Originally published on aff 2010-08-08
The pickings were slim now. The flesh of the dead had long since rotted beyond consumption, and the survivors were getting better and better at protecting themselves. Every once in a while, a cry would go up among the quiet streets, alerting others to food or death or simple violence. He'd learned long ago to attack the vulnerable, the lone survivor, rather than the pack. He scuttled through the shadows, crouching to spring up boxes and broken stairs, ever on the hunt for food. There was something inside of him that made him remember that, at one time, he was just like those he hunted, scared shitless and running for his life. It made him think and learn where others fell prey to new instinct. He could evolve, survive, and maybe one day he could learn to do more than stalk and pounce.
He'd had a name once, but he couldn't remember it now. He'd had a family, but he didn't know if they survived or he had killed them. He saw himself in puddles of water or windows; saw the pallidness of his skin, the feralness in his milky eyes, and his diseased flesh. At one time it probably would've made him ill – now it was just normal.
He found food on an abandoned street, a fresh Tank kill, and scavenged what flesh and organs there were that hadn't been pounded into mush. He watched vultures circle the dead and wondered how the birds would taste. He decided he liked that name, vulture. He took it as his own.
Vulture, as he called himself now, enjoyed having an identity. He met up with others like him now and then, a Boomer, a Spitter, and a Charger. They spoke of hunting down the living, going after them like wolves, but Vulture wanted no part of it. He traveled with them for a while because it was nice to talk with others, and they allowed him to scavenge safely.
He broke off with the small group before they left the safety of the city limits and circled around on his own. He decided he'd made a good decision when gunfire opened up a minute later, the sounds of death quickly following.
Vulture wandered from sun-up to sun-down, scavenging for food to sustain his body, finally deciding some rest would be good. He found a secluded niche and curled up there, closing his eyes. He wondered if he could dream, could still dream, and what he would dream of.
He woke abruptly, milky eyes peering into the midnight darkness. Something was out there, something alive. Curiosity over caution, Vulture left his hiding hole and ventured into the dark. He spotted the noise-maker rifling through a pile of debris, picking up bullets – a human. A living human. It was male, dirty and gaunt, so it made sense to Vulture that the male would've been over-looked by others. He crept closer, fascinated by the dirty, rusty red hair and the frantic flutter of the human's heart. He called the male 'Prey' for that was what he was, but Vulture didn't want to eat him. He wasn't hungry. He wanted to see how close he could get, how close he could come to Prey before Prey realized he was there.
Little by little Vulture moved forward, skirting lesser undead that would alert Prey. He was soon directly to Prey's left, crouched and waiting. Prey had guns – Vulture hated that word – and knives. Which meant that Prey was like him, only alive. Vulture crept forward, a little growl of greeting escaping him.
Prey's arm came up and Vulture felt stinging pain in his shoulder. He leaped back, clutching at his wound, feeling the ichor that was his blood oozing out between flesh and cloth. Prey was staring at him, eyes wide and wild, pistol aimed directly at his head.
Vulture shook his head and let out a growl, trying to tell Prey that he didn't want to hurt him. He shuffled back and Prey advanced. That pistol came up again and this time Vulture leaped forward, into the zombies that had come at the bark of the gun. Vulture felt the lesser undead break under his weight, and he looked up at Prey. "Run!" he barked, though it came out more as a "Raa!" to Prey. The muzzles of the gun flashed; undead dropped all around Vulture.
When it went quiet again, Vulture and Prey were staring at each other. Slowly, Prey came forward and knelt before Vulture, pressing the muzzle of the pistol against Vulture's forehead. They stared at each other for a long time.
Vulture felt the rumbling before Prey, and without thinking, Vulture surged up, wrapping his arms around Prey and leaping for the roof of a car. From there, he leapt to the roof of a building and both he and Prey watched as a Tank plowed through the car. Prey stared, amazed the Tank didn't see them. He turned toward Vulture.
"You saved me."
Vulture cocked his head. He understood the words – he'd saved Prey from death. He shrugged, and drew back as Prey suddenly advanced. Prey's hand swept back his hood, revealing his face, and the short, dark hair that covered his head. Vulture's hands went up to catch his hood, but Prey stopped him.
"Never seen what one of you really looks like." Prey murmured. "You don't have lice or ticks or other parasites."
Vulture growled. "I bathe, thank you!" But it came out as growls and barks.
Prey smirked. "Your face is clean, but your arms are covered with the sickness. Your legs too, I bet. Your nails are like knives; no wonder you guys can kill so fast."
Vulture was at a loss on how to deal with Prey. The human was completely unafraid, touching him like it was normal. "Do they all look like you?" Prey asked.
Vulture slowly shook his head. He pointed to himself and pantomimed breasts, then plucked at his sweatshirt and formed a circle with his arms. Prey watched, fascinated. "So there are female hunters, but they all wear a dark sweatshirt like you?"
Vulture nodded. Prey smirked. "Are they all as smart as you?"
Vulture shrugged. He made a few noises and rose from his crouch, pulling his hood back over his face. Prey watched, fingers twitching on the trigger of his pistol. He was taller than Prey by a few inches. He stared down at that dirty face and reached to touch that warm flesh. Prey was soft, malleable, warm. Vulture felt the press of a pistol in his chest and knew to be careful with Prey. He explored the human's face, marveling at the warmth. He liked it. He wrapped his arms around Prey and rumbled.
"Are you purring?"
Vulture rumbled louder. Prey laughed and removed the gun, but he didn't move out of the embrace.
"You're strange."
Vulture cocked his head down at Prey. He growled lightly and tapped the man's chest. Prey's mouth split into a grin. Vulture found himself imitating.
oooo
Vulture soon came to live with Prey within the human's fortress. He protected Prey when they went hunting, and Prey warned him of survivors so Vulture wouldn't get shot. It was a strange relationship they had. Prey wouldn't ask if Vulture had eaten and Vulture wouldn't go looking for Prey unless Prey called for him. Vulture was happy. He was full most of the time and content to laze in the shadows while Prey worked. Sometimes, he helped Prey, but Vulture soon grew bored with the activity and went prowling.
It was a cool night tonight, one that Vulture had every intention of enjoying. Prey was safe here in the walls, working on something Vulture wasn't allowed to help with. Vulture watched the stars, rumbling low in his throat with his contentment. He felt Prey come up behind him and soon the human's hands were wrapped around his shoulders, their cheeks pressed together. Vulture purred louder, then stopped suddenly as Prey suddenly pressed their mouths together.
"Don't tell me no one's ever kissed you?"
"Not while I was dead," Vulture growled, though Prey couldn't understand him.
"You're not that bad looking, for a mobile corpse."
Vulture let out a sigh and growled. Prey took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, and Vulture shivered at the feel of a warm, wet tongue touching his own. It took all of his willpower not to bite down. Prey's hands slid his hood down and touched at his ears and hair, then slid down to his neck. Vulture just remained still, unable to really believe this was happening. Prey pulled back and smirked.
"You do remember how this works, right?"
Vulture snarled and grabbed at Prey's hips, pulling him forward. His nails scraped lightly over the bulge in the denim, and he grinned. Prey grinned back. They kissed again, a clashing of tongues and teeth, and Vulture tasted Prey's blood. He licked at those broken, swollen lips as Prey unzipped his hoodie to reveal the diseased skin beneath it. Neither paid any mind to the chance of infection, lost to the instinct of mating.
Vulture fumbled with the button and zipper of Prey's jeans, and with his mouth – because he didn't want to claw Prey – brought the human's swollen organ out of its confines. Prey's hand locked on Vulture's skull and he thrust into that lukewarm mouth, going balls-deep into the Hunter's throat before he withdrew. Vulture choked only once before he remembered that breathing was optional for him. He worked on pulling Prey's jeans down, felt the human's organ swelling again, and just lightly scraped his teeth along Prey's cock. The human groaned and pulled away, pulling Vulture with him. He forced Vulture down on his stomach, tying his arms with his jacket. Vulture struggled, but he wasn't getting free.
He growled when Prey slapped his vulnerable ass, feeling the sting even though the flesh was technically dead. He whimpered when he felt something warm and wet and wriggly against his flesh and felt that wriggly thing push against muscle that Vulture didn't use anymore. Prey was laughing against him, and the living pulled back long enough to level a grin at the trapped Hunter.
"What's wrong?" Prey asked, fingers digging into dead flesh. "You never been fucked?"
Vulture made whimpery noises and writhed. Prey grinned as if he'd understood the non-verbal communication. He slid his fingers along the crack he'd been teasing with his tongue and pressed for digits into that empty hole there, watching Vulture give a cry and writhe on his fingers. Prey laughed and withdrew his fingers long enough for Vulture to start snarling, then slammed them back in as hard as he could, watching the Hunter's yellowish, milky eyes close and his breath leave him in gasps.
Prey knew no amount of attention to Vulture's ass would loosen the undead up more than he already was. And Vulture was making enough noise to draw others of his kind. Prey had always wondered if the higher undead could do things like the living – Vulture fulfilled his fantasy and more.
He finally pulled back from Vulture entirely, staring at that gaping hole and the man who owned it. Vulture stared back and whimpered.
"You want to be filled, huh?" Prey asked, hand wrapping around his erect member and giving it a few leisurely strokes as he watched Vulture's eyes glaze. "Fine."
Vulture near shrieked as Prey pushed into him in one, short, hard thrust. Prey groaned at the heat Vulture's innards provided; he reluctantly left them only to thrust back in. The pace was hard and brutal and Vulture just kept howling. Prey pulled the Hunter back and up into his lap, fisting the flaccid flesh between Vulture's legs. Vulture howled again and gripped tight to the arm around his waist, gasping as his nerve endings were abused. Vulture had no control – he was at Prey's mercy. With each hit to his prostate, Vulture's muscles constricted around the thick cock inside him until finally he couldn't take anymore abuse.
Vulture howled as he came, only a rare bit of semen still escaping him. Prey bit into Vulture's shoulder, following him over the edge and filling him with pearlescent white fluid.
They collapsed back on the floor, panting against each other. Prey carefully pressed a kiss to Vulture's mouth. He received a lick in return.
They lay joined together for hours, watching the sky above their heads. Vulture's body eventually went lax and Prey watched the Hunter sleep for a while. Above, military jets roared, searching for survivors. Prey let them pass, only his eyes following their trails. He held tighter to Vulture and decided his Hunter was worth dying for.