Carl's bed is loud, a loose antique metal frame that has rust peeking out from chipped away white paint. Each thrust of Negan behind him makes a jarring clanging sound, and the mattress is squeaking something awful. Normally Carl wouldn't let Negan fuck him like this, so loudly, but his daddy isn't home today.
The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and Carl Grimes is harmonizing with punched out moans as the man on top of him (older than his own dad, don’t think about it, think about it, don’t think about it, think about it) grunts out saccharine-sweet words that twist in his gut.
“So fucking perfect for me, sweetheart, so fuckin’ tight.”
Carl’s pale fingers are gripped on the (prison) bars of the frame, dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, the frame noising along with his soft ah-ah-ah’s. If someone had told him a few months ago he’d be begging to get stretched open by a man who bashed in the brains of someone he called family, he’d spit in their face. But now that same man spits in his mouth and Carl guzzles it down like spring water.
Carl doesn’t get to have a lot of secrets anymore. His favorite ones are stolen moments on his knees, under the stars with big strong hands in his hair, tugging tugging tugging. Negan never makes him feel embarrassed for creaming his jeans just from the feeling of a cock down his throat, or grinding against a leather-clad thigh. Negan always just gives him that wolfish grin and pats his cheek tenderly, followed by a filthy wet kiss.
“You know how to stroke an old man’s ego, darlin’.”
Yeah, like Negan needs his ego stroked.
Carl likes it best like this, though. Getting thoroughly fucked in his own bed, messing up his own blankets like maybe he’s a normal teenager with a normal boyfriend. Like there isn’t a hole in his head where violent thoughts make a nest. Like he hasn’t been contemplating asking Negan to fuck him with a gun to his head, stripping his dick bare just at the thought.
Carl can hear the ocean of heartbeats in his ears when Negan comes, filling him up with warm spill. Carl wishes he could keep it inside himself always, wishes the outside world would just go away and he could waste away his life in his room with Negan. Wishes his dad would never come home, so Negan would never leave. Carl knows Negan would leave in the end, though. Negan may talk about how much he loves Carl's pussy, but he doesn't really have the parts to baby-trap him.
This is Carl's favorite bit, when they're laying in bed together after Negan's had his fill. He lets Carl pepper his face with kisses and trace patterns on his chest, sometimes he even pulls Carl under his arm and he'll drift off to the smell of mansweat and the feeling of spunk leaking down his thighs.
When Carl wakes up the bed is empty. He drags himself to the bathroom to shower, cringing at the sound of the front door opening as his dad gets home and reality breaks through again.
