This is a veeery late birthday present for the-wizard-who-did-it, though I suppose it is ongoing. I just felt bad for making her wait. So I'm splitting this thing into chapters. ~_~ Oh boy.

It'll probably be two chapters, maybe three if I'm lucky. Enjoy!

Warnings: Language, dubious consent. Angst. T_T

Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.

This Late Night Habit
Hunger

Her shirt was bloodstained, the greasiness of her hair beginning to show despite how much she tried to hide it by keeping it in a ponytail. But Ellis didn't care. She was beautiful.

What Ellis saw when he looked at Rochelle was innate strength. She wasn't like other girls. When the zombies started attacking, she did not hesitate in asking about guns and how to use them. In a matter of twenty minutes, she could load and fire a pistol with startling accuracy. As they moved across the worsening South, he taught her about machine guns and assault rifles and snipers, and she took to it as any other woman might take to shopping or cell phones.

As their time together increased, Ellis noticed other things about her. She was naturally inquisitive; she had a no bullshit attitude that had saved all of their lives more than once. And despite this—despite her typically serious manner—she was so gracious, so caring. Whenever they all got in over their heads, even if she herself was badly wounded, she would make sure Ellis was properly treated until she thought about anything else. She called him "Ellis, sweetie," and she looked him in the eyes and told him everything was going to be okay. It didn't take long until Ellis was certain that he loved her more than anything.

However, he was acutely aware that he was not the only one whose eyes followed her. Every few days when she went off to attempt to keep some extent of personal hygiene, Nick would watch her ass as she left and would murmur something like, "Damn, what I wouldn't give to get me a piece of that." Perhaps it was because Ellis was so much younger than the others, but Nick seemed convinced that he would love to ogle over Rochelle with him, to share in his sexual, bestial desires. Ellis said nothing when Nick mentioned the nice shape of her tits, or wondered aloud how tight she was, how much he wanted to make her scream. It disgusted Ellis, but they all needed Nick to survive. Getting rid of him would definitely be detrimental to keeping Rochelle alive.

More than anything, he wished he could show Nick just how important and deserving of chivalry she was. He wished so much that Rochelle could see how beautiful she was, and how much he truly loved her.

It was nighttime and there were no safe houses nearby, so Coach scouted out an abandoned house, and they all helped set traps by the doors and available windows. It wouldn't keep a hoard out, but it would at least warn them of any unwanted visitors.

"We should all sleep in the same room. Safer," Ellis said, glancing shyly at Rochelle.

Nick stared at Ellis for a moment, then gave Rochelle a long, hungry glance, and replied, "Come on, Ellis. We got an actual house with separate rooms to sleep in for once. Don't you want a little privacy?" He removed his jacket and winked at Ellis before turning away. "Rochelle, honey, what's left to eat?"

"Just a bunch of old canned food. I gave the bag to Coach, take it up with him. I for one am exhausted." She yawned to accentuate her point and turned to the first bedroom. "Wake me if there's any trouble."

Ellis swallowed and watched her go with an ache in his chest. Even if there was trouble, he wouldn't wake her. He would do anything to keep her safe.

Since they had found each other in the post-apocalyptic world—since they had all spent so much time together—Ellis had been able to pick up on and understand many of his companions' habits and mannerisms.

Coach, during down time, tended to gaze at the ring on his finger with love and longing; he was married and had lived with his wife in Savannah for more than twenty years. He had a tendency to give the last of his meals to Ellis, and whenever Ellis had trouble patching himself up, Coach was there to lend a helping hand; his wife and Ellis' mother had known each other, and perhaps because he and his wife had been unable to have children of their own, Coach couldn't help but think of Ellis as a sort of son.

Rochelle was headstrong and tended to be a little bossy at times; after being stuck as assistant to a low-end producer for so long, the change of scenery gave her an insecure confidence—a leadership she needed to compensate for being degraded and under-appreciated in the previously uninfected world. She took to Ellis quickly and always without fail addressed him with her best manners; Ellis did, after all, give her all the respect and admiration for which she had always pined.

Nick had a smug façade of snarky remarks and pessimistic sarcasm, but Ellis knew there were feelings he harbored to which he would never admit; as a man in the business of screwing people over, he had inevitably been screwed over several times himself. He treated Ellis like a true pal, saw him as a free young spirit on whom he could rely; several pieces of Nick's past tended to go unsaid, but Ellis was sure that enough corrupt people had ruined Nick's life that the conman could truly appreciate Ellis' frank innocence.

Footsteps were significant to Ellis.

The sound of footsteps was often one of the only things you could use to distinguish friend from foe, especially at night when it was impossible to trust sight alone. Fortunately, for the most part the footsteps of the infected tended to be pretty distinctive—they were without fail staggering, drunk on bloodlust most likely, unless they were running. When they were running, they were frighteningly accurate, and if there was a lot of them at one time, and you were running from them, it sounded like a thunder storm chasing you. Ellis shivered at even the thought of it. He knew too well what it felt like.

Knowing the footsteps of your own teammates was important, because if you couldn't tell them apart from the things you intended to kill, the people you cared about would end up dead. It only took him a week to memorize them all. Because Coach had a bad knee, every other step was heavy with most of his weight. Rochelle's steps were light and ever-so-cautious after years of stepping around an irritable boss. Nick was the only one who ever changed. Usually he walked casually, occasionally with a little swagger if he was in one of his moods and wanted Rochelle to notice him. However, at night when his façade was let down and he approached Ellis thinking Ellis was asleep, his steps were quiet, considerate. Ellis never questioned Nick's late-night habit of checking on him. If Nick needed the reassurance that Ellis was alright, then far be it from him to put him on the spot about it.

It had been several hours since Rochelle went to bed. Ellis stayed up to do his shift of standing watch while Coach and Nick eventually followed Rochelle's example. Midnight rolled around and Ellis kept his eyes on the front door he had boarded up until he heard the slightly heavy, casual footsteps of Nick. Ellis waited to hear the bathroom door open but never did. Nick passed the bathroom, and Ellis felt sick to his stomach as the realization struck him: Nick's destination was Rochelle's room.

Ellis figured a man like Nick was used to screwing women on a regular basis. An apocalypse wasn't exactly conducive to that sort of behavior, and of course Nick had his needs. But taking advantage of Rochelle?

Ellis wouldn't allow it.

Swiftly and silently, Ellis rose from his chair and ran to stand in front of the hall leading to Rochelle's room just as Nick was about to walk through. Nick stopped short, and Ellis looked him desperately in the eyes.

"I know whatcha want, but you can't get it from her," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. Nick watched him with vague surprise, but was clearly distracted. His face was glistening in the pale light, the moon shining from a window above them, revealing his perspiration and faintly flushed cheeks. Ellis didn't have to look to know there was a bulge in his pants.

"Ellis, you're gonna have to move aside," he said quietly. "Ro and I have some business to attend to."

He grabbed Ellis' arm when the boy refused to move, but Ellis merely pushed him back. Nick's brows furrowed and he glowered at Ellis. "I don't wanna have to ask you again," he said. When Ellis didn't move, he grabbed the front of his shirt, and Ellis felt his heels leave the floor. He couldn't fight Nick, not now, not when he was angry. Ellis didn't doubt that he could do plenty of damage, but fighting Nick posed the risk of not just waking up Coach and Rochelle, but attracting the infected.

Hadn't Ellis promised to always make sure Rochelle was safe? He couldn't just let Nick walk in there and do whatever the hell he wanted. But what could he do? If he wasn't going to fight Nick, how could he make Nick stop?

In a moment of desperation and ultimately seeing no other option, Ellis grabbed at Nick's shirt before the conman could toss him to the ground. "Nick, please…" he murmured. Swallowing his fear and doing his best to embrace the course of action he must take, he looked Nick in the eyes and said quietly, "If you gotta do this... M-Me. Do it to me, not her."

The conman stared at him in vague shock, as if the words were barely registering, and without giving himself time to think, Ellis leaned in, his feet still dangling, and kissed Nick on the mouth. He tasted like liquor, and when Ellis opened his eyes, Nick's were already open, bloodshot, and staring into his. He broke the kiss and his grip on Ellis' shirt tightened. His lips were quivering and his eyes were piercing, but they lacked the sharpness of anger.

"You're an idiot," he growled. Ellis didn't know if that was a no or a yes, so he kissed him again, lips barely touching, and whispered, "Please," so desperately that he surprised even himself.

Finally Nick dropped him and pushed him away before saying quietly without looking at him, "Go to my room and get undressed."

Ellis shivered and nodded and did as he was told. It wasn't until he was down to his boxers and sitting alone on the edge of Nick's bed, shaking with fear at what he was going to do, that the thought crossed his mind that Nick had just played him for a fool—tricked him, lied as he might have with cards once upon a time. Ellis should have known. Nick wanted to fuck a woman, so why in hell would he settle for Ellis?

He stood, recklessly prepared to barge into Rochelle's room to get Nick the hell away from her, when the conman himself opened the door and walked in, a small tube in his hand and a frown on his lips.

"Get on the bed."

Ellis could sense that he was irritated and without thinking hurried to comply. Nick undressed slowly, sloppy, watching Ellis as he did so. Ellis' stomach felt tight, his chest constricted. Nick's briefs finally fell to the floor, and Ellis tried to swallow the bile climbing up his throat from sheer nervousness and faint disgust.

"On your knees." The command was unbearably quiet, and Ellis wanted to cry, but he did it anyways. The bed creaked as Nick's weight was added to it, and rough hands found their way to Ellis' hips. They moved clumsily over his thighs and buttocks, though not out of inexperience. In the time it had taken Nick to find that tube (of lubricant, Ellis figured), he had also apparently found more alcohol. His breath smelled heavily of vodka, and he left small shot kisses down Ellis' back as his hands found the hem of his boxers and pulled them down to rest at his knees. Something inside him screamed in apprehension even before he felt Nick's erection against him, and he bit his lip hard enough to make it bleed just to stifle his discomfort.

Nick forced his way inside, breaking any resistance, his pelvis bouncing against Ellis' backside. Inconsiderate, there was no time for Ellis to even try to adjust before Nick was pounding into him, a drunken rhythm that ignited pain into every muscle, every nerve. He tried to fight it, but it hurt, worse than being torn at by the infected, worse than being pummeled and burned and hanged. Those were all things Ellis could relate to the elation of the fight; that strange feeling of being the most alive when so close to death. Kill or be killed. It's the fucking apocalypse, and the future be damned if he's not going to enjoy himself while he can. But here Nick was violating him; Ellis may have consented, but this was too much. He tried to think of Rochelle, but he didn't want the image he held of her underneath his eyelids to be connected to any sort of pain. It was better to know that he was doing this to save her and bear the burden alone.

Nick grunted and pushed and Ellis was sure he would split open. But agonizingly enough he stayed in one piece, experiencing every little movement of Nick's hips and hands with complete consciousness. It hurt, it hurt. Tears finally fell from his eyes and he let out a gasping sob, filled with nothing but pain and conflicted shame. Nick ejaculated and pulled out and Ellis fell to the bed.

"Ellis, are you okay?" Ellis only cried, quietly. Nick's voice was faint, though from his own pain or something else Ellis was unsure. He tried to block it out.

"El?" It didn't take long for Ellis to succumb to the raw aching all over his body, and his pillow was wet before he fell into his exhaustion, restlessly sleeping though the tears still fell.

"E-Ellis, talk to me."

Wind in time
Rapes the flower trembling on the vine
Nothing yields to shelter it
Fear, Sarah McLachlan