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There's a storm rising in the East, thick and dusty. Dominic settles down with one of the sturdier branches between his leg, readjusts his balance as he fishes for his binoculars to get a proper look.
The storm is not a storm.
“Shit.”
Underneath the crunch of leaves underneath somebody's feet and then an inquisitive, “Good news?”
Dominik looks down at Momo and scoffs. “When is it ever good news? A horde bigger than my god damn dick.
“Can't be that big then,” Momo retorts with a twisted smile.
“Fuck you.”
“Maybe later tonight. C'mon move your pretty ass down so that we can find higher ground.”
Dominic casts one last look down from above. Even twenty feet up Momo's smile beams bright and joyful, filling the cavity of his stomach with butterflies.
When the firm ground hits his feet, he steals a hasty kiss before they get a move on.
Blood. So much blood he cannot believe one lone person could be the source, yet here it is here the proof, slippery and warm in his arms. Before the damn apocalypse he would have allowed months, years to recover from sobbing over his deceased partner. Back when they enjoyed the luxury of humanity.
At the present all he can do is spike Momo and stumble away from the corpse, tears blurry in his vision.
He abandons a part of himself behind, lying dead on that forest floor.
Humans. It's humans behind that line of fire that cuts through the landscape. A renewed spurt of adrenaline pumps in his legs as the realisation takes hold, and without a second thought Dominic calls out for their attention. Not much of a choice with a horde of zombies hot on his heels. Ignoring the smell of zombie rot, Dominic rips the cloth from in front of his mouth to yell again, one figure on the other side of the flames twitches in his direction.
A snarl to his left, catching his ankle, Dominic stumbles and splits a Z's head just before it chomps down. The roar of a motor.
“Get on!”
No hesitation, Dominic swings onto the quad, fingers tight in the man's leather jacket lest he stumbles off into a certain death. His eyes fall over his companions shoulder onto the wall of fire, momentary panic seizing. But in times like these, he has barely time to screw his eyes shut before the flames engulf them.
Leather, gasoline and death. A rifle digging into his chest, heat and sweat.
The moment the quad grinds to a halt, maybe seconds, maybe hours later, Dominic jumps off as if burnt and retches into the withered grass.
His stomach comes up empty, save slimy bile.
“Hey buddy, you alright?” comes a matured voice.
Dominic barely raises a thumb in the general direction, shoots back a dry, “Peachy,” before he collapses in his own vomit.
A bumpy ride, a long drawn groan. Dominic makes it last dramatically, squints with disgust into the parching sun.
“God dammit Dominic, would you keep it down,” comments Doc up front.
“I'm miserable.”
The corner of 10K's lip twitches amused. “Who today isn't.”
It must be the first time 10K actually smiles. Dominic's eyes get caught up in it. He answers with one of his own, broad and toothy, and gets rewarded with a private blush.
Fuck yeah, he thinks to himself, I still got it.
10K casts his eyes down, caught between embarrassment and endearment, readjusts his rifle before pretending to be very preoccupied with the landscape. It's cutely innocent in a way Dominic would not have expected of a boy with a four digit kill count.
“There's nothing out there, y'know,” Dominic drawls mockingly checking his bullet count. “If you don't count the Z's. But that's the point, no? The reason why you are counting them.”
10K gives Dominic a wary look, grip on his gun tightening. The bed of the trunk bumps violently once- probably a dead Z- yet none of them barely twitch. Used to harsher rides, Dominic muses. Used to walking. The older man tucks his gun away, pointedly ignoring 10K's inquiring stare, opting to readjust his makeshift pillow.
“I could absolutely use a shower, don't you?” he babbles on. Anything but silence. Silence was ghastly.
10K does not buy into it. “What happened to her?”
Dominic shifts uncomfortably, but for some unfathomable reason can't refuse 10K. Maybe because he owed the fucker his life, maybe because of that fluttering that rose in his stomach in his presence. Dominic weights how much of the truth he wants to tell and then starts choosing his words.
“We'd been outrunning that massive horde for a couple of days, no food, no water. My partner stumbled and didn't get back up in time to outrun one of the fast ones.” Dominic's shoulders tense at the memory of Momo's anguished scream. He tries shrugging it off, but the tightness in his voice does not escape 10K. “That's it. No heroic action or famous last words, he just stumbled and screamed and died in my arms. Nothing more than a footnote in my tragic background story. What a joke.”
10K studies the mingled emotions on Dominic's face for another second, not even twitching at the hint that slipped and gives a grave nod.
“Footnotes,” he says, the wind whipping in his raven hair. “That's why I count.”
For a second Dominic imagines the features on 10K's face ageing by ten years.
Fumbling, darkness, an agitated breath hitting his forehead. Nothing occupies his mind like the desire for more, more, more, pulsating between them in the stale air of the cellar. His eyes cross wide green ones and then a struggle, hands pulling, fingers yanking until they tumble and fall into a stack of hay under the protesting creaks of the wooden beams. The unmistakable panic of a Virgin seizes, pushing away, trying to shake off to no avail.
When Dominic finally secures a hold of these wrists and pins them down, 10K holds still like a mouse. They hold their breath together. 10K's pupils are blown wides in terror and admiration, his arousal pressing into Dominic's perineum.
“Christ,” he breathes with a hint of humour in his voice. “When'd you hit puberty?”
10K never bats an eyelash. “Six years ago.”
Dominic blinks his surprise away and then he's letting go of 10K and laughing, laughing until his lungs hurt and his stomach cramps up with delight. When his laugh dims to a gleeful grin and Dominic looks down on 10K, this one has propped up on his elbows to study the upturned quality of the corner of his mouth better, lips parted in silent wonder.
“Thanks. It had been a while,” Dominic comments, the tinge of sorrow never robbing his smile of its joyful edge.
Ever so careful, 10K lifts a hand to experimentally run his fingers on Dominic's lips, undeniably fascinated. He swallows. “Yeah. Me too.”
Their eyes ultimately meet, honest and open and utterly lost. Between a man that thought he'd left all these strange butterflies behind in the apocalypse's dust and a boy that comprehended nothing but the taste of this twisted present, their helplessness bridged their momentary mutual desire. All of the sudden, Dominic hesitates, 10K detecting his smile flickering and dying. He is terrified, terrified this will be the last time he'll catch a glimpse of it.
10K brings up his other hand and hauls Dominic down to the yearning warmth of his lips.
They consume each other, feeding off their hopes and fears.