Title: Rule Number Thirty Nine

Summary: Rule #39 in Z-land: Don't get in a separate car with Tallahassee. I learned this the hard way while traveling in a car with just him and I. [Tallahassee/Columbus]

Warnings: MALE/MALE RELATIONSHIP. LANGUAGE. IF YOU ARE OFFENDED BY EITHER OR DO NOT ENJOY THE PAIRING, DO NOT BITCH TO ME ABOUT IT. ALSO, THERE IS INSINUATED WICHITA/COLUMBUS, JUST SO YOU KNOW. AND IF YOU'RE LOOKING FOR PLOTLESS SMUT GO SOMEWHERE ELSE.

Disclaimer: I do not own Zombieland.

IIIII

Rule # 39 in Z-land: Don't get in a separate car with Tallahassee.

You see, we decided about a three months ago--yes, I count the days, if only so I can remember each holiday and my birthday--to get another car. It meant worrying about dividing up fuel but it also means more supplies. Since we have four people to feed and there's dwindling amount of food left in the States, we have to keep thinking about our survival. That shoots down the rule of "Travel Light", which I always favored, but I was overruled by the rest of the group (they don't follow the rules like I do).

"We need to stop in Dallas," says Wichita over the walkie talkie. I fumble with it, jumping at it's static. I had just gotten to sleep, too.

I push down on the button and say, "You are--You're not serious, right? I mean, I've heard that place is overrun--"

"We don't have a choice. My sister has the flu and she needs more fluids."

"I know she's sick, a-and believe me, I sympathize with that, but we need to think clearly with our heads, not our hearts."

"With our heads and not our hearts? What kind of bullshit are you tryin' to pull on Wichita, spit fuck?"

Ah, yes, the nickname. We always have to go to the nickname, don't we?

"Aren't we a little old for name calling?" I ask meekly. I'm not exactly Mr. Bravado around Tallahassee but I do try to send out more manly vibes so he doesn't pick on me as much, but I'm not sure if it's manly at all to be sending out vibes in the first place.

"We're stopping in Dallas and that's final." She must have forgotten to take her hand off the button because this comes through: "Just thank God that we're in Texas, in the heat, and not in the cold of Dakota where your flu could get worse, okay Little Rock? Please, hold on, we're almost to Dallas. Thirteen miles."

I can almost picture Wichita's soft eyes gazing down at her little sister, running her fingers through her hair. It was a nice image; not something you often see in Z-land. Although I would never run my fingers through Little Rocks hair, for many different reasons, but the top two being hello, she's sick! Do you want to get the flu while in Z-land? You can barely run and if you get the squirts whilst escaping, well, you're extremely uncomfortable. And the reason is that it would be creepy, me being nineteen and her being twelve.

I see there's another an intersection up ahead and I say into the walkie, "I think we should go east."

Static, then: "What's east?"

"Um, hopefully not Dallas and some smaller town where there's not as many zombies."

"You don't understand the urgency of the situation. She's throwing up and she's dehydrated. She needs anti-nausea suppositories and liquids. Not soda, but water. Now gather up whatever courage you have and deal with the fact that we're going into Dallas."

I sigh. I guess I didn't want to run into any zombies today. It would be nice for one day--just one day!--to not fear for my safety or the safety of someone else. But, of course, Wichita is right. We have to do our best to get something for Little Rock. I feel protective of both of the girls and as a man it's my duty to protect the women . . . while hiding behind Tallahassee, because I'm still not too big on playing the hero like he is.

"Maybe we'll find some Twinkies," hopefully says Tallahassee.

"Why would they have Twinkies in a pharmacy?" I question.

"Boy, don't you know that Twinkies have healing powers?"

IIIII

I hold my shotgun close to me as we enter the Dallas city limit. There are signs lining the street saying CONTAGIOUS VIRUS IN AREA: DO NOT ENTER. If this were a cliche world, there would be a tumbleweed going across the front of our cars as we drive side by side down the pavement, searching for a pharmacy. It's a large enough city so I thought it would be overrun with those soulless creatures, flesh hanging loosely from their bodies, blood gushing from wounds and over their torn lips. I just gave myself the shivers thinking about it.

Tallahassee looks at me and says, "I think we need to have a chat, us two."

"Um, shouldn't we be looking for a pharmacy?"

"You can do two things, can't ya?"

"Suuure." I give him a sideways glance. I think I know where this is going, and I'm not particularly fond of it. Well, sort of not. Okay, okay, I enjoy it, but it took me a while to get used to the idea . . .

"Now you know I only pity fuck you," says Tallahassee, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to a beat only in his head. "It's nothing personal. I just need to get my needs met, and you're a pretty convinient hole to put my dick in."

"Lovely imagery, Tallahassee," I drone.

"Oh don't be so mad," laughs Tallahassee. "I'm only telling ya the truth. Would you rather I lie? Besides, you know you enjoy our time together, more than I like if I'm being honest. But anyway my point being that I think we should, you know, do it more often?"

"And have the girls catch us?" I say, my voice a pitch higher at the thought. I glance out the window looking for our elusive pharmacy. "I'm supposed to be with Wichita. Not with you."

"You can be with Wichita all you want. I don't give two shits. But you remain with me, you got that? I don't have any other release."

"Well there's always--um--you know--"

"Masturbation?" he says.

"That. Yeah. Mmhmm." It's not that I can't say masturbation . . . it's just that I prefer not to. While people are around me. Or ever.

"Well lookie here, we have a genius. Don't you think I know that already?" Tallahassee reaches over and pats my chest in a rough way. I do like the way he lingered for a second, running his hand slowly down my chest to my stomach, but it only lasts for a moment. Then he pulls his hand away and I can breathe again.

Our "time together" was a complete fluke. We were all drunk (except for Little Rock, of course, we still have morals) and when we got into our separate cars to go to bed I ended up hitting on Tallahassee. In other words, I grabbed his crotch. I don't know why, or what the fuck I was thinking, or maybe not thinking at all, but dammit I wanted someone to be close to me and Tallahassee was the one within grabbing range. If Wichita had been in the car I'm pretty sure I would have hit on her too. I've always liked girls, but this was the first time I'd ever kissed another man. Apparently though it wasn't Tallahassee's first time. With all his tough talk I would have that he would be opposed to being "queer" but nope, he's been through this before. It went back to before his son Buck, he says, because after his son was born he didn't have time for anyone else.

But as it became more frequent we grew a strange connection. As much as it annoys him I've always been a cuddler, so he allows me to cuddle every once and a while. And as much as it annoys me he's pretty much a horny bastard, so I let him have his way with me whenever he wants (you don't deny Tallahassee anything. Ever.)

"I found one," says Wichita over the walkie. "Upper right corner. And we have a bunch of dead ones walking around to be prepared to march through them."

Tallahassee grabs the walkie from me and says, "I don't suppose that you would leave Jessie--" ("Nice try but that's a unisex name," I mumble and I get one of those Tallahassee stares that would give anyone nightmares) "--beside me to guard your sister, would ya? We'll storm the place, just you and me."

There's a moment of silence before, "Why may I ask would I do this?"

"Because you have better aim than Columbus and you don't flinch every time you fire a gun."

"Hey, I'm a nervous man!" I defend myself. "I can't help it if guns still terrify me!"

I do still have a long list of phobias . . . fucking clowns.

"Okay. But Columbus better do his job well," says Wichita.

"Time to nut up or shut up, pretty boy," chuckles Tallahassee. "Just be glad I saved your ass from going through them zombies."

I do like to think, in his own way, Tallhassee is trying to be protective of me. Maybe he's attempting to get me out of the zombies way so I don't get hurt. Then again, I could be much more of a wuss than Wichita and he'd rather not have to protect someone while trying to look for medication.

Yeah, that's probably it.

Sigh.

IIIII

We park two blocks away from the pharmacy. Wichita, in the car stationed next to us, has a pair of binoculars looking at the zombies. From what I can tell, there's about twenty of them, all fighting over a dead body. There's one standing on the outside with his head tipped back looking up at the darkening sky. If my eyesight was better I could tell whether or not if he was gurgling his own blood which I notice a lot of zombies seem to do.

"Be quiet so you don't attract their attention," orders Tallahassee. "Because if something happens to Little Rock, you know that if the zombies don't get you, Wichita will."

I gulp. I'm pretty much scared of the rest of my group - they're much more hardened then me. Even the twelve year old.

"Just be careful, would ya?" Tallahassee snaps. It's as though he's angry with himself for caring.

"Sure thing."

Slowly I get out of the car and lightly shut the door. Then I tip-toe over to the white Hummer and get in the back seat with Little Rock. Wichita exits the drivers seat and she smiles at me, her bright eyes boring into mine for only a moment, but that's all I need for my insides to turn to mush. I feel guilty for cheating on her with Tallahassee, but what am I supposed to do? I have feelings for the man, no matter how masochistic they might be.

She packs two guns into the back pockets and slings one over her shoulder. I can't deny that I find it attractive that Wichita is packing heat. Nothing like a woman with guns.

I realize that I'm staring so I get into the car and shut the door without only a tiny sound. I watch as they both head towards danger. Two people I care about much more than I care to admit, and it's hard to see them do this. But it's for Little Rock, so it's completely justifiable.

But I am in no way getting near the poor girl.

"You don't have to--" cough "--scrunch up so close to the window."

I realize I am huddled away from Little Rock, clutching my gun as though it's going to protect me from the germs she holds within every sneeze and cough.

"Um, we should slide down a little more. In case any zombies pass by or if those zombies by the pharmacy get curious about what's inside the cars."

So we do and we lay in our uncomfortable positions for about a minute or two when Little Rock says, "I feel awful."

"Of course you do. You have the flu."

"No, no. I mean that Wichita and Tallahassee are risking their lives for medicine and water. I mean, all I have is the flu. I'll get over it. I can drink soda. I don't have to--" cough, hack, sniffle "--drink water."

"Water's the best way to keep hydrated," I inform. "And besides, we need to get you back into tip-top shape as soon as possible. It's not good to be sick in Z-land."

"I know. Wichita said that too," she mutters. "It bugs me that I can't atleast see them. I want to have a peek."

"No, Little Rock," I tell her. "Stay down. If there are any rogue zombies around I have to shoot it, which will only tell more zombies that there's two delicious meals sitting helplessly in a car."

"You may be helpless but I'm not," she says, pulling out a pistol from within her blanket.

"My gun is bigger than yours," I huff.

"It's not the size that counts but what you do with it," she responds sagely.

We then hear gunshots and the gargling yelps of zombies. I hear Tallahassee whooping with every shot he makes. He's a loud one all right. As much as it pains me not to know what is going on out there we must take cover in the car, otherwise we'll be in big trouble. We can't exactly scurry off if a zombie comes a-knocking and these windows aren't thick enough to hold off a zombie for long. As I start thinking about this I begin to worry more and more about our safety but I've learned how to shut off my brain. I think back to times when I was happy. There aren't many. Mostly they include nights alone, playing World of Warcraft, eating stale pizza and drinking Code Red Mountain Dew.

Although I do have a few happy memories with these guys. They truly are like my new family.

Except I'm sleeping with one of them.

Creepy. Very, very creepy.

I shake my head to get rid of the thoughts swirling through my head. Even when I'm trying to be positive, I'm nervous as all hell. Thanks Mom and Dad. You really taught me how to live.

Eventually the gunfire dies down and we exhale, hoping no one besides the zombies is hurt. We don't hear any yelling besides Tallahassee's whooping so that's a plus. I look at Little Rock who looks like she's about to blow chunks.

Oh God. I know I don't pray to you much, if at all, but if you have any mercy you'll not have her throw up next to me. Do not throw up next to me do not throw up next to me do not throw up next to oh God she's throwing up next to me.

She's trying to make as little sound as possible which I commend her for but does she have to do it so close to me?

Luckily Little Rock has a bucket so he's not spilling all over the nice leather seats. I tentatively reach out and lightly rub her back in circles, my hand barely touching her shirt, but I hope she finds it comforting atleast a little bit. She gives me a small smirk in recognition that yes it does help her out. But I'm soon overthrown with the smell of puke and I want to ralph myself, but I bite it back. I can't because I am a very loud puker. I moan, groan, and whine because it's like I can feel the germs screaming as they exit my body. It's a weird sensation and I've never admitted it aloud. I get enough weird looks as it is.

"I'm going to throw it out," I tell her.

"I don't think that's a good idea," says Little Rock with much reluctance.

"If I don't throw it out then I'm going to be sick. And you won't like me when I'm sick."

I set my double barrell next to me and grab the barf bucket by it's handle. I don't dare touch it's sides. I open my door slowly . . .

And then I hear a gut-wrenching growl.

"Oh shit," I whisper. I look up to see a zombie who has only it's legs, it's arms long gone, although some flesh at the shoulders still remains. Blood and pus seeps through jagged holes in it's face and from between it's tarnished lips protrudes a most vicious smell. So I do something that serves a double purpose; I get rid of the puke by throwing it into the zombies face. Thankfully it doesn't lurch forward but instead falls back, flopping on the ground like a fish out of water. It doesn't have any arms so it can't push itself up again.

Just as I think we're safe I hear Little Rock yell, "There's another one over here!"

I make the mistake of slamming the door, though I do have the sense to bring the bucket in with me. But the slamming of the door only announces to more zombies that there are live ones in the area. I grab my double barrell, if only for the security, and point it at the zombie as though I'll shoot. I can't -- we can't afford to break the glass. But it'll soon rupture on it's own with the way the zombie is bashing it's bloody nubs that shouldn't be called fingers against the window.

Then out of nowhere another one pops up at my window and starts screeching.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit!" I hiss to myself. I don't know what to do. I'm panicking, sweating, and hypervenolating. If these windows break, I'm dead. So fucking dead. Not because we can't shoot the zombies, but because we'll have to go through the process of finding another functional car, and it'll be all my fault.

Little Rock has her pistol in her shaking hands. She's coughing into her elbow and I can see her distress in her eyes.

Tallahassee, where are you?

Bang! Bang!

Two shots for the zombies by my side, and I look back. Tallahassee is standing there with his guns in his hands and a backpack on his back which I suppose is full of water, breathing heavy, looking at me with something in his eyes.

Concern.

Bang!

The one on Little Rock's side is taken care of thanks to Wichita.

"You take the other car. I'll take this one. We don't need to be here any more," says Tallahassee to Wichita, who nods, smiles sadly down at her sister and motions for her sister to roll down the window. When Tallahassee starts the car she rolls it down and throws her some anti nausea pills.

"I thought you'd rather have these than suppositories," she jokes.

"Thanks, sis."

Then Wichita hurries into her car and is soon following us. I crawl into the front seat so Little Rock can stretch out and get comfortable, maybe take a nap. Which, as we go along, an hour whizzing by us like nothing she's finally asleep. And I'm able to finally relax, take in a deep breath, and get some sleep as well.

IIIII

It was a while before Tallahassee woke me up. Perhaps two hours or so. I jump at his touch but when I realize it's him, I actually lean into his hand which is placed on my shoulder. I'm hardly awake so it's not my fault that I want some attention. Tallahassee has the sense to pull away.

"We're stopping. We've got first shift."

"Great," I mumble.

I see Wichita pull over and we stop ten feet behind the car. There's no reason to wake up Little Rock, she's sleeping peacefully in the backseat, so we don't. We quickly exit the car and go to our designated car.

Wichita steps out and asks, "How is she?"

"She's fine. She's sawing logs in there," answers Tallahassee.

"I'm not that tired, Tallahassee. If you want to sleep in there with Little Rock I can't take first shift with Columbus," offers Wichita, and I can tell from the mischevious smirk on her face that she has no intention of watching for zombies while in the car with me.

"No. We can handle it," says Tallahassee, sounding very possessive.

"Okay. Night." And she gives me a peck on the cheek that makes me feel like the biggest pile of shit in the world. Then she walks towards the other car while Tallahassee and I get in ours.

There's a couple minutes of silence and then Tallahassee says, "I can see how much you like her."

I give him a sideways glance. Where the hell could this be going?

"If--" He coughs uncomfortably and fidgets in his seat. "If you only want to fuck Wichita, I understand. It's not like you're used to sleeping with another man. Hell, I'm still not sure if you swing both ways."

"I don't," I say. "But . . . for you I do. I am attracted to you. Even when I first met you, I was . . . well, I felt a connection."

"Don't make this about connections," he sneers. "Us? We have no connection. What I do with you is purely animal instinct. Fuckin' isn't about connections."

For some reason I flare up at this statement. This man claims he doesn't care for me, or anyone, but -- "I saw how concerned you were about me after you shot those zombies. You do fucking care, so stop acting like such a god damn hard ass and nut up or shut up!"

I throw my gun in the backseat and reach out, my lips connecting with his. I'm not a rough kisser, I've always been gentle, but I'm kissing so harshly it's as though I'm trying to communicate my frustration through the kiss. Trying to message to him how much I fucking care, and how much he cares about me, whether he likes to admit it or not.

Apparently me making the first move turns him on because he kisses back with immense fervor. I loose control and shiver as he bites at my bottom lip, pulling back on it and when he lets go, I push myself forward to try and connect again but he pushes me down underneath him. His voice is gravelly as he grunts, "Get in the back seat."

I shakily grab my gun and put it where I was sitting, then climb into the backseat. There is no question of who will be on top. Tallahassee always has to remain in control. If I try to switch, he'll reprimand me by only prolonging the foreplay, which I fucking hate.

"Sho-shouldn't we be w-watching for zombies?" I ask as he lifts up shirt, then bringing his hot mouth down onto my stomach. I slightly arch at the sensation rippling through my body as his tongue plays with my skin, suckling, nibbling.

"This won't take longer than ten minutes," he grumbles. Tallahassee smirks, grabbing my shaking hands and holding them high above my head. Like I said, he's an utter control freak.

"Tallahassee . . . " I moan when he takes a nipple into his mouth, teasing the nub by flicking his tongue over it. He uses his free hand to grab my crotch, teasingly rubbing across my jeans, in the most unbearable way. I can feel myself hardening under his touch. "Tallahassee, j-just . . . " I can't even get a damned sentence out.

"You're so easily overloaded," he laughs. He squeezes my privates and I jerk upwards. "Now, tell me what you want me to do."

"J-jerk me off." I have the sense not to say "Fuck me" because his thrusts are very hard.

I watch through clouded eyes as he smirks, "Jerk me off, what?"

"Jerk m-me o-off, please," I urge.

He brings his mouth down to my neck, trailing up my jawline, eventually meeting with my mouth once again. I kiss back fervently and when our tongues meet a spark ignites within me. My groin starts to ache with the want--no, the need-- that I am feeling right now. I can't possibly feel any hotter than this, can I?

But then Tallahassee takes it up a notch, reaching down within the confines of my jeans for my hardened member, and I whimper when he runs a finger over the tip. He lets go off my hands and runs his thumb over my bottom lip slowly with his right hand and grabs my dick with his left. I reach up and start to run my fingers over his smooth chest. I guess I had been so focused on what I was feeling that I didn't notice him when he had taken off his shirt. I grab onto his shoulders and squeeze as hard as I can to get some pressure out of my body because he still hasn't started to stroke yet.

Tallahassee crushes his mouth into mine, demanding entrance into my mouth with his tongue which I all-too-willingly give, and then he begins the agonizingly slow strokes. I want to tell him to hurry the hell up but he's successfully silenced me with his demanding kisses. I moan into his mouth hoping he'll get the message but it's as though I said nothing at all. Tallahassee starts to go faster and I buck, hoping to speed along the process. He's most likely hurrying this along so I can return the favor; I can feel the hard lump between his legs with my knee.

As he said before, I'm easily overloaded. It doesn't take much to make me come. So after a minute of vigorous stroking I'm hitting climax; a wonderous, too-good-to-be-true feeling that I thought I would never have in Z-land. But thanks to one horny kick ass, Twinkie-loving zombie killer he made it come true.

Tallahassee covers my mouth with his hand to muffle my pleasured cry. Then he sits back and watches as I try to catch my breath.

"You're not very good at handjobs," says Tallahassee, "but what about blowjobs?"

I'm stammering even before I form a sentence in my head. "I-I've never--I mean, I--"

"There's a first time for everything."

"I can't. I'll just jerk you off--"

"You're still shaking," Tallahassee points out. "I don't want to feel like some seventy year old is jerking me off."

"I have a bad gag reflex," I respond. "I even gag on toothpaste. Nasty stuff."

"Then what the fuck am I supposed to do, Sally? Do it myself?"

I hate it when he calls me girls names. I snap back, "Go ahead then. We shouldn't even be doing this. I-I mean, there are cannabilistic freaks running around! How can we even think about sex when--when our lives are at stake?"

"You're only saying that because you got your needs taken care of. Me? I'm still as hard as a rock over here."

"Look, Tallhassee, I'm sorry." I sit up and look him in the eyes. "Maybe I'm just not cut out for this."

"For being gay? I swear, if Wichita had never came along, I would have sworn you were gay."

"Really?"

"You look like a bitch, you act like a bitch. Then I guessed you must have been some guys bitch in the past." He groans, fidgeting in his seat, trying to get in a more comfortable position. He must be throbbing painfully by now. I genuinely do feel sorry for the guy, especially when he did his end of the bargain.

"I'll try not to take that offensively," I say with a sarcastic smile.

"Get in the front seat and look for fucking zombies. I have to take care of myself."

"What? You can't stand me watching you do it?"

"No, it's too private." He sounds so serious that, well, it's hard to believe.

I blink. "Wait. What? You're kidding me. You've fucked me, jerked me off, let me jerk you off, but watching you masturbate is where you cross the line?"

"Look, you can mess with a mans dick, but you do not watch him while he messes with it himself. It's perverted."

I laugh out loud and nod my head. "Perfect sense. Mmhmm."

There's a moment of silence before he says, "Do I have to shove you into the front seat? Because I'll do it. When I am hard I am not one to be fucked with."

I take his threat seriously and climb into the front seat. I hear a zip, and then little moans and pants. He's not a very loud person when he ejaculates either. My face becomes red as I imagine how it felt when Tallahassee did fuck me; he did it hard, but it hit all of the right spots at the right times, and now I regret not letting him fuck me. Oh well. There's always next time. And I'm sure there will be a next time, and a time after that, because, well, I'm attached. Even though I shouldn't be, I am. I don't care if he says he isn't but I think he might be the littlest attached to me too. If him moaning my name while he jacks off is anything to go by.

Not very romantic, but what can I say? That's Tallahassee. He's not going to change for anybody, especially not his little fuck toy.

IIIII

IF ONLY I WERE A SLINKY SAYS:

I must use the noose, I can't kill you all with my hands! . . . Wait, what?