Title: All Those Who Wander Are Lost 7/?
Rating: R
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Kurt Hummel/Sam Evans (with other pairings thrown in along the way)
Author Notes: YOU ASKED FOR IT AND I GAVE IT. : D Hevans zombie!fic porn time, beware.
Warning: gore, violence, swearing, sex.
Disclaimer: I don't own. Maybe a good thing. There'd be gay sex every where. With Kurt. Everywhere.
Credit to The Walking Dead: "I want to see how red your face can turn."
Sue had thought McKinley High School had been the worst place to habitat people on the planet. In fact, she'd had solid facts – no, not opnions – but facts as to why it was so terrible, and why it was the most terrible place on earth to have a job. Or be a student. Or be within a ten mile radius of it.
She was wrong.
"Look at them Becky. All of them. Pathetic." She stood outside her tent, hands on her hips. There were no marks on her red track suit. She stuck out amongst the bland colors of blues and whites – she was Sue fucking Sylvester, not one of these common peasants, and she would damn well make sure that wherever she walked, people turned their heads. She'd come here two months ago, after she'd maimed her maid with one of her cheerleading trophies after the woman had come stumbling into the kitchen, one of her arms missing. She'd been far ahead of everyone else when she'd arrived in Boston. She'd taken Becky and her sister with her, and they'd hijacked an eighteen wheeler behind a BJ's and Sue Sylvester had left a path of destruction and bodies in her wake as she followed the radio signal before it had copped out that had put Boston as a safety zone.
"Is it true? Willaim and his glee-clubbers have arrived?"
"Yes coach."
"I'd be surprised if I didn't think the birds living in Shuester's hair flew them all to safety," She looked over at Becky who looked up at her with a smile, "I suppose we owe them a visit. I hear Porcelain had a bad run in with his Ken doll. Let's move, Becky." Sue started down between the path of tents, taking her time to bask in the glory of the eyes that followed her. When she had ridden in to Boston, blood smeared along the tires and truck freight, her shotgun on the dashboard, many of the refugees in the camp had turned to her like she was some sort of god. She was the one who'd started the patrols, and had run the camp since.
"Coach, look!" Becky pointed and a young man was jogging towards them. His face was red with strain, and he was panting hard when he reached them. His eyes were wide and Sue could smell the fear that perspired from his skin.
"Mrs. Sylvester, we've got a problem."
"You found them like this?" Sue raised her nose. Flies buzzed around the eviscerated corpses and the stink was awful.
"Just this morning. When the ATV wasn't signed back in, we went looking and found them. Here. Like this." The man beside her swallowed thickly from behind the cloth he held over his face. His eyes were watering with the urge not to vomit. He swallowed again, gagged, and spit onto the leaves.
"Did you see any in the area when you found them?"
"No, ma'am."
"Then lets not bring concern to the rest of the camp just yet. Keep an eye open."
"Yes, ma'am."
"You're to leave my sight now. I'd like a day where I wasn't visually assaulted by your failure."
"Yes, ma'am."
A few days passed without a hitch. Everyone from the group took time settling in. They still jumped at loud noises, or at whispers during the night. The rustle of leaves still made them cringe. A child crying made them sweat. It got better, little by little. So did Kurt. After a few more days rest, his shoulder had started to finish up healing, and quite nicely. He couldn't raise it horizontally quite yet, but the doctor they had in the camp helped him with different exercises to help strengthen the damaged muscles. With Sam's help and reminders, Kurt was starting to feel better within days.
Running into Sue Sylvester had certainly been a trip. Sam hadn't heard so many insults on one person's hair in under a minute as he did that day when Mr. Shuester and Sue shook hands. Kurt didn't want to admit it, but he'd missed her insults. And the name "Porcelain". He wouldn't tell anyone that.
The best thing that had happened to them in that next two weeks of settling in – was Artie. Apparently, just before she got out of Lima, Ohio, Sue had found the boy trying to make desperate calls to anyone in the glee club while attempting to board up his house with a flat wheel, and the other bent. Seeing him, seeing another one of their friends alive had warranted them all a good cry.
"And you still manage to look like you've raided Pee-Wee Herman's closet with those suspenders," Kurt sniffed with a laugh, "Suspenders and scrubs Artie? You can't be serious."
"What'chu talkin' about, boy? I look fly." Artie had chuckled before pulling him into a hug.
Kurt had cried when he'd seen Mercedes parents. Both were alive and well, and had made him cupcakes. Kurt would have said he ate one. Sam would have said he ate one, but that he'd stolen four when no one was looking and that he shared them with Sam in the safety of the night back in their tent. It was nice to see familiar faces, but in a way, most of the group cherished seeing warm, parental figures as their own had either died, or were wandering around somewhere, feasting upon their own kind.
"And here's to attempting to get back some form of normalcy to our lives." Puck raised his beer. The army base did not have a shortage on drinkers, and in a time like this, it was almost expected that most of the people you met knocked themselves out with a few glasses or bottles just to forget the past few months of hell.
Everyone raised their glasses and bottles to the air. The glass clinked together. The base had a cafeteria inside of the building that overlooked the camp. It was of a vast size, but people from the outside were only allowed within the cafeteria. Anywhere beyond was strictly for the military personnel and medical staff that were on base.
"I'm getting shitfaced tonight. That is all." Quinn informed the table. They laughed. Rachel sipped on a glass of orange juice with a smile as Finn squeezed an arm around her shoulders. Since they'd gotten to the camp and since Kurt had been with her, she'd looked much healthier. Her stomach was also beginning to protrude, a small swell pressing against her shirts. She'd been glad for the scrubs; they were much looser than jeans and skirts. She was being monitored daily by one of the medical staff to ensure the baby's safety. She would be the second person to give birth on the base.
Kurt sipped his drink and it burned his throat. His face contorted in rejection.
"What's the matter Hummel? Can't drink your weight in gin?"
"I know it comes as a shock, Puckerman, but I didn't make it a weekend habit to blackout and wake up in random beds."
"Touche, Humme. Touche. But drink up, I want to see how red your face can turn." Puck smirked and Kurt rolled his eyes, taking another sip. The drink went down easier this time. With each gulp, it got a little more so. Sam stuck to his Mike's Hard Lemonade like glue, leaning back in his chair and he grinned, slowly watching the rest of his friends progressively struggle to stay upright in their places, laugh, turn pink in the face, and drink down more. After his fourth, Sam kept having to tilt his head to the right to make the room stand straight.
Soon, Quinn's trying to high five Mercedes and missing; their foreheads bump together rather than their hands. Puck's telling Finn how much he loves him and how they should name the baby Noah, and Rachel's stuck in between their "bromance-hug" awkwardly sipping her juice. Sam's still trying to tilt his head with the room and is starting to fall off his chair. Artie's trying to pop a wheelie and does so unsuccessfully, flipping over onto the floor. Kurt's laughing so hard, he's got tears in his eyes.
It feels so good to be safe.
Sam groaned, his arms full of Kurt Hummel as the other boy is straddling his waist. Between gasps and kisses, Sam can hear the drunken slur of his name. He's already dizzy enough from the alcohol, but he has to close his eyes so as not to fall off the bed because Kurt's kissing him so much that he can't breathe and the lack of oxygen isn't helping.
"I'm really drunk," Kurt practically giggles into Sam's mouth. His thigh gets between Sam's leg, and Sam gasps sharply, his grip tightening on Kurt's hips, "Ouch Sam, your dick is hard." He says, almost deadpanned – before laughing again and Sam has to shut him up because if someone walks in, they're going to need to be a little more quiet than this. They were the first to stumble back from the cafeteria to their tent and Sam was glad, because Kurt had started getting really handsy and didn't seem to care that anyone else was in the room with them. Personally, he wouldn't have either, but even drunk, he's a gentleman and he'd rather shag Kurt silly in privacy then let other people watch. Though, that usually implied ownership, so maybe...
"Stop thinking. I'm trying to fuck you and it's distracting." Kurt snapped and Sam chuckled, running his hands up under Kurt's shirt. He's surprisingly fluent with his words for someone who keeps having to hold still every few minutes to make sure he doesn't fall off of his perch atop Sam's body. The skin is pale, and flawless. It's smooth beneath his fingertips as he tosses the scrubs shirt away and throws it onto the floor. It lands in silence.
The lantern candles shine a deep orange glow about the tent, and Sam has to admit, he likes this lighting much better than the sickly gray of the Dunkin Donuts bathroom. Kurt's skin seems to shimmer with sweat under the glow under the candlelight and it makes it look similar to caramel and soon, Sam can't even help himself, and he's lapping at every inch of skin he can get it. Kurt's hands tangle in his hair, head thrown back, his own hair askew. Sam's mouth is moving back and forth from shoulder to shoulder, over his collarbone and sucking at his neck, kissing across the expanse of warm skin between his nipples.
Kurt buried his nose in Sam's hair, running his fingers through the shaggy locks as Sam's hands come around from his hips, cupping his ass firmly. They're kissing again as Sam breathes heavily through his nose. He's got one hand tugging at the ties of Kurt's pants, and is shoving it down past the waistband, palming Kurt firmly through his undershorts. Kurt bucks forward frantically, moaning into his mouth. Sam's free hand digs nails into the creamy skin of Kurt's back before he takes his fingers to Kurt's lips. The warm, wet mouth envelopes the sensitive digits and Sam's cock gets harder, if that's at all possible. The tongue swirls around the tips of his fingers teasingly as Sam slips them out and slides them down the back of Kurt's pants.
"Fuck Kurt, I love you." Sam breathes out in a long hiss. His fingers are hesitant as Kurt stiffens. He's aware of what he's said, but his drunken-addled brain is just catching up with the effect. When it does, he freezes too. He can feel Kurt breathing on his neck and it's short and quick and –
"God, you have no idea how long I've waited for you to say that." Kurt's moving again, his mouth on Sam's neck and Sam's eyes roll up as he moans through gritted teeth. He's got his fingers soon buried deep inside of Kurt as the other boy is jerking back against them with an eager passion that's driving him absolutely wild because drunk Kurt is just as hot as sober Kurt, except he giggles a lot more. And a lot more voyeuristic. Kurt wriggles, contorting his body with flexibility that Sam can only admire as he withdraws his fingers and Kurt's pants are suddenly gone. He moves down Sam's thighs and it working frantically on his ties with shaky hands. Sam helps, desperate and soon, his aching cock is free.
Kurt sighs at the sight and straddles further up Sam's body. Kurt's completely naked and it's a glorious sight that makes Sam emit sounds that are a lot more desperate and high-pitched than he intended. Kurt's laughing and Sam grips the back of his neck, silencing him with a rough kiss as Kurt sinks blissfully down his hardened member with a choked groan. Sam hisses, toes curling into the sheets, knees jerking.
He's really glad that no one's in the tent with them, because being quiet wouldn't be enough as the mattress starts to creak as Kurt begins to ride him in slow movements, hips undulating back and forth. Their movements are uneven and unsteady at first and Sam's trying to find a rhythm with the boy atop of him. It takes a few minutes because each time Kurt comes down on his cock, it's hot and tight and so damn good that he can barely think of doing anything, much less count a tempo.
"Saaaam," His name suddenly has multiple a's in it as Kurt whines his name, face buried into his neck as Sam finally manages to find a steady rhythm with his hips, Kurt rocking forward as Sam pushes up in smooth, firm thrusts and god, does that feel good. Kurt leans back, and Sam can run his hands over his naked flesh and it's slick underneath his hands as he runs them down his chest and over the flat plane of his stomach and – what was this?
"You have... a tattoo," Sam gasped out and Kurt looked down, flushed and breathless. He watches with momentary surprise. Sam's fingers are running over the rose on his lower hip; with his skinny jeans on, it was just beneath the waistband. It's a gorgeous red, open, with wide petals, and two vines curl around it. It's small and Sam touches it again, and the flesh is hot and Kurt trembles and is starting to move again and Sam figures he can question it later because right now, Kurt's clenching tight around him and he knows he's coming soon. Kurt's moving the angle around atop of him, and it's getting harder to find a steady pace and achieve release when he's so damn close – but he doesn't need to worry anymore because Kurt found what he was looking for, and he's seeing stars as he bites down on Sam's shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut.
Kurt's kissing Sam firmly on the mouth again and it makes him dizzy. Sam watches out of the corner of his eye as Kurt's hand goes between his leg and holy fuck, Kurt's stroking himself and riding his cock and – Sam comes first with a yell into the other boy's mouth, hips arching off the bed. Kurt comes only a moment later, mouth moving away from Sam's as he cries out, trying to breathe as the pleasure floods him.
They're twitching and rocking against one another, and Kurt's trying to still himself, but it's just not happening. They're stuck like this for a good five or so minutes, slick with sweat, hands sliding over one another and through each others' hair. Sam's glad Kurt lets him muss up his hair, because he's fairly certain he looks absolutely adorable with it sticking up every which way.
"What's... that tattoo?" He asks after a moment of catching his breath. Kurt cocks his head before laying it down on Sam's chest, breathing heavy. For a long while, they're just silent and the cool air from outside is making him shiver.
"My mother, when she was alive... had a garden. She grew... roses. Gave me one for... my birthday... every year until... she died," Kurt manages to pant out between gasps for breath, "I miss her," Sam slowly strokes a hand through Kurt's hair. He's not sure what to say, and he's pretty sure there is nothing, so he's quiet, "But I'm glad... she's not here. To die... like this. Like... my dad." Kurt's still breathing hard, and it's hitching slightly and Sam's pretty sure it's not from the mindblowing orgasm he'd just had. And yes, it was mindblowing. He's confident in saying that.
Sam wraps his arms tight around the other, and pulls him closer, staring up at the tent ceiling. Kurt holds him tight in return. Sam wriggles the sheets out from underneath him and pulls them over them. He's glad he does that, because suddenly, Puck's tripping into the tent, followed Rachel who's trying to keep Finn upright. Sam has to admit, he's impressed she can do so for someone who's about a foot and a half shorter than Finn. Puck mumbles something he can't hear, but he can hear Rachel above it all.
"No, you cannot cuddle with them, they're asleep. And I don't think they'd appreciate you being in their bed tomorrow morning."
Puck mumbles something else.
"No, Noah. Sam did not impregnate Kurt. That's impossible. They're not having rainbow babies, go to your bed."
Sam can see Puck's form in the dim light stumble to the back of the tent and flop down onto a spare mattress. He hears Rachel sigh loudly and he figures it's not Puck's bed, but he can already hear Puck snoring, so she lets it go. He watches patiently as Rachel puts Finn in bed. They kiss and Rachel leaves. She returns a few minutes later with a rowdy Quinn, pushing Artie through the tent, followed by Mercedes.
"Awww, they're making rainbow babies!" Quinn squeals and Sam can feel Kurt shaking against him, hear him snort into his chest, and Sam understands he's trying not to burst out laughing. Rachel hushes her and gets her to bed. Mercedes goes to her bed and immediately flops down atop of it, practically tackling the pillow for sleep. Rachel helps Artie onto his bed who quietly thanks her, and soon, Rachel's gone to Finn's bed. Sam watches as she stretches and he can see the round swell of her growing belly and he smiles. Soon, the tent is quiet.
Shifting, Sam looks down at Kurt, expecting their conversation to continue – and instead, he finds the countertenor asleep on his chest. Flicking a stray lock from Kurt's forehead, Sam sighed and laid back against the bed, looking up at the ceiling until his lids get heavy and he falls asleep.
They do wake up with Puck in the bed. Sam can't figure out when it happened, but the first face he sees the next morning is not Kurt's, but rather Puck's on his shoulder with an arm slung around his waist as Kurt seemed to have moved to his opposite side sometime during the night.
Kurt shrieks and Sam falls out of the bed.
Puck wakes and just starts laughing.
It seems almost too good to be true as the camp flourishes with another group of refugees. They're from Canada. One woman is a nurse, and she's immediately marked with a red cross on her scrubs, her name written on the breast pocket. She's allowed beyond the cafeteria, and the cheerful demeanor that she'd displayed when she got there dissipates after a few days. No one's sure why.
Karma really is a bitch, she decides one night. She looks down at the name on her shirt. Leah. She's carrying samples from one station to the next, and after this round, she'll be done and able to go to bed. She really needs a cigarette. She's not supposed to, but she can let herself out the back entrance for five minutes for a smoke, can't she?
Leah struck the flint of her lighter, pushing on the emergency exit and stepped into the cold night air.
A swarm of wanderers were waiting at the door. She didn't even have time to scream as the cigarette hit the ground, sparks flying, and she's dragged into the mass of them. They immediately begin to penetrate the building, and no one knows.
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