Second one-shot, cause I'm bored like that. Features a slight FxL pairing. Nothing owned by me.
Flames are used for toasting marshmellows.
Louis stared at the bolted tri-barred door, hoping that it would hold during the onslaught that might come. He had taken refuge in the only room that could be locked from the outside about three hours ago, as soon as they had reached the safe room and discovered the painfully small hole in the wall. Louis was just glad he wasn't claustrophobic.
A sudden clattering of footsteps announced an approaching Francis; the sound was too heavy to be made by the petite Zoey and lacked the slight unevenness that Bill's limp caused. As he suspected, the haggard face of the biker peered down through the bars to where he sat. "How you holdin' up, Dark Meat?"
Louis let the racial pet name slide; it had become Francis' favorite and no amount of protesting changed it. His anger actually seemed to encourage the man. "I-I'm still feverish and I – ", he suddenly broke into a coughing fit, clutching his chest in pain. He waited several minutes after it died to continue. "I'm coughing now. I think…I know I'm getting worse."
"So you got the sniffles." The older man shrugged. "You didn't have to lock yourself up in this tiny ass closet."
"You-cough- you know why I did. We can't be sure…"
"You're not infected."
"Can't be sure that I'm not. You remember the man…"
"We've been crawling through shit, eating rotten food, never sleeping.."
"The man in the bell tower. He thought he was…"
"It's no wonder we all don't get some crazy ass disease."
"Immune! So what if I'm not?"
"That fucker was crazy." Francis snarled. "He got lazy, got bit, and got sent straight to Hell. You've been bitten more times than a sorority slut into odax and nothin's happened."
"I'm not taking a chance."
"Goddammit you're not infected!"
"How the fuck would you know?!"
Louis felt a nauseous wave of relief sweep through him when no response was offered. The young man sighed and cradled his fevered head in his hands.
"Trying to pussyfoot out of our deal." He heard Francis whisper.
Louis actually chuckled. "We'll, at least you can keep your end."
More silence. Louis couldn't even appreciate the rare moment of quiet; the howls of the infected rang in his ears. It might be the last sound he ever heard – other than the pumping of a shotgun that was.
"You really believe this bullshit, don't you?"
He sighed softly. "I don't know, Francis. But if I didn't take this chance…And if I hurt you…Or Bill and Zoey", he added quickly, "I would never forgive myself. Even if I – what the hell are you doing?" He cried as Francis began to unbolt the door. Louis sloppily jumped up, slightly disoriented from the fever, and tried to pull back on the bars. "You can't let me out!"
Francis ripped the door open effortlessly. Louis was no weakling, but on his best day he would still be vastly out-muscled by the biker. "I'm not lettin' you out, I'm comin' in." And true to his word, he stepped inside the cramped space.
Louis flattened himself against the back wall, but was still chest to chest with the larger man. Now he was very happy he wasn't claustrophobic. "What are you doing?!" He repeated.
That impish grin spread over Francis' unshaved face. "I'm gonna prove you're not infected, dipshit." Louis growled, ready to tell him that he was an idiot and to get the fuck out when Francis gripped his arms painfully – and kissed him.
It was nothing like kissing a woman; women didn't taste like cheap tobacco, move their tongues with such dominance around a stranger's mouth and certainly didn't have sandpaper beards that would surely leave cuts on his face. Francis didn't close his eyes like the cover of a cheap Harlequin romance; he stared straight into Louis' astonished gaze and the young man couldn't decide whether to kiss him back or slam his knee into the son of a bitch's groin.
As though sensing his intention Francis withdrew his tongue and leaned back, his expression holding more arrogance then normal.
"So Dark Meat, would I have swapped spit with you if I thought you were infected?"
"You fucking idiot", he snarled between gasps, "What if I am? Then we'll both turn into zombies!"
Arms still caught, Louis couldn't shrink back as the other man leaned in again, so close that he could feel his rough lips. "Remember our deal? Either we ride out this shit together, or we finish each other off."
His warm breath made Louis dizzy, if it weren't for the biker's strong grip his legs would have given out. "You're not sane."
"And you're not gonna die."
Louis' lungs collapsed and a single sob tore through him. He didn't realize he was crying until he tasted his own tears sliding past his mouth.
Francis, for his part, did nothing; didn't mock his fear of death, or attempt to comfort or subjugate him to another kiss. He simply stood, inches away, allowing Louis to momentarily lose himself in his friend's eyes.
Hours or minutes later, Louis felt himself pushed back. The tattooed man stepped out and fished in his pockets for a borrowed Marlboro, as calmly as though they had just finished a game of Go Fish instead of tonsil hockey. Louis, however, was shaking like a lamb in a wolves den, eyes glued to Francis as he lit up and exhaled a plume of smoke. Maybe he was trapped in a cheesy romance; maybe this was the just the cliché climactic struggle between two star struck characters, maybe…
"So you gonna hole up in the closet like a fag, or what, Dark Meat?"
And maybe he should have just groined the motherfucker when he had the chance.