-Stress

The bathroom was dark. Hanna didn't want to bother with the light switch; it didn't always work anyway, and why waste money on electricity? The rune on the back of his hand was enough for this.

He thanked whatever god would listen that his undead roommate was off walking. He wasn't sure he could explain tonight's disturbance. Sometimes, late at night, he would awaken with whimpering cries at nightmares, startling his friend to his side, and he would pet at his sweat-dampened hair murmuring "Hanna, Hanna, it was just a bad dream, you're all right, I'm here" while Hanna shook and calmed, drifted back to sleep. Tonight, it wasn't a nightmare, not even close.

Hanna hadn't busted a nut in his boxers from a dream since high school. He'd never busted a nut over a man before either. And he'd certainly never even gotten it up over a dead man.

"Shit…"

He wrung out his boxers in the sink, hoping he'd rinsed them thoroughly enough since the dead man insisted on doing laundry for him. Tossing them into the dirty clothes hamper on the floor, he sighed and pressed his forehead to the mirror. He knew sexual frustration well. The first time had been junior high, with a pretty substitute teacher whose button-ups were never buttoned up quite high enough over her impressive bust. There was a slew of classmates after that, one pair of breasts after the other, heating him up in places he never learned about since he'd slept through health classes. It had been a good few years since his last encounter with pure, carnal (and, damn it all, virginal) desire. He wasn't expecting it. Especially not like this.

Hanna was sure it was a gradual thing. He couldn't have just all of a sudden developed such an intense attraction. There were signs, had he paid any attention to them. The unusual heart rate he experienced when his partner touched him for any reason, the heat in his face and neck when those green lips pulled to a smile. The odd and rampant return of seriously painful and throbbing morning wood should have tipped him off, if nothing else. Everything else could be explained away as overreaction due to being alone so long. But the need to jerk off nearly every morning, and that need intensifying should his partner speak to him before he could rush to the bathroom…that really should have been obvious.

The more he thought about it, he realized it was a simple case of denial. Being sexually attracted to a male was unfamiliar and slightly disturbing, but he'd probably have gotten over that pretty easily if the male in question hadn't been a reanimated corpse. He's a fucking zombie, Hanna told himself. He is a zombie, and you want to bang him? How would that even work?

It scared him how quickly his brain found ways of making it work.

Another sigh, and he thunked his head into the mirror a few times before heading back into his room. The clock said 4:36. He wondered what time his partner would come home. He hoped it would be soon, it was easier to stop thinking about him this way while he was around. He could think of him as a friend, as the nice guy who cooked him breakfast, as the steadfast companion he could always trust to be there, to help out, to smile at him when anyone else would have just walked away.

He stopped mid-step onto his mattress. His brow furrowed and he stared hard at nothing while his brain worked without his consent once more.

Maybe this conflagration of desire was something more. Maybe his sexual tension was a result of different feelings. Feelings he never had for any of the pretty girls he chased in school, at bars, made eyes at on the subway. He was always the one making the move, trying to make the best impression. (Always failing though…he supposed he came on too strong, but that was another matter.) This time, someone was doing things for him. Someone was smiling at him, doing him favors, willingly following along and participating in things he did, things he said. Someone was actively part of his life, of their own volition.

Hanna was floored by this rush of realizations and what they implied. He collapsed into bed and stared wide-eyed at the ceiling. Nausea crept over him as he fretted and worried over questions he could never find the answers to himself. By the time the clock read 5:02, he was exhausted, but he had come to three conclusions:

1) I'm most likely in love with my partner.

2) He cares about me, but hell if I know why.

3) This is really not something to freak out over, especially not when I should be sleeping, jeez.

So he let himself succumb to his dragging eyelids, fast asleep by 5:37, when the zombie quietly reentered their apartment with a bag full of fresh bagels and cream cheese.

So. Uh. First fic here, and it's going to be a long, pointless ordeal about Hanna and {...}. It's mostly just Hanna freaking out and working through his hormones or whatever, pfft. I promised I'd write it to prompts given, so every "chapter" is a new prompt. Haha, this is so dumb, but I actually had a lot of fun writing it. And PLEASE don't be shy about telling me what's good or what sucks through this thing. I'm just practicing writing here. Comments and even flames are A-Ok, bros.