.

.

The high feels like a storm-fire cresting and ebbing in Nick's veins, mingling with adrenaline.

He's more fucked up than what's probably good for him, but who cares—we're all gonna die anyway. Nick gulps down a mouthful of saliva, breathing raggedly, tightening his arms around Troy nuzzling his neck.

Somehow, in the middle of the horde, they've embraced and gone quiet, unmoving. The bloody, mushed gore on Nick's face begins to tack and comes off in a drying paste. The last walker shuffles along, with a rotted, broken ankle, growling and rasping out her death-rattle, paying no mind to them.

"Fuckin' shit," Troy mutters against him, barely able to get out the syllables.

Nick has to agree.

It's fucked, it's all fucked, and now is as any good time to get fucked.

Troy's damp, opening mouth hovers against his pulse-point. A flutter of ticklish heat courses down Nick's belly, shooting right to his dick. His hands are slickened with some dead asshole's bodily fluids and his own sweat, gripping onto Troy for steadiness. He chuckles weakly, mouth nudging to the side of Troy's head.

It awakens him, or maybe both of them, covered in decay and filth and blood blackened, going lukewarm in the thickening humidity. Nick's teeth into his lower lip, moving his hips crash and grind against Troy's, encouraged by the familiar, sensual instinct. In a world with no stars, Troy is no more than shadows and grunts—he's electric-bright sensation, digging his fingers into the back of Nick's shirt, rutting hard on him.

Something about Troy brings out the worst in him. It's always been like that. Killing, lying, surrendering to the reminder of darkness and loss and vulnerability—Nick is tired of fighting it. Fighting him.

A kiss between them tastes like dirt and salty, hot skin. The hair on Troy's upper lip scrapes him. Nick kisses him harder, sliding his tongue past Troy's teeth, pressing in with giddy delight and half-smiling.

It's too quiet, without the low, hushed marching of the dead. Everything spins pleasantly.

The drugs are gonna wear off—and they'll—

"Nick—"

"Yeah, ss'okay," he mumbles, snatching onto Troy's hand resting on his waist, slowly dragging it over his jeans crotch. Just a helpful hint. Nick's dick aches when the other man pushes on him a bit too harshly. The blue of Troy's eyes glint a little when he barks out a laugh, panting heavily against Nick's cheek.

"Asshole."

Nick grins, his lips swollen and stinging raw. "Mm, maybe some other time."

The implication isn't lost on Troy, who smiles wider and tugs apart Nick's belt. Nothing's perfect. Nothing's easy. They're not meant for each other in a normal, unfucked world.

He's grateful for the opportunity.

.

.