Carl doesn’t like to beg for things. Doesn’t like to ask for
anything he can’t get himself. But the hunger that twists low in his gut when
Negan lowers the straight razor at last to the bathroom sink is something
starved and menacing that threatens to consume him, as it always is when it
comes to Negan, and he pushes himself off the doorframe. Slight movement that
catches Negan’s eye in the mirror where he’s wiping excess shaving cream off
They just stare at each other for a few seconds. Negan
knows, he must know what Carl wants, but he just stands there, eyebrows
slightly lifted, amusement twisting the corner of his mouth. When Carl draws in
a breath it feels solidified into his lungs.
“I want—” He hesitates. Walks forward until he is standing
at the sink, Negan turned to face him, hip cocked against the counter. Carl’s
hand flutters out of its own accord like a foreign thing through the air and he
watches his fingers come to rest on Negan’s smooth cheek. The skin feels dry
and a little rough in places and Carl strokes his thumb over the line of the
cheekbone and watches fascinated as Negan’s eyes briefly shut.
Carl’s thumb moves down to Negan’s mouth. Simple, easy
gesture that sends shocks like lightning through his whole body. That hunger
twisting in him, opening its mouth, ready to devour. Negan’s looking again,
amber glass eyes like the sun in a beer bottle. Carl’s mind flits to the way
Negan’s stubble had scraped his jaw the last time they kissed, the power in
Negan’s movements, the rough virile taste of him nothing like anything Carl had
ever experienced. He wonders if it would feel the same, now. If every part of
kissing him would be as smooth and clean feeling as touching his face.
“Would you…” Carl swallows. He hates begging, but he hates
waiting even more. “Could I…”
Negan’s skin is warm and a little wet where his lips have
parted around Carl’s thumb. “C’mere,” Negan says, quiet tense needy voice, and
when Carl steps forward another inch Negan lifts his hand—gently, so fucking
gently—off his mouth and kisses him. Bending his body down and forward so he
can reach Carl, and then lifting him up a little so as to set him on the sink.
Bracketing him in with his legs and one arm, the other cradling Carl’s jaw as
they both like. Kissing him with that new soft smooth warm skin rubbing against
Carl’s face, the lips plush and red and bitten.
Carl reaches out, rests his hands on Negan’s ribs. It’s
fucking amazing, like always, to kiss Negan, to feel that new smooth skin on
his and know it belongs to him, but he was wrong about one thing. The kissing
is rough, and slick and hot and messy, feeding that starved ache that’s spread
through his whole body now, and Carl moans, his hips jerking forward, and it
isn’t clean at all.
Merry Christmas to my darling Gutter Flower Secret Santa, @captainswanismyendgame! Jenna, it’s been a delight, and I hope I was sneaky enough! I hope you enjoy this one.
A post-Dust Storm AU.
A rising talent in Nashville, Killian Jones locks eyes with Emma Swan from across the room. There’s instant chemistry, but he’s still nursing the heartbreak that brought him here, and she’s fresh out of an engagement. Just maybe it’ll turn out differently this time, though…
Rated T for some salty language and innuendo, and ~1500 words.
It’s an odd thing, Killian realizes, being so at home in a bar when you don’t drink. But here he is, all pre-show nerves and adrenaline, still with that undeniable sense of belonging even through the stress.
He tells himself he doesn’t need a beer to get him through this, that it’ll be fine without it. On some level he knows it will be–it’s been a year since he turned back to his music, and now he’s here headlining this show.
He takes a deep breath to steady his racing heart and runs his fingers through his hair before replacing his beanie.
When the waves come rolling in, and lightning fills the sky, All the sailors know that the leviathan is nigh! If he grabs onto your boat, he’ll never let you go Soon you’ll join a thousand ships he’s sent to the depths below!