A Slippery Situation
Summary: Negan eats some questionable soup while working late and encounters an alternate version of himself. This “Other Negan” may be a little older and shorter than him, but he might just have some things to teach Negan about oil wrestling and the love that a man can share for his ruggedly handsome TV clone.
Word count: 4,301
Warnings: Smut, Negan, Negan being Negan, Comic Negan being Comic Negan, submission, domination, anal sex, unsafe sex, oral sex, semen, drugs, mention of incest, mention of masturbation, and oil wrestling! Enjoy!
A Slippery Situation
From the very first spoon-full, Negan knew that the soup tasted funny, but went right ahead with his meal anyway. Hell, most things that came in cans had started to taste funny as they exceeded their best before dates by months and years. Besides this, the Sanctuary’s cooking staff were notoriously terrible at their job, so everything that left their kitchen tended to taste a slightly “off” at best, and barely edible at worst.
“I’ve gotta find some new kitchen bitches like fucking yesterday,” he grumbled to no one in particular as he raised the spoon to his lips and grimaced at the slightly sour taste that invaded his mouth.
The soup was so bad that on another day he probably would have had one of his men bring it back to the kitchen and tear a strip off of whoever was in charge of that night’s meal, but he was far too busy for those kind of shenanigans today. He braved his way nearly to the end of the bowl, trying to fill his empty stomach with the disgusting liquid while actually tasting as little of it as he could manage. He mostly succeeded and only retched once near the end when the soup had begun to cool to room temperature and the taste could no longer be masked by its initial scalding temperatures.
“Fucking good for nothing, lazy asshole fucking, so called fucking cooks. Fuck, fucking fuckity fuck fuck fuck!” he exhaled a long sigh of profanity after regaining control of his gag reflex, and pushed the nearly-empty bowl of soup away in disgust.
As he sat alone in his room, going over battle plans in preparation for another day of squabbling with Alexandria, he felt his mind wander back to the god-forsaken soup. Fucking Christ, how he wished he had time to personally march down to the kitchen and force-feed the cold leftovers of his meal to the first member of the staff he laid eyes upon. A tension headache began to gnaw into the centre of his forehead and he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, slamming his eyes shut.
“Oh fucking great! Just fucking marvelous! A fucking headache is all I need now…”