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Hershel had told her that she’s obsessed with him, and Maggie’s self-aware enough to acknowledge that her son isn’t wrong. But is that really such a sin? It is, when it means that her single-mindedness has driven her away from the people who matter most. And for what? For Negan? For a past that can’t be changed, no matter how much she tries to force it to take a different shape? For her own sanity? Maggie gets the impression that it’s been slipping away from her anyways.
There isn’t really any other reason aside from abject insanity for her to be standing here at the foot of Negan’s bed, watching him while he rests. His right arm lies across his chest, bandages wrapped around it from fingers to elbow, the black blocks tattooed over his long digits sticking out from the white cotton.
He’s peaceful like this. Maggie didn’t have to bring him back; once they’d crossed the river on the commandeered New Babylon boat she could have left him to drag himself to shelter, but she didn’t. No, she’d hauled his ass the few miles back to the Bricks just like she’d hauled him through the streets of New York. She’d already proved her point somewhere along the way.
Maggie walks up along the side of the bed, her eyes slowly tracing over the shape of Negan’s body under the thin blanket. He’s one of those people that just refuses to die, no matter what the world throws at them, and maybe that’s part of why Maggie hates him so much. But, if he were dead, that would be another part of her past lost to her forever. She needs him alive, and that definitely makes her hate him too.
She’s standing up at the head of the bed now, and she can tell by the way his chest rises and falls that he’s only pretending to sleep. They wait there in silence for a few moments, continuing the charade, until Negan decides he’s had enough and cracks his warm brown eyes open.
“How long have you been watching me sleep? Don’t worry, I don’t mind.” Negan smiles lazily. His voice is gravelly with disuse, and it stirs a distant burning in Maggie’s chest. “Are you coming to kick me out, or are you planning on cozying up and joining me?”
Maggie scoffs and crosses her arms. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“That’s fine, you can pretend you don’t want me all you like.” Negan winks. She honestly doesn’t know what she’d do if he lets on to anyone here that they’d—that they’d fucked a few times. Twice. That Maggie had been dreaming about his tongue and his pleading whines every night between those two times.
“But I’m guessing you’re gonna want me to get going pretty damn soon, right?” Negan’s still got that playful lilt in his voice, but his expression is more serious now as he awkwardly pushes himself up into more of a sitting position. “It’s not like you’re gonna let me darken your doorstep for long.”
Maggie just raises an eyebrow. Negan’s never really been one for honesty, but this kind of naive stupidity always grinds on her nerves. Then again, everything grinds on her nerves when it comes to Negan. “Go? Go where?”
Negan shrugs, still smiling. “Yeah, Maggie, go. I mean, it’s not like I can fucking stay here.” He meets her glare, and Maggie finds herself suddenly disarmed by the bland acceptance on Negan’s face. “I know you’re not interested in playing house. What, you’re not gonna go all Kathy Bates on my other ankle, are you?”
“Stop it!” Maggie snaps, voice laced with anger. Negan’s barely been awake five minutes and he’s already getting to her in the way only he can. “Stop with all the reverse psychology bullshit, or the sympathy bullshit, or whatever kind of bullshit it is you’re trying. I’m not letting you go out there to die.”
“Don’t pretend you want me here,” Negan laughs and rolls his eyes, almost like he’s making fun of himself. Like he thinks he means nothing to her. It makes Maggie feel strange in a way she doesn’t quite understand; she knows she shouldn’t want him to stay, but that hardly feels like the issue at hand. “I can’t expect you to torture yourself and put up with me for however long. We’re even now; you can let me go.”
“If I let you go, you’ll end up dead in my backyard. Until you can at least walk on your own, you’re going to have to stay here, no matter how torturous it is for the both of us.”
Especially since Negan had saved her life once again in the commotion of trying to escape from the facility they were being held in. The slash had been meant for her; the Croat had meant to open her throat in a spray of blood, but Negan had borne the attack instead, the blade slicing through his sleeve and carving a deep stroke into his forearm. It had been instantaneous, Negan’s reaction basically instinctual as he kept her once more out of death’s reach.
And then, after she’d nailed the Croat clean through the skull, Negan had gotten himself snared in a trap set by god-only-knows which faction and sprained the hell out of both his wrist and ankle. Maggie could have left him there, even, and she knows that it wouldn’t have surprised Negan if she had. But she’d pulled him, bleeding and limping, through the streets until they’d found the boat the marshals had used to cross the river.
It’s not about keeping score at this point; whatever they have has long since stopped being a transactional tally of lives saved and destroyed. There’s just the looming memory of pain and devastation and the unfamiliar catch in Maggie’s heart when she thinks about Negan and how devoted and obedient he acts on his knees. There’s the way Negan hates himself for her, the way he’s already decided how she feels about him and how she’s going to see things through.
“Come on, Maggie, don’t be such a pain in the ass. I can change my own bandages and I know how to survive; you don’t have to fucking babysit me. You have your boy, and we both have our freedom, so this is where we part ways.”
“Remember way back when we were at the survivors’ camp, and you were telling me we could get Hershel out?” Convincing herself not to stop and think about it, Maggie reaches out and lays her fingers across Negan’s lips. His eyes widen in shock even as she fixes him with a harsh glare, and he nods slowly in response to her question. “I thought you said you knew how to listen. So I’m going to need you to be quiet now.”
Maggie is steady, even as her anger threatens to make her voice shake. It’s frustration, not hate. She knows Negan can be better than this when he wants to be. “You keep putting all these words in my mouth.” The pads of her fingers press firmly over the seam of his lips, preventing him from making any objections, not that he’d be able to support them. His rough facial hair scratches at her fingertips, and Maggie can’t help but remember how it had felt scraping against her inner thighs. “I think you’re afraid of what I actually have to say.”
The puffs of Negan’s breaths tickle the fine hair on her fingers. He watches her with wide eyes, tracking every movement but still not offering any response. Maggie approves; the show of submission calms the anger bubbling inside her and helps it give way to more of that burning tension that’s been more the rule than the exception for them as of late.
That’s what Negan’s afraid of: that tension stretching tight between them until it snaps into passion, into want, into need, into the strange connection Negan can’t stand to be denied access to. And, like a wounded animal, he’s defending himself by lashing out, by making her take that shared something away now instead of delaying the pain until some later date.
“Even when you pretend like you’re trying to make things easier for me, all it means is that I have to coddle you.” Maggie sits on the edge of the bed, well inside Negan’s reach, although he doesn’t move a muscle. It’s like taming something you found out in the woods, teaching it the rewards of heeling over biting. “You want me to tell you you’ve gotta leave? You’re selfish.”
Negan flinches at that, not that Maggie didn’t know it would hurt. Still, she pulls her fingers away and makes like she’s going to get up. On some level, it’s still mind-boggling to her that she’s doing this for Negan of all people, but he’s been on this path of domestication for the better part of a decade now. And with their paths so intertwined and their presents also so irrevocably blended, who could blame her for taking up the responsibility of holding his leash?
He chases after her fingertips, arching into her touch even as she tries to deny him of it. “Do you really expect me to believe that you’d stay away? If you managed to find a way to survive, I’d never be able to keep you from getting underfoot.”
Maggie pushes him down by the shoulder, pinning him down to the mattress as she shoves the fingers of her other hand against his mouth. She leans down over him, avoiding the thick twists of scar tissue that designate the mark her own knife had made on him at the docks, and dares him to complain. Negan just tilts his head back to expose his throat to her attention.
“Everything has to be a fight with you, doesn’t it?” Maggie asks. She genuinely doesn’t know—what is there between her and Negan without conflict, without a spark that turns into a blaze? It doesn’t really matter, not in this world, and she can’t imagine a world where Negan keeps himself in check for long anyway.
Maggie didn’t think he would respond, but Negan parts his lips and laps his tongue momentarily over her fingers, his wet tongue softly pressed to her skin. She startles, grip loosening, and he bites her index finger playfully, smirking when she jerks her hand away entirely.
“You wouldn’t like it any other way,” Negan says, and his expression has already shifted from docile to one full of lust. Maggie smacks him on the cheek, light enough not to leave a mark but hard enough for it to sting. Negan barely chuckles, his dark gaze locked on hers.
“Don’t keep kicking this can down the road,” Maggie says, even as her heartbeat quickens. She can’t let herself get distracted now, even though it would be so easy and feel so good. She lifts her hand off his shoulder. He’s free to go. “I need you to be honest with me. Tell me what you want, and I’ll see what I can offer.”
“Come on, Maggie, don’t you think it’s better if we just…” He reaches for her, and she grabs his arm tightly by the bandages until he winces and pulls his hand back.
“You want to stay here.” It’s a statement, laid out bare for both of them to consider.
Negan sighs, and his expression falls into a kind of defeated moroseness. He breaks eye contact and instead stares at a point on the wall somewhere over her shoulder. “Look, I know I don’t have any right. I know you don’t…”
Maggie clears her throat. “I’m right here. Don’t act like you can read my mind.”
“Right, sorry.” Negan rubs his hand over his face. He looks weary now, even though he was so full of life a minute ago. “I know I fucked everything up—with everyone: with Ginny, with…” He glances at her for a second. Maggie waits. “Yeah, I’d stay here. If I could. I’d like to stay here.”
“So long as you pull your weight, I don’t see any reason why you couldn’t.”
Negan’s head snaps to look at her, brows furrowed tight over his eyes. “What are you talking about? You…?”
“I don’t have a problem with you staying here.” Maggie says. She’s not actually sure how true that is, but the thought of him leaving—of her driving him away—is somehow worse. Her seething resentment over the past is never going to go away, and Negan’s very presence does trigger that to some degree, but there’s also a new element that his being there draws out of her. A different, more welcome fire. “And I wouldn’t worry about Ginny. I’m sure you’re an expert at making amends by now.”
Negan chuckles brokenly and shakes his head. “You couldn’t have just said that? You really wanted me to go through the whole goddamn emotional turmoil of laying my fucking soul on the line like that? You are one sick piece of work.” His reemerging smile says he really doesn’t mind.
“All that self-pity was getting in the way of your recovery. I need you healthy if you’re going to be a strong member of the community here,” Maggie responds, effortlessly weaving into the verbal jousting Negan’s so good at teasing her with.
“I’m sure that’s not the only shit you want me in top shape for.” Negan raises his eyebrows and offers her his injured arm. “Won’t you kiss it better, Nurse Maggie?”
She settles her fingers back over his mouth, tapping his lower lip with the finger he’d nipped at. “You first.”
Negan parts his lips slowly, and Maggie can’t help but lean in, drawn forward by the magnetism of his charged, unflinching gaze. Her first two fingers slide into the heat of his mouth, curl down to press on his tongue, and he lets them settle there, his teeth barely making their presence known on her knuckles. He sucks carefully, a slight pressure around her intrusion, and drags his tongue along the underside of her fingers, twisting it between them. Spit traces down the corners of his lips as she pulls her fingers back, then fucks them forward again; he accepts the force of them against his tongue with an appreciative hum.
Maggie can tell that Negan likes this, that he wants her to be doing this to him. It’s all in the way he welcomes her fingers into his mouth, how he hollows his cheeks to serve her, how his eyelids flicker when she pushes deeper into the wet cavern of his mouth and makes obscene sounds echo in the chill room. There’s no denying that he really does have a hell of a talented mouth.
His hand—the injured right one, at that—comes up to wrap loosely around her wrist, his thumb supporting her palm so she can thrust more firmly into him. Negan’s other hand slips under the blanket, and Maggie would know damn well what he’s doing even if the telltale movements and sounds didn’t give him away immediately.
“You like it when I put you to work,” Maggie hums. She’s turned on by this, a heat building in her core that she’d like to address before she’s done here, but the scene isn’t affecting her nearly as much as it is Negan. “Do you think this makes it all go away?”
Negan shakes his head just enough for it to be an answer and swallows around her fingers, wrapping his lips taut around them. Maggie pulls back against him and hooks her middle finger behind Negan’s lower incisors as he lets his mouth fall open; her index traces back and forth along the ridges from his canines toward his molars.
“Stop that,” Maggie commands, and Negan’s hand stills immediately. His eyes meet hers, and she’s struck by how far-gone he already looks, the lust clearly clouding his judgment. “You shouldn’t be the one having all the fun—don’t I get something too?”
He tilts his head to the side, easing his way out of her demanding grip, and Maggie lets him go. He fixes her with a coy smile, and even with spit still trailing down his chin he looks sinfully good. “You’d have to tell me what you want, first. Or should I just let you lead the way?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t like it. I know you get hard the second I start giving orders.” Maggie stands up and starts working off her sweater, kicking off her shoes on the way as she unfastens her bra. Negan’s hands stumble as he hurries to take off his own clothes, the soft shirt ending up in a heap next to the bed as he tries to rush the process. The bandaged arm gets in the way, his injury forcing him to restrict his movements.
“How could I not? We—fuck—work so well together, don’t you think? You lead, I follow, and all that?” He sounds out of breath, and Maggie casts him a glance only to see that he’s struggling to work with the supports wrapped around his ankle.
Maggie snorts and pauses in her undressing. She steps over to the foot of the bed, clad only in her pants with her underwear peeking out from the unzipped fly, and leans over to help Negan get his sweatpants and boxers down over the splint.
“I feel like I better reiterate how much I appreciate you sacrificing your independence for me,” she says. “How many times does this make?”
“And I would gladly do it all the fuck over again,” Negan purrs, reaching for Maggie as she steps back to wiggle out of her jeans and underwear. “Just stop being such a damn tease and get over here.”
“I thought you said you’d let me lead.” A smirk twists the corners of Maggie’s mouth. “Maybe I should just take… my… time…” She’s bent over now, inching the last piece of clothing down her legs at a glacial pace, and Negan’s drawn-out groan makes her chuckle to herself.
“Maggie, you’re killing me,” he complains, and Maggie can tell he’s writhing around on top of the sheets. “You know I’ll do whatever you want. Come on, please, I swear on my fucking life I’ll be good.”
Maggie doesn’t believe that for a second, but she still straightens up and climbs onto the bed, settling her weight onto her knees and pushing her hand down onto Negan’s sternum. He lets her straddle his stomach, and his uninjured hand skates up her thigh to settle on her waist. Maggie thinks about slapping it away, but the warm weight is a comfort on her cool skin. She knows who she is, and she understands what this is well-enough, and she no longer feels the need to reject Negan’s solid presence out of a sense of self-preservation. It is what it is.
He’s looking up at her, waiting, trying to read something out of her expression. Maggie betrays nothing. “Give me your arm,” she says, and clicks her tongue when Negan’s hand starts to drag off her waist. “Other arm.” The position is a bit awkward, but Negan still manages to maneuver his right arm from its place at his side to present it for Maggie’s inspection.
She takes hold of his wrist gingerly, careful not to cause him any more pain like she had earlier. Negan’s other hand flexes its grip on her waist, and Maggie gazes directly into his eyes as she brings his knuckles to her mouth and kisses them. Her lips part, and her tongue laves over the lightly-furred skin, tracing its way over the wrinkles and scars on his hands. Negan shudders.
“Goddamn, you just fucking take me apart, don’t you? You know exactly what you’re doing…” Negan groans, and Maggie finds herself grinding down onto his stomach, searching for friction for her aching core as she holds herself steady with her right hand directly over the tattoo on his chest. She’s never asked about any of his tattoos—the only thing that matters is what’s happened between them; anything outside of that scope is as good as meaningless, and that includes things from before .
His tattoos are things he chose to decorate himself with, but Negan's body is also marked with the traces of a life spent fighting, wounds old and new dotting his skin. One across his throat, for provoking Alexandria’s wrath. Another at his shoulder, for trusting her. Three: forearm, ankle, wrist, for getting her out of New York. And, barely visible, the tiniest reminder of a nick on his collarbone, for surrendering to the passion brewing between them that first time. For surrendering to her .
Negan lets Maggie attend to his fingers. His thumb twitches against her jaw, but, for the most part, he molds himself to her desire. It’s a smart decision; if he tried anything she didn’t like, she wouldn’t hesitate to bite them off. It’s a good look on him, too; the respect and recognition he grants her is making Maggie lose her patience, the need to take this further rising up quickly inside her.
She drops his hand, lets him skim his touch over her throat, and he splays his fingers like he’d wrap them around the pale column. “Don’t even think about it,” she tells him, even though she can’t help the way her cunt clenches at the thought, and Negan grins at her like he can tell.
Instead, his hand wraps around her side to rest at the bottom of her shoulderblade, and Maggie leans forward to move with him. Their noses are almost touching; strands of Maggie’s hair reach down to tickle Negan’s cheeks. She doesn’t hesitate, not wanting to think about it any longer, and kisses him. Their mouths push together, lips parting, tongues chasing each other as the space between them blends into a single continuous battleground of pleasure.
It quickly becomes messy, Maggie nipping at Negan’s lips as he clumsily tries to hold her face with his bandaged hand. She reaches behind herself—his cock is hard and there’s precome trailing down it, and he gasps as soon as she wraps her fingers around it and gives him a firm stroke. Negan groans and tips his head back as Maggie works him, and she sits up on her knees to position herself over him.
“Maggie, please.” Negan’s fingers dig into her waist like it’d kill him to let her go. “Please, I gotta feel you. Need you so bad.”
His voice is rough and strained, and Maggie’s past caring if it’s really her that he needs or just someone to stick his dick in. If she really thought about it, she’d know the answer—not to mention her own answer to the same question—but that’s not what matters right now. Maggie wants Negan in her, wants to ride him until he can’t think straight, until they don’t have to think about anything at all and can leave the bullshit behind. This exists; this is what matters.
Finally, she manages to line him up and starts sinking down on his length—by Negan’s almost wounded-sounding moan, anyone listening in would have reason to think she’d stabbed him.
“You’re so loud,” she huffs. “Don’t you go waking everybody up, now.”
“Like it’s my fault,” Negan pants, and his right hand slips down to her bicep, fingers weakly curling around her arm as his left hand sinks to wrap around her hip. “You’re so goddamn wet and tight… You can’t blame me for losing it a bit. Be mad at yourself for feeling too good.”
Maggie grabs his chin and tilts his head almost painfully far back, and Negan hums in satisfaction, a wild laugh bubbling in his chest. Maggie’s heart races.
“You gonna punish me? Treat me rough for talking out of turn?” The anticipation in Negan’s voice is palpable.
“You’re just being a slut now.” Maggie rolls her hips, and Negan’s chuckles morph quickly into a low moan. “I liked it better when we were fighting.”
Negan curses, and Maggie’s way ahead of him, already bringing their mouths back together in a biting kiss as she starts setting a rhythm to her movements. His nails scratch across her flank as he reaches and holds her even tighter, and his hips rock in time with her motion. They move together, bodies melding in the sweaty press of skin against skin and the electric pleasure shooting through them.
It feels so damn good. Maggie’s own little noises, sighs and groans of pleasure, are muffled into the hot dance of teeth and tongues as Negan’s cock rubs against the sensitive spots inside her, sending sparks up her spine. And while it was thrilling to be completely in control, it’s even better to have Negan responding to her fully, taking charge of his own body and using it for their mutual enjoyment.
He knows how to fuck; he knows exactly what he’s doing with his thick cock when he drives it into her like that. It’s almost overwhelming, and Maggie’s lips slip down to Negan’s throat so she can rest her forehead against his cheek. She’s panting against his damp skin, her hot breath raising goosebumps on the sensitive flesh, and it’s all she can do to suck purpling marks into his skin as she keeps pistoning her hips and chasing her own pleasure.
Negan’s nails are a dull pressure in the small of her back that keep her grounded in the moment as it unfolds. He’s surrounding her, and it’s far from overbearing—she feels safe, protected even. Seen. There’s no time to think about it, and Maggie’s grateful for that. She gives in to the sensation and lets herself disconnect from the fears and worries that plague her. Maggie’s hand snakes down between them to start frantically rubbing at her clit.
“Fuck, you like that,” Negan groans. “I can feel you clenching on me… squeezing me so goddamn tight. Let yourself feel good, Maggie, fuck, come on…”
Maggie whines and presses her face into the side of Negan’s neck. She can taste his sweat on her tongue and can feel his speeding heartbeat under her lips. He’s so alive, so utterly human.
“Maggie, can I…?”
She doesn’t even let him finish the question before she’s nodding, every muscle tense with the need to come. As a consequence, Maggie gasps in surprise when Negan rolls them over with a grunt. He hikes her leg up with his injured hand, and she clamps it around his waist as thrusts back into her. Maggie moans loud and drawn-out, her fingers twisting into the sheets. His good hand replaces hers on her clit, fingers moving in tight circles over the sensitive flesh.
Negan’s strong. It doesn’t feel like he’s giving his injuries a second thought as he plows into her, taking care on every stroke to rub against the spot inside her that makes stars dance across her vision. Maggie arches her back, the sensations dominating her nerves as the fire burns ever brighter within her, the coil in her gut straining as she writhes against him. She claws down his back, desperate for something to hold on to, and the groan that reverberates through him only spurs her on. It feels so goddamn good. She deserves this.
It’s not long at all before she’s reaching her peak, her hips bucking up to meet his as the pleasure crests and cascades through her whole body. Maggie’s shaking, the release of tension a rush that leaves her trembling in its wake, even as the aftershocks of her orgasm continue to run down her nerves. Negan slows the pace to almost nothing, but catching her breath is still a challenge. Maggie pushes herself up onto her elbows and meets Negan’s heated stare.
“You looking to get yours? Get on your back again.”
He hurries to comply, pulling out a bit quicker than Maggie would have liked, but still obviously eager to obey her. It’s especially gratifying in her post-orgasm haze, which is probably part of the reason she’s feeling so generous.
“You shouldn’t be putting stress on your ankle like that.” Maggie rolls onto her knees and nudges Negan’s legs apart, getting down between them when he makes room for her. “The doctor told you to take it easy.”
She leans forward and braces her hand on his bony hip. Negan’s cock is glistening with her release and his own fluids, and she can smell the musky, earthy tang of both of them even before she drags her tongue up his length and tastes it bursting salty on her tongue. Negan makes some inarticulate low groan, his hand immediately reaching to cradle the back of her head, fingertips twitching against her scalp.
Maggie takes the head of his cock into her mouth, wraps her lips around him and sucks. The weight on her tongue feels right; she draws slowly back before she sinks just the slightest bit further down, not taking even half of his length into her mouth. Still, Negan is practically whining , high-pitched moans and cut-off curses making Maggie hum in appreciation. He cries out and tugs her hair.
“I’m gonna… Oh, shit, fuck, Maggie, your fucking mouth, goddamn!” His voice is so breathy, and it’s barely a few seconds later that Negan’s cock twitches and his warm release fills her mouth. Maggie crawls up his torso and kisses his parted lips, smearing the fluids between them as Negan’s arms wrap weakly around her. It doesn’t last forever. Nothing does.
They find their way next to each other on top of the sheets, two bodies damp with sweat and the evidence of their pleasure. They’re not touching anymore, a few inches separating them, but it’s more out of a need for them to catch their breaths rather than any awkwardness or regret. The one regret Maggie might have is that her mouth tastes so awful, but it comes with the territory. It’s hard to guess what Negan might be thinking.
Instead, she fills the silence before it can stretch too wide. “It’s settled, then. You’re staying here.”
Negan chuckles, and Maggie can see all the remaining tension leak out of him, leaving him exhausted and satisfied and smiling, head tilted back on the pillows. The hickies on his neck almost cloud out the scar across it.
“If that’s what you want.”
She thinks it is.