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Rick’s more than a little buzzed.
In his defense, it’s been a while since he’s had anything to drink. The last time he remembers having more than a single glass was back when they’d first come to Alexandria and he’d gone to Deanna’s party, and even then he hadn’t had as much as he's had tonight.
He’s the first to admit that he doesn’t hold hard liquor very well, never has and never will. Anything more than a beer will loosen him up and make him giggly and giddy in a way that he rarely ever is when he’s sober, which may have something- or everything- to do with why he’s currently wandering the mostly-empty streets of Alexandria, taking swigs from a half-empty bottle of rum and walking clumsily, but with purpose, away from the gathering at Rosita and Tara’s house.
It had been a good party. Carol had come to visit from the Kingdom, Maggie was taking a rare break from running the Hilltop to stop by for a reunion- and a few drinks. It was like old times in a way, and it had reminded Rick of the night they’d spent drinking and making merry in Gabriel’s tiny church years ago.
But he’d left, making off with a bottle, determined for some reason only half-known even to himself to go visit the last person the rest of his friends and family wanted to see.
It’s with careful footsteps that he makes his way down the stairs leading to the basement cell, guided by the warm glow of light coming from below. His boots hit the dusty concrete floor, and he’s greeted by a confused, disoriented noise from the man across the room.
“Who the fuck’s- Rick?” Negan sits up in bed, squinting through the bars at Rick’s unsteady form. “The hell are you doin’ down here so late?”
Rick grins despite himself, despite Negan’s gruffness, and shakes the bottle at his side. “Last team that went out brought back a crateload of booze. Thought you might want to join in.”
Negan’s eyeing him like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. “No, really. Why the fuck are you here, Rick?”
Rick frowns and stumbles forward, catching himself on the bars before sinking to the floor in an awkward crosslegged pose. “You don’t want any?” he asks, unscrewing the top and taking another slow swig. “Fine. More for me, then.”
Negan’s on the edge of his mattress, his gaze following the way Rick’s throat bobs as the swallows and the flash of pink tongue against the rim of the bottle before he sets it down on the floor beside him.
Fuck. How long has it been since he’s had a drink? Between the rum and Rick, two of the things Negan misses the most from his life before the cell lie just beyond his reach, taunting him.
“You’re not fucking with me?” Negan asks cagily.
Rick shakes his head. “I’m not fuckin’ with you.” And god, does that word sound good on that man’s sweet, full lips. “Sharing is caring.”
He starts laughing, all sweet, bubbly, drunken laughter that makes Negan melt instantly, and then the bottle’s in his hands and their fingers are brushing as he hands it over to Negan.
Negan’s not ashamed to admit that he chugs a little. The worst that can happen is Rick takes the bottle back and leaves. But Rick doesn’t seem to mind at all- or maybe he’s just to hammered to notice. Fuck, he’s pretty when he’s like this- all loose and happy-go-lucky instead of withdrawn and pent-up like he so often is.
They don’t talk for a while, just pass the bottle back and forth, Negan drinking more than his fair share to try to catch up to where Rick is. He’s not sure how long it is until his brain starts getting fuzzy and he feels warm and light. The bottle's nearly empty, but he knows that the last thing in the world that he wants is for Rick to leave.
“Quit hoggin’ it,” Rick accuses when Negan doesn’t pass it back immediately. The other man grins.
“Come and get it from me, sweet cheeks.”
What he doesn’t expect is for Rick to draw the cell key out of his pocket, unlock the heavy door, and slip inside. For a moment, Negan’s breathless and stunned silent and motionless as a statue because Rick fucking Grimes is sitting beside me on my bed, what the fucking fuck is happening?
Rick smacks his lips as he finishes off the rum, his eyes as lidded and heavy as Negan’s sure his own are, and so, so radiantly blue even in the low light that Negan thinks he could drown in them.
It all happens so fucking fast, but still so slow- Rick’s hand on his thigh and then Negan’s hand on the side of his face, tipping RIck's scruffy chin towards his own, and then-
“Oh, god,” Rick moans into Negan’s mouth as their lips meet, and fuck if that isn’t the hottest thing that’s happened to Negan in years.
Rick’s fingers are in Negan’s hair and his lips taste like honey-flavored rum and his body is so strong and warm and solid against Negan’s own, and how the hell did they end up lying down? Negan’s too far gone to question it, and so is Rick.
Rick keeps groaning into Negan’s mouth as they kiss, the sound only deepening when Negan’s hands roam down his back and cup his ass, kneading him through the thick, worn material of his jeans. Unconsciously, Rick’s hips rut forward, the bulge tenting the front of his pants rubbing up against the matching one in Negan’s, and Negan shouts Rick’s name so loud that Rick’s sure the people on night watch heard it, but he doesn’t give a fraction of a fuck.
At some point, the empty bottle rolls off the bed and onto the floor, but they don’t even notice, too busy sucking marks onto each other’s skin and unbuttoning each other’s clothes with clumsy, determined fingers.
Negan’s pulling at Rick’s jeans and boxers like his very life depends on it because he needs to see Rick naked at least once in his sorry life, but Rick’s making it difficult by steadily, frantically rocking against Negan, desperate for friction against the stiff erection that Negan wants so badly to feel in his hand.
He only manages to get himself and Rick part of the way out of their pants, enough so that Rick can spit in his palm and take them both in his hand, making Negan see stars and whimper Rick’s name like a desperate man’s prayer.
“Rick, Rick, Rick, oh, darlin’, that’s so fuckin good-”
He reaches down, fills his hands with Rick’s bare ass, greedily squeezing the smooth, supple flesh in time with the strokes of Rick’s hand. It’s almost unbearably hot, and sweat is beading at the nape of Negan’s neck, at the small of Rick’s back, but there’s very little that could stop either of them now.
“Thought about this-” Negan grunts into Rick’s ear, using the grip on the man’s perky ass to better rock against him, “-all the fuckin’ time. All the time, Rick, Jesus, do you know how fucking long I’ve wanted you?”
And now he has him. He’s drunk off his ass and so is Rick, but for tonight, they have each other. He looks down between their bodies, see Rick’s fist wrapped around both of their cocks, and nearly comes at the sight, head had thrown back against the pillow. “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, Rick.”
Rick’s incoherent, unable to string more than two words together- usually Negan and fuck.
Boldly, Negan spreads Rick with one hand, the other dipping between the firm cheeks and circling the tight little opening that he’s fantasized about sliding into so many times that he’s lost count.
Rick makes the hottest, dirtiest little noise, bites down on his lower lip, and comes hard over Negan’s cock and stomach, slick hand still jerking them both furiously.
The sight of Rick Grimes coming, his face painted with pure ecstasy, is more than enough to make Negan come, too. The image is enough to sustain his next hundred or so orgasms, at the very least.
Rick folds over Negan, both of them sticky with sweat and come, riding their sex-and-alcohol induced high right into oblivion.
In the morning, when Rosita checks Negan’s cell and finds Rick there, the two men half-dressed and curled around each other like cats with an empty bottle of rum on the ground, she decides to keep that information to herself.