villagelogs | 037-040 » the reason for time

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037-040 » the reason for time

WHO: Everyone.
WHERE: Eastern/Central Mathias
WHEN: Day 037-040
WHAT: The dead return and the living wake to changes within Mathias Township.
WARNINGS: Some explicit sexual content in threads. (PM this account to have a warning added!)
NOTES: Plotting post over here!

RECOMMENDED ♫ Kammarheit "Sleep after Toyle, Port after Stormie Seas"

DAY 037
THE DEAD RETURN
“The only reason for time is so that everything
doesn't happen at once.” —Albert Einstein
The dead return to Mathias forever changed by their experiences. Waking along the beach, near the tree line, or among the graves, they will find that their bodies are not as they remember them. They are whole again and not torn to shreds by the shadow creatures that cannot be described, but they are also not as they were before the Hunt. These residents will find, so strangely, that their bodies are in the physical state in which they first arrived in Mathias — any injuries or recovery they have made since their initial arrival no longer exists, as if their time in Mathias has simply been a horrible nightmare. Except they all now carry a last reminder of the Hunt with them: spiderweb-thin healed scars marking their injuries from the Hunt. Those who were injured by fire in the other realm also carry those burns with them.

The dead are not the only things that have returned to Mathias. Inexplicably, fall is back, with the temperature finally reaching above freezing and snow falling from trees to reveal beautiful autumnal colors. As the sun rises higher in the lightly cloudy sky and the day warms, the snow begins rapidly melting, puddles growing in the slowly revealed grass and little rivers forming in the streets. And with that snow comes the frozen blood from the deaths to the Hunt, tinting the street river on Phillips Drive a sickening shade of red.

Another oddity that residents will notice: houses with broken windows from the encounter with the fog on Day 015 have now been completely repaired, though any boards put in place are still there somehow. A small bit of good news, at least? And truly, how kind of Mathias to clean up its own mess.

Finally, alcohol is back. Enjoy in moderation, friends, for more will not be arriving the following morning.

THE NEW ARRIVALS
The newest arrivals to Mathias will wake up on the beach near The Grey Gull. It's quite chilly out with their wet clothes, but surely there's something to help warm them inside the restaurant. Indeed, their timing is perfect, for alcohol has finally returned to Mathias Township — and not just the cowboys' homemade moonshine.

DAY 038-039
THE CHANGE OF SEASON
The continued warm weather proves that the unseasonable shift of the previous day was not merely a fluke. Once again, the sun rises and brings with it a temperature that feels almost spring-like, save for the fact that each day there seem to be more and more leaves on the trees in hues of red and orange. For those who have been in Mathias for some time, this new type of weird may be almost normal at this point, but newer arrivals will likely find it quite odd.

The gently trickling river running along Phillips Drive is still somewhat pink in color as the snow continues to melt and refreeze each night. By Day 040, the bloody snow will finally be gone completely, though the relief will be... short-lived.

DAY 040
THE BLINDING WHITE
In the late morning of Day 040, when the sun is visible through patchy greyish clouds, the fog sweeps into town like a like a tidal wave. It moves in quickly and without warning, not from the waterfront but the forest, cascading through every street in a thick wave of white. Rather than a soft blanket enveloping the town, it is a heavy weight pressing down, blotting out the sky in a way that almost feels suffocating, for none can see further than their outstretch hand.

Those outside when it rolls in are left wandering blind, stumbling toward shelter as you're unable to even see your feet beneath you, let alone any obstacles in your path. Perhaps you call out for help, hoping for another voice to guide you toward shelter or simply another living soul. Or perhaps you were lucky enough to already be inside when the fog descended, quickly closing doors and windows to keep it from creeping in.

Unlike the last time the fog swept into the town, residents who encounter it are not immediately killed. Instead, they are simply disoriented, possibly losing their sense of time and place, and it is only after prolonged exposure that they will begin to feel off. A sense of being ill will cling to them if they are in the fog for too long, including dizziness, lightheadedness, or nausea — the time it takes to manifest varies from person to person, as does the duration it will last after leaving the fog.

By nightfall, the fog still has not dissipated.

CONDITIONS UPDATE

— THE WEATHER conditions are fairly typical for late fall: chilly "sweater weather" days and nights that can dip just below freezing. You don't want to be outside without a coat, but it won't kill anyone if they bundle up. Probably.

— THE FOG remains blocking the paths in the forest beginning a few dozen yards past the treeline, urging residents to stay huddled within the town proper, and it also now blocks the western section of town, beginning just past Hill Lane, before where residents know the chasm in the earth to be between Hill and Stine Road. Venturing into the fog blocking these areas is ill-advised.

— DISAPPEARANCES continue. Castiel and Sam Winchester have vanished, and Dean Winchester has not returned with the others after his death during the Hunt.

— THE GRAVEYARD has now seen around a dozen burials, both below and above ground. With the weather warming, though, something may need to be done about the handful of temporary graves aboveground...

— ALCOHOL has returned to Mathias! A small stock of beer and cheap wine may be found at the General Store, and some homes may have a small store of alcohol in the fridge or pantry. The Grey Gull has also been restocked with its lower-end offerings of a variety of alcohol types. Alcohol does not replenish in the same way as food.

— THE GREY GULL has been cleaned up and stocked with moonshine. Along with the newly restocked usual offerings, the place almost seems like an actual bar again.

— THE GENERAL STORE is in a bit of a state following the brutal slaughter of two residents during the Hunt. Cleanup on aisle 3, anyone?

OOC NOTES

— FOOD is now being mysteriously restocked as per usual, including inside homes and at the General Store. Alcohol is not being restocked. Use those rationing skills, friends.

— REWARD REDEPEMPTION is back and will soon have a new option for anyone looking to spend big AP and learn a bit more of the lore of the town.

— MADNESSES due to the Hunt have been earned by Klaus Hargreeves, Ellie, and Malcolm Bright and may now be claimed. Players may also claim additional sanity loss from the aftermath of the Hunt; only losses from the Hunt itself have been deducted from totals thus far.

— SANITY REGAIN is now available! Players will submit a form with some details of the progress their character has made and the mod will review and decide on the numbers of points that will be regained.

— MOD STATUS The usual reminder that it's mostly just Amy steering this ship for now, so things will probably be pretty slow for a while. Apologies in advance, and please don't feel shy about pinging me if you're stuck waiting for something.

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Bold and presumptuous of him to assume that Doc would share a bed with him. At least this time he's not wrong.

"Big enough for two or am I going to end up on the floor?" Because this seems to be a bad habit that they're developing, where Doc lets Negan have the bed. It actually stems from an ingrained sense of being kind and courteous towards the older folks - not that Negan is that old, and technically Doc is older in the magnitude of generations - more so than any kind of attraction or masochism. Although Negan probably misattributes his intentions anyway.

"A nice bed and hot food is more than I can hope for." At least Negan had taken Doc somewhere nice. Unlike a certain Marshal who tried to make moves while they were trapped in the underground tunnels.

"Plenty big enough for two." If he thought for a moment that Negan was letting him have the bed because he falls under older folks, he'd insist on the floor out of sheer stubbornness. Fortunately, Negan just assumes it's just hospitality and Doc being a good guy under the usual irritation Negan receives.

"Suppose we could wrangle us up some dinner that doesn't involve lipstick or nail polish if you're getting hungry." There's something around here surely.

"You'd be surprised at my prowess in the kitchen..." Not that it matches some of their housemates' tastes, but he can whip up some fine spaghetti and good old fashioned American stables at least.

"Well if you are going to cook for me. Who am I to turn such a gracious offer down?" Although one could argue that lipstick and nail polish would only add to the dinner experience. Doc isn't expecting a Neal Caffrey nine course intercontinental extravaganza and considering he was contemplating cat food not so long ago, he's probably going to be difficult to disappoint.

"Shall we finish this game first? You look like you might be winning this round."

Hey, he wants to charm Doc, but he's not about to put on lipstick and polish to do it. He'll just have to be content with Negan braving his fear of anything that could cause a potential flame to cook him dinner.

"Oh, we are for damn sure finishing this round. Remember that kiss we got on the line? You better pucker up, buddy." He'd rub it in that maybe Doc's not an absolute winner at every card game, but-- you know. He's not looking to start bickering or fighting when there's other things their mouths could potentially be doing.

"Then you can sit your sweet ass in here while I go get dinner ready for us."

"I'll get better after a couple of learning rounds," Doc excuses his poor performance with. He might try a different tactic later, play numbers first and colours if there are no matching numbers, get Negan to draw more cards earlier, see how far he can get.

"Don't get too carried away now." There's only so many places Doc is willing to place that kiss unless he loses three times in a row. "There are only so many degrading things I am willing to do in the one night."

"Sure you will." Not going to stop Negan from trying, just so he has something to hold over Doc later.

"Oh, don't worry, sweetheart... you keep as much dignity as you want. I am perfectly fine being the one degraded all night long though, just saying." He gives a playful wink aimed at Doc as he places a card down and since he's only got one left--

"And I think that's Uno, motherfucker."

"My, you do have an awful competitive streak," Doc drawls in quiet observation as he plays a yellow seven. It's the only thing he can play, and he just has to hope that Negan doesn't have a yellow or a seven. Or maybe hope that he does, if it means he's going to finish the game and try to initiate some kind of post-apocalyptic mating ritual by cooking Doc dinner.

Idly he has to wonder if he gives off gentleman in the streets and freak in the sheets vibes, or if this is just Negan's usual brand of taunting. Certainly he would like to think of himself as fairly charming and self-restrained.

"Sounds like all talk and no substance to me. I would hate to make you cry."

"What's the fun in it if you're not playing to win, right?" He does have a competitive streak. Although honestly, he's vulgar with pretty much everyone he meets, always has been. Half because he likes to see the reactions and half because that's just who he is... or maybe it's all just a game of power and making damn sure everyone knows he's a prick right off the bat.

Right now isn't for deep thought though. Right now is about Uno and getting that fucking kiss.

"Oh, I'm not the one that's gonna be crying, Doc." Because guess who has the winner this round. That's right, it's this asshole right here.

There's a slow grin that tugs at his lips, a waggle of the eyebrows. "You ready to let me collect my prize?"

Doc neatly closes his fan of cards and sets them face down on the table. With a small sigh, he rubs his hand down his thigh before reaching up to adjust his hat, in case Negan wants some tongue action that most decent men would no longer constitute a kiss.

"Very well then. Where would you like it?" He would hate to be perceived as a sore loser and he's done worse things drunk. Hell he's done worse things sober. A bit of degradation is tolerable.

There's nothing wrong with a little tongue action, but he thinks Doc might actually be a biter so probably best to not risk it this soon in the game.

"Lips, of course." He could have said something dirtier, but hey, he actually doesn't want to sour the evening before they've even had dinner.

And because Negan is a man who does shit and doesn't wait for it, he leans forward to go for that kiss, one hand reaching out to rest at the side of Doc's face and guide him in for an entirely nice and proper kiss, no forced tongue action and nothing too lewd. See? He can be a fucking gentleman if he wants.

Doc tips his head where he is guided. It should probably feel more unpleasant than it does. But it just feels like a kiss. One hand reaches out to hold Negan's waist, sliding down slowly to his hip. It probably should have been chaste. Tongueless. Brief.

Doc doesn't realise how not chaste and not tongueless and not brief it is until he realises his back has hit the couch and he's got Negan on top of him, his hat lying upside down on the floor. His hand still rubbing the outside of Negan's thigh while he tilts his head the other way and lifts his head off the cushion, chasing nips and nibbles tugging on Negan's lower lip between his teeth. The fabric of his pants creak as his legs, limited in their movements, try to find the edge of the couch cushion or the armrest to dig his heel into so he won't drop off the edge or risk Negan rolling off of him and breaking the coffee table next to them.

Well. At least Negan's definitely right about one thing. Doc is very, very likely to be a biter.

See, Negan had expected a little peck and then he'd be on his way. So to say he's a little bit surprised when there's grabbing and sliding down on the couch is probably an understatement, but-- goddamn is it nice.

He doesn't even realize how not brief it's become even by the time he's reaching out to brace himself against the arm of the couch as he settles over Doc. It's all about the firm, warm body underneath hims and all the eager groping of that wandering hand that leaves a wave of want coursing through him. This part's always easy for Negan to sink into. This part's always been extremely fucking easy actually, falling into a heated rhythm with someone else, foregoing any goddamn rational thought on whether it's a good idea or not.

All that matters is the off-handed satisfaction knowing he's right about that mustache tickling and the way his free hand sliding down over Doc's side and down lower to see just how far he can get with groping through those tight jeans.

He might not mind that biting so much, actually. There's a sly smile into that kiss as teeth pinch and nibble at his lower lip before there's the teasing brush of a tongue, a coaxing to let him delve in even deeper to get a proper taste.

If they're going to make out on the couch like a couple of teenagers, they might as well go all in, right? At least until one of them makes the wrong move and ends up on the goddamn floor or something.

He'd gone from a month of behaving and keeping his hands to himself to a lot of things happening in quick succession. It's not like he doesn't know what Negan's been gunning for. The man is not exactly known for being subtle. But he doesn't know if Negan is after a trophy, if Doc is just another wife to add on the list of whores he's fucked, if he's after the man they made Doc Holliday out to be or if he's fine with the man in front of him writhing on the couch, or if he's after something else altogether.

Honestly, he should probably care, but he doesn't. There doesn't seem to be a middle ground in between being a harlot and a dirty little secret. He's fine with occupying either extreme.

That hand grabbing his ass earns Negan a quiet little moan but when it dips too far between his legs the whimpering morphs into a low growl. Doc bucks up from the couch and nearly snaps his knees shut. A fist twists in Negan's shirt while his other hand splays over the side of Negan's chest, inadvertently palming his nipple as he pushes up firmly against him and turns his head away to break their kiss.

"Easy," he hisses, swallowing the lump in his throat, breaths coming fast and shallow as he relaxes again. "You're gonna get me hard in these pants." And then they won't be able to come off.

Considering he's not sure if that whole Doc Holliday shit is real or this guy's just batshit crazy, he's definitely fine with the man who's writhing under him on the couch -- whoever he is. He's entertaining, he's definitely hot when he's moaning under him, and he's not half-bad company when they're both not spitting venom at each other in annoyance.

As for whatever this is-- maybe even Negan doesn't know. Sex is the last good goddamn thing they've got, something they're hardwired for even when everything else is shit. Everything is definitely shit right now and Negan's definitely seeking some sort of distraction with somebody he actually kinda likes. Doesn't have to be about trophies or wives or anything besides getting in these fucking obscenely tight pants and making each other feel good for a little while.

Or that is what it'd be about if legs weren't snapping shut too quick for him to get any further. There's still a low rumble as hands twist in his shirt and it takes a hell of an effort to not chase those lips, try to get them right back to where they were with the mindless pawing and making out. He relents though, his hand sliding back up higher, rubbing over the outside of his hip in a far more soothing motion.

"And that'd be a shame," he manages after a moment, voice low, a little rougher. Lips move to what's now exposed of Doc's neck, grazing over the skin there first before closing over the pulse point.

"I don't suppose it'd be more agreeable to you if I got you hard out of the pants, right?" Unless Doc tells him to fuck off and make dinner right now, Negan isn't sure that's gonna happen anytime soon.

"Wasn't joking when I said I know a trick or two to do with my mouth."

The couch doesn't seem too happy about the two bigger-than-teenage men kicking and humping on it, groaning and creaking as Doc slowly ceases his struggles as Negan gets closer to finding his off switch hidden in that curve where his neck melds into his shoulder.

The dozen things rolling about in his mind, the worries, the reservations, the things he finds really grating and frustrating about Negan slowly empties out as he nods a few times, agreeing without complaint. His own hands drift lower to help loosen the belt and undo the button and zip, although it's going to take a lot more kicking and writhing if he's going to try and take his trousers off by lifting his butt off the couch without getting up properly.

"If it'll shut you up," he quips breathlessly, all bark and no more bite once he falls a little more still again beneath Negan. Has he told Negan lately he's annoying as shit? It's been a while by now, surely, and he's overdue for a reminder.

"Oh, I know not to talk with a full mouth, don't you worry." Doc can call him as annoying as he wants, but he's the one dropping his fucking jeans real quick here. Not that Negan is complaining.

Eager lips move over the expanse of his neck and shoulders as Negan's hands slide down to tug at his trousers, sliding them down. They don't have to come off properly, they just need to come down enough for Negan to claim his prize. Fingers brush over warm skin along the tops of his thighs and in.

"But you-- you should make all the goddamn noise you want." There's a grin pressed against Doc's skin as he palms over him again -- this time there shouldn't be any complaints or snapping his legs together, right?

It would kind of ruin the image of the stoic and cool gunslinger to be howling like a common whore - nevermind that he's quite a prolific one - but he's slowly coming undone by the promise of release after days (perhaps weeks) of pent up frustration with this place, eager to reconnect with someone from a house that was lonely and quiet for a day too long, someone who's clearly been working away at him chipping at his resolve for about as many days as they've known each other, someone he thought he was going to die with and ended up having to take care of Negan's remains anyway (selfish asshole that he is), and Doc's not kicking up too much of a fuss right now letting Negan tug on his loose threads.

He's not Lucille. They can't make amends for the marriages they wrecked, like this. But he'll never be too sick to put out ever again and Negan would likely never be too tired to fuck either. That's all this is - just a fuck to cut the tension that's been building since the museum. There's no emotional misattributions or complications at all. They can both do just sex just fine.

Those legs don't move too much this time around and Negan gets at least one noise out of him, a quiet, low little sigh as his hips move encouragingly, stomach going taut as a hand finds its way through short strands of dark, oddly soft hair. His other hand starts to wander, not too low as to get in the way, but low enough to get under the hem of Negan's shirt and tug it up partway, enough to feel the hard and soft edges hiding beneath those layers of an oddly familiar tough, hardened exterior.

Maybe what Negan needs right now is something that makes him feel alive, something that gets his blood bumping and his heart racing... something that just fucking makes him feel again, and not just all the bad shit piling up. He doesn't want to think about the cracked skulls and burnt faces he's left behind, or the teeth and claws that sunk into his flesh that night outside their house here. He damn sure doesn't want to think about the fire that bit at his skin and burnt all the way down until the bone, how it had been absolute agony.

He doesn't want to think about how fucking useless he feels since his arrival or how eager people are to fucking help one another without an iron grip keeping them in line.

Maybe part of him is thrilling in the fact he's worn Doc down after however many days and he gets to sate all those curiosities he's had about the man. No one can ever be Lucille, that fucking angel was one of a kind. And Negan will never be the wife Doc had and lost. But they can help each other out with the physical stuff at least, ward off a little bit of the frustration and loneliness as it sets in. Or they can spend at least one night sating whatever the fuck started between them at that museum.

He tilts into Doc's fingers as they push through his hair, a sigh leaving his lips. For a peaceful goddamn minute, all he's thinking about is the body underneath his, the hands touching him. He pauses long enough to tug his shirt up and off the rest of the way. Tattoos and scars, new from the recent shit that's gone down and old from living in a goddamn apocalypse, stand out against his skin here and there. He's thinner than he was before the apocalypse and a little softer in places he probably wasn't as a much younger guy, but there's still a strength there. The kind that comes from having to work hard, fight hard for a damn long time. Nothing to be ashamed of, really, if Negan was ever the sort.

Without any resistance given, a rough hand wraps around Doc's dick properly, stroking him to full mast as his free hand pushes at his shirt to get underneath it, eager to see and touch and explore while he can. At least until it's time for him to sink down on to his knees and put those skills he promised to good use. "Well, you are most certainly not a disappointment, are you?"

Hey, his mouth isn't full yet. Being quiet does not apply.

He's never found himself to be particularly curious about Negan beyond the uncomfortable history they shared with each other in the museum. He was a little curious about the end of the world perhaps. Idly he had wondered about Negan's wives. Not Lucille - that tragedy he understands. The other women. But none of these things ever really held his interest.

Right now though, as he's peeling back that outer layer, he thinks the scars might be a little interesting. The tattoos. They were not as prolific or colourful as they could be today, or used as a fashion statement. Blunt nails rake over scar tissue, finding similarities here with Raylan although he's actively trying not to think about Raylan, what they got up to last night. This is different. Negan is not the endearing kind of asshole he's fully warmed up to. At least, not yet.

"I do try," he hears himself say, raspy and hoarse between laboured breaths as Negan gets him achingly hard using just a steady hand. Kind words go a long way into worming into Doc's good books, even if it is blatant flattery. He can't take his own shirt off whilst lying down and geting jerked off like this, but his affinity for button-up shirts does make it easier to undo at least a few buttons and forgo needing to take it off properly. He doesn't share the same scars that the three recently dead men are sporting, but he did not manage to survive the frontier completely unscathed. The many years that have passed have done him great favours in making the old scars fade, but if he's an impostor he did go to great lengths to get himself stabbed and shot, the unevenness and stitched ridges still evident in his skin upon such close inspection.

Doc manages a half-hearted attempt at lifting his head, watching Negan's hand work him hard before he groans and sinks back down into the couch, swallowing the hard lump in his throat. At this rate using his mouth would just be a formality. The back of his hand runs over Negan's warm skin, down to the tent in his pants where it lingers without attempting to get him further undressed. He's careful not to knee him in the crotch but there's a couple of close calls when the sensation gets to be too intense and involuntary squirming nearly costs Negan his family jewels. Maybe the couch isn't the best place for fucking it out like teenagers.

"Have you even done this before or have you just been talking shit?" Doc asks, voice cracking a little exasperatedly.

He's never been the endearing kind of an asshole, really. The fact that the majority of the house seems to think he is is still something of a novelty. He's used to being the tough asshole people fall in line with because he seems like he knows what he's doing, or the bastard the strikes fear into them that they wouldn't dare step out of line. He gets a few laughs, sure, connects with people here and there... but his life hasn't really given him many opportunities to want to be seen as anything that could leave him vulnerable.

Blunt nails draw down over his skin, over scars, and make him draw in a sharper breath. His own free hand smooths over Doc's body, trace over old scars... maybe one day he'll ask the stories behind them, but right now? Right now, his attention is firmly on the way Doc moves under his hand, each sigh or noise he draws from those lips.

"You keep asking that, Doc," he points out with an amused huff. "Starting to think you want details. I've slept around with a lot of people for a lot of different reasons... I don't have to talk shit."

And he doesn't go on to give any details either, even if he could. Bringing up Klaus in front of the fire had caused enough of a stir and he doesn't want to give Doc a real reason to kick him in the crotch.

Speaking of-- He rearranges himself into a more comfortable position. His fingers stay wrapped around the base of Doc's dick while his free hand goes to put some steady pressure on his hip, just to keep him in place. A hot, slick tongue works over his cock at first, Negan getting used to the taste of him, the feel of him before his lips wrap around him proper.

He might not be a fucking deepthroating porn star, but he seems to know enough of what he's doing as he sinks down and takes more of the cowboy into his mouth. The weight against his tongue, the taste of him have him moaning out like one too -- whether that's for show or he's really getting off on a dick in his mouth probably doesn't really matter much either way when the vibrations hit sensitive skin and Negan looks to be into it. Besides, he doubts Doc will last too much longer anyway.

Frankly, he doesn't want to know those sordid details. He expects people to respect his entanglements with others as his own business and he would do the same. A simple yes/no would have sufficed, honestly, but who is he to stop a prideful man from boasting about his various exploitations?

A misbehaving hand grabs a fistful of Negan's hair as rapidfire panting and gasping lets the occasional whine and moan slip. Nothing's really worth waiting over a century for but it really has been that long since he's had another man's hot mouth on his dick and it sure feels like Negan knows what he's doing.

Before he can tear Negan's head straight off his shoulders, his white-knuckled fists end up in the couch, gripping and tugging while he tries to keep relatively still. Save for the occasional writhing and trying to shy away from the intensity of hitting the back of Negan's throat, perhaps saving them both the twinge of embarrassment if he ends up blowing his load too soon, he's mostly succeeding.

"Christ--" The back of his head makes a dull thud as he squeezes his eyes shut and tips his head back, hitting something on the way. He grabs Negan's hair again, pulls, unapologetically hard, a wordless warning to not ease up at his own peril.

Jesus fucking Christ, that's a hell of a grip that Doc has in his hair at first, tangled in tight. The noises he's drawing out, the very real reactions he can feel in the tension throughout the cowboy make it all worth it though. He's had very few moments of actually enjoying himself since he came back from the dead again, but this is one of them for sure. He's not thinking about the things he can't escape from, he's not thinking about his own mortality.

He's just focused on the cock sliding past his lips and the whines he earns.

And sure, swallowing might not be his favorite thing, but Doc's not making him want to stop even with the warning tug at his hair. The painful pull against his scalp earns a hungry moan, a jolt going through him at the sensation that makes his neglected cock twitch in the confines of his own trousers. Fuck, but that hair pulling is as hot as everything else.

Doc slumps a little lower, curled up and squashed a little compactly in the couch. Negan keeps his legs mostly still, saves them both an incident involving an errant knee and chest or chin.

In amidst the noisy fidgeting and the tension building in all the muscles in his lower body there's a quiet sigh and a long gasp, a shaky, laboured, audible moan lost in a sigh falling from his lips before he cums hot and hard in Negan's mouth. He allows himself be a little more vocal, a little more animated catching his breath afterwards, grip slowly loosening in Negan's hair, hand tingling with a kind of numbness that's slowly permeating through the rest of his body. There's an inordinate amount of self-restraint involved in having the kind of ninja sex two companions have when they don't want travellers on the other side of a snuffed out campfire and innkeepers knowing about because they don't want any trouble in a time that had brought them nothing but trouble. It will take him several more trysts with men to unlearn that self-restraint.

His hand slowly falls away and it takes him a full minute before he starts trying to prop himself up with his elbows and straighten up in a couch that keeps trying to swallow him in between the cushions.

Oh, now that's what he wanted. The moan he pulls from Doc is one he's gonna remember for a long damn time in little private moments he steals for himself. He makes sure to milk it for as long as he can, until Doc is spent and gasping on the cushions of what is surely a fucked up couch by now.

He swallows and pulls away, sitting back flushed and breathless. He wipes his mouth absently as he grabs for the forgotten bottle of whiskey, swigging it down to wash the last bit of the taste out of his mouth. For now, he lets himself sprawl back on the other end of the couch to catch his breath, not a little bit ashamed of his own-- well, not-so little problem as he takes another pull from the whiskey.

"Well, are you satisfied with what I know now?"

"I've paid for worse. And you didn't bite," he concedes. He's not sure if being a better-than-mediocre cocksucker is something Negan wants to wear as a badge of honour though.

It's near impossible to be able to pull his pants up, stuff his dick back in and zip back up whilst sitting down so he just tries to arrange his unbuttoned shirt to look semi-decent while he sits there catching his breath. His eyes wander, with Negan still shirtless and a tent in his pants desperate for attention, but when he catches himself doing it he ducks his head and busses himself arranging his shirt again, covering up the most recent bullet wound by properly tugging his shirt further across his shoulder.

He would risk mockery by admitting to inexperience in same sex post-oral encounters so there's a moment's hesitation where Doc doesn't know what to say or do but doesn't want to be awkward about it. Does he offer to take care of that in return? Is he expected to bend over now? What does decorum dictate?

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CW: sexual content

oops that shoulda been there a few tags upstream 😆

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