The lines of Erik's face make him look old when he's young and young when he's old.
But that sort of thing stops mattering when the pandemic hits.
And starts again when he meets Charles Xavier.
…
Exposed flesh never fails to make Erik's stomach curl in on itself. The same could be said for dangling jawbones and bloody axe heads, the never-ending shaking in his hands as he sleeps with one eye open and an axe under his cot (there are knives cemented in the walls Erik can make them rip and rip and rip again).
Fear is weakness.
The personal mantra always fall shy of his lips when night falls and the screaming and tearing and gurgling start, and Erik wakes up with red half moons dug into his palms (waking requires sleep sleep requires peace peace was never an option).
…
He had been desperate for food, and raiding a supply had been an easy choice. Erik thinks he should know by now that the easy choices are always the death traps. So damned easy.
The metal walls curl back like curtains, and Erik is so distracted by the cans that he doesn't notice the smashed windows.
He does, however, notice the gurgling noise.
This place is a nest (twisting limbs and chunks of bare scalp and rotting eyes and, and), and Erik wants to give in for a second, because God's away on some business trip and the South's been burning steadily since.
…
It had started as a novelty, really. A gimmick. A cure for the common cold? It had been so frivolous, few had even taken it to begin with. Erik had shrugged it off as shoddy chemistry when Edie hadn't been getting better. He thought it was just devolving into a fever when it started getting worse.
When the men in hazmat suits took her away (wasn't her screaming gurgling flesh tearing), Shaw was there (smiling yellow and black and a smile that wasn't a nice smile), looking like something out of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest and he wouldn't stop calling her Edie, even though Erik knew she wasn't Edie, (not anymore not with the chalky white pills) because his mother wasn't a monster.
It spreads like wildfire, and the wealthy are paying to inhabit Alcatraz, to get as far away from the concrete graves they dug for the rest of humanity.
…
Erik wonders what would happen if he just let the metal in his Beretta '92 sing to him (She was your fault why weren't you looking for what was wrong) while it put a bullet through his brain. The sunlight falling past the broken glass makes them (zombies Erik they're zombies and so was she and you know why) lethargic, and the bloated corpses untangle themselves, shuffling in his direction. The gun shakes in his hands.
Fear is weakness.
…
Erik's ending falls apart because Charles has to have a beginning.
The things (Erik why can't you just admit it zombies zombies) are picking up their pace as they stumble across the warehouse, and Erik wonders if his simple, stupid mistake was actually a fucking miracle, because it's not like he has much of his mind left, anyways.
The air vibrates.
So does Erik's gun, the barrel leaving a red mark firmly pressed into his temple.
They fall down (all fall down London bridge is falling down down down) mid-step, and their watery blood trickles out of their ears.
You are not alone.
…
Charles is so slight against the metal and cement of Erik's bunker (carry him over the corpses), and his long, pale fingers are horribly still in comparison to Erik's.
Charles had been living in the country when the pandemic struck, and his house had been built with stone and wood and so much glass and it had never been safe, not from the things that went bump in the night, even though Charles could bump back.
"We're immune, you know." Charles already has Erik locked with eyes, and he isn't even using it. "People of our ilk, mutants. The X gene negates the effects of the antibodies the pills carried, so the bites can't infect us."
…
Erik is howling, and there are tears leaving track marks in the filth on his face (of course I can't die like she did it would be too damned easy I deserve to rot in this hell with zombies zombies and blue eyes and now I can continue with the killing and the killing and the killing).
Charles is in his space, his hands slick with blood and tangling in Erik's hair (touching touching and touching and when was the last time anyone touched). His voice is grave.
"I want you to listen to me very closely, Erik. Killing will not bring you peace."
Erik's voice is more scratchy than he had anticipated (when was the last time anyone spoke a sentence when was the last time anyone spoke).
"Peace was never an option (stop giving a voice to my own depravity where have I heard this before waking requires sleep)."
Erik wants Charles to know he doesn't ever have to ask (I'd carry you over the corpses I want your fingers mouth eyes on me always please don't leave).
…
It's nighttime, and Erik can hear banging and scratching outside his bunker. The metal and cement seem too thin tonight, and only Charles (Charles and his blue blue and blue eyes and bite marks that aren't Erik's bite marks that are from monsters' bloody mouths and they can't stop them because Erik isn't alone) can stop Erik's hands from itching.
…
Tonight, Erik and Charles are fucking to keep each other grounded. Erik's been missing half his mind since the day of the men in the hazmat suits (the day of all the evil), and Charles wouldn't be much better off if he didn't have so much mind to hold onto.
And tonight, Erik wouldn't have it any other way. He pushes the base of his palm into Charles' mouth, and Charles bites it, refusing to break eye contact. His back (pale bitten monsters and I are mapping the same paths on his body) is pressed flush against the thin mattress, and Erik is naked above him, social propriety shredded and cheeks stained hot.
I want you to fuck me.
Erik told Charles he would never have to ask, but it's nice to pretend that he should, that the first time they met under twelve hours ago Erik didn't have a gun to his head (Fear is weakness Charles Charles and Charles).
Erik relishes the the swell of Charles' lips in the rough drag of the kiss, and he can't tell where Charles ends and madness begins.
They use spit. Erik's fingers caught up in Charles' tongue, Charles wrapping his legs around Erik's waist, erections pressing and keening against each other. The kisses are wet and sloppy and they push. Charles' heel is bruising Erik's hipbone, and his nails are leaving red streaks worming their way up Erik's back and arms.
Erik never imagined he could still feel like anything other than a monster, and he grins into Charles' flesh as he marks him in ways the monsters (zombies) never can with teeth and tongue and intent.
Erik loses track of the time he makes Charles come that night, because Erik is depraved and in love,and it would work if Charles was only one of the two.
…
Charles' mind drifts when he's not preoccupied with Erik. He learns about a supposed safe haven, and Erik doesn't want to go, because he still has debts to pay for his negligence and because he wants to be Charles' only option.
"I want you by my side (please don't leave me and my demons I want you all for myself always)."
Charles' smile is crooked and sharp as he crawls into Erik's lap, and the kiss has an edge of teeth.
"You're projecting. I'm two for two."
(depraved and in love Charles is depraved and in love and it's all mine)
…
On other nights, Erik and Charles fuck because they are the last meal before the execution.
Erik still hunts on their journey to the safe haven (do I want to die I can't go back not after mother it was all my fault), energy completely spent on shifting the bunker, killing, and fucking (love making Charles is depraved and in love and it's with me).
"I can hear them, you know. The monsters. It's static and gurgling inside my head."
Erik thinks they're both too cracked to survive in a safe haven, but he's just so tired of fighting (you deserve it you bastard you didn't lift a finger to help her).
There's so much kissing to do in such close quarters, and Erik pins Charles to the bed and brings him off with slow, painful strokes and filthy (depraved) words, because they're running out of time and because he can.
"How much would it matter if we didn't make it?" Charles muses, and Erik can't even bother to remember if he said it out loud or not.
…
The chain link fence of the parking garage finally gives out against the sea of writhing, mouldy skin, and Erik's hands are itching again (we're so close we could get through this but I don't want to I'm so tired I don't want to anymore).
Charles is staring at him, and their fingers are locked so tight Erik can feel Charles' nails drawing blood from the backs of his hands.
"I'm so tired, Charles."
Charles presses their foreheads together, smiling his crooked, wry smile. "You can stop fighting, if you want."
"I'd like that (I love you madly I want you to end me I want you to end you with me)."
Peace was never an option.
Charles lifts a finger to his temple, and the last thing Erik feels is Charles' mouth hot against his, before their bodies crumple.
You are not alone.
A/N: Well, this was new and peculiar. Comments and Constructive criticisms are highly encouraged!