Hey fanfiction family! iZombie caught my interest on Netflix one day when I was skimming through, and the pent up chemistry between Blaine and Liv has haunted me since. In an effort to exorcise that ghost, I absolutely had to write this. This take place midseason of Season 1 so keep that in mind when reading. I recommend listening to Nirvana while reading to really put you into the setting of "Club Z." Please read and review!
She watched the bowl bubble inside the microwave. She knew what was in its contents. Her brain knew. Her heart couldn't acknowledge it. Liv's soul ached with each "beep" to the countdown. In the sterile room with only her and dozens of the dead, she wondered at the irony of it. One thing she did know was that "undead" was just as lonely as death itself.
She felt the shadow of his footsteps before she saw him.
"He would like to see you tonight, pending your willingness."
She sighed, not turning away from the lump of brains now nice and toasty.
"Pardon my rudeness, but I don't think I'd fit into your crowd." The lacky had moved closer to her. She could tell from the hairs on her neck that he too shared similar tastes.
"Blaine said you'd say something like that. He wanted me to tell you to stop punishing yourself." Punishing? She scoffed at another one of Blaine's followers.
"Well you can tell him that I said he can stick his advice up his chalky ass." He chuckled and slipped back into the shadow of the morgue and out the door.
As bemoaned as she was to admit it, Blaine knew her better than anyone, even as Major had once upon a time. He knew without her breathing a word that solving murders was her way of giving back to the life that she took from them, the big and little private memories her meals passed off to her. Even if the brains she ate were of no use anymore to the beholders, there was still a heavy sense of guilt that weighed on her; like she was peaking into someone's dresser drawer and finding all of their dirty secrets.
When the warm, delicious, mush touched her tongue, she saw piles of books in the cubby next to a rain-streaked window. She didn't just feel loneliness.
She tasted it too.
It was because of her latest meal that she was doing this or so she whispered too herself. There was no logical reason for going to Club Z (how obvious could they make it?). She rolled her eyes at the pride Blaine exhibited in being a denizen of the deceased. There was no damn reason why other zombies should put themselves at the risk of being exposed by coming here; it was all for the sake of worshipping their undead king, Blaine. He had become the standard of what a zombie could aspire too, a man who had a better life dead than whilst alive. Like the other times that she had visited here, she was escorted past the line of pale, starch haired club goers (Blaine liked to tell other zombies that there is no reason you have conceal you're natural state). The bouncers and regulars knew her without an introduction, which she tried not too think to hard about. The bulky man that had opened the door for her smiled in a knowing sort of way that made her frown deepen.
"It's all on the house for you, mam." What is this? A modern day romance? Are we Elizabeth and Mister Darcy now? Liv's mind drifted to all the murdered teenagers she could be helping, the solace she might give to their families. Instead she was here in her torn jeans and innocent white tee being brushed against by sweaty, scantily clad zombies. So lost in her thoughts, she collided with a toned chest.
"Hello there, princess. Care for a drink?" It wasn't the person that she had been so expecting. A brown-eyed teen, drunk off PBR, peered down at her. He didn't even bother hiding his slithering glance from her head to her toes-eyes lingering particularly too long on her chest.
"This princess doesn't want or need a drink." She turned to walk away, eyes searching the crowd of grinding undead partygoers when his hand wrapped around her forearm. He must have been a newly turned zombie. He didn't know how to conceal his strength; leaving her arm throbbing in pain.
"Come on, gorgeous, let me loosen you up." The retort was already on her tongue when he beat her to it.
"This must be your first time here, junior, otherwise you'd know that this lovely lady is off limits." She heard his sarcastic, angry tone before she saw him. The boy's hand immediately retracted.
"I-uh-I didn't know, Blaine. I swear…I didn't." Liv slowly turned and watched him-Blaine D-in all his glory looking like he was preparing to incinerate a zombie he very well could have created. Dressed as usual in all black, his silhouette swung like a pendulum in her gaze.
"Yeah, well you know what my grandmother used to say? If ifs and buts were sugar and nuts it'd be Christmas all year long, brother." Blaine's saunter, his confidence-Hell, the whole package that made up Blaine made her feel small and terribly underdressed. His presence constantly seemed to stall her, petrify her as his brightness could penetrate the core of her being.
"It won't happen again, I promise," the boy muttered. Blaine's eyes were on fire, a silver blue like the edge of knife before its strikes flesh and bone. Shaking off her stupor, Liv stepped in between Blain and teen.
"Really, Blaine, not a big deal. Still in one piece here." Those blues never left hers as he motioned for the boy to leave. Liv didn't even hear him go; to caught up in the man in front of her.
It had been weeks since she'd come by here, a lonely succession of days that bled one into the other.
Neither said a word. The edges of Blaine's sea eyes were hazy with red-a signal for her. He had a specific need that he only came to her for. His nails dragged across the fabric of her jeans-eyes still holding, or imprisoning, her body where she stood Liv closed her eyes at the warm fever that his slightest touched caused. The thrum of Nirvana latched deep into her brain.
In a not so gentle manner, he grabbed her hand-breaking that trance he had on her. Neither said a word as the dancing crowd parted for him. Liv tried her best to ignore the jealous rage that some of the female zombies in the crowd threw her way. Little pricks danced up and down her spine. Past the red velvet wire of the VIP rooms, he dragged her like a little girl lost in a Wal-Mart. All the while, she watched the toned muscles of his back contract and collapse. Black was his favorite color so he sported it every chance, "like my soul" he jokingly said to her once. Liv licked her suddenly dry lips. It did fit him, that tight chalky shirt. Blaine wore his zombie status openly like a medal whereas Liv tried to reel back into the shadows. Behind a room guarded by two hefty zombies, he guided her. As soon as the dark-leathered door had closed he had her pressed against a red, satin wall.
"You've been gone too long," he breathed into her neck; trailing cold kisses down her collarbone.
"I've…I've had work to do." He laughed sarcastically while lathering his tongue against the crevice of her ear.
"My little Zomberella…trying to save everyone, eh?" She weakly pushed against him. She didn't want him to stop, but she had tried to avoid him for this very reason. How could she say no to this man who drummed up such feelings in her?
"The dead deserve justice too, Blaine."
He pulled away that sweet, icy tongue and uncharacteristically brushed a hand softly through her platinum locks.
"Honey, justice doesn't mean shit once you're in the ground." Blaine liked to conceal his truths in jokes-occasionally cruel jokes.
Willing her body to stop from turning to putty, she straightened up against him and fiercely met those now red eyes.
"Someone has to care about them. If I don't, who will?" There was no snarky response. His lips crashed into hers; plundering the cavern of mouth like it held every last secret of her soul. Those cold hands of his were making quick work of her shirt and pants. She tried not too let her mind wander on how many women he'd been with to be able to unclothe her so quickly.
He stopped his ministrations to marvel at her. In only her white bra and underwear, she was near naked before him. It wasn't the first time they had done this, but a wave of modesty always surprised her when she was this bare before him. She gingerly covered her chest.
"Such a quick tongue, but still so shy," he whispered brusquely. He rubbed the length of her body as if he was preparing to unwrap a gift meant just for him.
"I am not shy," she spat. Her retort sounded weak even to her. She had expected Blaine to be a brute in bed the first night they had had sex, but he was quite the opposite. He could arouse the fire in her belly with hot kisses, but be smooth as chocolate with his hands as he led her up to a climax.
"I've had my men watching that unsightly work place of yours all week because I can't keep from wondering what trouble you might get into," he said as he slowly massaged her inner thighs.
"Oh… yeah? Since when did I need a bodyguard? I'm a zombie like you. Super powers come with it, remember?" Her tough exterior was peeling away. Each stroke of his fingers took away a bit of her façade and her normally sharp tone disappeared. He lay her on the comforter in his room, AC/DC blaring behind the walls. Blaine did love his rock music. He gyrated against her with every thrum of the electric guitar.
"That sweet ass knows how to find trouble. I think you're history speaks for itself." He pushed his hips into hers. Some days there never was any actual intercourse. His proximity alone could get her off. Tonight was one of those nights. They grind in sync; the bulge in his pants fitting nicely into the pocket behind her legs. She gave in fully to the pulse in her abdomen. In a fluster of movement, they both reached that intense, blinding spot of physical satisfaction. She never came to his name out loud instead whispered it in her head until it became a mantra of sexual desire.
Blaine rubbed a hand through platinum blonde spikes. He winked at her. It bothered her that she found that one little action so attractive.
"Don't do that," she cracked.
"I thought every girl enjoyed a sexy wink."
"I'm not every girl."
From the way he acted, to the way he spoke, however much it agitated her, she could not stop that secret part of her that craved his presence. To make matters worse, Live had a slinking suspicion that he knew this.
"Could you not just move in with me? First class bed, top notch wine, and you'll have your own body guard to boot."
Live slapped him lightly.
"I'm not you're pampered housewife."
"Well what if I wanted you to be my little zombie lady?"
With that zombie acquired agility, he flipped the positions. They were two slabs of alabaster, made warm together. He was smiling, but his expression was serious.
"Blaine…come on. I would cramp your style." Her attempt at using humor as a weapon to divulge information fell flat. Live knew she could never be as business savvy as Blaine. Because you're a terrible liar yet you're sleeping with the king of lies.
"Baby, you are my style." He buried that sharp chin into the cuff of her shoulder, a pleasant heat returning to her chest. They knew so little of each other beyond their undead induced states.
"We can't do this again. It's not good."
He said nothing as he rolled off Liv. Blaine protectively placed her body like a pearl in between his bulky arms; limbs that could kill were Liv's safe haven. It wasn't long before she heard his breathing even out. She appreciated him even more for not calling her out, for not arguing with the lie. As much as she told him no, there was forever the ache to come back.
So…thoughts, comments? I would also love to know who is your favorite zombie from all across the undead universe? Thank you again for reading! It always gives me a little kick in my rear to write when I get a review so if you feel so inclined I would appreciate it! If you want to keep up with me on the internet hemisphere, you can follow me on the Twitter lizajanepeeps or subscribe to my youtube channel at:
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