Negan was in your bedroom. Negan. Was in. Your bedroom.
Speechless for the moment, you watched as he stood by the door, Lucille in hand, and scanned the room.
The space was small, barely bigger than a dorm room. You weren't complaining because at least the space was solely yours. Most compound members had to share a room, either with the rest of their family or with random roommates. You weren't sure how you had been lucky enough to arrive at a time when a single room was unoccupied, but thank God you had.
The walls were an ugly off-white color, and you didn't have any decorations to cover it save for the round mirror hanging on the wall across from the bed. There was a rickety wooden chair by the door that had a mixture of clean and semi-clean clothes strewn all over it, and the rest of your clothes were hastily folded and stacked in some wooden crates that served as your armoire. There was a small black trashcan at the foot of the bed and a short stack of books sitting in the corner. Beside the head of the bed was a small nightstand currently holding a blue desk lamp, the copy of Poe, and a box of band aids for your injured finger. The bed was twin-sized with an old wooden frame and worn gray sheets.
The room was tiny to begin with, but Negan's presence made the space seem even smaller. You had so many conflicting emotions about the fact that for the first time it was him invading your private space and not the other way around. Emotions that you couldn't identify right now for all the points in the compound.
Negan had stopped scanning the room and was now staring silently at you curled at the head of the bed with your back against the wall. Clearing your throat, you asked, "What brings you here?"
"Sherry said you almost cut your fucking finger off and were rushed to the medic. Figured I better see how long my lead cook is going to be out of commission in case we need a replacement."
Eyes narrowing, you replied, "I'm not going to be out of commission. It was just a little cut, nothing major."
"A little cut that has you fucking bed-ridden?" he taunted.
"Not willingly," you grumbled.
Looking around the room again, he seemed to be contemplating whether or not to sit down. His eyes drifted over to the wooden chair but it was occupied with too many clothes. The only other place for him to sit was on the mattress with you, and you were not offering that. Whether or not it was impolite, there was no way that you were tempting fate by sitting on the same bed as him.
Suddenly the decision was taken out of your hands when he set Lucille down on the chair and proceeded to walk across the short space towards the bed.
You almost forgot how to breathe when he sat down on the edge of the mattress right beside your hip, the bed dipping underneath his weight. Your bodies were so close that you curled your legs upwards and scooted closer against the wall in a vain effort to put a couple more inches between the two of you. The random and utterly ridiculous thought entered your head, Dear god he's sitting right on top of the spot where I hid the note.
You watched, mesmerized, as he pulled off the thick leather gloves and laid them across his thigh. "Lemme see it."
A spark of heat rushed through you at the command, and it took a couple seconds before you realized that he meant your finger, not another part of your body. Get your head out of the goddamn gutter.
You held out your hand and showcased the finger currently covered with a band aid. It must've still been oozing a little bit of blood, because there was a slight red spot showing through.
"I should probably change it," you muttered, reaching over for the box on the nightstand.
Before you could protest, Negan plucked the box from your grasp with one hand before reaching out and wrapping the other one gently around your wrist and pulling your injured finger closer to him. The movement meant you had to lean forward off the wall a few inches, which negated your earlier attempt to create some distance.
"What are you...I can do it myself," you protested, trying unsuccessfully to twist out of his grip.
Tawny eyes pinned you to the bed, "Fucking hold still."
Sighing in defeat, you stopped struggling and instead watched as he carefully peeled the band aid off your finger. For someone with such big and rough hands, he was surprisingly gentle. Turning your hand from side to side, he scrutinized the line of stitches as if to make sure that they met his approval. The situation seemed so surreal it was almost comical. Negan, the man who everyone feared and bowed down to, was currently sitting in bed with you, his own head bowed to examine your finger. His eyes flashed a warning when he let go of your wrist so that he could open a new band aid. Keeping your hand held obediently in the air, he loosely wrapped the clean band aid around the stitches before throwing the wrapper in the trash can at the foot of the bed.
"Thank you," you said, finally able to pull the hand back.
Negan opened his mouth to say something in response, but was cut off by a noise.
That noise was someone knocking on your door.
Both of you turned your heads towards the door in response, and panic hit your gut at the thought that it was probably Trixie coming back for the tray.
"Hey boss, you awake? It's Ben."
Well, FUCK.
Another knock sounded at the same moment that you realized the door was still unlocked. This realization was what spurred you to leap off the bed and yell, "Give me just a second, Ben!"
Turning to Negan, you hissed, "Hide!"
His eyebrows rose as if to say, "Are you fucking kidding me?"
Panic at the thought of Ben seeing Negan in your room almost made you feel light-headed. Grabbing Negan's arm, you tugged at him, which was about as effective as trying to move a boulder.
Looking at him with obvious fear in your eyes, you whispered, "Negan, please!" Much as you hated to beg, it was apparent that he couldn't give two shits less if Ben saw him in here. Which was something you'd have to analyze more thoroughly at a time when you weren't about to vomit from anxiety.
Finally grabbing his gloves and standing up, Negan calmly replied, "Where the fuck am I supposed to hide, doll?"
Looking around the room, you realized that there was only one option. Pointing to the corner next to the door, you practically shoved him across the room and against the wall. Instead of being angry, Negan looked as if he were about to burst out laughing, his eyes twinkling with glee at your distress. Fucking bastard.
Glancing around the room, you spotted Lucille still sitting on the chair. You delicately picked her up by the non-lethal end and handed her to Negan wordlessly before turning back to the door.
You took a deep breath and plastered a smile on your face before turning the knob and pulling the door open just enough to fit your body into the crack.
Ben was standing on the other side with a concerned expression on his face. "Are you alright? It took you a while to answer the door."
Laughing nervously in response, you stated, "Sorry about that. I just had to...put on some pants."
"Oh. How's the finger?"
Holding up the digit in question, you replied, "Doing just dandy. How was dinner?"
Ben grinned in response. "Dinner was awesome! Everyone who tried the tomatoes loved them!" Leaning in closer and lowering his voice, he added, "Sherry told me that even Mr. I-Hate-Everything-Negan approved."
You swore you heard a low growl come from behind the door. Unsure how long Negan would be able to keep his cool and stay put, you grinned at Ben and stated, "That's great! Look, not to rush you, but I'm really tired from everything and was just about to call it a night."
"Oh, sure! Just let me grab the tray and I'll be out of your hair."
Shit. The tray was across the room and sitting on the floor underneath the nightstand.
"Just give me a second and I'll get it," you stated, hoping your voice didn't sound as shaky as it felt. Practically sprinting across the room, you grabbed the tray off the floor and turned around. Your heart leapt into your throat at the sight before you. Ben had pushed the door open a few more inches and taken a step into the room. He stood practically shoulder to shoulder with Negan, only the thin wooden door separating them. Both men were watching you, Ben with a carefree smile on his face and Negan with a scowl.
Rushing back across the room, you handed the tray to Ben and gave him a quick thank you before basically closing the door in his face. Waiting a few seconds to make sure he was out of ear shot, you turned to a still scowling Negan and dryly stated, "Whelp, that was fun."
Negan looked like he was far from having fun, probably due to a mixture of Ben's comment and you unceremoniously shoving him behind the door. Emotionally exhausted from the chaos that had only lasted about a minute but felt like it had been an hour, you leaned back against the door and stared at Negan silently.
His eyes scanned over you and froze when they got to chest level. Brows narrowing, you glanced down to see if you had gotten food on yourself earlier and not realized it. Instead you saw that the shirt, already scoop-necked, was pulled down a little further than usual and showcasing some cleavage that you had to admit was pretty damn nice. From the look on Negan's face, he agreed. His gaze finally lifted from your chest and locked onto your own. You felt a flush hit your cheeks at the look in his eyes. Walking away a few feet so that he could set Lucille and the gloves down on the wooden chair, he wordlessly turned and started advancing on you.
You knew what would happen when he reached you. It was as if it were happening in slow motion. Would he actually break his rule twice and kiss you again? Did you want him to? Hell yes you want him to! your subconscious shouted in excitement.
Unfortunately, your brain wasn't ready to give complete control over to your subconscious, as shown by the mental image of Sherry that it threw in your face.
Negan was less than a foot away when you put out a hand to stop him. His chest was solid under your palm, even through the leather jacket. It made you wonder what muscles were hiding underneath; muscles that you had only gotten a brief glimpse of last night through his t-shirt.
Your brain and subconscious each sat on a shoulder, as if playing the metaphorical demon and angel roles. Your brain kept flashing you mental pictures of Sherry and Maria and his other wives. Meanwhile your subconscious was screaming, Who gives a fuck! He's with you right now, not them! Carpe diem motherfucker!
Looking up at Negan, who was staring at you wordlessly as if waiting for your decision, you cursed inwardly. There were still lingering feelings of anxiety from the close call with Ben, and that tipped the scales in favor of self-preservation and logic. You swore you heard your subconscious screaming in agony when it realized it had been defeated.
"We can't do this," you stated, surprised and a little proud that you sounded firm and sure of yourself. "I'm not having sex with you."
"Why the fuck not, doll? I know you want to. It's written all over your fucking face, not to mention your sweet little tits are practically heaving with excitement right now and I haven't even fucking touched you."
Well he had you there. Your body sure wasn't hiding its reaction to his proximity nor its excitement at the thought of what he could do with that proximity.
"Plus if we were fucking you wouldn't have to worry about sneaking trays to my room or butchering yourself with any fucking knives."
His last comment felt like a metaphorical slap in the face. Your brain started preening arrogantly, as if to gloat that it had been right all along. "Wait a minute. You think that if we had sex, that would automatically make me one of your wives?"
Negan declined to respond, but his silence was answer enough.
Shaking your head and side stepping away from him, you put a few feet of distance in between your bodies to better help get your thoughts together. "That's not happening. Sex in general is not happening. All it would do is complicate things."
Negan's face was stone cold and impossible to read as he analyzed your own expression. "How so, doll?"
"Because I'm not about to be part of your wife harem, and frankly the thought of fucking someone who is also fucking a bunch of other women isn't really my cup of tea. I can see how it wouldn't make much difference on your end, but I'd like to keep my dignity intact, thanks. Kinda hard to do when you're just a notch on someone's bedpost."
Negan gave a cold bark of laughter in response. "So what are you saying, doll? You think you're fucking better than all of them just because you demand exclusive dick rights? Or maybe you're expecting me to fucking get rid of all of them just for the privilege of sticking my dick in you? You really that good of a lay, doll? You think you could make up for five women who are willing to suck and fuck whenever I want them to?"
His words were sharp and precise like a knife to the gut, and this type of stab wound hurt way more than the one on your finger. Wanting to hurt him just as badly, you hissed, "No, I don't expect you to do anything for me. I'm sure leaving me those berries more than fulfilled your selfless quota for the year, so I'm not about to expect anything else from you."
You saw that your words had hit the mark as his mouth tightened in anger. God damnit. This wasn't at all how you had wanted this conversation to go. Trying to backtrack, you softened your voice and tried for logic instead of insults.
"Look, I know that your wives are an important symbol of status and power for you, which means that you can't get rid of them. Not to mention the fact that you're living a lot of men's wet dream by having multiple women at your disposal. But that doesn't mean that I'm going to turn a blind eye to it and pretend like they don't exist."
"So you don't want me to have wives but you also don't want me to fucking not have wives? Doll, you're not making any fucking sense!" He took a few steps away from you before turning back around. He reminded you of an agitated tiger pacing in its cage.
Wracking your brain for an explanation that would make sense to him, you suddenly had an idea.
"What if I said that I agree to have sex with you, but only under one condition?"
He stopped his pacing and lifted one eyebrow arrogantly. "Only one condition? Name it."
"I also get to have sex with Ben on the side."
His usually tawny gaze turned dark and stormy as he advanced a step towards you. "The fucking fuck you will!"
Internally grinning at the success of your idea, you stated, "The way you're feeling right now? That reaction you just had? Imagine if there were five Bens in this compound I wanted to sleep with instead of one. THAT'S what it feels like from my perspective."
Negan still looked pissed, but he also appeared to be contemplating what you just said. After what felt like an eternity of silence, he finally sighed and lifted a hand to run it over his salt and pepper beard. You were beginning to recognize that the gesture signified frustration. The fact that you were becoming proficient in identifying Negan's mood just by his non-verbal gestures was something that both terrified and thrilled you.
"So where the fuck does that leave us, doll? I'm not going to pretend that I don't want to climb between those pretty thighs and fuck you senseless, because Jesus fuck do I ever. But since you seem so opposed to the idea, I'm not bringing it up again. Not unless you're fucking begging me for it."
Trying to ignore the fire that had erupted between your thighs and soaked your panties at his words, you nodded your head in what you hoped was a convincing sign of agreement. "Deal."
Going over to the chair, Negan pulled on his gloves before picking up Lucille. He gestured in the direction of your finger. "The medic said you're to rest for at least another day, so I don't want to hear that you set even one foot inside the kitchen tomorrow."
Reeling from the abrupt change in topic, and still battling a severe case of dampened panties, you protested, "But what the hell am I supposed to do all day? I can't just sit in here twiddling my thumbs."
Gesturing towards your nightstand, he asked, "You done with the book?"
"Huh? Oh, yea I read most of it."
"Then stop by tomorrow and pick out another one. That better than twiddling your fucking thumbs?"
Slightly confused, you asked, "You still want to see me? Even after I said I'm not going to have sex with you?"
A slow smirk pulled up the corners of his mouth as he gave his dazzling signature grin. It wasn't until this moment that you realized it was the first time he had genuinely smiled since entering the room, and that you had missed seeing him do so.
"You really think I only interact with people who I can fuck? I'm offended, doll."
With that he opened the door and stepped out into the hall. Running after him, you stuck your head into the corridor, looking both to the left and right. Finally there was a little bit of luck on your side, as the hallway was empty.
Negan was already strutting away, Lucille propped up over one shoulder as he whistled a soft tune. When he got to the end of the hallway, he turned and glanced back at you. "Tomorrow at noon. That's not a suggestion; it's a fucking order."
With that he walked around the corner and out of sight. You stood in the doorway and listened until the whistling faded away. The only sounds left were the buzzing of the ceiling lights and your heart pounding in your chest.