Archive of Our Own

“You look tired, buraz.”

Negan hadn’t fucking asked. He hadn’t asked the Croat to come join him in looking out at the sun setting over a handful of the blocks they claimed as their own, and he sure as shit hadn’t asked for the man’s opinion of how he looks.

“I suppose age comes for all of us, no? But this stress, it’s not healthy.”

His voice is so sickeningly sympathetic that it makes Negan turn away from the view, the cold wind grabbing at his jacket. He sneers at the Croat, rage rising up like bile inside him. “The marshals hanged three of your men out by the docks. Those fuckers are on the island now, and I still have to deal with those shits from above the park too.”

“Negan.” The Croat’s hand settles on his shoulder—he can’t fucking stand how touchy-feely the psychopath is with him; he never keeps his goddamn hands to himself—and Negan shrugs it off roughly before he puts some distance between them. The Croat spreads his hands placatingly instead, that creepy sycophantic smile stretching across his lips. “These marshals… it is their mistake to come to our home. They will not know what has hit them when we avenge our fallen. With your plans, your energy , they do not stand a chance against us.”

His plans, his fucking energy. If it was anyone else, Negan would think they’re scraping for brownie points, but the Croat has never tried to conceal his open admiration for him. He didn’t even like that shit back when he ran the Sanctuary, and it’s even more grating now, when he doesn’t want to fucking be here.

“Look how far north you’ve already brought us. It’s a shame to have lost men, yes, but now they fuel our progress across the island.” The Croat shrugs and gives him a casual smile. “You worry too much, buraz.”

“The marshals aren’t some ratty ass survivors that’ve been living off scraps for ten years,” Negan snaps. They’re fucked. Not that he wasn’t fucked before, or that he hasn’t been continually fucked since Maggie tracked him down in that shitty motel, but he’s especially fucked now. “Marshals have guns. They know what they’re doing. Maybe if you hadn’t trained your people to see death as a goddamn promotion they wouldn’t be ending up as biters so often.”

“I admit, I am not such a talented leader as you are. But I am confident that, with your guidance, we can accomplish anything we set our minds to. This is all ours for the taking.” The Croat steps closer again, and Negan wants to take a step back and retreat into the lonely dark interior of their headquarters. Leaving would make it easier for him to keep himself from pushing the Croat over the railing into the street or just ramming his fist into his chipper face as hard as he could. But he has appearances to maintain. He can’t leave and he can’t fight back. 

The Croat might be right about their odds of success, but, truth be told, Negan doesn’t fucking care. The only reason he’s here is to keep these assholes off Maggie’s back; Hershel—and Ginny; oh fuck, he’s sure Ginny fucking hates him—deserves some peace. Even if he somehow managed to make it off this godforsaken island, the Burazi would be hot on his heels, and they’d show him more than a toe before dragging him back into this hell. It’s easier to just endure it and be mad about it, to take pieces of that anger out on the Croat, who generally lets him do whatever the fuck he wants. 

“This is not so different from how things used to be,” the Croat continues, and he must know Negan wants to be left the fuck alone, but at least Negan doesn’t have to contribute to the conversation if the Croat’s gonna keep on entertaining himself like this. “You were already well-established when you took me under your wing, but there were still always threats lurking. Times were often troubled. And yet, you were never quite this… gloomy.”

Negan gives him a withering stare. Gloomy? He’s here against his fucking will; he has a right to a bit of fucking gloom. 

“No, no,” the Croat chuckles, “back then, you always had a… spring in your step. You were always so active and full of life. I don’t doubt it’s because you kept your time occupied not only with the needs of your people but also with more pleasant pursuits as well.”

Negan’s lip curls in disgust. Time to shut this shit down. “You’re not my type.” The Croat laughs, almost bends over with the force of his hysterics, which just pisses Negan off more. “What’s so fucking funny?”

“I never…” The Croat wheezes, waving his hand at Negan. “I would never think to impose myself on you, buraz. No, I was thinking of your wives. The pleasures of the female form.”

“That shit is done.” Negan’s voice is hard and definitive, and he can only hope that the Croat can’t hear the anxiety building at the edges. “And it’s none of your goddamn business.” He can’t risk having the Croat think about the only woman he’s seen Negan have contact with: Maggie. He has no idea what the Croat might do to her if he thought Negan was interested. 

“It is my business if you’re having trouble focusing. Needing a release—there’s no shame in that.” The Croat is even closer now. Negan can barely hold on to the hope he’s thinking more generally, reminiscing about Negan’s wives and not about the woman he’d most recently seen Negan kicking ass with.  It’d been stupid of Negan to underestimate how good the Croat is at reading him even after all this time apart—it seems that he’s still an open fucking book.

“I’m fine,” Negan growls through gritted teeth, turning on his heel to stalk back inside. Of course the fucking Croat would ruin the goddamn sunset. The threat implicit in his tone goes completely ignored; the Croat knows Negan can’t lay a goddamn finger on him.

There are Burazi hanging around in the adjoining hallway, casually leaning against the stained walls and picking at the tattered hems of their sleeves. Negan is afforded a high degree of awe and adoration here, but that doesn’t mean the people trust him, especially not the Croat, who doesn’t go anywhere without a guard or two. Paranoid little cockroach. 

“You are a proud man, an accomplished man, but all men have weaknesses.” The Croat has the fucking nerve to follow him as he storms back toward the room they were so kind to allot to him. There’s not even a single goddamn window; it’s just like being back in that dank cell in Alexandria, and why shouldn’t it be? He’s a prisoner again.

And the Croat is practically chasing him into his shitty little cage, yapping along at his heels like a murderous Yorkie. It’s infuriating how they expect him to play at being the master, to accept and enjoy having that role forced upon him, while he’s really their fucking attack dog, made to plan and execute their conquests. At least the Dama acknowledges that she’s coercing the fuck out of him, holding the safety of everyone he gives a shit about over his head, but the Croat is dead set on pretending that Negan’s still some great leader, that this is just the Sanctuary part two. Bullshit. Negan would never run an operation this goddamn unhinged.

“Negan.” The Croat’s voice is clear and sharp, cutting through the cloud of false kindness that so often surrounds him to strike fear into Negan’s heart. “A word, please.” There’s still that playful aura on the surface, but Negan can hear the menace he’s seen destroy so many people lurking just beneath. He stops just outside his door.

“You know how important it is to everyone that we take control of the city.” The Croat is watching him, eyes scanning over his face, only the ghost of a smile curling his lips. Negan shivers, and the chill winter air is only partly to blame. “Take the time to settle yourself. In the morning, we will decide how to handle the marshals, and then we can keep moving north as planned.” 

His hand settles on Negan’s shoulder, and Negan almost flinches. He’s seen those hands covered in blood, and he knows no one here would defend him against the Croat’s savagery, if it came to that. He can’t let it come to that. “There is no room for all this… misguided emotion. Do you understand?”

There’s no other option. He made his choice when he agreed to help Maggie rescue Hershel. So Negan nods. “I get it.”

The Croat smiles. “Good. I’ve provided you with all the materials you’ll need. Enjoy yourself.” He gives Negan’s shoulder a hearty pat and leaves him there, unease gnawing at his guts like a biter. He wouldn’t… but Negan knows that the Croat fucking would, and it’s with that sense of dread that he opens the door and enters the dark room.

Even before he turns on the lights, he can tell there’s someone else in there with him; there’s the sound of fabric rustling coming from in front of him. Knowing what was about to happen still doesn’t diminish his shock when the lights kick on and illuminate Maggie, lying on his bed and bound at the wrists and ankles to the frame. 

“You!” she snarls, and Negan realizes he must have been staring. There’s a bruise darkening across her cheekbone but at least she’s still got her clothes on. “What is this, some kind of sick revenge? This is how you choose to get back at me? You nasty fucking son of a bitch!” 

She thinks he ordered this? She thinks he wanted to have her here, tied up and left for him like a present, like some kind of fucking object? She thinks he would ever stoop so fucking low?

He hurries over to the side of the bed as soon as he’s processed the scene in front of him, fingers flying to the ropes attaching her to the headboard. “What kind of monster do you think I am, Maggie? This is just as much a surprise for me as it is for you, believe me.”

“Believe you? I thought you were dead! I thought he killed you! I thought I sent you to be tortured and killed!” Maggie’s voice rises in volume and pitch as she berates him. She yanks her hand free as soon as Negan has the binding loosened and immediately reaches over to start on the other one. “But here you are, sending your little errand boys—”

“They’re not my fucking errand boys,” Negan groans, starting on the rope around Maggie’s closest ankle. “And I sure as hell didn’t send anyone anywhere to do anything to you! Fuck, Maggie, as soon as they showed me Hershel’s toe, I’ve been working my ass off to make sure they don’t go back and collect more.”

“What the hell do you know about Hershel’s toes?”

“The lady in charge here, the Dama, she showed me her little souvenir to assure my cooperation.” Negan’s heart is racing; he’s hopped up on adrenaline. He has to make it absolutely clear to her that he doesn’t want any of this. That they have him over a barrel. He has to make Maggie understand that he would never do this to her—everything he’s done has been to protect her and her kid. “It’s been made very fucking clear to me that if I don’t play nice, it’s gonna be you paying for it.” 

Maggie laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “I left you to die, and you’re still trying to protect me? You would never .” There’s a crack in her voice where Negan would expect venom. It seems like there’s some element of disbelief in her tone, like she can’t decide whether or not he’d ever really help her. It fucking hurts. 

“So why am I here, then? It seems like you would have tried harder to hold up your end of the deal if you really care so damn much. But it’s still costing me.”

Negan winces. No matter what he tells Maggie or what she believes about him, she’s right in pointing out that she still ended up here, tied to his bed. Whatever changes he makes now, whatever ways he tries to be good to her, he’ll still be fucking her over in the end. “I told you about the Croat. About what he’s like.” Partly because of Negan’s own tactics—that’s the shit that keeps him up at night. “He gets people. Understands them in this fucked up way of his. He…” 

There’s no good way to put this, so Negan pauses, not sure how best to tell Maggie what he can only assume the Croat’s up to. It’s just too deeply insulting to the both of them. The Croat’s using Maggie as Negan’s simultaneous reward and punishment, a reminder of his power over him and an attempt at placating Negan’s own fury. A different target for his anger. For his misguided emotion. 

“He’s trying to motivate me, I guess.”

“Motivate you? To do what? What do they want with you?” Maggie pulls her hand free from the rope just as Negan unwinds the last knot around her ankle. She’s watching him with those intense green eyes, and Negan feels like she’s staring into his goddamn soul. He can’t help but approach her, stepping forward until he’s at the head of the bed, close enough that he could reach out and touch her.

But then the guilt rises in him; whatever he says, Negan knows Maggie’s gonna assume he’s just falling back into his old patterns. That he’s just the same murderous charlatan who bashed her husband’s head in right in front of her. The bruising on her face and wrists… even though he didn’t order this, never wanted it at all, it’s still his fault. If he hadn’t been such an unrepentant asshole, if he hadn’t shown the Croat how good it feels to be feared, it might have been possible for Maggie to find peace.

Negan deflects Maggie’s question, shrugging and rolling his eyes. “Does it fucking matter?” It does—he’s been trying to avoid thinking about where the Dama and Croat are going to target next after they’ve taken the island. “What I’m concerned with right now is kicking the shit out of that motherfucker for dragging you into all this. He’s gonna be missing a lot more than his goddamn ear when I’m through with him.”

“Not if it’ll make them go after Hershel.” Maggie’s still just looking at him. Appraising him. God, she sounds tired. Negan gets the impression that her anger’s cooled off a bit, and now she’s sitting on his bed, knees drawn up to her chest with the dirty soles of her boots planted on the covers. It doesn’t bother him; Negan would let her do whatever she wanted. “Negan, I thought they killed you. I thought I left you for dead.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He’s shocked, almost alarmed, at how small her voice sounds. Is she trying to apologize to him? Isn’t she the one who’s wanted him dead for years—for good reason? “Besides, I’m sure shit would be easier if I was.” Negan cracks a crooked grin.

“Don’t say that.” Her voice is hard, and he feels like he’s being scolded. “If this really isn’t your idea of revenge,” she sighs, “and I’m inclined to believe it’s not, then we’re gonna have to work together to get out of this.”

“I’m flattered you don’t think I’d lower my standards to this kind of behavior.” Negan’s teasing now, a real smile irrepressibly spreading across his lips. Upon considering Maggie’s words, though, his face falls. “But you can’t get me out of here. I’ll do everything I can to get you home, but the second I fuck up, there’s nothing keeping these assholes from burning the Bricks to the ground. I can’t let that happen to you.”

Maggie’s brows knit together, and her expression darkens. “You can’t be serious. Come on, now, you know I…” She pauses, and her tongue darts out to lick over her lips. It immediately catches Negan’s eye and monopolizes his attention; the thought of Maggie’s touch and the sublime power she’d held over him that one night months ago freezes him to the spot. “You know I owe you. What you did for Hershel… for me… I’m not going to let you rot here.”

“That’s not your fault. You did what you had to do.” It’s strange to be the one explaining this to Maggie of all people. He’d thought he knew where she stood, but apparently not. “I took one for the team. And I’d do it again.”

“You aren’t listening to me.” Maggie’s unfolded herself, and she stands on her knees to move closer to him. Her slender fingers bury themselves in the front of his jacket and drag him in until they’re basically nose to nose with each other. Negan stops breathing; his focus has completely narrowed in on Maggie’s eyes, her lips, her defiance. “Stop with the self-pitying bullshit. I thought we were past that.” 

And then her lips are on his, plush and soft and slightly wet, and he leans forward and cradles the back of her head in his hand, letting her hair flow between his fingers. It’s so intimate, so personal, and Negan is absolutely greedy for it. But he doesn’t push. Maggie leads the kiss and Negan is more than willing to let her; he remembers how good it feels to have her be in control, and his cock starts to stiffen at the thought alone. 

Her tongue presses against the seam of his mouth and he lets her lick into him; she feels out his tongue, the roof of his mouth, the backs of his teeth. Negan pushes back against her gently, chases the taste of her and trails his own tongue against the sharpness of her canines. Maggie hums in appreciation and tugs at his bottom lip as she breaks the kiss; her hand had found its way to the back of his neck and it slips now along his shoulder when she pulls away enough to breathe. 

“Weren’t you the one who said we make a damn good team?” Maggie’s slightly breathless, lips swollen and red and damp with spit. “I’m taking you back with me.” 

Negan’s cock twitches. He’s getting hard fast, fuck, it’s so easy for Maggie to get him so goddamn hard. The way she makes him that promise, so confident and certain, the way she looks at him, like she knows him better and deeper than anyone else would dare, the way Maggie is has him by the fucking throat.

“And how can I repay you?” His voice is rough, raw want dripping off the syllables, but he’s past caring about looking weak in front of Maggie. She’s seen him worse. 

“Take a guess.” She grabs fistfuls of his jacket and starts tugging it off, and he’s only too happy to let her, getting up onto the bed as he helps take off his layers.

Maggie’s hands are all over him, moving down his chest to his stomach to his belt, and Negan can’t hold back a groan even before she squeezes at his hard-on. “You been thinking about me?” he asks with a ragged laugh, enchanted by her apparent eagerness.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she scolds, but she’s opening his belt and undoing the button of his jeans, so it’s hard to imagine she’s really that mad about it. “You shouldn’t read too far into all this.”

Negan’s feeling bolder now, and he doesn’t hesitate to unzip her jacket and toss it to the ground. “Are you really telling me you’re only doing this because you feel bad about me ending up in this shithole?” Negan grins at her as they work on her flannel and the sweater underneath; he reaches for the clasp of her bra as soon as it comes into view and discards the article immediately. “Is this some kind of pity fuck? I won’t say no, but damn, Maggie, you wound me.”

“What happened to the man who was begging to eat me out?” Maggie quips. She tangles her fingers in Negan’s hair and drags him in for a bruising kiss; their mouths clash together in a blend of sharp tongues and aching desire. 

Negan smiles against her lips and brushes kisses along her jawline. He relishes in the tight pull on his scalp and how her knuckles dig into his skull the whole way. “You must’ve been thinking about all that a lot if you’ve managed to hold onto that little detail. Guess you must be using your memories to keep you warm through the long nights, huh?”

Maggie just rolls her eyes, apparently not even willing to dignify that with a response. She lets Negan position himself over her, her grip tight around his waist as she tilts her head to the side and exposes the pale length of her neck to his sloppy kisses. His right shoulder twinges when he puts his weight on it and leans in closer; it’s mostly healed from her stabbing him, but the ache just reminds him of everything that binds them together. It’s a good kind of pain. Maggie gave it to him. 

“You’re more of a bastard than the last time I saw you,” she tells him, but she doesn’t complain when he cups her breast in his hand and rubs his thumb over her nipple. 

“Well, you know how to shut me up, if that’s what you want,” Negan hums. His lips brush against her pulse, and Maggie’s fingers wind themselves tighter in his hair. “But I guess I could beg for you, since you wanna hear it so bad. That’s it, isn’t it? You just wanna hear how much I dream about you riding my face until you can’t fucking take it anymore, that I fall asleep thinking about you putting me in my place.”

Maggie shifts under him, flushed and breathless, and she pushes his head away from her soft skin, hands falling away from him. Negan looks up at her and sits back on his heels, his eyebrows raised in the slightest expression of amusement. 

“And you think your place is anywhere near me?” she asks, a biting tone lurking just beneath the surface.

He moves back farther, situating himself over her knees. “I think my place is wherever you want it to be.” There’s a moment of eye contact between them, Maggie staring him down like she’s trying to decide once and for all if he’s actually worth all the trouble. But Negan’s not worried; if anything, he’s just flattered to have made it even this far. Maggie had fucking kissed him. 

Maggie chews on her lip for a minute before reaching for her belt. “So help me, God, you better be good at this.” 

Immediately, Negan’s yanking her boots off and helping her work her jeans down her legs. He doesn’t want to seem too eager, but he hadn’t been fucking lying when he’d told her he’d been thinking about eating her out. He hadn’t been able to get the idea out of his head since she’d ridden him, but he never thought he’d actually get the chance. Not to give the Croat credit for his sick kidnapping scheme, but this is an unexpected upshot of the whole clusterfuck.

He doesn’t waste time dealing with his own pants, instead settling himself between Maggie’s bare legs and reaching for a pillow to prop her hips up with. Having her there in front of him, exposed and already wet, has Negan struggling not to lose his goddamn mind as he wraps one hand around her thigh and grabs her opposite hip with the other. 

The scent of her is rich and heady as Negan leans in toward her heat, kissing along the unblemished skin right at the top of her thigh. He wants to capture the taste of her, imprint it on his tongue so he’ll never forget what it feels like to be nestled here, sucking gently on the sensitive flesh. Negan gets the impression that it wouldn’t be smart to leave a hickey, not sure if such a reminder of his presence would piss Maggie off, so he doesn’t linger too long in any particular spot.

When Negan abandons her thighs and turns his attention to Maggie’s clit, her breath catches noticeably in her throat. Negan just licks another long swipe over her, and her hand immediately finds its way into his hair again. 

“Harder,” she tells him, and Negan obeys, delving into the task ahead of him with fervor. 

His hand comes down off her hip to spread her open wider for him, his fingers stroking along her folds in time with his tongue pressing over her clit. Maggie swears from above him, and Negan hums in approval as her hips rock against his face. He dips lower and licks over her opening, tongue exploring the edge of her cunt as his nose digs into her wetness.

Maggie twists herself to the side, and Negan moves with her, totally willing to let her use him how she sees fit. His beard rubs up against the soft inside of her thigh, right where it meets up with her pelvis, and she gasps and pulls him closer. Negan listens to the implicit direction and he moves his whole face with each drag of his tongue over her, brushing the coarse hair against her tender skin again and again.

She keeps rutting against his face, and Negan can’t fucking get enough of it. The way she tastes, the way she moves, it’s all making his cock throb insistently in his jeans. He’s drowning. He wants to see her come so goddamn bad, wants to be the one who caused it, but there’s no point in trying to pretend that it’s anything near an altruistic desire. Maggie is so fucking sexy like this, letting him get her off. Trusting him to make her feel good. It’s not forgiveness, but, as far as he’s concerned, it’s in the same goddamn family.

“You’re not bad at that,” Maggie huffs, and Negan can feel her thighs twitching under his fingertips. Just like last time, she’s taking what she wants from him, and he’s going to give her everything he can. 

He strokes her with his fingers, teasing her opening as they slip against her wetness. Maggie makes a sound of approval; a choked “Go on…” rasps from somewhere above him, and Negan lets his fingers enter into her, crooking them against her heat as she moans. 

She’s so good, she’s so fucking good and he can’t believe she’s letting him do this. Negan sucks at her clit, laves his tongue over her with passionate vigor as his fingers keep pistoning into her. The sounds she’s making are going to make him lose it if he’s not careful; the little keens and breathless moans are making his goddamn head spin. He’s wrapped up in the full sensory experience of her, from those precious whimpers to the sharp tugs on his hair to the musky tang of her arousal suffusing his mouth and nose to the thick wetness under his fingers and tongue. Negan can’t imagine how he’s lived without her for so long.

He wishes he could tell her, but it’s pretty damn clear what Maggie wants his mouth doing, so Negan shows his devotion in the way he puts his all into making her feel good. Every minute movement she makes against him draws his notice and tells him where he needs to direct his attention, and he listens; he wants to keep her so high on pleasure she’ll forget the nasty circumstances that brought them together, both this time and all the times before. It’s not enough, it’ll never be enough, but like this, between her thighs, he can dream.

And, fuck, does Maggie make dreaming worthwhile. Negan eats her out like he’ll never get the chance to do so again. She’s perfect, she’s writhing under him, swearing under her breath, and now she’s raking the nails of the hand not in his hair down his forearm. He’s so caught up in her, in her wild energy, that the pain just amplifies the experience. She can mark him up however she likes: the scratches on his arm, the scar on his shoulder, the long-since-healed cut on his collarbone, whatever she wants.

“Keep going!” Her demand is ragged, and he obeys without question, pistoning his fingers in just the same spot and moving his tongue in a constant swirl. Maggie shudders and pulls him in as close as he can go, his face pressed into her core as she bucks against him. 

“Fuck!”

Negan can feel the pleasure rippling through her as she rides out the waves of her orgasm, each spasm accompanied by little gasps and moans. She’s so fucking wet around his fingers; the moisture drips all the way down his aching wrist. 

Negan keeps going until Maggie pushes him away, and he looks up at her through his lashes as her slick drips down his lips to catch in his beard. She looks fucking wrecked; her flushed chest is still heaving slightly as she comes down from her peak, and her hair is in disarray. Her damp lips are parted slightly, and Negan feels the urge to crawl up and kiss her, to push the taste of her into her own mouth until she’s whining for him again.

“Aren’t you gonna get undressed?” Maggie asks, and Negan sits up onto his knees, slowly dragging his fingers out of her. She stretches her legs out and fixes him with a smug expression. “I assume you’re feeling a little hot and bothered, or is that not for me?” 

Negan doesn’t even need to glance down. He knows exactly how goddamn hard he is and how his cock must be tenting the fuck out of his jeans. 

“You want this?” he asks. If she says no, he’s gonna have to find a way to jerk off without making this awkward, but something about Maggie’s expression tells him that’s not going to be an issue.

“You said you wanted to make me feel good, so go on ahead.” Maggie bends her knees and shows off her wet cunt again. “Or are you too tired? I thought I’d let you do the work this time.”

“I am not complaining,” Negan chuckles, fingers flying over his belt as he shimmies out of his pants. “As soon as you give me the go-ahead, I’ll rock your fucking world, Maggie.” He discards his jeans and underwear onto the floor and lets Maggie get a good eyeful of his cock—fuck, she licks her fucking lips as she looks at him with a dark gaze, and she motions for him to come closer.

Negan’s not going to say no to that kind of offer, and he surges up the bed toward her, kissing under her jaw as he grabs his cock by the base and rubs himself through the wetness at the apex of her thighs. Maggie takes him by the chin and redirects him into a full kiss, their lips pressed against each other in a heated frenzy. He can’t help but groan into her mouth.

“Goddamn, Maggie, you don’t know what you do to me…” His kisses quickly lose focus as he pants against her face, sweaty forehead pressed to her cheek. “I never thought…”

“Stop treating me like I’m fragile.” She’s serious as shit, eyes stern when she reprimands him. Negan’s cock twitches.

He grabs her by the thigh and hikes her leg up, wrapping it around his waist. “If you insist.” 

Maggie’s eyes slip shut as Negan presses forward into her, and he can’t help but swear as his cock sinks into her velvety heat. Immediately, his hips snap forward, and he drives himself deeper into her. Maggie groans, full-throated and rich, and she reaches around to scratch down his shoulderblades. 

The pain is electrifying and drives him further; Negan’s grip on Maggie’s thigh tightens as he sets a powerful pace, and her whole body moves with the force of his thrusts. Droplets of sweat trace down her temples, and she arches her back when Negan finds a sensitive spot inside her.

“You are so fucking incredible,” he breathes against her damp throat, his forehead resting against her cheek. “You’re so fucking strong, Maggie, damn. Squeezing me so tight, too.”

It’s exhilarating getting to let loose like this, to have Maggie let him—command him—to fuck her as hard as he wants. Negan would be worried about blowing his load too soon if he had any room in his mind for rational thought, but it’s all taken up by the overwhelming rush of pleasure at being buried balls deep in Maggie’s cunt. Sure, it’s just sex, but the fact that it’s Maggie, that Maggie wants him to be doing this, has electricity running down Negan’s spine.

One of Maggie’s hands finds the back of his head and tugs at his hair until he meets her eyes. Her gaze is so intense it makes him shiver, and he swears under his breath. He’s utterly captivated.

“I thought I killed you,” Maggie says, and there’s something raw and bitter in her tone. Not disappointment at finding him alive, but almost anguish that she thought he wouldn’t be. That his blood would be on her hands. He’s not going to let her ruin this with overthinking.

Negan chuckles. “I’m not that easy to get rid of.” He kisses her, pressing his tongue into her mouth and keeping her from giving him some complex reply. The only response he wants is the one she ends up providing when she hitches her other leg up and digs her knee into his side. Maggie practically bites at his lips, ferocious in her intensity, and Negan moans into her mouth when she draws blood.

Maggie’s hips are rocking under his, chasing his thrusts with her own and making stars burst behind Negan’s eyelids. She’s so goddamn into it that it’s almost unbelievable; Negan can’t help but wonder if her assertion from the previous time, that the sex wasn’t about him, still holds true now. But that’s a question for after they’re finished here, and that hopefully won’t be for a while yet, because Maggie has him on an incomprehensible high. 

He breaks the kiss eventually and trails bloody nips and murmurs down Maggie’s jaw. Her nails are still sharp pinpricks on the taut muscles of his back, and Negan can’t tell if he’s just sweating or if she’s actually cut him open. He lets her leg slip down onto the bed and reaches between them, her skin burning under his touch. It’s not gonna take much longer before he reaches his peak, and he wants to have Maggie come apart before he does.

The angle is awkward, but Negan doesn’t care, and all thoughts of discomfort are banished when Maggie cries out at the contact of his fingers on her clit. She ruts against his hand, and he keeps sliding his cock along that spot inside her, trying as best he can to get her off. There’s no way she can’t be close with how wet she is around him, with how her breath shudders on every exhale. 

And then she has him by the bicep and the back of the neck and she’s pulling him to her so she can muffle her scream in his collarbone. Negan can feel her shaking her way through her second orgasm, and her stifled moans vibrate through his whole chest. Fuck, he’s seconds away from losing any shred of sanity he has. The next moment, she’s biting him, that sharp, devious, wonderful mouth closing so near his throat, and if he doesn’t pull out right fucking now she’s gonna kill him as soon as she floats down to earth.

Negan yanks himself away with effort, even though the temptation of coming inside her burns brightly right in front of him, and his hand finds his cock for just a few strokes before he’s painting Maggie’s stomach with his spend. Maggie just watches him, and Negan’s eyes flick down to the mess as he opens his mouth to start an apology, but any intention of doing so flees his mind when Maggie runs her finger through the white splatters. She brings her finger up and places it on his tongue; Negan tentatively closes his mouth and sucks gently.

“There you go,” Maggie says, and her voice is still low and breathless. Holy fucking shit. Negan wishes he could go another round.

Instead, he flops onto his back next to her, the bed almost not big enough for the both of them. The silence between them stretches, almost to the point of awkwardness, until Negan breaks it.

“I’m gonna kill these bastards,” he promises. “They never should’ve laid a finger on you.”

“We’re gonna kill them,” Maggie says. “So tell me everything you know, and let’s get to making a plan.”