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A packet of lube was in Rick's pocket.
It had been burning a hole in his jeans ever since Negan had slunk up behind him that morning and slipped it in, all neat and smooth like the rev of a Cadillac engine. He hadn't noticed it until Negan had said, 'stretch yourself open for me and meet me behind the church at midnight. Bring the thing I just left in your pocket. You fucking slut,' he added as an afterthought, all excited, tense, grins and freshly shaved skin.
Rick had scratched his nose, yawned, and wiped his sweaty palms on his holey t-shirt so he could pick up his glass of orange juice - orange juice! Imagine! - and take a swig. 'What are you planning,' he said in the usual please-don't-be-a-fucking-dumbass monotone.
Negan's grin had turned into feral over excitement. He looked like a hungry guinea pig. 'You'll see.' Then he'd skittered out, too giddy to do his usual lazy, limboing saunter.
That was how Rick, half-amused and half-exasperated, ended up walking around all day carrying the square foil of Astroglide. Too many times, he'd stuck a face towel in his pocket, and when he pulled it out, the forgotten packet of lube came out with it. He'd easily gotten sick of squatting in the harsh July sun groping at the pavement for Negan's thrice-damned packet of lube while people offered to help him find whatever it was he was looking for.
As he approached the church, Rick squinted into the windows, which rippled bright orange. He wondered if they were lit up from the candles inside, or from the lone streetlight out front that flickered very dimly (it was a waste of solar panel electricity to keep it bright, but nobody had had the heart to try and shut it off).
But then there Negan was, leaning against the back of the church, wearing one of Rick's shirts because it was the only v-neck he could find without breaking into Spencer's wardrobe.
'Hey, babe,' he greeted. If it wasn't the fucking gooch of night, he'd probably be wearing his sunglasses, mused Rick. Negan thought his Ray-Bans made him look cooler. Rick thought it made him look like a try-hard. 'Did you do what I asked you to?'
Rick ran a hand through Negan's over-gelled hair, smiling fondly. 'Mmhmm.'
'Let me check,' Negan growled. He pulled Rick closer by the belt loops, hands smoothing, big and warm, around his hips. Rick leaned in for a kiss. He was met with air. 'Woah there, big boy.'
Rick opened his eyes. Negan was leaning away, but only with his head, making him look like he had three chins. 'What?' Rick hissed.
'I can't fucking.... Where the fuck is the lube?' Negan hissed back, still groping at Rick's jeans. 'Did you lose it, you forgetful slut?'
Rick sighed through gritted teeth. 'Left pocket.'
'Oh, good. Don't need a chafed dick after the shitty fucking fuck of a day that I've had. Hey, wasn't this in your right p-' Rick dove in and stole a kiss outright.
It devolved into the frenzied brush of lips, then tongue, then a quick flash of teeth. Part, gasp for breath, come together again; waves crashing on a sandbar. Negan was still pinching onto his beloved lube packet but that didn't stop him cradling Rick's cheek with the unoccupied three fingers. His other hand, Rick hazily noticed as he licked Negan's mouth open, was untucking Rick's blue plaid shirt, then teasing the elastic on his underwear.
Rick shivered and nosed at Negan's throat, waiting for that hand to come creeping under his boxer briefs and check if he really had gotten himself ready for tonight - and he had, in the shower, knuckles in his mouth to keep the noise down - but it all disappeared and he was left staring at the sight of Negan crouching by the church wall with his hands out like a beggar on the street, saying, 'Come on.'
'What are you doing?'
'Get over here,' Negan said. He flapped his clasped hands up and down. 'I'll boost ya.'
'You want us to fuck on the church roof.'
'I thought I made that obvious.'
'You didn't,' Rick informed him, then turned to leave.
'Fuckity fucking fuck everlasting, I was fucking hoping you'd be too horny to question that part,' whined Negan as he followed. 'Please, please, I swear I'll be good, I'll suck you awake every morning, even if Dwight is banging on the door complaining about the stupidest shit. I'll give you all the blankets and sleep naked so you can watch me suffer. I'll feed Carl his spinach, he'll eat it if I'm the one with the spoon making choo-choo sounds, I'll, I'll-'
It sounded like the worst wedding vows on Earth. Rick made a screaming sound in his throat. He stopped abruptly. 'Alright. Alright. God.'
And that was how Rick ended up on the Alexandria church roof at 1 in the morning on his back, a slow wet stripe between his collarbones on the tip of his boyfriend's tongue, the roof tiles digging into his back through his half-unbuttoned shirt. His jeans, halfway down his thighs, bound together his legs, which were folded to his chest. Even further below, Negan was unzipping himself and fumbling with the lube packet.
'This roof is surprisingly less slippery than I thought,' Negan mumbled conversationally.
'Better hope I don't start sweating then, or this'll turn into a slip n' slide real quick,' Rick retorted, still displeased with himself for having been cowed into this.
'You're always sweating, baby.' Negan's tongue slid in between his teeth. A symbolic gesture: I am biting my tongue. I will say no more. My eyes will say it for me.
And he was looking up at Rick with love in his big, gorgeous, hazel eyes. What could Rick do? He smiled back.
Then Negan said, 'Hold on tight to the roof, baby, 'cos we'll be setting it on fire real soon,' which quickly pulled Rick back to the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. 'Shut up,' he ground out. 'Just shut up.'
It was all fine now though, because now was Negan biting his lip, a hand on the roof and a hand on himself, pressing into Rick, dripping with slick, hot and hard like the hood of a truck left in the sun. It was an immense relief to have a warm body pressed against his, thought Rick. The night air was freezing, the kind of freezing that numbed your nose and ears red.
He felt himself give way. They were on a slope; it was a different angle they were working with. Different, but good. Really, really, fucking - indescribably, good. He inhaled, deep, and reached down between his legs.
A slow stroke, from where Negan was burying inside (which got him a shaky gasp) up to his own heavy cock. Wrap his fingers around it. Negan's thighs were as flush with his as they could be. Their skin was slowly growing sticky with sweat. For a second Rick thought they'd fused together. He looked up at the stars and thought, I wouldn't mind.
'Hey,' was all Negan had to say for Rick to nod. A nod of permission to move, that was really all they needed these days.
Negan began to move, gingerly at first, testing their grip on the roof tiles, then, assured, he pulled out, then drove in, again harder, then faster. Rick whined with little sounds of relief, his nerves singing with the friction. It was a quiet affair, and rough. Every sound was little, the slap-slap-slap, the barely-there tickle of Negan's breath on Rick's chin -
Rick felt himself slide down a little bit on the roof, impaling him further on Negan's dick. The both of them moaned in unison, and Negan, moving a pace faster, panted out, breath short, 'You love this, don't you? I know you, f-fuck, wanna get - get caught, baby, you want everyone to see you like this, on your back for me, legs in the air, let them know this ass is fucking mine-'
'What is going on here?!'
The voice came from beneath them.
Rick felt his entire world stop. He felt Negan stop. He lay there, stock still, frozen in the act of taking dick and jerking his own, like some kind of postmodern statue.
Everything was still dark, like nothing had changed at all. Negan's eyes looked black from here. They were glittering. A shark's eyes.
'Who is it?' Rick whispered almost inaudibly.
'You! Up on the roof. Get down, who is that?' The voice was farther away than Rick originally thought.
'It's Gabe,' Negan whispered back. 'That creepy-ass collared little cunt, thinks he can try and steal you from me. Seen that shithead finding any excuse to touch you all week. Haha, well not today, Father Fuckboy. Hold on. I'm close. Let me pull out so I can shoot my load in his eye. He'll never see it coming.'
Rick's asshole clenched at the very thought. Negan choked and shuddered. Rick felt a wet warmth inside him.
'Well, there goes that plan,' murmured Negan.
'He's a priest. He's my friend,' Rick hissed. 'Are you, honestly, tell me, are you insane or just stupid? Did you hit your head?'
'Get down from there or I'll go get Rick,' Gabe threatened from down below.
Negan tensed. 'Actually, I think I'll just piss on him.' He pulled out, his length dragging against Rick's insides. Rick jerked at the sensation, his hand on himself sending him close to the edge.
'Get ready for a miracle, asshole, a real shower of blessings,' Negan was mumbling.
Rick grabbed him by the v-neck collar and pulled him down so they could see eye-to-eye. 'You better put that loud mouth to work or I'm pushing you off of this building.'
Negan's tongue peeked out, caught between pearly whites. His eyes, unreadable to anyone else but Rick. He knew that look. It was a look that, at times, crept onto Negan's face, muscle by muscle, twisting it into a picture of quiet glee and ferociousness. It was what happened when you gave him a challenge.
Negan licked his lips, bent his head down, and began the process of choking on Rick's erection. How fitting, Rick thought, that he was teaching Negan to pray on top of the church with a priest squinting up at them from underneath.
His hand rose and gripped Negan's hair to the point of pain - he knew it hurt, he knew exactly how hard you had to pull to make him hurt - shoved his head down until Negan was gagging and tearing up, his face probably a delicious red. Probably, maybe, Rick could barely see shit after all.
It was rough but it got the job done. In no time at all, Negan was gulping down come, wheezing for breath.
As one, they scooted up the roof to the other side, then dropped onto the ground. The grass muffled their every step. The two of them ran into the dark like juvenile delinquents as Gabe yelled after them.
Rick regretted a lot of things. This was one of them.
'I think that went pretty well,' Negan remarked, when they had finally gotten home. 'How about the Alexandria gate next? Or in Gregory's office.' He rubbed his hands together. 'I'd love to pound you on Gregory's desk while he's watching, make him snivel about how good my technique is. Make him rate it on a scale of 1-10 like a judge at the Olympics and the sport is drilling Rick Grimes's sweet ass. You'd like that, wouldn't you, you brazen slut?'
And that was how Carl woke up to screams for help coming from downstairs, ran down, and found his dad straddling Negan, punching the lights out of him in the living room on a Saturday night.