Chapter Text
“Get out,” Rick orders as he pulls open the door to the passenger seat of the truck, ushering his prisoner out.
Negan gingerly worms his way out of his seat, not an entirely easy endeavor given that his hands have been cuffed behind his back. A defeated sigh escapes him as his feet touch down on the ground of Alexandria again, the one place he had hoped to be free from once and for all.
As he had snuck out of the walled community just before dawn, he had been naïve enough to believe that his impromptu escape attempt would actually work out, but he hadn’t counted on Rick picking up his trail like a damn bloodhound. His life on the run had not even lasted a day before Rick had suddenly materialized before him like a freaking apparition from a ghost story. And Negan had been treated to the full-mounty cop routine as Rick had pointed his gun at him—get down on your knees, hands behind your head, don’t fucking move.
Shit, Rick had really gone all in, putting his authoritative, dominant side on full display as he had ordered Negan about, snapping the cuffs tight around his wrists and manhandling him all the way back to Alexandria, not letting him forget for a second who was the fucking boss.
And holy shit, there was just something about all that stuff that had… set Negan off, and not in a bad way.
Not at all in a bad way.
Rick slams the truck door shut and grabs hold of Negan’s arm, wordlessly steering him back to the basement and his cell.
Well, his fun is obviously over for this time around, but what can you do. At least his encounter with Rick’s alter ago, the commanding, assertive do-as-I-fucking-say cop, has given him some material for that mental folder of his, the very-much private one that he digs deep into during those lonely nights in his cell.
Contrary to his expectations, they don’t actually stop outside the basement, though. Instead, Rick steers him along in the direction of the infirmary, his hand keeping a firm hold around Negan’s arm, just on the right side of hurting.
“Hey, I’m not sick,” he protests. “But maybe you got yourself a medical degree while I was away and know better than me.”
Rick gives him a crusty look as they step inside the infirmary, which seems to currently house neither doctor nor patients. “We’re having the lock to your cell changed, so I’m keeping you in here until that’s been taken care of. In the meantime, you and I are going to have a little talk.”
Negan smiles. “Sounds awesome. I love little talks.”
Rick finally lets go of his arm and steps in front of him, drawing himself up, probably to compensate for being shorter than Negan.
“How did you get out?”
Negan shrugs innocently. “Through the door.”
“Very funny. You know that’s not what I asked.” Rick’s fingers reach into his pocket, fishing out a key. “But we’ll get back to that. First things first.”
He unlocks the cuffs and Negan breathes a sigh of relief right along with his grateful wrists and shoulders joints. Damn, those things were fucking tight. Rick’s not messing around here, that’s for sure.
Rick jerks his chin sideways to indicate the table where Negan assumes that Siddiq does whatever paper work a doctor does nowadays. “I’m going to search you, so put your hands on that desk and bend over.”
Negan rolls his eyes. Looks like the big-cop routine isn’t finished just yet. Then again, there’s that murky part of him that doesn’t mind one bit, because, truth be told, his knees go just that little bit weaker at how Rick seems to know just the right way to order people around.
Even so, he’s not about to give in that easily.
“Seriously, Rick, you think I have a fucking bazooka in my pocket that I just happened to grab on my way out?” His eyes make a quick sliding-down-and-back-up motion before his mouth splits into a wide grin. ”Now I know it might look like I have two hand grenades stashed down there, but those are actually my giant-sized man-balls. Honest to God.”
Rick’s eyes narrow as he jabs a thumb toward the desk. “Bend over. Don’t make me repeat myself one more time.”
Heaving a dramatic sigh, Negan walks over to the short end of the desk, grabs hold of the side edges and leans over. Apparently not far enough, though, because Rick is behind him a moment later, placing a firm hand between his shoulders and pushing him down until he’s splayed out on the surface, cheek pressed flat against the wood.
“Hey, easy, cowboy,” he objects as the desk’s sharp edge digs into his chest, making it a little harder to breathe, but Rick’s hand doesn’t ease off.
“If you have anything on you that I wouldn’t want you to have, now’s the time to tell me,” Rick says, exerting a little more pressure.
“Does the nineteen-ninety-eight Christmas edition of Playboy count?”
He tries to twist around to leer at Rick, but the man is having none of it as he seizes his arm and wrenches it up behind his back, rendering Negan completely immobile and helpless.
And fuck, if that doesn’t actually… turn him on, goddammit.
“Spread your legs.”
Negan complies as well as he can from his awkward position, and then a no-nonsense hand starts to move over his sides, pat along his legs, even feel across his buttocks—ooh, fuck—and dig deep into his pockets. Not that he has anything that’s in need of confiscating, but if Rick wants to make sure, well, he’s not about to protest because that shit is pretty freaking hot the way he’s going about it.
Being bent over the desk is damn uncomfortable, though, and he squirms a little. In response, the hand locking his arm behind his back pushes slightly upward, a silent warning that Rick could make him hurt for real. Taking a deep breath, Negan stills, trying to endure the treatment.
“You’re sure you don’t wanna do a strip search too while you’re at it?” he jeers, but the thought is not entirely disagreeable. In fact, a part of him wouldn’t mind one bit, and a shiver goes down his spine as he imagines Rick’s hands roaming all over his naked body.
And shit, his easily enticed mind is only too happy to play out the full scene in his head of how such a thing might go down.
“Take off your clothes, Negan,” Rick orders sternly. “Every single item.”
His breath speeding up beneath that intense, unwavering stare, he unbuttons his shirt, slowly letting it fall to the ground. Kicking his shoes off, he unbuckles his belt and tugs his pants off, then his socks.
With only the boxers left to cover him, he hesitates.
“I said, every single item,” Rick reminds him, his voice several notches sharper, an unspoken but unmistakable threat of the consequences that noncompliance will bring.
So Negan reaches for the waistband of his boxers and tugs them down so that he’s standing completely naked before Rick, exposed to whatever the man has in store for him. Rick’s eyes glide over his body, taking everything in, and Negan doesn’t miss the glint of approval in them.
“Hands behind your head.”
Again, Negan obeys, and his breath hithes in his throat as Rick approaches, a wolfish smile on his face.
“Don’t tempt me,” comes Rick’s flat reply before Negan is hauled back up to his feet and steered toward a chair in the middle of the room.
“Sit down.”
Negan takes a seat as instructed, watching as Rick brings out the cuffs again. His stomach gives a flutter, and it’s not with anxiety or apprehension.
“Put your hands behind your back.”
Negan cocks his head, arching an eyebrow.
“Is that whole shebang really necessary? I mean, heck, I know I’m a real badass and all, but isn’t that a bit overkill? You have an entire community outside that door who’d be fucking delighted to put a bullet in me if I tried anything.”
Though, that nebulous part of him actually wants Rick to snap those shackles shut around his wrists, cuffing him to the chair, rendering him completely defenseless and at Rick’s mercy. Because… damn.
“Don’t make me force you, because it’s only going to hurt. For you.”
And that look in Rick’s eyes is enough to send Negan’s brain off once again, treating him to a graphic reel of what would happen if he actually refused to obey Rick’s order.
“Fuck you, Rick,” he snaps, throwing the challenge at his feet like a glove at a knight’s tournament.
Rick moves like lightening and before Negan has a chance to lift even a hand in his defense, the man is behind him, viciously yanking his arms up behind his back, twisting them into an impossible angle.
“Don’t fuck with me, Negan, or you will regret it,” Rick growls into his ear, voice full of menace. “You’re not in charge anymore, so you do exactly as I tell you or you will suffer the consequences. Do you understand me?”
He struggles, trying to get his arms free, but it’s like being locked inside a vise, not an inch of yield in any direction. Rick’s only response is to tug harder at his already aching arms.
“I said, do you understand me?”
“Yeah,” he grits out, going limp beneath Rick as he lets all struggle cease, knowing that he has no choice but to surrender. “I understand.”
“Good. Because I won’t have anything else than your total, absolute obedience.”
The voice moves in closer, almost a caress in his ear. “However, if you comply and submit, we can have a much nicer time, Negan. You understand what I’m saying?”
“Whatever you say, chief.” Negan gives what he hopes is an insolent grin as he reaches his hands back, his breath speeding up just a little as the cuffs snap shut around his wrists.