Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside.

Warnings: See original chapter for a complete list of warnings. This particular chapter will contain significant adult language, and makes allusions to possible drug use. It is also pertinent to forewarn you, that this particular chapter marks the beginning of the more 'slashy' bits. So those who don't like even hints of the slashy goodness that many of us know and love, you might want to skitter off around this point. (Mild Slash)

Authors Note: Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. In addition, I wanted to send a quick thank you to my reviewers. The encouragement and constructive criticism it provides makes the writing process that much more enjoyable! You guys are the wind beneath my typing fingers. I adore you all!

Rotation – Chapter 3

More surprised then anything; he quickly grabbed his dirty jeans from the pile on the floor. Noticing, despite himself, how his clean skin seemed to rebel against the gritty texture of the soiled material.

He didn't even want to think about the last time they had been washed, feeling as though the actual answer might be worse then even his most generous estimations. Hell, even the fabric was still suspiciously damp…

He bit back his disgust however; skin only flinching marginally as he pulled them on over his borrowed shorts before poking his head out of the bathroom door, tension knotting in between his shoulders blades like a taunt bowstring.

He cocked his head at the echoes, his keen hearing able to discern the very moment when knuckle met wood. The sound of the index and middle finger knuckle were the most prominent, separated in strength and force from the rest.. Decidedly masculine perhaps?

The knock had been firm and confident, with no apparent hesitation or trepidation in its action. It had been a calm, if not overly confident sound that held no indication of panic or fear. It was sedate, but firm and he arched a guarded brow as he took in the sound.

One could tell a lot about a person by how they knocked on someone's door. It was like a handshake, entirely unique to a person's personality, mood or even intentions. Showing more about a person then they would likely ever realize, or even admit to.

He had always noticed things like that. Matching people to a particular tone of sounds.. Each one different in form, pitch and weight.. Much like a signature.

He had found it to be such a remarkably accurate judge of character that he had used it repeatedly throughout the years, vastly to his benefit. After all, it was always good to get a heads up as to who might be knocking at your door out in the boondocks at the dead of night.

To him it was practically common sense to pay attention to those kind of things…

So perhaps, in this case, that's why the most irritating thing about that sound, was the fact that despite having been essentially living alongside these people for over two whole months, for reasons beyond him, he couldn't seem to put a face behind the action. No name immediately floated to mind, not a face, nor even the merest hint. And since he prided himself on such instinctive recognition, annoyance quickly began to override his curiosity and surprise.

He eyed the door that led out to the hall, weighing the decision consideringly for a few long beats before he decided to ignore it altogether. Last time he checked walkers didn't knock. And besides that, none of the others had anything much he particularly wanted to hear anyway.

God only knows what they were bothering him with now.. They were takers. Ignorant, hungry mouths disguised as everyday people.. Responsibilities.

Hell with'em.

Walking those few, short steps back into the heady, steam-filed bathroom felt a lot like coming home. And he revelled in the thick, sluggish way that the heavy air slipped; slick and dew-ridden down his lungs. It was something familiar, relatable.. Like something that he had had before.

Something that was still… good.

Strapping on his belt knife, he curled his bare toes into the cool bathroom tile, wriggling the bruised digits on his left foot experimentally to ensure that none of them were broken, having somehow jammed them against the ends of his steel toed boots midst the rush in between grabbing his gear from the truck and high tailing it back to the CDC doors before the scientist closed them up.

There had been literally no time, as they had dodged walkers and jumped over the concrete barriers and the sand bag barricades as they raced back from the vehicles. Glenn, Rick, T-Dog, and Shane all running flat out and heavy beside him, their breaths strained and heavy as days running on too little sleep, and far too empty stomachs began to make themselves known.

He had been surprised at the how exhilarating it had been, knowing that for the first time since the world had gone to hell, an unknown safety loomed ahead, even as the entrance and parking lot by their vehicles was steadily filling up with walkers. There had been too many of them to fight, too many to even think of trying. And that left them with only with the fleetness of their feet and the strength of their reflexes as they kicked up the sod on the corpse strewn grounds behind them, skidding through the door almost as one, hardly even slowing down as they barrelled full-tilt through the doors.

But instead of thoughts of freedom, or even relief, all he could think about as those doors slammed shut, the echoes of the sound chasing each other, hollow and despondent down through the empty hallways, was how discomforting he found the place. And how, almost right way, he decided that he didn't much like the strange sound their footsteps made as they slapped across the pristine marble tiles. Unused to the sharp, metallic echoes after so many weeks spent with the soft dirt and forest muck under their feet.

He had almost forgotten. How could you forget something like that?

It had been a sort of exhilaration that had been cut with the rough edges of tempered anticipation, and fringed with the barest hints of disappointment. The kind of disappointment that comes with the release of the finger pressing down against the trigger, and the sharp fleshy sound the arrow makes as it pierces through flesh. …Signalling that it all might just be over…

And really.. He didn't know what to think about that.. It was a damn fool thing to think about.. He knew that. And yet…

He was only just thinking about searching through the drawers again, this time for a clean shirt, seriously considering the merits of heading out to inspect the place after having drunk more Southern Comfort and red wine in one sitting then he had had in a long time, when it happened..

As apparently, the reprieve wasn't meant to be. Because he had forgotten to take into account two very important things. One, with the power cut to a minimum, the electronic doors that led out to the hallway didn't lock, a serious design flaw in a building that was supposed to house and study some of the most dangerous viral shit known to mankind, if you asked him. And Two, apparently he wasn't the only one that needed a brush up on their manners and common courtesy around here.

Because by the time the third series of knocks had echoed out throughout the room, his keen ears picked up the sound of the springs in the door handle bunching, and then audibly releasing…

What the bloody fuck?

Anger and irritation momentarily overwhelmed the slow burn of the Southern Comfort still cycling, thick, and pleasantly warm in his gut. And he wrenched himself away from the bathroom counter at once, the action made fluid with his rising anger as all thoughts of a quick shave were abruptly forgotten.

He rounded the corner out of the bathroom in a swift flurry of movement, bare feet slapping against the tiles with vicious intent as he stalked out into the main room, steaming mad and ready to rip whoever it was, a new arse to shit out of for invading his privacy..

But as he entered into the main room, stepping over the pile of his own discarded clothes as he did so, his mind went blank with surprise… And for the second time that evening, surprise and confusion burbled like flowing water across the surface of his mind.

It was the kid..Glenn..

The younger man was flushed, punch drunk, and looking right at him with that big, easy smile he had seen the man occasionally sport throughout the weeks he had known him. Only now, ever since the grub and the booze it had somehow seemed to have gone megawatt, apparently flipped on permanently as the thoughts of safety and shelter continued to sink in.. Something that made them think that maybe.. just maybe they had found a place away from it all, away from the horror and the pain, the hunger, the fear, and the uncertainty.

And it looked good on him..

The kid was just standing there, bold as brass, pale skin all rose flushed and sated looking from his own shower. The man obviously couldn't hold his drink worth a damn because already he was wavering slightly in place, looking far too content as he dripped water all over the carpet, apparently oblivious to the fact that he was walking around in public looking like he was wearing a house coat that had been nicked from Andre the Giants wardrobe.

The kid looked friggin' ridiculous, yet somehow, entirely endearing. And it made no sense..because it felt like it was something he could get..used to.

And wasn't that just a thought.

The anger that had been simmering, burbling up from his gut like nausea, curled up and died just like the sneer he had slapped across his face as he had rounded the corner. With all thoughts of protest and harsh words curling up and dying before they could even so much as leave his lips.

It was something that for reasons beyond him, only served to make his irritation and rising discomfort grow. Because the problem was, he didn't do discomfort.. In fact, he was usually the one doling it out. And now that he was on the opposing end he found that he didn't like the role reversal one bit..

And maybe he was drunker then he thought, with too much booze in a gut too unused to the feeling of a full stomach. Because for some reason, his mind was suddenly focusing in on the little things, on things that he didn't usually notice or pay any attention to, now suddenly backlit in day glow colors like a bad hotel on the Vegas strip.

He didn't understand it. The source.. Where was this shit even coming from?

Because he was sure that he had never really thought about things like the way the mans dark eyes and equally as dark hair reflect in the light, making his pale, almost ivory coloured skin seem to glow in the bright overhead lights. Or the way his scent seemed to have changed, now a powerhouse medley of shampoo and shaving cream, that was somehow not enough to mask a scent that before now he had only ever gotten a mere whiff of, always muted under layers of sweat, death and grime.

And now that it was noticeable, practically strong enough to leap up and do the two step in his nostrils, it took him a moment to realize that it was actually the man's natural, baser scent.

It was as hard to define, as it was overwhelming …Yet somehow, at the same time it was just very..Glenn..

But he supposed that if he was forced to categorize it, he might say it was exotic. It was enticing, different, boldly spiced and decidedly foreign to his discriminating southern nose. But it fit him. He wasn't sure why, but it smelled like him, like it was right.

Hell. Forget the damned booze. Maybe the god damned food had been drugged. Here he was carrying on about a smell. On another man no less. That scientist, Jenner, or whatever the hell his name was, looked just shifty enough to be capable of pulling something like that.

But that train of thought quickly became overruled as a long neglected corner of his brain shook off it's metaphorical dust covers and piped up to remind him that he had never really had much of a problem looking at other guys like that. He had played for both sides of the field on more then one occasion.

Because despite having Merle for an older bother, the fact was that he had actually inherited very few of the older man's hang-ups. The way he saw it, like any red blooded American male, he liked sex. And therefore saw no sense in limiting what he got based on gender. Especially since he found that both forms generally appealed to him.

He had never really examined it much further then that.

Merle didn't know of course. And god willing he never would. The less he knew about that part of his life the less that pea brain of his would explode. Merle might be his big brother, but he really was all kinds of an asshole. Besides it wasn't like he advertised it or anything. He wasn't 'no fruitcake that secretly hankered to wear tight jeans and a pink sweater vest or any of that shit. No fuckin' way.

It was just that Glenn, the kid… Hell. He could practically be his kid brother for Christ sakes. For the love of god, the kid still had dimples! In fact, the Korean still had the look of a kid only just weaned off clutching his Mama's apron strings, still wide eyed and innocent looking in a way that he just couldn't understand. Especially considering their circumstances..

It was Mental.

And yeah, while he was busy deluding himself, he might as well go for broke and pretend that the moon was really just a big o' pizza pie floating in the sky. Or even better, that there weren't about fifty million dumb, dead bastards walking the streets that were jonesing to sink their teeth into his sweet, back country ass.

Because if he was honest with himself. That wasn't really true at all. Sure the kid was young, probably around twelve or thirteen years his junior. But he was a scrappy little thing with enough spunk, fight, and smarts in him that it made him seemed beyond his years. The kid was resourceful, a hunter of sorts in his own way. Only his turf was the concrete slabs and hard edged mazes of urban Atlanta rather then his own stomping grounds on the back country roads and rough wilderness.

He had seen the man in action, and he had liked what he saw. The Korean was good...a survivor.

The kid was a lot like Grimes, but not as damned stupid. He was just the right mix between rationality and risk that had made the man immediately appeal to him. It had made him pause, take note, and not write the kid off as a total loss in the first few days after he and Merle had chanced upon catching a brief glimpse of their campfire one night through the thick tree line along the rough, back country road they were travelling on. It had been the first sign of life, real life, that they had seen in over four days. And the decision they had made to investigate it had been unanimous, with even Merle seeming uncommonly eager at the idea of seeing other people again. Other survivors.

It had been too much to pass up.

And while they hadn't been expecting the scattered remnants of a Militia or hell, even the bloody Marines, he hadn't been able to hold back his disgust at the fact that seemingly the only survivors to make it out of Atlanta were an odd ball collection that included a high strung Sheriff's deputy packing a Mossberg and an itchy trigger finger, an Asian kid that looked like he had raided a little leagues dug out for spare clothes, a quiet, grubby looking mechanic, a handful of kids, a douche bag wife beater and his twitchy spouse, a couple of knock out, bleach blond sisters, a bunch of other women, an old fart in a bucket hat, and a handful of other assorted cannon fodder that he knew he would never care to learn the names of.

Within two hours of pulling into the place, he had already made plans to confer with Merle and head out on their own again by the next morning, leaving this sorry little excuse for a camp choking in the quarry dust the truck tires would kick up behind them.

But then, just after dawn the next morning the kid had tumbled gracefully from his tent, with that easy loose-legged grace iconic to his age. The sound of the man unzipping his tent had roust him awake and immediately into alertness from the passenger seat of his old truck, with them having arrived far too late in the night, and far too uncertain on the nature of the locals to trust bedding down beside them quite yet.

He had watched the younger man closely, leaning back into the faded, threadbare seat cover as he looked over the dusty dashboard. With Merle stretched out and snoring, entirely dead to the world in the back of the open truck bed behind him.

And as he had expected, as the Korean finished shrugging into a short sleeved button up, mashing on a maroon baseball cap over his messy, jet black hair, his eyes inevitably tracked over to the truck.

And he met them, tilting his head only perceptively in acknowledgement, as he glared back. Thinking at the time, that a little bit of intimidation right off the bat would only serve to set his intentions straight, and let the man know that he wasn't interesting in being friendly, or even fuckin' civil.

Only the kid took the motion for something else entirely and instead of a returning glare, he sent him back a crooked hand little wave and a small, careful smile before he leaned down and retrieved the baseball bat leaning against his tent, palming the handle even as he turned away and headed towards the RV.

The man exchanged a few, quick words with the burly Mexican on watch atop the old Winnebago before the older man nodded, and tossed down a single, sharply glinting key that the kid caught easily, a grin spreading across his lips as gave the man a jaunty, faux salute before he took off.

Something that in itself had made him wonder how the hell these people had actually survived for as long as they had.. You didn't just give away your only means of a quick and easy escape. That was one hell of a risk, trust or no trust.

The kid had left with remarkably little fanfare, with everyone but the man on watch still fast asleep in their tents, as he drove that crappy little beater down the long, winding road that led up down from the mountain quarry. And yet, as the hours had passed he had been quietly fascinated at how the others seemed to actually care. Not just about the kid bringing back food and supplies, or the return of the vehicle…but after the kids well being..

And when he had returned, far enough into the evening that he had almost everyone on edge, he rolled into camp wearing an easy, triumphant grin, and bearing a backseat piled high with canned goods and packages of toilet paper. And yet, before anyone even started paying attention to what had been brought back, the kid was thoroughly hugged and congratulated. All but blushing under the attention he was basking in, especially from the women.

Like he said, not a complete loss.

He had recognized the potential there; the man had it in spades. Much like him, he saw that that the kid had the potential to survive through this mess. To live. Which was more then he could say for the others..

And he realized quite suddenly that he was quickly running out of excuses as to why he shouldn't, and was vastly approaching the point where both his brain and his dick were starting to wonder, 'Why the hell not?'

He really couldn't figure it out. Despite all the younger man's charms, and admitted strengths, it all came down to the fact that the kid just wasn't the type that he generally went for. Because all else considered, the point was he had never really gone for the lithe, smooth skinned, youthful type. He really hadn't.

He had had a lot of time to consider it over the past few months, self denial not withstanding. And he just couldn't figure the kid out, or his own thoughts on the man for that matter. He had no idea how he had come to describe the Korean as something akin to sin incarnate no matter if he was wet, dry, happy, or pissed to hell.

Only now, all he could think about was that now, he couldn't imagine why not.

It had to be said that he was inevitably more…selective with the men he chose to shack up with then the women. He enjoyed women liberally. There was just something about the way their skin, so smooth and perfect, felt against his own, malleable and soft under his rough, calloused hands. Or the feel of their long hair as it trailed down his chest, splaying across his arms and tricking along the dip where his neck met his shoulder that often made them more prominently desirable.

He liked them generously breasted, supple in the hips, long in the leg, and begging for it.

In fact he had only ever been with three guys in his life, and they were never really what he would call a relationship. Not in the common sense of the word anyway. Rather, more like long standing, mutual arrangements.

They had all been long distance affairs, where every couple of weeks one of them would drive a few hundred miles to some out of the way hotel where no one asked too many questions. They had been men much like him, similar in build, personality, and circumstance. Men too caught up in old habits and other peoples expectations to ever fully change. He had never been able to bring any of them home, he knew better.

..Too many risks.

He knew well enough that not everyone was as open minded as himself, least of all his hick brother and the people that made up their backwards little asswipe of a southern Georgian town.

And because of that, he supposed, everything else aside, that he had just never given himself licence to have what he really wanted. So in the end that was why he inevitably ended up ending them. Because passion aside, he knew that he was never going to move away from the farm. It was in his blood, and he could no sooner change that then carry the world on his back. And eventually, he had had to make peace with that. With the fact that because of that decision he wouldn't always be able to have what he wanted.

Or, until now, at least he thought he had..

Because here he was, staring at the man in front of him, who was still was just standing there, his jet black hair plastered to his skull, porcelain skin flushed in the soft overhead lights as his skin reflected back with a thin sheen of moisture, water still trickling down his bare calves from his own shower.

He shifted in place, bare toes scuffing audibly against the dip where the bathroom tiles met the plush, tan coloured carpet. The silence felt a lot like suffocating. So uncharacteristically he finally broke it, running his hand through his damp hair in a careless gesture as he glared at the man standing across from him.

"What?" He barked, the word sounding far more harsh and biting then his had intended as his irritation and discomfort with the lack of control he seemed to have over the situation only mounted.

But true to form, the kid didn't even seem to notice, instead giving him another slow, syrupy smile as he had the decency to look somewhat sheepish, stuffing his hands in the housecoats oversized pockets as he rocked back and forth on the heels of his bare feet.

"Hey man, you got any towels?" The kid responded, acting as if he had merely just walked in, and hadn't been the sole participant of about a minute long staring contest.

He did actually, a whole god damned stack.

He should have been mad, told him to go to hell, shoved him back out into the hallway and let one of the others give him one. But still, that didn't stop him from wondering why in the seven fiery hells that the kid had chosen him out of all the others to come begging to. Last time he checked the kid had laid claim to one of the first rooms in the hallway, right beside Grimes and his family, where as he had picked the second last one on the far left side of the hall

Only he didn't, he couldn't. And he had no idea why.

Instead he stalked back into the washroom, throwing the shirt that had been hanging across his shoulder down on the counter, and grabbed the kid one from the top of the stack.

Gettin' soft Dixon..

It was only when he had returned, turning back around the corner with the towel in hand that he realised that Glenn had stopped talking. He had been babbling on about something to do with the shower in his own room, and the strange shower amenities that the previous owner seemed to have enjoyed, apparently unfazed at the fact that he had yet to say anything back in return.

But that all abruptly came to a rather, sudden, and screeching stop, because in the absence of the smooth, lilting words heralded the return of that same, weighty silence.

Only this time, the kid was staring, really staring. He was looking at him like he had never really seen him before him. There was no mistaking it, no second guessing or misassumptions. He knew that look, the only thing was that he wasn't used to being so blatantly on the receiving end..

Christ.

Glenn was gazing at him in much the same way as he himself did in the moments before taking some sweet southern thing high heels to Jesus. It was a considering look… An appreciative look… A heated look.

Huh. Well. That was just…unexpected.

And for reasons that he couldn't quite explain, and honestly, at this point in the night, and after that much Southern Comfort, really didn't want to even start thinking about, his mouth went desert dry, a stark contrast between the water from his shower that was still sliding down his skin, and slicking back his hair.

He cleared his throat pointedly, throwing the kid the towel from the distance, and feeling oddly satisfied as the man struggled to catch it in time, only to end up with a face full of soft, plush cotton.

After a long beat the kid disentangled himself from the heavy fabric, grin still firmly entrenched across his face as quickly warbled out a happy sound sounding 'Thank you'.

Only, the kid didn't leave.

He ended up just standing there, feeling antsy and listless as he struggled to hide his surprise and confusion by pointedly glaring at the man, even as the kid began briskly running a section of the towel against his scalp, chattering on in lieu of his lack of response, about the fact that there were "real beds and everything." As if this were some sort of a groundbreaking, new development in household decorating rather then a piece of furniture that was generally the most prominent feature in every bedroom in America.

Unbelievable. The kid must have some balls, or no survival instinct at all to stand there in the middle of the room he all but broke into, towel drying his bloody hair..

"Isn't this place great?" He piped up, still sounding beyond enthused at their unexpected run of luck, his voice momentarily muffled underneath the thick white cotton.

And then, without another word, nor sign of warning, the man flashed him another hugely open smile before he shuffled his bare toes across the carpet and bid him good night. With the expression on the man's face as he left, exiting the room in a whirl of electric static and fresh smelling skin, leaving him with the nagging feeling that he had somehow missed something vitally important..

He blinked at the sudden stillness.

And in the moments after the younger man had tottered out, leaving him still half naked, irritated, and a whole lot confused, he crossed quickly over towards the dresser and tossed back five overgenerous shots of Southern Comfort and resolved not to think anymore till morning.

The potent Georgian liqueur burned as it slid down his throat. But for some reason the iconic syrupy peach and citrus tinted liquor no longer tasted the same. Because for some reason, as he let the strong brew linger in the back of his throat, all he could taste in it's place was the tinge of bad intentions, and the growing aftertaste of confusion.

….He was late for breakfast the next day.

"Only after disaster can we be resurrected." Chuck Palahniuk

A/N: Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!