Title: Call My Bluff
Author: Donnie
Fandom: Left 4 Dead
Setting: Various
Pairing: Nick/Ellis
Characters: Nick, Ellis, Rochelle, Coach
Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Romance
Rating: T
Chapters: 1/1
Word Count: 949
Type of Work: Weekly Writing Prompt #2
Status: Complete
Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, Pre-Slash, There are feelings but Nick doesn't have Feelings, Ellis is a bean
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: Nick had threatened to leave so many times that he was more concerned when the other wanted to stay till the end.
AN: I'm hoping to get another Weekly Writing Prompt done, and maybe stick with them this month. I just really want to try and get back to writing. Things have been so stressful here, but I really need to get back to doing things that help. The prompt is at the end! Hope you guys enjoy!
Call My Bluff ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Don't get used to me."
Ellis could count on every single finger and toe of every single Infected that he had ever shot or bludgeoned to death and still be down at least a couple million when it came to how often Nick said that. Didn't matter what they were doing, either, Nick was always willing to interject that he'd be gone in a heartbeat. At first, Ellis had held his breath, had waited for the moment four would become three because Nick didn't play well with others. After they had left the motel towards Whispering Oaks, however, he started to think that maybe it was more important to focus on his breathing.
Cramped up in the tunnel of love, Nick was busy saying something about cousins' day or whatever and Ellis smiled in that way that could melt a glacier into a happy puddle.
"Aw, Nick, yer jus' waitin' for brothers' day, huh?" He jabbed back with a laugh Nick would never admit to thinking about. Instead of showing his emotions, always thankful for his poker face, the elder man scowled and stuck out his tongue, obviously displeased with the idea of it.
"That's disgusting, I'd never make out with my brother." None of them, actually. All six of them could suck a dick for all Nick was concerned. At least one of them probably had, too. Crossing his arms, he very carefully avoided showing his joy when Ellis pouted.
Nick? At least fifty. Ellis? Nada.
The subject hadn't come up again for quite some time, nothing about family, nothing about romance, just a lot of slogging through the days. Coach did go on for at least three safe rooms' worth of breaks and nap times about how much he hated clowns, now, after all of those fuckers in the amusement park. Nick had made some smart-ass comment about him wanting a zombie hot dog vendor instead, and the silent glares and smiles shared between the two men lasted until Ellis began to babble again.
Trudging through the swamp, Nick had begun to notice a change in Ellis. While he complained more, Ellis had opted to just… Stop talking. It was odd, having a moment of silence stretch out into forever like it was, only interrupted by someone dropping a warning or the snarls and shrieks of the infected. Nothing about Keith, or Dave, or goats, or anything. A week ago, Nick would have given all the money in the world for Ellis to shut up for a solid five minutes. Now, however, he would have done anything to get the little blabbermouth to start talking again.
"Hey, overalls." Nick half-whispered one night, glancing at him over Coach's slowly rising and falling belly. He knew Ellis was still awake, the kid had sighed and rolled and sighed again so many times by now that it was strange to think anyone else was getting any rest. "Overalls, I knowyou're awake."
Sitting up, he squinted in the darkness across the room, catching sight of movement where Ellis had laid on the other side of Rochelle. For a second, he thought Ellis might try and ignore him, but it seemed the kid finally took it upon himself to respond.
"They're coveralls, Nick. Not overalls." But there was no fight to it, none of his usual vigor. He sounded tired, more than anything, like a man twice his age that had seen everything and wished he hadn't. When Ellis was quiet, his brows drawn in and his lips pulled into a frown (a pout, more like), he looked so much older than his meager twenty something years. Like an angry child and a disenchanted adult all at once. It was odd and unwanted, so Nick rose from his spot and tiptoed beyond their companions to grab Ellis by the shirt.
Hefting him up and carting him halfway out of the room, he brought Ellis, pistol in hand, to the door of the safe room. It wasn't like him to be so touchy-feely, wasn't like him to want to get Ellis to talk like this, but he couldn't help himself any longer.
"What's with you lately?"
"Whaddya mean?"
"Shut up, Ellis." The harshness he hadn't intended on made both of them look away and Nick sighed, rubbing his temples, "I mean- No. Don't shut up, just… Don't play that. You've been quiet lately."
"Ain't felt like talkin'." Ellis' voice was small, but not in a way that made him seem worried about waking Rochelle and Coach.
"Ellis Dean, you always feel like talking." Nick hated the pleading tone in his voice, the way it sounded like, maybe, he really did miss it.
"My, Nick, that mean you wanna hear me talkin'?"
"You never did, uh…" God, now he had to admit to it. This was a bad idea. "Finish telling me about that thing with Keith and the… Mustard gas? Or the chicken."
"Oh boy!" Just like that, all worry about waking anyone up was gone and Ellis' story machine was kicked into high gear. Much as hearing about Keith pissed him off, Nick was thankful to see the light return to the kid's eyes, the movement back in his hands. Thankfully, he had a cigarette he'd nicked off a body to keep himself calm with.
Halfway through Ellis' story, it started to sink in that even if he did leave, like he always said he would, it wouldn't be for long. He needed Ellis' white noise, needed to see the kid so excited over dumb shit. He needed Ellis, and that was something he'd never intended on.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ AN:
Prompt: Headcanon