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"You must really, really love your daddy. That, or you've just got a damn death wish. I used to teach gym, before all of this mess started, y'know, never had many kids willing to even talk seriously to mom and dad. That loyalty an apocalyptic thing, or just some psychosexual issue you haven't worked out yet? Your daddy ever touch you, Carl?"Lucille swings between them, dangling precariously between Negan's legs, a threat. Carl pointedly doesn't look at her. His face tightens. "My dad loves me.""Hmm. That he does. Daddy's favorite, right? And you love him back." The grin that spreads across Negan's face is slow and glittering, wet with spit and animal bright, rhinestone-sparkling like the silver teeth of Lucille's barbs.Carl is silent for a few moments, heart racing in his chest."Yeah, you love him well. Just like a good son should. You this good a boy for mommy, too?""Don't," He starts, chest tightening reflexively (it's hard to keep still thinking of her), but Negan doesn't care, keeps on talking,"I mean before you shot her, of course. Can't imagine you were too good of a boy then." He laughs, cruel, and big, like everything's amusing. He has a laugh like the shell of a black widow's back – sharp, and red, and omen. "She still loved you even then, though. The wonders of a mother's love, right? Was she that good a wife too? Your daddy ever get lonely with her?""Fuck you," Carl spits, jaw tight as taut wiring, so on edge he feels it to the bone. He feels hotter than he'd felt with a gun in his hands, gunning down Savior men, naked, stripped open, flayed. Blood rhyming like a dirge.He feels like he's swaying on his feet, but that's not possible, because he's sitting down – which must mean that Negan is swaying towards him, light scattering across his hard face, little bells of glass fluttering 'cross his eyes. "Answer me, kid."His heart hammers up to his jaw.When Carl still doesn't speak, Negan switches tactics, voice all cloying sweetness and synthetic sugar, soft like he's trying to be kind. (Like he could be). The cut of a smile in his voice gives him away. "Be a good boy, save your daddy. Just tell me what I wanna know, baby." He swings Lucille a little too close to Carl's face for comfort, delighting in the way he flinches back, blood spat all over her head.His breath trembles, something like hatred burning in his throat, gnawing on him from the inside out. Lucille cuts a wide arc, nearly kisses his cheek. "My parents were in love," He starts, words bleeding what he wishes (what he fucking hopes) is the truth, (liar, fucking liar), "My mom loved my dad. And she loved me too." He shakes, can feel mist in his eyes, threatening glass. But he's not gonna fucking cry in front of the man, he'd rather die.Negan tuts, slow. "Love doesn't make a good marriage, kid. Trust me, I'd know, I've got dozens of 'em. Your daddy treat her well? Ever hit her, spank her, yell too loud?"Carl shakes his head frantically, "No. No, he was always good to us. He'd never."He hums. "'Course not. Guy like Rick? Probably never even spanked you a day in your life. Nope, never raised a wrong finger against you, never a bad word, huh?""My dad loves me." Carl repeats, quiet. (And that's the truth. He'd kill for Carl, die for him, loves him – with the kind of love that ravages, that murders). His belly skitters with sparking butterflies.Negan smile is slow, cold. "Yeah. That he does. 'Course he does. You're daddy's little helper, his little princess. Good, precious little wife, right?"Carl recoils, one of Lucille's cold, barbed wire rings trailing over his cheek, tracing a path down his freckling skin, hovering on the edge of smashing into his skin and kissing into him. He looks at Negan from behind the head of her, one eye blue and glazed, the other wide and open and gaping. "I," he begins, lost for words, something molting within him, slow, nebulous. Good, precious, little wife. The words go straight to his cock, and they really, really shouldn't. He swallows."Don't strain yourself, kid." Negan laughs again, "You love your daddy, and your daddy loves you. That's all alright, isn't it? None of my business, anyway. That's all that's right in this world. You don't ever get sick of it, though? Being under his goddamn thumb all the time? I mean, at your age, that would've driven me fuckin' insane. Back then we were already craving that God-given American independence of ours, branching off into our separate phases of teenage rebellion. Drinkin', fuckin', smokin'… you name it. Guess you've never gotten a taste of that, apocalypse and all. 'S fun. You should try it sometime, ditch Big Brother and learn to live a little, y'know – hang with the big boys. Behave like you're a real fuckin' boy."Kneejerk bitterness rises in him, acidic. "And how am I supposed to do that? By joining you here at the Sanctuary, by betraying everybody I know and allying myself with the man who's just murdered my family? Like a big boy, right?" He can't help but scoff. "Yeah, no thanks. I think I'll pass."There's almost something like pity, more like condescension in Negan's eye. "You know I'd love it if you joined me kid, but you've made it pretty clear that that's never gonna happen. Nah. I've seen how devoted you are to that daddy of yours. Couldn't change your mind even if I wanted to. But I mean, what – how old even are you, like 15? 16?"Carl is silent."You've barely even lived at all. Just sayin'. You don't ever crave a little bit of adventure in your life? Aside from like, killing walkers and mothers and all of that other fun murder serial killer shit? I mean, have you ever even gotten your dick wet yet?"Carl flushes, colors pink fast and easy.Negan smirks. "Guessin' that's a no then, right? Now that's just depressing, kid. I mean, c'mon, we're in the middle of a goddamn apocalypse and all the action you've ever gotten is probably your own damn fist. You'll probably be dead by the time you even get that little thing anywhere near a girl. That doesn't upset you, even just the tiniest bit?"He hates how easy it is for Negan to embarrass him. Hates it. Contempt tightens his throat, blooming disgust making it hard to swallow. There's blood rushing to his face, he's sure of it."Bet you've never even been touched before, huh?"And finally, finally, Carl has one up on him. He can't help himself."No." Carl is saying before he can stop himself, fuelled by spite and something churning, deeper. Something in him is burning, dumb and tough. He wishes he could take the words back as soon as he's said them. Negan pauses now, actually taken aback. "No? No, what, kid? No, you've never been touched before?"Carl grits his teeth. "No, as in no." He regrets opening his mouth at all. (Why, oh why, is he so fucking stupid?)There's confusion written all over Negan's face at first. Then, the fucking grin. That fucking grin, spreading over his face, predatory, terrifying – searching. Those canines gleam like vampire teeth, poised to bite, and Carl knows, that he's gonna eat him the fuck alive. "Well. Daddy's little boy, all grown up and ready to fuckin' roll, huh? Who was it then, that did it to you? Was it that little pretty girlfriend of yours?" He leans in closer, tone absolutely fucking filthy, "She good to you? I know my first was. She touch you nice and soft, stroke your cock just the way you like it? You show her how to do it?"His heart thumps rabbit-quick and weak. Carl recoils in his seat, embarrassment flushing across his chest. "You're disgusting."Negan laughs, a bark. He feels hyper-aware of the weight between them, Negan leaning over him like a tower, and if Carl were a better man, the emotion this would've elicited would've been fear. "Oh c'mon kid, don't be such a fuckin' prude. At your age? I was just dyin' to talk about all of the sex I was having."Carl's nostrils flare, but he stays silent, just stares Negan down until he eventually begins to speak again."Don't be boring. Tell me a good story, kid – was she tight? She looks fuckin' tight, man, you ever get inside of that little pussy?"Lucille taps against his face, drags, soft. He's silent, nothing but held breath. "C'mon," Negan urges softly, "You can tell me son."Carl shuts his eye, angling his face away from him. "Wasn't with her." He says, finally.That only seems to excite Negan more. "How then?"He hasn't felt nauseous about it in years. And he isn't. His stomach churns anyways.His throat closes on him, but he isn't afraid, never has been, here. (Even if he flinches when Lucille gets too close). And then, there are more words spilling out of him than he can control, (than he had wanted. He remembers the first time they'd been here like this, Negan forcing him to take off his bandage and stories about his mother being pulled from him like pulling teeth.) This one slips out far too easily. He almost feels ashamed. "Some guy. Didn't know him. Pushed me into the dirt, groped me a bit. Wanted to fuck me, didn't get to."He says the last part as if it's anything to be proud of, as if it's any badge of honor. It isn't.That gives Negan pause. Lucille stops in her circles, and any trace of genuine amusement is gone, the next question he asks equal parts curious as it is disturbed, with the same stolen severity as if he was at a confessional, eyeing Carl like he's under glass, like he's some thing to be examined, quieter than he'd been before.He steals all the breath in the room with him when he stills. "You ask him to?"Carl hesitates. Then shakes his head, no.They're in utter silence for beats, the only sound filling the silence being Carl's ragged breathing. His one eye blooms blood, orchids flowing in virulent beauty, popping beneath his eyelid."That's fucked." Negan says emphatically, finally breaking the quiet. "I'm sorry, kid."Carl raises his head, opens his eye to glare at him. "Why do you care? I thought you were just dying to talk about all of the sex I was having."Negan shakes his head, serious. "I don't fuck with rapists, kid. That shit's fucked."Carl recoils at the word rapist, something in him shuttering. It wasn't like that, he automatically wants to protest, even though he knows, (had had the conversation with Rick), that that was logically what the man on the side of the road had been trying to do to him. He opts for silence again, which is turning out to be his greatest weapon so far. He feels hot again. Feels stupid, unbelievably so."Your daddy know?"
(He's edging on a memory only occupied by Carl's dreams, made fuzzier with time and the logic of sleep, creeping closer and closer to stealing away thoughts of Rick bloody and teeth bared, protective, wild like an animal and feral (all for him), of Carl's satisfaction, how good that had been, to watch. To know what he'd done, for Carl. These are things he doesn't want Negan to have. Can't let him have. Being kept in dad's arms. Being held, utterly. The kind of love Carl knows encroaches on divinity. "He's mine". "He's mine".)
"What, did he defend his little princess? His good little precious wife? Is that what you're asking?" Carl spits, throwing Negan's words back in his face, trembling with sudden, inexplicable rage."Hey," Negan says, face gone harder, "I'm being serious, kid. He know?""Yes," Carl spits, trying to ignore that he's suddenly trembling, wondering why he'd even told Negan that, why'd he'd said any of that, why he's even here, why he's hard, why, why, why. "Of course he does.""He kill the bastard?"Carl glares out of his one good eye for a long, long moment, something like hatred, arousal, disgust and love simmering inside of him like a poisonous, deadly cocktail. His father with blood speckled on his face, his own face cradled in Michonne's arms. How warm that had felt, how wrong moments earlier. It's poison. Fucking poison. "Of course he did. He loves me."Carl can't make out the expression on Negan's face. It's something absurdly close to fascination, maybe even a bit of disturbance. He's looking at Carl like he had that day in the clearing. Jeez kid, lighten up… at least cry a little. His heart thumps louder, wilder, wild."You're hard." Negan points out with Lucille, angling her at the tent in Carl's jeans. He can't find it in himself to be any more ashamed than he already is. It's what Negan's been prodding him into all this time, what this entire conversation has been building up into. "I can see you 'bout to soak through your jeans.""It's hormones." Carl shoots back, faint blush still staining his cheeks, lowering his eye. Doesn't want to admit that maybe, yes, there is the memory of being held down by a strange man, and there is the memory of his father murdering him with his teeth, and there is also the memory of lying face down in a clearing, Negan strapping a torniquet onto him while his father begged for mercy, and that maybe, possibly, they aren't really different memories at all, but the same one, morphing, transforming, recurring. Negan scoffs, shakes his head, his smile doesn't return. "Nah. This conversation is turnin' you on." He looks like he's about to reach out, (for what?), "What is it about this that's gettin' you hard? Is it all the talk about your would be rapist? Or all the talk about you and your daddy?"His voice is a hush now, leaned in, and he's staring like he's really listening, like he's really intent on Carl's answer. "Is it me?"His pulse races.He wishes he could say none of the above. He wishes he could say he knew. His throat bobs, his heart thrums harder, and when Negan leans in, closer to him, Lucille now pointedly between Carl's forcibly spread legs, he can't deny the way his cock thrums in time, (sick, sick, so fucking sick)."Anyone else ever touch you? 'Cept for that fuckin' creep?"Carl shakes his head, slow, hair shaken loose, covering his eye socket. Negan brushes it back behind his ear with one hand, exposing the gaping hole in his face. A hollow to use to gaze into the soul. "That's fuckin' tragic. You wanna do something about that, Carl?" Carl swallows.Negan's hand snakes between his legs.He gropes him soft, so unlike any touch Carl had ever expected from him, (if he's bringing himself to the point of admitting he's ever expected any touch in the first place). He can't help the way he bucks up into his palm, groan trapped at the front of his choked up throat. He should flinch, should rage or cry or somehow else protest this utter wrong, shouldn't meet it with a moan or an eager cock. "Tell me if you want me to stop." Negan whispers, ragged, squeezing.Carl shuts his eye, breath falling faster. "Tell me right now, kid."And with his one eye shut, the weight above him could be anyone. That deep rumbling voice in his ears could be anyone, could be any man, bigger, stronger, taller--"Else, I'll take care of you. I'll make you feel real fuckin' good – promise you, kid. Nothing like he did."--and oh, he really shouldn't think that, or let Negan touch him, or want him to--Carl groans now, full on now, and for a moment, that deep voice, those big hands on him, that tall body could even be his father's, and that shouldn't make him jerk up into Negan, but it does, and with a gasp not unlike a sob, he chases that pressure down just as soon as Negan's giving it, holding him down with his strong arm. Lucille clatters to the ground and Negan's second hand is coming up to fist in Carl's long hair, drawing his head back to expose his long, harsh, pale line of a throat, unmarred and bare. So, so naked. "Want me to touch you for real? Want me to show you what it's like, what it should be like? Cause I will. I'll show you better than your daddy could, better than that fuckin' creep ever could. I'll make you feel so, so damn good babe, make you wish I was your daddy instead,"And Carl's breaking."Okay," He whispers, hand flying out to grasp Negan's forearm as his fingers begin to make quick work of Carl's zipper, peeling those dirt stained jeans off of him, stopping for a moment to thumb the wet patch leaking through Carl's boxers, drawing a whine high from Carl's throat. The sight of him pulling his jeans down is electric, has him fucking leaking. He feels like he might explode, every nerve on end, and how he's going to survive skin-to-skin contact he has no idea.Negan nuzzles against the damp skin of his neck, swipes his tongue flat against the skin and collects the salt where it slips down the curve of his collarbone. He gropes Carl, tucks two strong fingers behind the elastic band of his boxers and tugs down, pulling all of those layers off of him.For a moment he just drinks in the sight of Carl, panting and open in his palm, red and drooling. Base, and spread."Fucking beautiful," He mutters, voice rough and gravelly, stroking up the length of him hard and fast, thumbing around the empty hole in his face, fingering the mangled scar tissue. (It's not like how his father used to say it. Beautiful – like he was reverent. Like Carl was untouchable. Negan says it like he's hungry).He groans, fingers tightening over Negan's forearm, grasping him tight as he begins to work him finally.It's immediately too much – so much so fast, he feels like he'll spill everywhere, come apart at the seams like a threadbare tapestry, unraveling with the slightest pull of a loose thread, come all loose upon Negan's hands. He can't fucking help the moan that escapes him when his eyes flit downwards, the sight of Negan's palm swallowing his cock too much, setting off loose sparks in his belly like patches of scattered fireworks."Oh god," He whispers, wondering how the fuck he'd even ended up here. He's gonna burst."Good fuckin' boy," Negan positively growls, rough with the husk of sex, (and shit, that's what they're hurtling towards, isn't it?) "You gonna let me touch that socket now? Let me get my hands on you, finally? Been waiting to ever since I saw that empty fuckin' hole of yours."Truthfully, with the way Negan's working him, Carl thinks he'd let him touch him anywhere. In lieu of words, he frantically nods, cock jumping.Then Negan's greedy hands are on him, all over him, stroking over the ridge of the hole, marvelling at it like it's a thing of wonder, and not a hole that's been fucking blasted into Carl's face. His thumb toes the edge, feeling inside a bit, gently but hungrily, like Negan's starving for it. "Hot as fuck, kid, so fuckin' good," His hand leaves Carl's cock, to his dismay, reaching for his own zipper, pulling his own hard cock out of his jeans, and for a moment it stuns Carl – how fucking hard he is, purpling and curved, and all of it for him. 'Cause he did that. "You gonna touch me too, kid? You wanna stroke my cock?"Carl whimpers. Negan's already stealing his hand, drawing it onto his cock, pumping his curled fist up and down, like he's teaching him to do it. "Like that kiddo, just like that," he fucks up, meeting him halfway. The sight of the head of his cock coming through the line of Carl's fist is electric. Sets him off, sends butterflies rummaging through his belly. "You're so damn good. Such a good fuckin' boy, I can see why your daddy keeps you so damn close," and at this, he stutters a laugh, sort of cruel, sort of humiliating, and even though a blush is beginning to creep onto Carl's cheeks again he keeps going, stroking him faster, racing him towards some invisible finish line.He doesn't know why he wants it so bad. "Don't." He mutters, stroking him faster.Negan scoffs at that. "You like it. Don't deny it, I felt the way your little cock twitched soon as I said the word daddy," his finger presses into the raw flesh of his socket, has Carl whining more in pain than in pleasure, "'S what got us into this situation in the first place. Don't pretend like it doesn't turn you the fuck on.""Doesn't," He protests, even as Negan's hand is returning to his cock, and they're beginning to stroke each other in time, Carl's own rhythm stuttering as a gasp chokes him up, and fuck, he's so fucking close, barely keeps it together,"Oh yes, it fucking does. I can smell those daddy issues from a mile away, you fuckin' reek of 'em. I'm not here to judge you, kid," He leans in closer, finger swiping over the head of Carl's cock in a way that's just right, "If you wanna be daddy's good little girl – his good little wife – well, that's your own damn prerogative. Hell, I kinda like it, even," He presses a quick kiss to Carl's cheekbone, wet and fast, "Kinda makes me wanna be your daddy myself."And that's all that it takes. With a buck of his hips and a high, strangled moan, Carl's coming into Negan's fist, fingers twisting into his shirt and pulling him closer as he pumps him through his orgasm, his own hand going slack on the man's cock. He could be weightless right now. Could be gone, floating somewhere entirely else. But he's not, and when he comes he's staring into dark eyes, letting Negan hold him down and rock him through it."Yeah, that's it, c'mon, you're so fuckin' sexy," He growls into Carl's ear, bringing his hand up to Carl's and forcing it onto Negan's cock, moving his slack hand up and down the length of him. "Gonna come all over you kid, gonna make me fuckin' lose it. You ready for it?"Carl moans. He's oversensitive and sparking, and at this angle, it's odd to maneuver himself, but Carl falls to his knees anyway, hard enough that it hurts, hand still wrapped around Negan, Negan still pumping it for him. His knees will probably bruise tomorrow.He looks up through his fringe, one clear blue eye and one gaping hole gazing back up at the man, hopes he doesn't look as desperate as he feels. Looking up like this, Negan towering above him, so strong (protective) – those broad hands really could be his father's, those broad, big shoulders daddy's, "On my face, come on my face, dad, please–"And that's it. He's going off like a rocket, Carl instinctively shutting his one good eye, Negan groaning above him as one hand fists in his hair and he wrings out the rest of his orgasm with Carl's loose hand. He feels it splatter across his face, wet and fucking filthy, and his own spent cock gives a weak twitch at the feeling.He tastes it on his lips, licks them clean, making some kind of an involuntarily, strangled noise at the back of his throat, face hot and burning.He tastes like salt.When his eyes pop open, Negan's staring down at him in a mixture of raw lust and admiration, fucked out and satisfied, cock still dangling in front of Carl's face, wrapped in his slack grip.Carl gives it an experimental tug, soft, and Negan groans, pushing his hand off of him, oversensitive. "Too much, kid."Carl stares up at him expectantly, tries to temper his expression, but finds right now he just feels raw and leaking, can't stop himself from spilling out everywhere anymore than he could just moments ago, and so he says things he doesn't mean, (says things he doesn't want to mean)."Was that good?" He asks, feels the question is too vulnerable, too open for interpretation. It shouldn't be. His embarrassment spreads like a bite.Negan laughs, startled. "Are you kidding? Yeah, that was fuckin' good. You were good, kid." He trails a hand over Carl's face, thumb stroking just below his socket, gentle, the kind of touch he could nudge up into (the kind he doesn't get anymore, ever. Protective). "Too fuckin' good, truth be told. How'm I supposed to just let you loose, after that? Fuckin' blew my brains out."Carl face colors, embarrassed. "Don't fuck with me, Negan.""I'm not," He traces circles into the scarred skin, cradles Carl's cheek. Smiling like it's funny. "You were good. Really damn good."Something in him flutters at those words.He's mine. Negan doesn't say it, but he feels like he did, (and maybe he sort of feels like he's betraying his dad, but he feels too warm and fuzzy right now to be paying proper attention (to be paying any attention) to the feeling, so he locks it down and leans into his warmth instead, let's it spread over his skin).He hesitates, and then he nuzzles into the touch, fast and awkward, as if Negan might withdraw it at any moment. Negan smiles, as if Carl's done something amusing again. "Go home, kid. Rest up. You look fucked out."Carl colors at that again.Negan withdraws his touch, and then he's slipping away, pulling his cock back into his pants, extending a hand towards Carl, eyeing his cock, limp and wet outside of his jeans. "Might wanna put that thing away first, before you go running back home to daddy. Probably best to keep what's just happened here between us, yeah?"He scowls, taking Negan's hand up, trying not to pretend his face isn't brighter than a cherry. His dad loves him, he thinks, standing up, brushing off his dirt stained jeans. He does. And nothing can change that. (He tells himself that, over, and over, and over again, until it feels right). He sets his jaw, tries not to feel disgusting, and untucks his hair from his ear, letting it fall back across his face.