[je] [nagase/kokubun] Apocalypse now (never sounded so sexy)
title: Apocalypse now (never sounded so sexy)
characters: Nagase Tomoya, Kokubun Taichi (TOKIO)
pairing: Nagase/Taichi
word count: ~1800
rating: NC-17
warnings: Violence, zombies, sex, explosives, coarse language, apocalypse fic etc etc
summary: Nagase and Taichi live it up in a post-zombie outbreak Tokyo.
notes: written for the Halloween Trick or Treat meme thing :D
"Nagase this is really not the time," Taichi complains when Nagase's hands tug at his belt loops and haul him backwards into the house Taichi was relatively sure once housed crack dealers.
"Why not?" asks Nagase, all dark-rimmed eyes and white grin slashing through the dark, "it's the end of the world, that seems like the best time for a fuck! We're not gonna have time for it when we're dead."
Taichi thinks he probably had a little bit too much of the whiskey tainting the air between them, because he accepts this argument with laughter and a kiss, his fingers tugging at Nagase's hair.
Nagase's cock is trapped in his shorts; he rocks up against Taichi's hip and grunts, roughly, pulling at Taichi's jeans so hard the button almost pulls off. "Nagase," Taichi hisses, "if you break off the button and make it so my pants are always falling off because you wanted to get laid we're going to get caught and eaten for sure."
"Yeah, okay, all right," Nagase answers, and slips the button open with his thumb, pushes the zipper down, shoves his hand in and squeezes. Taichi sighs, relieved, and rubs his palm over the belly of Nagase's t-shirt, tugs at his shirt and scratches with his nails to make Nagase's wrist jerk the way he likes it.
"If you're gonna do it--" Taichi complains, after a minute or two more of wrestling pants out of the way and the half-assed handjob Nagase's lazily giving.
"I'm goin'," Nagase snaps, biting at his jaw while there's the crinkling of foil in Taichi's ear; they'd figured out early on that the stink of sex put them closer to the shambling undead roaming around (and besides Nagase got a kick out of the bragging rights attached to having to use a XXL condom).
"I don't care about going I want you to be coming," Taichi answers, before the burn of Nagase stretching him, pushing his thigh up, distracts him and he hooks his fingers over Nagase's shoulders, rides Nagase slamming inside roughly and twines his tongue around Nagase's to escape for a minute from all this shit.
"Fuck, Taichi," Nagase curses, "fuck."
"We are!" snaps Taichi, because he can't help himself.
Nagase laughs, hard and dark, in his ear.
Night falls; they're boarded up in the house now, Taichi digging through the empty rooms for food (or, better, alcohol) and Nagase checking the windows. The zombies get faster at night, and maybe smarter. Neither of them want to wake up in a room full of undead salivating over their brains (er, Taichi's brain).
"Nagase, I found a six-pack," Taichi announces, pleasantly, the bottles clinking together as he lifts it in the air.
"Yes," cheers Nagase, kicking the refrigerator blocking the door experimentally. He grinned when it didn't wobble.
"And there was a mattress in the back, but I'm not touching it. Bugs. I know you may not care about disease, but I'm not getting caught by those things and I'm not catching something."
"So floor again," Nagase guesses.
"I found us a table to hide behind," Taichi offers weakly.
"I hate you," Nagase informs him, but doesn't push it (for once; maybe he's just as tired as Taichi). He takes his beer and settles on the floor behind Taichi's overturned table fort, back to the wall, ready for another long night of unrestful sleep.
Taichi leans comfortably against Nagase's arm shamelessly and takes a swig of his beer. "This sucks," he comments.
"Yeah," Nagase answers.
"No, I don't mean in a philosophical sense, I mean this beer is terrible," Taichi clarifies.
"…duh," answers Nagase, and it figures Taichi should have learned not to expect perspective from Nagase by now.
------------
"Come on," Nagase complains.
"I'm coming," answers Taichi, examining what he can see of the pile of dead bodies. He doesn't know who he's looking for.
"Gussan would just punch them," Nagase says suddenly, "Mabo'd scare 'em off, and Leader's so unlucky he might be immune to whatever it is that's doing this to people."
Taichi laughs, and follows Nagase down the eerily deserted road through the backroads of Shibuya. They'd learned very quickly that the subway was impossible, filled with undead (or, worse, looters) and the more prominent roads were asking to get tackled and eaten, so residential streets it was.
"You wanna stop for lunch?" asks Nagase conversationally.
Taichi blinks, grins when he sees the convenience store with the smashed window at the end of the block. "Yeah, sure," he says.
Taichi had insisted, just at first, that they leave money for the shit they took; Nagase had eventually talked him out of it, pointing out that if they eventually got their asses to a ward less filled with dead people looking to eat their brains they might want to take a taxi, and they could always come back later if this mess was ever taken care of.
"Asahi or Suntory?" Nagase calls, halfway into the fridge in the back.
"Suntory," he answers reflexively, then, "how are we going to carry all of that?"
"I got it," Nagase answers, "don't worry."
There's a howl from down the block; they both freeze. Nagase stands up, pushing a pair of six packs into the bag at his feet and pulling the strap of his manpurse--er, sorry, stolen schoolbag (it was clearly a girl's; charms dangled off of every surface) over his shoulder. Taichi, amused, tosses him a trio of onigiri that are still good, a stash of food shoved into the purse he's relatively sure once belonged to a drag queen draped across his chest. Nagase pulls the length of piping they'd stolen from a construction site over his shoulder; Taichi's grip on his metal baseball bat tightens.
Then he steps over an overturned display, the clink of breaking glass under his boots the only sound as he looks outside. "We gotta go," he says, voice tight, and Taichi swallows, nodding.
As one, they slam the conbini door open and run like hell. Behind them, one or two of the horde try to scramble faster (signs of possible intelligence? or maybe just hunger?), desperation is faster than their loping pace, and the pair of them burst into the nearest apartment. Nagase kicks the door closed viciously and suddenly the lights click on; he whirls around, pipe held ready. Taichi is sitting at the top of the stairs with the lights on and a grin across his face.
"You check upstairs?" Nagase asks, craning his neck and looking around suspiciously.
"I was gonna wait for the big strong man here," Taichi teases, forcing himself up and reaching for his baseball bat. He reaches for the door to the first room; locked. He hears Nagase huffing up the stairs and grins when the other man stomps down to the other end of the hallway. Second door swings open; Taichi winces as he takes in the family, dad hanging and mom and baby a bloody mess in the corner. Eventually he averts his eyes. "This one's open," he says, voice thin.
"Yum," says Nagase, over his shoulder. Taichi snorts.
They wrap the family up in their futon and shove them into the hallway with a whispered prayer and Taichi burning a stick of incense, and then Nagase starts to poke at the stove.They have rice, with mayonnaise because that's all that's in the fridge, around the table, and sleep with the doors and windows tightly closed, blinds pulled flat over the glass and lights off.
-----
"….so I think we're in trouble," says Nagase, holding up the folded length of pipe.
Taichi wipes sweat off his forehead with his sleeve and shows him the battered bat. "No shit," he says.
"I have three beers," says Taichi, peeling back the top of his purse.
"I have two condoms," Nagase answers, patting his pocket and grinning widely.
"First let's take care of our friends," says Taichi, peering out the window down at their friends. He looks back at Nagase. "Isn't there a truck parked out front?"
"If by parked you mean trashed," answers Nagase.
"Think it's got any gas? You have a lighter, right?"
Nagase processes what the hell he's thinking--laughs, hard, patting Taichi on the back so hard Taichi almost falls out the window, and he hauls Taichi back by the arm for a rough kiss. Then he's dashing for the other end of the tiny room above their factory hideout, sliding down the stairs. Taichi follows, jerking the cap off his beer on the banister, and he laughs as he drinks down his half. "Here," he says, slapping the end into Nagase's hand, "get a move on!"
"Yeah," Nagase answers, fishing his lighter out of his pocket and handing it off, "be careful."
"Move it, you asshole," Taichi says fondly, bouncing on his toes and breathing deeply. Three months at this and he still gets tense, nervous. He hits the button to raise the garage door.
Nagase makes a run for it, and Taichi follows as best he can, swinging his bat at head-height to knock down things that were once schoolgirls, delinquents, housewives, hosts--even a guy who looks like Leader but that's probably just the pathetic expression and the leopard-print tank top--and climbs atop the back of the flat-bed. He swings the bat like a golf club with some pleasure, leans over and calls for Nagase, who's kicking zombies and fumbling for the gas tank.
"Duck!" Taichi calls, and Nagase does. Taichi swings, knocks a zombie under the chin, and Nagase laughs wildly. He's got the tank; he shoves it into Taichi's waiting hands and turns on his heel to clock a zombie back. Taichi offers him an arm up, and there's a close minute where they both almost topple over, but then Nagase grabs the roof and hauls himself over the side.
Taichi's already filling the bottle with shaky hands; Nagase tosses him his lighter. "We need a wick," Taichi says, looking around--he grabs the back of Nagase's shirt. "Don't fall backwards!" he orders, and Nagase grunts before swinging the bat so fast it whistles through the air.
Nagase's shirt rips easily enough, and Taichi twists it, shoves the end inside, and in a move that he almost wants to stand back and marvel at, he manages to flick the lighter on on the first try. He holds the lighter to the wick and chucks the pretty explosive over Nagase's head. It arcs tremendously, and, after a moment, it becomes clear the fire was spreading. Nagase grins.
"Nice," he says, "lemme do the next one."
"Hell no, you'll throw it too far! I only have two more bottles! You can drink the beer."
"Awesome. I mean--oi, lemme throw one I have a better arm!"
"Drink your beer and hit zombies and shut up!"
"So annoying."
characters: Nagase Tomoya, Kokubun Taichi (TOKIO)
pairing: Nagase/Taichi
word count: ~1800
rating: NC-17
warnings: Violence, zombies, sex, explosives, coarse language, apocalypse fic etc etc
summary: Nagase and Taichi live it up in a post-zombie outbreak Tokyo.
notes: written for the Halloween Trick or Treat meme thing :D
"Nagase this is really not the time," Taichi complains when Nagase's hands tug at his belt loops and haul him backwards into the house Taichi was relatively sure once housed crack dealers.
"Why not?" asks Nagase, all dark-rimmed eyes and white grin slashing through the dark, "it's the end of the world, that seems like the best time for a fuck! We're not gonna have time for it when we're dead."
Taichi thinks he probably had a little bit too much of the whiskey tainting the air between them, because he accepts this argument with laughter and a kiss, his fingers tugging at Nagase's hair.
Nagase's cock is trapped in his shorts; he rocks up against Taichi's hip and grunts, roughly, pulling at Taichi's jeans so hard the button almost pulls off. "Nagase," Taichi hisses, "if you break off the button and make it so my pants are always falling off because you wanted to get laid we're going to get caught and eaten for sure."
"Yeah, okay, all right," Nagase answers, and slips the button open with his thumb, pushes the zipper down, shoves his hand in and squeezes. Taichi sighs, relieved, and rubs his palm over the belly of Nagase's t-shirt, tugs at his shirt and scratches with his nails to make Nagase's wrist jerk the way he likes it.
"If you're gonna do it--" Taichi complains, after a minute or two more of wrestling pants out of the way and the half-assed handjob Nagase's lazily giving.
"I'm goin'," Nagase snaps, biting at his jaw while there's the crinkling of foil in Taichi's ear; they'd figured out early on that the stink of sex put them closer to the shambling undead roaming around (and besides Nagase got a kick out of the bragging rights attached to having to use a XXL condom).
"I don't care about going I want you to be coming," Taichi answers, before the burn of Nagase stretching him, pushing his thigh up, distracts him and he hooks his fingers over Nagase's shoulders, rides Nagase slamming inside roughly and twines his tongue around Nagase's to escape for a minute from all this shit.
"Fuck, Taichi," Nagase curses, "fuck."
"We are!" snaps Taichi, because he can't help himself.
Nagase laughs, hard and dark, in his ear.
Night falls; they're boarded up in the house now, Taichi digging through the empty rooms for food (or, better, alcohol) and Nagase checking the windows. The zombies get faster at night, and maybe smarter. Neither of them want to wake up in a room full of undead salivating over their brains (er, Taichi's brain).
"Nagase, I found a six-pack," Taichi announces, pleasantly, the bottles clinking together as he lifts it in the air.
"Yes," cheers Nagase, kicking the refrigerator blocking the door experimentally. He grinned when it didn't wobble.
"And there was a mattress in the back, but I'm not touching it. Bugs. I know you may not care about disease, but I'm not getting caught by those things and I'm not catching something."
"So floor again," Nagase guesses.
"I found us a table to hide behind," Taichi offers weakly.
"I hate you," Nagase informs him, but doesn't push it (for once; maybe he's just as tired as Taichi). He takes his beer and settles on the floor behind Taichi's overturned table fort, back to the wall, ready for another long night of unrestful sleep.
Taichi leans comfortably against Nagase's arm shamelessly and takes a swig of his beer. "This sucks," he comments.
"Yeah," Nagase answers.
"No, I don't mean in a philosophical sense, I mean this beer is terrible," Taichi clarifies.
"…duh," answers Nagase, and it figures Taichi should have learned not to expect perspective from Nagase by now.
------------
"Come on," Nagase complains.
"I'm coming," answers Taichi, examining what he can see of the pile of dead bodies. He doesn't know who he's looking for.
"Gussan would just punch them," Nagase says suddenly, "Mabo'd scare 'em off, and Leader's so unlucky he might be immune to whatever it is that's doing this to people."
Taichi laughs, and follows Nagase down the eerily deserted road through the backroads of Shibuya. They'd learned very quickly that the subway was impossible, filled with undead (or, worse, looters) and the more prominent roads were asking to get tackled and eaten, so residential streets it was.
"You wanna stop for lunch?" asks Nagase conversationally.
Taichi blinks, grins when he sees the convenience store with the smashed window at the end of the block. "Yeah, sure," he says.
Taichi had insisted, just at first, that they leave money for the shit they took; Nagase had eventually talked him out of it, pointing out that if they eventually got their asses to a ward less filled with dead people looking to eat their brains they might want to take a taxi, and they could always come back later if this mess was ever taken care of.
"Asahi or Suntory?" Nagase calls, halfway into the fridge in the back.
"Suntory," he answers reflexively, then, "how are we going to carry all of that?"
"I got it," Nagase answers, "don't worry."
There's a howl from down the block; they both freeze. Nagase stands up, pushing a pair of six packs into the bag at his feet and pulling the strap of his manpurse--er, sorry, stolen schoolbag (it was clearly a girl's; charms dangled off of every surface) over his shoulder. Taichi, amused, tosses him a trio of onigiri that are still good, a stash of food shoved into the purse he's relatively sure once belonged to a drag queen draped across his chest. Nagase pulls the length of piping they'd stolen from a construction site over his shoulder; Taichi's grip on his metal baseball bat tightens.
Then he steps over an overturned display, the clink of breaking glass under his boots the only sound as he looks outside. "We gotta go," he says, voice tight, and Taichi swallows, nodding.
As one, they slam the conbini door open and run like hell. Behind them, one or two of the horde try to scramble faster (signs of possible intelligence? or maybe just hunger?), desperation is faster than their loping pace, and the pair of them burst into the nearest apartment. Nagase kicks the door closed viciously and suddenly the lights click on; he whirls around, pipe held ready. Taichi is sitting at the top of the stairs with the lights on and a grin across his face.
"You check upstairs?" Nagase asks, craning his neck and looking around suspiciously.
"I was gonna wait for the big strong man here," Taichi teases, forcing himself up and reaching for his baseball bat. He reaches for the door to the first room; locked. He hears Nagase huffing up the stairs and grins when the other man stomps down to the other end of the hallway. Second door swings open; Taichi winces as he takes in the family, dad hanging and mom and baby a bloody mess in the corner. Eventually he averts his eyes. "This one's open," he says, voice thin.
"Yum," says Nagase, over his shoulder. Taichi snorts.
They wrap the family up in their futon and shove them into the hallway with a whispered prayer and Taichi burning a stick of incense, and then Nagase starts to poke at the stove.They have rice, with mayonnaise because that's all that's in the fridge, around the table, and sleep with the doors and windows tightly closed, blinds pulled flat over the glass and lights off.
-----
"….so I think we're in trouble," says Nagase, holding up the folded length of pipe.
Taichi wipes sweat off his forehead with his sleeve and shows him the battered bat. "No shit," he says.
"I have three beers," says Taichi, peeling back the top of his purse.
"I have two condoms," Nagase answers, patting his pocket and grinning widely.
"First let's take care of our friends," says Taichi, peering out the window down at their friends. He looks back at Nagase. "Isn't there a truck parked out front?"
"If by parked you mean trashed," answers Nagase.
"Think it's got any gas? You have a lighter, right?"
Nagase processes what the hell he's thinking--laughs, hard, patting Taichi on the back so hard Taichi almost falls out the window, and he hauls Taichi back by the arm for a rough kiss. Then he's dashing for the other end of the tiny room above their factory hideout, sliding down the stairs. Taichi follows, jerking the cap off his beer on the banister, and he laughs as he drinks down his half. "Here," he says, slapping the end into Nagase's hand, "get a move on!"
"Yeah," Nagase answers, fishing his lighter out of his pocket and handing it off, "be careful."
"Move it, you asshole," Taichi says fondly, bouncing on his toes and breathing deeply. Three months at this and he still gets tense, nervous. He hits the button to raise the garage door.
Nagase makes a run for it, and Taichi follows as best he can, swinging his bat at head-height to knock down things that were once schoolgirls, delinquents, housewives, hosts--even a guy who looks like Leader but that's probably just the pathetic expression and the leopard-print tank top--and climbs atop the back of the flat-bed. He swings the bat like a golf club with some pleasure, leans over and calls for Nagase, who's kicking zombies and fumbling for the gas tank.
"Duck!" Taichi calls, and Nagase does. Taichi swings, knocks a zombie under the chin, and Nagase laughs wildly. He's got the tank; he shoves it into Taichi's waiting hands and turns on his heel to clock a zombie back. Taichi offers him an arm up, and there's a close minute where they both almost topple over, but then Nagase grabs the roof and hauls himself over the side.
Taichi's already filling the bottle with shaky hands; Nagase tosses him his lighter. "We need a wick," Taichi says, looking around--he grabs the back of Nagase's shirt. "Don't fall backwards!" he orders, and Nagase grunts before swinging the bat so fast it whistles through the air.
Nagase's shirt rips easily enough, and Taichi twists it, shoves the end inside, and in a move that he almost wants to stand back and marvel at, he manages to flick the lighter on on the first try. He holds the lighter to the wick and chucks the pretty explosive over Nagase's head. It arcs tremendously, and, after a moment, it becomes clear the fire was spreading. Nagase grins.
"Nice," he says, "lemme do the next one."
"Hell no, you'll throw it too far! I only have two more bottles! You can drink the beer."
"Awesome. I mean--oi, lemme throw one I have a better arm!"
"Drink your beer and hit zombies and shut up!"
"So annoying."