There was an eerie, uncomfortable silence looming through the building. It was interrupted only by the turning of pages or the odd sneeze or cough. There was nothing to see. The lights were off. Shelves upon shelves of toiletries, food, furniture, electronics- made up aisles through the warehouse floor. In aisle three, Ryou Bakura was huddled up on a cherry red leather couch, his legs to his chest as he hugged against a fully loaded shotgun. He had yet needed to fire it, but he hadn't let go of it since it was handed to him. He had only been here for a few days now. He didn't know the layout of the building, this being his first time being in it, so he stayed next to his expert.
The expert he clung to was Malik Ishtar. The building they were in? A Costco warehouse on the outskirts of town. Ryou had no idea what they were doing here, but Malik seemed to know everything he needed to in this situation. How he knew this was beyond Ryou, but he did his best to trust the Egyptian despite how little they really knew each other. Mostly it was quiet. But every once in a while there was a distinct scratching noise coming from the warehouse walls. Ryou felt the need to panic, but Malik quickly shushed him and reminded him that there was a gun in his hands.
The scratching came from the people outside. The people Malik refused to let in. He insisted that letting in humans was just letting in the infected. So no matter how much banging there was on the walls, or screams from the lot, Ryou didn't move from the couch. Malik would bring him food from any flats he had brought down, and attempt to read him to sleep. Ryou had managed to sleep a few times from the influence of pure exhaustion, but he would never stay that way for more than an hour at a time. He'd wake up to any noise that echoed through the building, and grip tighter to the barrel of his gun.
It had taken Malik four straight hours of struggling to teach himself how to operate the fork lift, and after dropping a few flats of MaxiPads that he had been practicing on, he took down a flat of Kraft Crunchy Peanut Butter. It took some convincing, but Ryou eventually ate his offered bread, managing to survive a day longer. Ryou didn't speak often. And when he did, he only ever asked the same questions.
"Malik," he would mumble dryly, lifting up his eyes wearily, "what are we doing in here?"
Exasperated, Malik would huff out the same response he had been huffing for days. "We're hiding, Bakura."
Ryou's grip tightened, and he turned his head to face the other on the floor next to the couch. He was curled up with a stolen iPhone, playing whatever games the store had downloaded for trial.
"What are we hiding from?" Ryou insisted, holding the gun closer to his chest.
Malik put the phone down and turned to face the other, obviously in no mood for this continued foolishness. Ryou was obviously beginning to lose his mind. The crazier he got, the closer Malik was to leaving him left for dead. He'd live twice as long if he did that.
"We're hiding from /zombies/, Ryou. The undead. The infected. You know, the kind of expired looking people who stumble around and ask for brains?" His tone was less than sensitive. And his brows furrowed in the annoyance.
Ryou frowned and turned back to his feet, still refusing to move. It was a long time before he spoke again. He turned his head back to Malik, loosening his hold on the gun for a moment.
"I want to brush my teeth."
With a sigh the Egyptian stood, digging through the shelf behind him for the toothpaste and toothbrush he had brought days ago for Ryou to use. They were still unopened.
"Let's go, then. Get up."
Nervously, Ryou straightened his legs and put his feet on the ground. He was hesitant, as if the concrete was going to collapse under him. He started to put pressure on it, holding the weight in his calves and standing properly. His legs were still bent, and as he managed to take a step forward, he was crouching. Never, though, did he let go of the shotgun.
Malik waited for him to make his way over, starting to lead the way once they were beside each other. Malik not only had a hunter's knife in his pocket, but he had stuffed away a pistol under his belt loop. He had already killed a few of the infected before he stumbled upon Ryou, throwing the kid on the back of his bike and making his way to this place. He shut the garage-like doors on hundred's of people, not about to wait and make sure they were all still healthy. No, he didn't play those games. Do or die.
After a struggling walk they were at the men's washroom, and after a minute of surveying the stall door, Ryou staggered inside. He moved in front of the sink and looked up wearily, his eyes widening at the sight of his reflection. His skin had paled to a ghostly white, the normal bags under his eyes dropped down twice as far as he was used to. His hair had a good layer of grease on it, and his lips were dry and cracking.
He stared for a moment before turning to look at Malik. His skin seemed fresh. His hair was perfectly clean. He was even wearing different clothes. Ryou didn't even put two and two together, and as he watched Malik preparing his toothbrush, he managed to speak again.
"How come you look so clean?"
Malik took the opportunity to shove the brush into Ryou's mouth. His eyes widened a bit again, but he didn't fight back. This just meant he wouldn't have to let go of the gun. And he was not about to do that. He let Malik scrub his teeth, showing his tongue when it was asked for and opening wider when necessary.
"The staff room has a shower. A couple, actually. While you've been in paralysis, I've been living. Spit." He pulled the brush out, and Ryou bent down to the sink to spit out the foam. It should have been blue, but it was a deep, bright pink from all the blood his infected gums had managed to let out. A shower did sound appealing, but would he even be able to do it? How would he wash his hair? He'd barely moved in days. He didn't even use the toilet. Malik just brought a coffee can for him. Not that he'd even have much to get rid of, having barely put anything in.
"Look, Ryou. I know you're scared, but we're safe in here. You need to start waking up from this. You should grab a shower, change your clothes, and try and eat something. They have big chocolate muffins. Why don't you try those?" Malik slid the brush back into the disposable box, before putting it away in his back pocket. "Yeah?"
It took a bit of thinking. They had been safe up until now. They could easily survive a lot longer even if he did let loose. He managed a slow nod, somehow prying his hand away from the barrel of his gun. It was a push to straighten his arm, but he managed it.
"That a boy," Malik encouraged, giving him a pat on his shoulder. "I'll bring you something to change into. You go have a shower. There's shampoo and soap in there already."
With a small smile, Ryou nodded. He followed Malik out of the bathroom and down the hall, getting an encouraging push towards the staff room. He wandered in and looked around. A fridge, sink, microwave, even a stove. They could easily eat real food of Ryou was willing to come here before now. He felt a little bad for forcing Malik to shove animal crackers down his throat when he could have had eggs and bacon in here. He approached the table in the middle of the room, carefully setting the shotgun down before uncoiling his hands from it.
Reluctantly he moved away from the table into another small hallway. There was a bathroom at the end of it, with the door propped open. He peaked in, quickly spotting the shower stall. He pattered up to it, peering past the curtain. There was a bottle of Irish Spring, and an expensive shampoo that Ryou couldn't recognize. For a moment he smiled a bit. Leave it to Malik to put so much effort into what he washed his hair with.
He peaked over his shoulder before undressing, sliding into the stall and turning the water on. And as soon as it hit his skin, he was in heaven. It was like he could feel all the grime and sweat dripping right off of him, even before he used any soap. He soaked his hair as soon as possible, stroking the shampoo through it and completely clearing out every drop of grease from every strand. It felt so nice to be clean. He hadn't noticed until he saw it how much of a difference it made.
He scrubbed his face vigorously, clawing at it to get all of the dead skin off. And he was just about to step out of the stall when he heard Malik at the doorway to the bathroom. He hung up his gun and the hoodie he had stolen from the shelf, heading to the stall and peaking inside of it.
"Still alive in here?" He meant is as a joke. Even though this was the worst possible scenario to even crack something like that. Ryou didn't even pay attention to his words. He was more focused on flinging around and throwing a hand over his crotch.
"D-Do you mind?"
With a snicker Malik pulled his head out. "Relax. I brought you a towel. Let me know when you... ...Want it."
Ryou frowned a bit, rubbing soap into the crook of his neck. "What's the matter?"
Instead of answering Malik jumped back into the stall, pulling the curtain shut behind him. Ryou was completely taken aback. He was speechless, even as he felt his body get shoved into the tile wall in front of him.
"Let's play the quiet game."
Ryou couldn't even answer before there was a hand over his mouth, and he was forced further into the tiny stall. He watched the tile in front of him, completely clueless as to what was about to happen. Then he felt it. A slow peck on the back of his neck, and a dry hand sliding down his abdomen. The lips moved to his ear, and he felt the breath crawl into it as he heard the whisper.
"Don't make a sound."
As soon as his mouth was released, Ryou took in a breath, "M-Malik, what are you-?"
"Shush."
Ryou did as he was told, keeping his eyes open as he started to gnaw on his lip. Malik knew he had to work fast. He had heard something Ryou didn't. And being unarmed, there wasn't much else for him to do. He coiled a hand around Ryou's length, tugging on it roughly to give it any type of hardness. Ryou's teeth dug sharper into his lip, the crying burying itself in his throat and cracking there. What the hell was going on? Malik hadn't shown any sort of feelings like this before. It was worrying.
Malik moved to put his back against the opposite wall, pulling Ryou off his as he held him close. He continued the jerk in his arm, bending his knees as he slid to sit. As he did he tugged downward on Ryou's hip, urging him to come down, as well. Ryou started to lower, but practically panicked when his mouth was covered again.
"Turn and face me. I'm going to enter you right away."
And that wasn't comforting at all. Ryou froze in his place, panting through his nose. Why the hell? But what was he supposed to do? Run away? Where was he going to run? He couldn't leave this building unless he wanted to be eaten alive. So after holding a breath, he moved as instructed. Turning his back to the shower curtain, and curling his hips up.
He lowered himself down hesitantly, letting Malik slide inside of him. He felt his stomach tighten, and he clenched his jaw to stay silent like he was supposed to. Why the hell was he supposed to do this? It was shattering down all the trust he had built.
Malik quickly started to thrust upward, moving a hand back up to cover Ryou's mouth. It was smart, as Ryou moved straight into crying. Malik gripped to his hip, trying to hold him down as he moved faster. Then he heard it again. The same noise from before.
"Listen to me, Ryou," he muttered, now doing anything he could to reach his release. "I know this h-hurts you, but... Y-You know that... Someone... Someone out there loves you, right?"
And suddenly, his intentions were obvious. A few more tears slid down Ryou's cheeks as he nodded, letting himself rock back. They weren't alone in here anymore. Sex would distract Malik from the fear. And Ryou would be so focused on his own thoughts, he wouldn't hear anything. Turned away so he wouldn't see anything.
Malik was completely silent as he finished. Ryou could feel the come filling him, but he went back to being distracted as the jerking continued.
Ryou was completely focused on that little bit of pleasure, even as he felt the hand land on his shoulder.
Even when a handful of his hair was grabbed.
And when his head was torn from his shoulders.