Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jack really hates zombies.

They’re like lazy college students, always wandering around with no direction, groaning and stumbling over themselves and their only real purpose in life is to get food. Plus they have the absolute worst timing. Trying to get water and rest by a river? Bam redneck walker. Want to find food? Wham undead store clerk. Trying to get some freaking alone time with your totally slammin jammin boyfriend? Think again because that pastor is rising from his grave and church really isn’t the best place for this anyway.

It gets old. Fast.

Jack runs with the rest of the group, away from a horde of undead that he will swear to his grave came out of thin air but Tooth insists that if he hadn’t been staring at Pitch’s ass for several unblinking and slightly creepy minutes he could’ve seen them from miles away. Jack had shook his head in response and they bolted for the other side of town, shooting behind as they went. Tooth either accepted his response and was trying to focus on not dying like the rest of them, or she was saving an earful of shouting for Jack when they got out of this mess.

Jack darts around a corner reloading his pistol and adjusting the machete in his hand. He looks through the blown out window of a half destroyed wall as he waits for the horde to pass by, breath coming out ragged and sweat running down his face and neck. Maybe he can tag some of the zombies as they walk by to make the load easier on the others. It’s the least he could do for not noticing them.

He feels a bump against his arm, whipping around and ready to knife that stupid zombie in the face when his hand is pushed above his head and he’s wrestled to his back on the floor.

“Staring at my ass, huh?”

Jack drops the blade on the ground and smirks up at Pitch’s silhouette, almost as black as the night sky.

“Never in my life would I ever do that...for five whole minutes.”

“Oh really.” Pitch releases Jack’s wrists and pulls him up to crouch against the wall underneath the window. “Could’ve fooled me. For a moment I thought you liked me.”

“Nah. In your dreams maybe, but that’s a stretch. We could hold hands, but that may be a little too much.”

A small group of five zombies walk through a hole blown in the wall on Pitch’s side, reaching out for them and moaning louder when they spotted their food source. Pitch shoots the closest one in the head, kicking its limp form into the others and laughing as they stumble backwards. Jack whoops in excitement and watches as Pitch kills the others before they have a chance to push past the body lying on top of them.

Jack feels another hand on his shoulder and he whips around putting the barrel of his pistol against the corpse’s forehead and pulling the trigger. The woman falls to the floor and Jack wipes off the mud she caked on his jacket. Why do zombies always come in some form of….damp?

Pitch checks around the corner of the wall and the darkened section of the abandoned building before resting his Glock in its holster on his hip. Jack slides his back along the wall to sit on the floor, running a hand through his hair and trying to catch his breath. As much as he wouldn’t admit it, fighting in enclosed areas makes him terrified. He’s always paranoid about seeing any zombie anywhere within fifty feet but fighting one up close makes everything….too real. Too personal. Jack exhales a sigh of relief as Pitch gives the sign for the all clear.

“I hate zombies.”

“I know. You’ve only said that about ten times in the past week, four of them while running out of some abandoned building completely naked.”

“You need to shut up about that.”

Pitch stands next to Jack, hands on his hips. “Nah. You think we should go help the others?”

Jack scoffed. “The two of us just took out six of those fuckers in under five minutes. The tiny group that followed us had, like, sixteen...twenty at the most. Minus the six that followed us that makes four for each of them and factoring in all their abilities--”

“Alright alright enough with the math. I get it you went to college. If you’re too lazy to stand up I’m sure they can handle it.” Pitch slides down next to Jack, who lets his head fall to the side as Pitch looks straight ahead, catching his breath as well. They’re both sweaty and covered in dirt and scrapes and bruises but Jack admits he’s more than slightly aroused at the way Pitch’s normally neat and orderly hair has small pieces falling across his forehead and sticking to his face.

“So…” Pitch turns his head to look at Jack, ignoring the slightly open mouthed stare Jack gave him. “Since I don’t feel like getting shot today, what do you want to do while they get rid of the remaining horde?”

Coming from Pitch, he thinks it’s an open-ended question, something without sinful intent that could include anything from simply sitting there till dawn to gathering food but fuck it all he must have some inkling about how much Jack wants to jump up on that horse and ride him like a damn carnival attraction.

Pitch raises an eyebrow at Jack’s slow-creeping smirk, face falling and eyes widening in realization when Jack climbs on top of him and wraps his arm around Pitch’s neck.

“Seriously? Here?” Jack feels Pitch push against his shoulders, but not actually hard enough to push him off as Jack licks a stripe up Pitch’s neck. The long fingers wrapped around his shoulders tighten then relax as Jack lightly sucks on Pitch’s pulse mark, tasting salt and feeling the thrum of an increasing heart beat under his lips.

“Jack,” Pitch hisses, voice unsteady despite the tone behind it. “We can’t--”

“We can’t what?” Jack mutters against Pitch’s skin, dragging his lips down Pitch’s neck and biting his collarbone. “I’m not doing anything.” He trails a hand down Pitch’s chest and pushes his fingertips underneath the hem of his shirt, the other moving to thread fingers through his hair to mess it up even more. Pitch stiffens beneath him then shudders on an exhale and a smile pulls at Jack’s lips. As much as he loves all the touching and overwhelming entity that is Pitch, knowing he can be dominant in certain situations and do the same things to Pitch is a huge plus in his book. And maybe Pitch’s. The way Pitch is biting the knuckle of his index finger so hard he’s leaving red marks is a pretty good indicator.

“You’re being an incessant little prick is what you’re being,” Pitch mutters, the hand on Jack’s shoulder tightening. Jack hums in response trailing his hand up Pitch’s shirt, ignoring the thin layer of sweat and running the flat of his palm along an expanse of toned stomach muscle.

“At least I’m doing something and not trying to resist it because we’ll get caught,” Jack poorly imitates Pitch, still biting and sucking at various places on his neck. His heart hammers against his chest as Pitch turns his head and buries his face in Jack’s hair. A flash of fear that Pitch will push him away jolts through his body, down to his core and reaches thin webbed fingers across Jack’s mind in the blink of an eye.

And now he’s on his back, Pitch looming above him.

Jack’s arms are held above his head at the wrists. “You really want to play the temptation game with me Jack?” Jack traces the faded lines of small hickeys with his eyes, up through threads of Pitch’s perfectly disheveled hair and ending at his full blown pupils, glowing gold against the dark. Jack swallows hard as Pitch leans down and bites hard at Jack’s collarbone, catching a moan in his throat when Pitch rolls his hips over Jack’s.

“You really think,” Pitch mutters, scraping his teeth along Jack’s neck to bite on his lower lip. “you’re the only one who has been having impulse control problems?”Heat pools in Jack’s abdomen and he shifts uncomfortably.

Warm fingers slide underneath Jack’s shirt, making a solid line of heat up the middle of his body and his eyes flutter close. He gasps as Pitch’s thumb brushes one of his nipples, the proceeding groan when Pitch repeats the gesture cut off as he presses their lips together and traces his tongue along the roof of Jack’s mouth. His jacket and shirt are hiked up to his waist, and Pitch completely surrounds him, tongue darting in and out of Jack’s mouth, licking long lines of heat along the backs of his teeth, the hand around his wrist rubbing circles in the center of his palm, their bodies pressed as close together as possible. Jack is melting into Pitch in the middle of a crumbling wasteland and he couldn’t care less because he needs this, he needs Pitch.

The heat of Pitch’s hand traces down Jack’s torso, lifting temporarily and resting on the inside of his upper thigh. Jack groans against Pitch’s mouth. Damn tease. It’s close, so close, but still not enough. Pitch chuckles darkly against Jack’s mouth, the vibrations in Pitch’s chest and against his mouth makes Jack’s cock twitch in his pants. Pitch walks his fingers slowly inwards and Jack pulls his wrists against Pitch’s grip because he needs to get on with it already.

Jack’s hips buck against his will, the hot line of Pitch’s cock pressing against his eliciting a low moan from Pitch.

“Pitch--” Jack whines, breaking away from Pitch’s mouth and looking up into his half lidded gaze.

Still staring directly into Pitch’s eyes, Jack feels his pants loosen as Pitch unbuttons his pants and zips them open, pulling Jack out as he pulls his pants down further. Pitch’s hand is warm against the cool air of the night when he wraps his hand around Jack and everything is focused around that one spot, it’s been so long since anything like this could’ve happened with Pitch and he’s wanted this so bad he can taste it and--

“Hello! Jack? Pitch?”

Jack’s blood runs cold. Pitch freezes on top of him.

Fuck.

Fucking fuck.

Fuck all things holy and sacred left on this sweet cactusfuck of a wasted planet rotating in space.

“Jack! Pitch! We need to go now before the other walkers come around! It’s late enough as it is let’s go!”

Jack groans and his head falls back on the ground, Pitch’s head falling limp against his shoulder. He whines softly in Pitch’s ear, and the shouting only gets closer the longer they lay there. Their mood is completely drained and all sense of urgency immediately leaves Jack as Pitch sits back and smooths out his hair. Pitch’s lips quirk up in a smile as he stares down and Jack, and Jack realizes he must be quite the sight.

Sitting up, Jack pulls his pants back on and buttons them up again as Pitch runs fingers through his hair returning it to some form of semi order.

“Shall we?” Pitch holds out a hand to Jack. His hand fits easily into Pitch’s, and Pitch pulls him up to his feet. He already misses the warmth, but keep the others waiting long enough and they’ll be left behind.

Jack sighs as they make their way to the open street, and he mutters under his breath, “I really fucking hate zombies.”