I think I liked you better when you didn't have a knife in your hand, Peaches

The Shower

Blake's mouth was parched.

She turned over onto her side, opening a bleary eye and staring straight up at the large glass of water, sitting on the, oh-so unfamiliar, nightstand beside her.

Now that was exactly what she needed right now, suddenly propping her body up on her elbow and reaching for it.

She brought the glass to her lips and took a long sip of slightly warm water, which quenched her thirst no end.

But it was then and only then, once Blake had blinked her eyes a few more times, looking around, did she finally remember where she was.

The drapes were open sending a shaft of grey early morning light across Negan's large living space.

She slowly peered over her shoulder, at the figure she had heard come in last night, a few hours after she had made it to sleep, lying beside her.

He had been sure to shut the door quietly behind him as he came in, way past midnight, before tossing Lucille down onto one of the couches, stripping out of his leather jacket, and slumping down onto the bed beside her. Blake feeling it sag beneath his weight as he did so.

Blake had fluttered her eyes closed, half in a dozy sort of dream world, as she had felt his long fingers brush back a long strand of hair from her face.

She had immediately smelt whisky and cigars on his breath, before she had felt him grab at a pillow and squish it beneath his head, as she drifted back off to a warm comfortable sleep.

Now Negan, in the light of early morning, was stretched out beside her, still in the same clothes as yesterday, with all but boots and jacket still on, sleeping on top of the covers, one arm strewn over his abdomen haphazardly.

He looked so restful and so....well, human.

His utter vulnerability was abundant right now, and Blake knew that if she really wanted to, she could kill him....

One bash to the skull, or knife to the throat, and that would be the end of him.

But Blake didn't move, as she sat there, beneath the bedsheets, still in her t-shirt and pants from yesterday, just staring down at the bearded Saviour beside her.

Her face reddened slightly as she remembered how she had felt last night in her inebriated state, as Negan had uttered things, that made her stomach jolt and a warmth spread between her legs.

That had to the wine's doing...right?

There was no way she was into him...was there?

She had been held captive here...having just lost her husband...surely it was a little too soon to be thinking of things like that right? Let alone with Negan of all people...

But even now, as she looked at him...she wondered what it would be like to have his taut, long body pressed up against hers...tasting every inch of him...coming undone by his touch...

Blake hastily shook herself, giving a sudden gulp.

She needed to stop this.

She pursed her lips, and, as gently as she could, slipped from the bed silently, padding across the room on bare feet, making to use Negan's large bathroom, which lay through the doorway on the right.

As she moved across the wide open-plan living room, Blake fussed with her long, mussed up caramel hair, giving a yawning-stretch before peeling off her t-shirt and flinging it down onto the couch beside her.

Surprisingly, considering how much she had drunk, Blake felt surprisingly ok, having much less of a bad headache than she had after all that whisky almost two weeks ago.