Irresistible Danger

Jameson

                  

To say you were surprised to find Negan drinking was an understatement. He always seemed so calculated and in control of his emotions that the thought of him giving up some of that control to the effects of alcohol was hard to imagine.

Watching as he set the now-empty shot glass back on the desk, you couldn't help but ask, "Where did you find whiskey?"

Last time you checked, there wasn't any alcohol in the commissary, nor had you ever heard anyone mention about it being located in any of the storage units.

"Found it when we were raiding the infirmary. Fuckers were wasting some perfectly good-quality whiskey on fucking wounded patients."

You weren't thrilled to hear that he had taken supplies which could potentially help those who were injured, but decided now wasn't the time to debate the ethics of stealing. Instead, you carefully broached the topic that was on both of your minds.

"I heard that the supply run was a success...but that you lost Ken."

Negan avoided eye contact as he picked up the bottle of Jameson and poured until the small tumbler was half-full again.

"Yep," he said emotionlessly, still ignoring you in favor of taking a sip of the Jameson.

Whelp, so much for trying to get him to talk. It was obvious that he was completely blocking you out and wasn't willing to discuss the supply run at the moment. Instead he walked around to the other side of the desk, opening a drawer and pulling out a second tumbler. He filled this glass half-way with the whiskey before topping off his own. Your eyes widened when he pushed the second glass across the wood towards you.

"I, uh...I don't know if I should have any of that."

The thought of drinking whiskey on an empty stomach didn't seem like the smartest idea. Not to mention the fact that you hadn't drank any alcohol since before the apocalypse, which meant that your tolerance was probably nonexistent. And getting drunk with Negan? Well, that didn't sound like an intelligent decision at ALL.

Raising a mocking eyebrow, Negan replied, "Whatsa matter, doll? Afraid you might get tipsy after one fucking shot and try to take advantage of me?"

Pursing your lips at his verbal challenge, you reached out and picked up the glass before your brain even fully comprehended that you were about to do so. Negan grinned and picked up his own glass, holding it out in front of him.

"To a successful supply run," you toasted before clinking your glass with his and throwing back the dark liquid.

The taste was smooth and had just a hint of spice that was more pleasant than you were expecting. However, as soon as you swallowed, it turned into liquid fire burning down your throat, which caused you to cough as tears filled your eyes.

Negan gave a cheeky grin and drawled, "Too strong for you, doll?"

After the initial burn, the liquid started to warm your stomach, as if you were sitting in front of a toasty fireplace. Perhaps the whiskey was already affecting your senses, since your response was to slide the glass back across the desk towards Negan and say, "Gimme another."

His eyes widened in surprise before his lips curved upwards and parted to show off his pearly whites.

"That's the spirit, doll," he encouraged, picking up the Jameson and filling both shot glasses half-way again before sliding the glass back to you.

Knowing that this was completely stupid, you still picked up the glass and decided "what the fuck." You were upset about Ken, not to mention all the other crap that had happened during the few days Negan had been gone. Something to dull the senses sounded like a welcome reprieve, even if you would probably regret it come morning.