand, and a drop of precome beads at the tip as he gives strong, steady strokes along the length.
“No,” Rick replies simply. His eyes flick up to look at Negan’s softly parted lips and blown pupils before he leans forward and takes his cock into his mouth. He’d been thinking about this as soon as his fist had connected with the first Savior’s face, how good it would feel to show Negan exactly what he’s capable of. What kind of a threat he is.
Negan’s laugh is broken, split right down the middle by a groan he can’t hold back when Rick sucks obscenely, pitting his cheeks around Negan’s leaking cock. “Fuck, sweetheart, you’re getting blood on my dick… Shit…” His nails rake against Rick’s scalp as he winds his fingers tighter in his hair, and Rick raises an eyebrow as he pulls back slightly. “Ah, no, don’t stop…” There’s already the ghost of a whimper in his voice, and Rick is more than willing to sink his mouth further down, rubbing his tongue against the underside of his twitching dick.
Rick is deliberate in his movements, swallowing thickly as he takes Negan into his throat. The steady rhythm of his pace has started to calm him. The shaky exhale from the man above him sends a hot tendril of excitement curling through his core and electrifies his every nerve, but it doesn’t set off the same ravenous desire that it would have a few minutes ago. He’s more measured now, letting his teeth scrape just so along the shaft, almost but not quite catching on the sensitive skin, and he relishes in the way Negan shivers under him. Rick’s nose is pressed to Negan’s pubic bone, and his every breath is suffused with the powerful scent of his musk. He can’t get enough, even as the heft of Negan’s cock cuts off his air.
He fucks his own face on Negan’s dick, exquisitely controlled even as saliva drips from the corners of his mouth and drips down his chin. Rick’s hands grip Negan’s thighs tightly enough to pepper them with purple bruises, and it seems that Negan knows better than to fight his hold. The hand he’s kept on Rick’s hand isn’t even trying to control him.
“You’re damn good at that.”
The shudder in his voice spurs Rick on, makes him renew the relentless push-pull of his bobbing head. He hums around the weight of Negan in his mouth and the taste of his precome on the back of his tongue.
“You get this hot just from attacking my men? Knew you were fucking crazy.”
Rick’s eyes flick up to take in the ruined expression on Negan’s face, the way his cheeks are burning with a dark blush and how his tongue darts out to wet his trembling lips. His hazel eyes are intense and trained on where his cock disappears between Rick’s lips, but he meets Rick’s gaze when it’s fixed on him. Rick doesn’t look away either and nicks Negan with his incisors as he pulls off his straining erection.
“What do you think I should do to you?” Rick’s fingers are flying over the opening to his own jeans; his dick must be hard enough to cut diamonds at this point. He gets his hand around himself—it’s dry, but the sharp friction is just what he’s looking for; nothing about this is pleasant in the strictest terms.
Negan hisses out a laugh through his teeth. “You should let me take care of that for you.”
Rick’s response is immediate: “You don’t get to touch me. Haven’t earned it.” He continues talking over Negan’s surprised laughter, undeterred, “I was wondering if you wanted to come.”
“Is that some kind of trick question?” Negan chuckles, but Rick’s already bent forward again, lapping at the head of his cock and starting to bob on it again. The wet sounds he’s making and the occasional sharp pressure of his teeth are surely making Negan’s head spin, and the blood that glints red on Rick’s cheeks has his breath audibly catching in his throat. Rick knows exactly what he’s doing to him. It won’t be long now.
Rick is still jerking himself off, hand speeding up as he approaches his climax. Feeling Negan shifting helplessly under him is a strange sort of power that’s only driving him closer to the edge, winding him up nearer and nearer to an inescapable denouement. He’s getting sloppy now, letting the head of Negan’s cock irritate the wounds in his mouth. Rick can feel himself bleeding again. Fuck. It’s almost too much to bear. His hand stutters in its movements.
“Come on, Rick, I’m being fucking good,” Negan whines when he pulls away, trying to grab at him to keep him close, but Rick’s too quick. Negan’s hair is ruffled, and he’s a sweaty, panting mess, like he just finished running a marathon. “Finish sucking me off, darling. Your fucking mouth…”
But Rick’s already standing, pants open and the waistband of his underwear tucked under his tight balls. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to; Negan talks enough for the both of them anyway.
“God fucking damn, do you look good; holy shit, Rick.” Negan’s hand dips between his thighs, taking hold of his straining dick and pumping it quickly. “Fuck…!” Negan doesn’t flinch as the first rope of Rick’s come lands across the bridge of his nose, just closes his eyes and opens his mouth, a strangled laugh bubbling in his chest.
Rick usually resents how Negan always looks amazing, but he doesn’t mind that the other man looks even better like this, already a mess before he even starts taking spurt after spurt of Rick’s come over his face and in his mouth. He can’t help but show his bloody teeth in a rough laugh of disbelief when Negan comes shortly after, coating his hand in his own spend as he jerks himself.
“So it’s not just your own violence that gets you off, is it?” Rick rasps. His voice is wrecked, but it feels almost like a victory.
“Get down here and clean me up,” Negan demands, reaching forward and grabbing handfuls of Rick’s shirt so he can pull him back onto the couch. “You’re so fucking good with that mouth of yours. Show me what else it can do.”
“Tear your throat out.” But there’s no heat behind the statement, and Rick kisses the taste of himself off Negan’s lips without complaint.
“Now that sounds like a show I need a front row seat for,” Negan murmurs against his lips. He moves hungrily against him, taking what he’s given but still trying to get Rick to give him more, apparently barely satisfied by what had just gone down between them.
But Rick is tired, drained from the fight and the sex. “Later.” He tries not to think about the sharp retort he would have had just a scant few weeks ago, the way he would have protested being treated like Negan’s personal entertainment. Such an objection would be laughable at this point.
Negan just hums, dragging a finger across his cheek and catching a smear of Rick’s release on it. He smiles and holds it out to Rick, who still has the dignity to turn up his nose at the twisted offering. Shrugging, Negan pops it in his own mouth, and Rick watches in exhausted intrigue as he sucks on it suggestively.
“You did good today, Rick. Real fucking good. Reminded me why I keep you around.” Negan grins, and Rick feels heat rising to his cheeks. “Gonna have to keep a closer eye on you.” He smacks Rick on the knee. “Come on, get up. I hear a shower calling our names.”
Rick pushes himself to his feet and follows Negan—at this point, it’s second nature, and he doesn’t even think to question it.