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Negan makes him walk home in that. Nobody tries anything. Some whistles, whooping, yeah, all that, sure. Rick can live with that.
Carl is playing with Judith on the porch.
Rick doesn’t meet their eyes as he pushes past them.
The shower runs hot and long.
~
Negan sends for him at least once a day, every day. Evenings, mostly, when Rick has finished loading trucks and offing stragglers and making sure Alexandria doesn’t burn down without Negan’s say-so. When Rick’s worn-down, dazed. No obligation to wash up beforehand, not for ten minutes of dropping his trousers. Negan hasn’t given him another concussion yet, hasn’t needed to.
It’s bad. Pretty bad, how easy it is.
From behind, every time. Negan says he likes the view. Rick should be—grateful, not having to look.
It gives him opportunity to close his eyes, though, which usually happens. Which makes it so much…worse. Better, which is worse.
There hasn’t been a single time Rick didn’t come. Plenty and first. Sometimes more often. Last night, pretty bad, it simply didn’t stop once it started. Negan has yet to address it. If he even cares in the first place.
Bends Rick over after making him shimmy down his pants, presenting himself like a…! Over a table, back of a sofa, against a window (wall, door, floor).
Rick tries to disappear, zoom out out out until he’s back home, not even in here under this alpha at all, doesn’t even matter if there’s an alpha since he’s not a—. But he is, he is.
First time that Negan makes him take his shirt off, Rick almost punches him.
Forget consequences, rules, obligations—pummeling him, both fists, until there are no teeth left to bare when those eyes fall on Rick. But Rick doesn’t, of course. Not his place. Not yet (if he dreams, yearns).
Negan starts taking it to some kind of bedroom, less transaction and more motel. Has Rick stripping himself down to his birthday suit and going down to all fours, like a dog, no socks no shoes while Lucille’s watching from the corner, while Negan’s all zipped-up leather and grime from stealing torturing defacing (and back to it, right after, while Rick stays behind prone and wet).
Negan turns him around that one time, mid-fuck and the knot’s not quite there but it will be and Rick needs it, and. He cries, almost, for how deep the bastard gets when Rick’s got his knees forced to his shoulders. Like there’s not even more organs in there, like it’s all Negan’s.
Carl has changed. A blind man could see it.
Tries not to stare, tries to pretend everything is like before, Dad’s still the hero and just like me, like us, like Rick’s not limping home smelling exactly like what Negan did to him a half hour back… They haven’t talked, not about this. Rick thought about it, day one. And then came day two. Three. Four.
Eight. Twelve.
Rick used to have nightmares, way back. After the hospital and then surviving one year, two, three. About how it will be, because it never was about ‘if’. No matter the product, everything runs out eventually. And blockers for O’s are few and far between as is, with how few of them there were even back then. Those past eight months, they haven’t found any at all.
The nightmares stopped after Judith was born.
Rick lets himself into the house. Long day, pitch-black outside; that helps. Nursery door’s ajar and he slips in, boots still on but he can be quiet.
Judith sleeps. Rick traces her cheek with the side of his finger.
In the rocking chair in the nearby corner, Carl isn’t asleep, but he doesn’t say anything, either. Rick stays quiet, watching his daughter be asleep, alive and well.
The ache only stops thrumming when he sleeps.
~
“No.”
Dad steps in front of him.
Negan’s smirk for Dad has changed. Crawls deeper, even though Dad acts like it doesn’t.
Like nothing’s even happened.
“We’ve had that talk about you telling me what do to, Rick. Remember that?”
“Dad—”
“He’s not going anywhere.”
“He’ll go where I say he goes.”
“I’ll come WITH you!”
Carl shoulders Dad aside, doesn’t look back at the damage.
Negan welcomes him with a hand to the shoulder. Adjusts to a bit higher up, not quite neck nor shoulder.
Carl makes sure to glare at him before they start walking.
“How have you been doing, pal? Haven’t gunned down any of my people, lately—should I be worried?”
“Stop screwing my dad.”
“Woah!”
Negan’s hand flies off, palm-up. His Lucille-elbow juts out, he keeps walking. Half-circles to in front of Carl, so Carl’s forced to look at him.
“Straight to the point, huh? How about a little foreplay, first? Butter me up, set the tone? No? No, okay, all right. Well.”
Negan raises his hand and thus stops their entire convoy of three gunmen, Carl and himself.
He digs his heels into the road, wide stance—eyebrows lifted, finger pointed.
“I’m not gonna stop screwing your dad. First of all. Second of all—!”
“There can’t be another baby.”
“Oh?”
“It’s too dangerous! It’s too much.”
Negan chuckles low and long. Carl steadies his boots on the cracked asphalt. His fists clench at his sides.
Carl grits, “It’ll kill him.”
Negan tilts his head and licks his lip with Lucille braced on his shoulder.
“I think you underestimate your father’s…natural talents.”
Three sets of hands yank Carl back in unison the moment his knees lock for that pounce.
Negan wags his finger at Carl while Carl fights to pull free.
“No, no, no, no…no, no. No. We don’t do that, Carl.”
Negan points between his eyes and then at Carl.
“You and I? Men. Men talk like men with other men. The fun, physical stuff, we save that for different occasions.”
“Let—GO of me—!”
“So you can do what, exactly?”
No wriggle room with how they keep him grabbed, arms pulled back. Negan leisurely closes the distance between them, knees and Lucille bouncing. When he leans down to an inch from Carl’s face, one goon grabs Carl by the hair, hard, and just in time.
Up close, Negan’s eyes jump across Carl’s face in between short, calm blinks.
The tightening yank to his hair has Carl snarling.
“You know… It’s a shame you didn’t take just a little bit more after your dad.”
“Grrrah, you—!”
“You have the face and everything. I was kinda hoping…”
Even Negan’s men flinch for Lucille being moved off that shoulder, albeit gently—Negan taps her between Carl’s legs.
“…that when I took Daddy’s stash, that you’d start showing some withdrawals, too. But I guess I’m EVIL and GOD HATES ME…!” (Negan throws accusatory, heavenward glances, then zeroes back in on Carl.) “Blah blah blah, anyway—uh, you’ll behave, or your group is gonna have a fresh new membership available for that baby that I’m gonna be putting into your smoking-hot dad.”
“Motherf—!”
“Ah-ah-ah!”
Lucille tap-tap-taps; her barbed wire breaches Carl’s jeans.
Carl clamps his mouth shut. Negan grabs his chin regardless.
“I’m trying to give you a leg up, here, idiot. So how about you let me talk?”
~
Fucking shame, really.
Not that Rick’s pussy leaves anything to be desired, but. Having options is always sweet.
And seven’s a great number, too.
“You.”
Negan points.
“You.”
Negan points.
“Join me.”
Short drive, settling dusk. Purple hues in the clouds; the warm kind of early summer evening where you used to pull out the grill, maybe ask the neighbors to join, if they didn’t suck. Negan watches the scenery drift by while he cradles Lucille between ribs, arm and truck door, pointy end up. One thumb along her twisted, rusted wires, careful with the bumps in the road.
Rick’s folks open up for one Negan baby-wave through the rolled-down window, visibly confused by the hour. Yeah, well, he’s had shit to wrap up, cut him some slack: sleepovers are no fun if you have chores waiting for you back home.
Some curious eyes and even bodies (the ballsy ones) from the neighboring porches and curtained windows, but that’s that. Negan jumps out the passenger side and gestures for less front and center parking. Beckons the other one to join him, up Rick’s driveway. Or, well. Negan’s.
Negan clears his throat as he assigns the spot right by the front door with another wag of his finger, gets a nod, that Uzi readied, pointed down.
Negan puts his ear to the door before he knocks three times.
He waits.
Movement. Muffled.
“You can’t—!” “Stay with Judith, I’ll handle it.”
Negan scoffs. “Oh, you’re gonna handle it all right…”
Front doors open into the house, so Negan stays leaned against the frame (slides Lucille into the gap just in case). Rick looks him straight in the eye, one wrong look away from putting those teeth to work, by the looks of him.
“Not. Here.”
“Ohh, pfff—! You’re so funny, darlin’.”
Negan enters. Rick’s shoulders stay squared; Alexandria has officially settled in for the night, it seems: only light comes from that nursery, and Negan lets out his breath through his teeth, begins to toe out of his boots.
Rick’s down to socks himself. Seems only fair.
“Judith’s—asleep, man; please.”
“Stop yappin’, then.”
Rick doesn’t even know how pretty he looks when he obeys like that: immediate, absolute, jaw grinding but eyes down, down. Even in this lackluster light, Negan sees it clear as day.
Over Rick’s shoulder, Negan locks eyes (well, eye) through the gap in that door.
A nod towards the empty spot by Rick’s side tips Rick off, has him spinning around.
“That—no.” Back to Negan, one hand up between them like that’s gonna stop anything. “No, you have me, why—? Carl, NO; stay with her!”
“‘Carl’, get your ass over here.”
Baby boy listens to the one that matters. (Man. Fucking shame, honestly and truly.)
They’re almost the same height and all. Negan smiles as he grabs that bonier shoulder, tugs the kid away from Daddy and underneath his own arm. Feels that familiar strain of something forcing itself to stay put; ruffles that hair. Rick’s not taking it so well over there in the corner of Negan’s eye.
“Someone oughta show you these ropes, huh? And we’re practically family, now.”
Rick doesn’t get it at first, which is just as fine. Little less bickering, little less wasted time.
It dawns on him only when all three of them stand by his bed, when he looks at his kid and sees that head ducked hands-in-the-cookie-jar style.
The way he looks at Negan, next, could get Negan over quite the dry spell, if he had any of those anymore.
Negan gives it another beat, but those tears don’t flow for him. Yet.
Quiet, in here. Rick oh-so bravely vertical but the core’s shattered, just like that, eyes from Carl to Negan and back and forth, tremors in those brows. Jesus Christ. And Negan thought he was horny before.
“… Don’t.”
“He deserves it,” offers Negan, rubbing Carl’s skinny back. “Doesn’t he? He’s been such a good boy.”
Carl might keep his mouth shut but those trembles go straight to where Negan’s already pretty damn happy.
Negan brings his hand to the tiny-small of Rick’s kid’s back and finds it already damp through drowning-huge flannel and handed-down t-shirt. Negan watches Carl’s face; the shallow, stocky gasps for air while that eye wells up like Daddy’s.
Man, that bandage is gonna have to come off.
“Strip and get on my goddamn bed, Rick.”
Oh, that look.
And they all say Negan’s the inappropriate one.
One last flicker of eyes to his son, and then Rick turns his back and starts earning his fucking keep:
belt, trousers, boxers.
Negan makes sure to squeeze where the collar of Carl’s flannel hangs around the back of that clammy neck.
Kid’s only flinching a little, anymore.
“Everything,” says Negan.
Rick stops midway up the bed.
Stays there for a moment, the cords in his neck deliciously taut with how hard he looks away from Negan and that other alpha. Lowers the second foot back to the floor as he pulls that Henley off strict and sudden like a fuck you, tosses it with the rest, those socks. Climbs back on the bed, unreprimanded. Negan doesn’t even have to remind him.
Hands and knees. About as willing as livestock when it catches sight of you in one of those shoulder-length gloves.
Goddamn.
“Now, listen here, Carl…”
Kid shivers against the press of Negan’s nose into all that hair; Negan’s arm slung to squeeze-tuck him in.
“…the thing about them is that, ultimately, they were made for it. For us.”
Rick’s got nothing to say to that. (Minus the smallest, most subtle twitch in his leg.)
“Unlike those betas, you can’t really hurt ’em. Actually, they love it. Like—really, really love it. Don’t they, Rick? … … Huh, see… He’s playing shy, right now,” lean forward to lock eyes with the kid, so the message sticks, “but trust me, once you’re in there? He won’t even care that it’s you.”
Still, no protest from Daddy. Well, well, well.
Look who’s finally mastered the art of self reflection.
“Drop those pants.”
“…”
“I’m not asking twice.”
Those lil paws are shaking big time on that already-tented zipper. Heh. Negan can’t blame him.
Negan whistles, Lucille on his non-Carl shoulder.
“And here I thought they weren’t feeding you right…! Damn!”
Kid’s throat bobs with the swallow; breathes like he’s on top of his daddy already.
Negan steps on these jeans so they pool aaall the way down. Nudges, so Carl steps out of ’em, shaky, but on the sunnier side of rock-damn-hard. Rick’s being stoic over yonder just because he doesn’t see what Negan sees.
What Negan switches his hands on Lucille for to wrap around, gives a little tug to.
Kid nearly doubles over for that, hips bucking into the contact. Oh, he’s ripe all right.
“Ah—!”
“Shh-shh-shh, let me. Nice an’ easy.”
Together, they watch the deliberate pump of black leather on Carl’s cock from base to cut, glistening tip. That sweet-loose excess of skin at the base where, if it hasn’t already, big boy’s gonna pop a nice fat knot, and. Negan only looks away from it to watch Rick’s kid gasping as he simply takes it.
… Huh.
But, later.
Negan abandons teenage wood for a clap to that nonexistent ass.
“As ready as you’ll ever be—go ahead, don’t let me stop ya.”
And yet, that eye jumps right to Negan, wide and helpless.
Aw, man.
Goddamned puppy dog eyed motherfuckers, all of ’em.
Negan props Lucille against Rick’s nightstand at reasonable distance from either Grimes before he’s back on the kid, walks him up to his daddy with both hands on that tiny-ass span of hips—goddamn. Shame that Mom’s no longer with us.
Rick’s as stony as ever, ass not even curled out ‘because this is wrong’ or whatever.
But he’s wet, too. Dewy, if you squint. Can’t not be. Not with two hot and bothered A’s in the same room, all those delicious scents crossing all those pretty wires.
Neither back nor forth for getting pawed at by Negan’s glove, but those shoulders shift. Negan angles two in but falls back on one when that doesn’t go quite as smooth as it should, given what this pussy’s been put through as of late. Then again, Negan hasn’t had it in over a full damn day. … Well, and the whole father-son thing. Right.
Right. (Negan wets his lip.)
“See? Lower half’s much more honest. Tends to be, with a bitch.”
Negan watches Carl watching. How horror-pale slowly warms into apricot, peach. Patchy up that throat, into those cheeks.
Negan withdraws nice and slow, with a squelch.
Imagines: Rick’s teeth tearing into the inside of that cheek.
“You try.”
Those palms are as sweaty as Dad’s lower back. Settle on there like it’ll burn either side, and still, Rick’s—so beautifully tame that Negan’s Lucille-arm starts aching. He shakes it out while he grabs Carl’s wrist, thumb on that pulse-point and feeling the tendons shift as Carl stiffens two of those digits with a weak whimper, barely anything, but it makes Negan look, and.
Yeah… There’s his waterworks.
Negan cups Carl’s hip to keep that backside nice and snug against his crotch.
“I’m—I’m s-sorry, D—…!”
“Oh, don’t be, sweetheart.”
The flex in Rick’s left glute upon those fingerpads pushing in swirls right to Negan’s black hole heart.
Carl sobs, once and useless. Rick’s opossuming.
Doesn’t work back on it like he’s been with Negan (not yet), his narrow ass dwarfed against the kid’s hands—man, yeah, when Negan thinks about it like that, Rick Grimes has anything but childbearing hips, huh?
“There you go,” hums Negan, right into that ear. “All the way in, come on. Spread ’em, too. … Yeah, there you go, bud.”
Some more sobbing below that held breath, but the show keeps running after Negan releases that wrist, spreads his hand on that little chicken chest instead. Negan kisses hair out of sheer habit, frontloader-thud from behind those ribs and straight into his bare, dry palm. Geez, barely any meat on the kid, for real. Shame that Negan’s gonna keep getting half of everything.
Carl sniffles. That other hand on the small of Rick’s back, dick so fucking eager to replace those fingers that it flexes almost-against Rick’s thigh, it stands that straight from this lithe little body. Negan crowds them closer until it’s not ‘almost’ anymore.
Carl makes a noise Negan has a feeling he’ll be hearing again plenty throughout the next three minutes (tops, if he had to guess; not that it matters against what this is).
Negan rubs that chest, knot of a solar plexus, clenchy stomach.
That shirt’s so worn through, it’s like butter.
Negan takes note to watch Rick’s hole stretching around stuff more often and closer, because, damn, that’s pretty.
“Curl ’em,” just because Negan wants to see—yeah, that twitch.
Rick’s chest drops just a tad lower towards the sheets. Still no noise.
Well, that’s about to change.
“Heh. Natural, aren’t you?” PAT PAT PAT; kid gulps with the impact. “Next step, I think you’ll show just as much potential… You know what’s next, right? Spell it out for me?”
“I—!”
Rabbit-kick of hyperventilation and Negan’s hand shoots to that throat because he didn’t come all the way out here for that.
Carl shakes his head, little hips rolling against Daddy because of course he can’t help it.
God, Rick raised him so well.
“D-don’t, I—I can’t, I can’t, please—”
“Of course you can, champ! Don’t be silly…”
“Ah—!?”
Negan’s fist smears that baby maker where babies are made, makes that shit kiss.
They’re so crowded that next thing’s gonna have to be folding the kid onto that back. Negan’s into the whole snot-and-spit kinda bawling but tonight’s something else. A joyous occasion.
How often does a dad gets to be there for his son’s first?
Negan hums, “Tell him how it feels.”
“Ah—!!”
Rick’s tilting, now.
Negan feels it.
“I-it’s—! God, Dad—!!”
“Shh-shh-shh,” and that’s the first inch, second, third.
Fourth. Fifth. Sixth.
Rick chokes, unfortunately out of sight.
Seven…
Eight.
Negan’s got goosebumps from that final squeeze, from Carl’s hands flying to Daddy’s hips for support because he’s just so…!
Negan groans by proxy.
Sways, together with ’em, against the bed. Kiddo all snug, trapped and shivering in Negan’s two-armed hold and Daddy up front, that glove wringing the base of his throat like that pussy’s choking out his dick and Negan’s cheek at his temple, nuzzling.
Man.
Man, these Grimes’.
All Negan’s got to do is give it a lil squeeze and that throat flirts right back at him.
“S-so—! I-it’s so soft…!”
“Mmmmmh, isnt’ it just? What else?”
Kid’s gulping, Daddy’s sweating. From trying not to kill, either himself or Negan, mostly, probably—ah, damn, these pants are getting way too tight on Negan.
“W—… W-wet, uh—ahh, f-fuck, D-Dad, I, I—!”
“It’s okay,” finally, FINALLY (and just as broken as Negan had hoped), “i-it’s—okay, Carl; it’s okay…!”
Nothing’s fucking okay and Negan chuckles with so much gusto.
Anchors his heels on the rug-less, clean floor, worms his bare hand between father and son. Not that there’s much room for him there.
Watches over Carl’s shuddering shoulder how absolutely lock-and-key these fuckers truly are. Negan didn’t know just how much he wasn’t kidding about that ‘made for it’ line.
Rick’s vocalizing a first, half-assed whimper for Negan tugging on those boy-hips.
“Come on,” low from Negan’s belly, breath warm into all that chestnut, “get it, huh? That’s yours. All fucking yours, champ.”
Rick sobs.
“Don’t listen to that little bitch; this ain’t about him.”
Funny how Carl’s sobs die down the looser Negan holds onto that hip.
And how fast that instinct takes over.
“Yeah…! You got it, huh? Isn’t that so good?”
Kiddo’s gone zipped-up, clicking throat in Negan’s grip (Negan’s fingers digging in under that squared jaw). Hands and eyes on Daddy’s ass, vein on the back of that hand bulging as that grip tightens, and that’s a cute gasp, and that’s—!
“Ah—!”
Grimes senior’s first moan of the night—would you look at that!
Negan releases that throat only to lean back and watch how his thumbs almost-connect in the small of Rick’s kid’s back.
Jesus, that ass looks even tinier against the massive tent in Negan’s pants.
Carl pants, “I can’t, I can’t,” like he’s not white-knuckle slip-sliding on cloud nine pussy, crams in there over and over and Negan’s not even helping anymore, “D-Dad, Dad, Dad—!”
‘Dad’ is, judging by the smell, so fucking ready to be bred up. Not even funny anymore. And, yes—
“Ah—?!”
Snarl from underneath that boy because Daddy’s omega dick’s so deliciously thick in the squeeze of Negan’s fist, all jumpy and creamy with pre, completely untouched down there and Negan pulls on it a few times just because whatever circus tricks Rick’s pussy performs on that dick for the strokes drives Carl freaking wild. Negan laughs into that shoulder, abandons Rick’s lil thing because any lil thing grinding its ass on Negan’s dick is always gonna have a bit of priority. It’s even better that that’s not even what Carl’s after, but that it happens anyway.
Negan groans, watching.
Thumbs into those barely-there dimples, feeling.
Kiddo’s down to chasing his own, just like that, just like that.
“Dad, Dad,” slur-thick with every hurried slap, balls smacking balls, honeyed with Rick’s slick…! Negan should have brought a tape recorder.
“Give it to him,” the angel of absolution on this young shoulder; stubble to that peach-fuzz ear. “You’ve earned it, baby, he owes it.”
That yelp—! Well.
Baby’s first knot after all, eh?
“Aah, aaah, f-fuck, FUCK—!!”
“Steady, steady—!”
Carl’s sobs hit a new note on all that deliciously searing pain.
Negan almost bites into that throat here and now. Stops for the mouthful of hair and forces his jaws locked, growls through it as he rides that now-stuck ass, hands running squeezing consoling, you never forget that first time your dick makes space for all that blood, all those vessels bursting, that first stretch under your skin—!
First throb has Carl jumping so hard his heels come off the floor.
Negan catches him, laughing, fist into that hair because a Grimes simply looks best that way, and—man, man, this fucking kid.
Negan hasn’t seen happy tears in ages.
Carl chokes, nearly prone on his daddy because everything centers where he’s locked and gushing, out of sight out of reach, drool down that chin and onto Rick’s back and eyes threatening to roll to where Negan’s holding him up by his hair, like a fucking—doll, goddamn; goddammit, Negan’s not gonna bust in his pants when there’s two perfectly fine mouths in the room.
Close call when he kneels up that bed, unzipped unbuttoned and chokehold where his own knot’s about to pop-and-ruin something, and Rick’s just too fucking easy to grab by the long-and-curlies and haul right onto all of that, no bullshit no hostages straight down the bent-open back of that throat.
The gagging’s immediate, just like Negan’s second hand on that skull.
Negan growls, “Shut up,” like Rick’s grappling and clawing at his thighs is gonna make even one goddamn ounce of difference.
There’s no playing nice with something stuck between you and another A.
Negan pounds as much dinner back where it came from as Rick even manages to work up against the unrelenting beating of dick, less and less fight in those hands that body the less oxygen that lil brain has to run on. Carl’s gone all knot-brained-silent on that other end; hands clamped around those hips to pull Daddy’s ass back on all that pretty dick, croaky moans that are sure to haunt once they catch up to the ears attached to that head to that mouth, eyes screwed shut, brows knitted the fuck up.
Little mouth puckered, like Negan made a wrong turn somewhere.
Negan finishes on that; one hand from hair to knot just-outside Rick’s teeth because he’s so looking to use this jaw again.
Wrings it, in-synch with the throbs of nuts all the way up to his goddamn tailbone; Jesus fucking Christ, that mouth.
Carl blows an accidental bubble in all that slobber coating his lips.
Rick goes limp before Negan’s thighs give out. Good enough.
“God—damn, kid…!”
Negan pulls the brand new second-favorite hole off his still weakly throbbing dick only to groan at the immediate flood of—goddamn mess, urgh. Thank God this is Rick’s place.
Rick’s lashes flutter for the smacks to his bearded cheek, mouth hanging open, not even coughing. He convulses, eventually, weak enough that Negan feels compelled to use his open palm, next, tap tap tap and he earns a shudder for that, some esophagus song that would get Negan straight back into the game had that not been—a goddamn delight.
Holy shit, Negan might have a problem on his hands.
He stares at Rick’s puke-come-slobber smeared face in his hand, dick nestled against that nose as both try their very, very best.
Up at Carl, on hands and knees himself now that Daddy’s all but a wet heap locked tight to him like the world’s sweetest snare trap and slowly but clearly sobering just enough to realize where he is.
Man. Nature sure is a cruel mistress, huh?
Breathes like he’s still coming, spit in a rope down that chin.
Negan’s tongue presses to the back of his own teeth while those baby blues stutter and struggle to comprehend the image in front of them.
An exhale like a punch.
Then, panic.
“No, no, no, no, NO—!!”
Negan laughs so loud that Judith’s whines from one door down don’t even register, at first.