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“Go on, baby. Go ‘head and give her a good swing…”
His arms are pulled around your body, hands overlapping yours as you take in a breath at the soft musk emitting from his entire being. His breath brushes your neck softly with those taunting words, your eyes shifting over to where he looks with a apathetic grin. The man before you is perched on his knees, a shaky archetype of fear. His eyes look up to you, pleading for a mercy Negan had long helped you rid of. He chuckles when he realizes you’re lining up your hit, fingers softly wrapping around the lower grip of Lucille. He parts from your figure and you can breathe again as he crosses his arms, smirking behind you with a hand gliding over his hair, “Give him hell, baby.”
You keep your hands tight around the bat and take your swing. You feel the impact shift into his skull, and yet you also feel the bone give way as the skin tears with a single blow. The man cries out and falls to his side with a wailing cry - sobbing and panting for air. You feel blood heat up and at once, Negan is against you again, his breathing just as heavy as yours. A mutual exhilaration almost integrating into a sick form that this new world had helped rear. You press your back to him harder, your hands steadily going to drop the death-dealing instrument as his hands keep your grip over it, his teeth gritted.
“Don’t you dare put that fuckin’ bat down. You finish this. You finish it the way we always do.”
“Negan…” you nearly moan, turning your gaze over your shoulder. The scruff of his chin scratches your face but you’ve tasted those lips, seen his being over you in his dominating nature. This exhilaration coupled with intense arousal is no welcome feeling - not with the entire group just ten feet outside of this wooded area.
He shows an aroused amusement at your beckon of him and lets his lips brush against your ear as he mumbles quietly, “Who do you belong to? You tell me that and I take you now.”
“Please…” you smirk, “You know damn well
you
belong to
me
, Negan.”
Through the mouth of anyone else, that would have been an easy death wish. From anyone else, his face would contort into that vicious countenance that always led to a bashing of faces and the breaking of spirits and skulls. But with you? You are his sole exception that makes him break into that laugh that sends shivers through you. This is likely not love. This is likely nothing close to a healthy coupling but damn if he hasn’t given you a new perspective on how good sex can truly be constantly in the midst of danger or the clear survival that he offers you as his lover and third in command. Despite your initial thoughts, this doesn’t bother Simon. He is amused by how Negan leaves you after time alone. Taunts and laughs at your weakened frame with your glare and playful hits in rebuttal.
This is the closest thing you’ve had to some semblance of a family.
Damn, that's depressing.
Maybe in the long run, a love would come through for you and Negan. It wasn’t likely in your mind, but then again his thoughts were a mystery. But for now? This was enough. You were nothing close to who you were before all this but as far as you could tell? Negan admired your ability to adapt the way you did and in some way or another, the entire Sanctuary knows the wives don't have shit on your status with him.
How many times had you taunted Sherry with winks and snarky comments, holding the end of Lucille next to her head as she glares at you. You didn't feel threatened, it was just so damn fun. You had told her several times ‘ harems don't mean shit to the damn queen. ‘ Besides, who else could hold Lucille? Could take her out for swings? This is your third bashing and you aren't a bit startled by the sight of the man’s twisted nose and harsh screams.
“Kill this son of a bitch..” he breathes with a smirk, drawing back and lets you at the man. You suck in a breath and slam down Lucille. You don't stop until the man is a headless corpse and you heave, looking over at Negan who claps slowly. He draws close to you before you can take to a witty line, looking down at your smirking face as he tilts your chin up, catching your lips roughly. One arm curls around your waist while the other extends and snatches Lucille , throwing her over his shoulder as blood flies off. Your hands snatch his leather jacket and the sight is...explicit to say the least. A few of the men look away.
A few.
His tongue slips in your mouth and you omit a sturdy whimper, drawing away when the unwanted crowd becomes a bit much. He smirks and only now do you notice that the blood has splattered against his cheek. You wipe his cheek, eye contact firm as he chuckles lowly, “Looking at me pretty strange.”
“You know what I want…”
He brushes his lips against yours, “I'm gonna give you hell.”