[fic] an accidental love story (with bonus zombies) Part 3

[lone_wo1f]

An Accidental Love Story (With Bonus Zombies)
Flight of the Conchords | Dave/Murray | R

word count: 23, 478
warnings: the end of the world. m/m relationship.

disclaimer: all fake. the world hasn’t ended.

summary: Dave has spent his entire friendship with the Conchords pretending to be someone he’s not. Everything is going according to plan until a chemical spill begins to shift the weather patterns, and talk of zombies fills the air. Now, he’s holed up in his apartment with Bret, Jemaine and Murray struggling not to let his false identity crumble with the strain of the oncoming apocalypse. It’s a story of survival, of friendship, and accidental love.

a/n: see master post.

master post | part one | part two | part three | fanmix



iii.

Dave doesn’t sleep much anymore. He can’t. Every night he sits with Murray until the other man drifts off, curled up and looking so impossibly small in his bed, and then he slips out of the room. He sits numbly on the couch and watches the light from the sun as it takes it’s slow path across the floor, chasing the shadows from the corners of the room, and thinks that maybe this is all just a bad dream and maybe the light of day will make everything better. Maybe it will make the nightmares go away and all of the bad things disappear.

But it never does, because he’s not sleeping. That’s the big problem. He’s not tucked safe and sound in his bed while his subconscious battles his invisible foes. It’s much more difficult to vanquish nightmares that happen while awake.

October 30th - it’s been five days since the sirens and it’s still quiet outside. no signs of zombies the infected yet. the calm before the storm? I don’t know. I don’t fucking know. still can’t sleep.

It’s just another day and long after the sun has finally risen he’s still sitting in the living room, doodling in his notebook and playing with a few paintball pellets he found in a candy dish on the end of the table. That’s when he first hears something that just barely breaks through the silence of the apartment. It’s a quiet murmuring sound coming from his parents’ room, and he stops rolling the pellets between his fingers to listen. At first, he’s not sure what it is but then he realizes - it’s Bret and Jemaine singing softly together.

Straining his ears, he sits immobile on the couch, hoping to catch what it is they’re singing, but the snatches of words that he does get he doesn’t recognize. Not that he would ever admit to being able to recognize any of their songs. He can’t help but wonder if they’re working on some new material. It seems silly, though, to write new songs when the world is going to end and there will be no one around to hear them.

Carefully, so that the couch springs don’t squeak, he climbs to his feet and shuffles over to stand in front of the bedroom door. Not daring to breath, lest he be heard, he listens closer as they play together. It’s not a typical Conchord song. It’s something much more achingly sweet and serious. It’s lacking their usual playfulness and wile and as he listens he begins to feel more and more like he’s intruding on something private. Something special meant just for the two of them to hear and experience together.

Moving quietly away from the door he slowly lets out the breath he had been holding in. His skins feels itchy and uncomfortable, and the walls in his apartment suddenly feel like they’re closing in on him. Everything is too small, too close, too constant. It’s like he’s trapped in a cage and he can hear the Conchords through the door and the wind outside rattling the windows and he bolts.

The only place he can go is the stairwell leading up to the roof. He desperately wants to go outside and get some fresh air to clear his head and quell that claustrophobic feeling creeping up the back of his neck and rising in the pit of his stomach, but it was decided long ago that they shouldn’t go outside anymore. It’s too risky. They don’t know what’s going on out there. Don’t know what’s bad for them and what isn’t.

As he steps into the stairwell he breathes a sigh of relief as the cooler air hits him and rests his body against the door to calm himself down.

“David.”

Nearly jumping out of his skin at the voice his fists fly up, ready for a fight, before instantly relaxing when he realizes who the voice belongs too and he spots where Murray is sitting on the steps one level up.

“You know,” Dave tells him as he squeezes himself onto the step Murray’s occupying, “you can call me Dave. Everyone else does.”

Murray shakes his head. “Your name is David. Not Dave.”

“Yeah, but Murray, Dave is short for David. It’s the same name.”

Skeptically glancing over at him Murray decisively says, “I don’t go around calling Jemaine Jem or Jema do I? His name is Jemaine and yours is David.”

Dave huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, okay,” he says and leans his head against the coolness of the railing, closing his eyes. “How’d you get out here anyway? You would have had to go right by me without me even noticing.”

Beside him Murray shrugs. Their shoulders are pressed so tightly together he can feel the movement as they rise and fall. “You didn’t notice I guess,” he says in way of explanation. “I just walked out the door like anybody else would.” His voice has just a hint of the same mocking sarcasm Dave typically uses. “You were caught up in your thoughts.”

With a smile, he knocks his knee against Murray’s and then leaves it there so that his leg is pressed against the other man’s along with his shoulders. They sit noiselessly soaking up each other’s body heat and warmth and for once Dave feels safe, and comfortable, and like nothing could possibly hurt him because Murray is there.

“Do you think we’re going to die?” Murray’s voice is quiet, almost inaudible, but Dave catches it and that comfortable feeling evaporates instantly and is replaced by a dull ache in his chest because he wants to be able to reassure him and say no.

He wants to be able to look him in the eye and play his big, brave, macho manly man persona that he can so easily slip into for Bret and Jemaine and tell him that everything is going to be fine, but he can’t. This is different. This isn’t about pretending to be tough to get respect, or pretending to have been in a gang to seem cool for once in his life. This is bigger than any of that and he can’t bring himself to pretend with Murray so he doesn’t answer right away.

Murray’s hand finds his and their fingers twine and clasp together. Dave stiffens at first, but then allows himself to relax after a moment’s breath. They hold on to each other keeping themselves grounded as Dave takes a breath. “I think,” he starts off very slowly, “that we won’t go down without a fight.”

There’s a tremor in his voice as Murray says, “I don’t really know how to fight,” and his fingers tighten just the slightest bit. “It’s not in my nature.”

Dave gives him a sidelong look. Murray’s head is down and the fingers of his free hand are tapping restlessly against his knee. The light from the small window shines faintly over their shoulders and it causes their shadows to blend together on the floor. He can’t tell where Murray ends and he begins. He looks down at their joined hands and closes his eyes briefly as he presses his lips together in a thin line.

“You won’t think about it when the time comes,” Dave tells him. “You’ll just do what you have to do.”

Turning his head to the side Murray laughs softly in disbelief, giving him a once over, but he doesn’t say anything. There are bags under his eyes and his face is ashen as Dave studies him. His fingers are still locked together with Dave’s and when Dave stands up and takes the step down to the landing he pulls the New Zealander up as well. Murray’s body towers above him from his step advantage and Dave takes an uncomfortable step backwards to haul Murray off the steps and back down to his level.

“Listen, Murray,” he whispers, loosening his grip so that he can toy with Murray’s fingers. He looks at him and flashes the other man the best, dazzling smile he can. “If all else fails I’ll protect you. Don’t worry.” He says it because now seems like the best possible time for him to be making exorbitant promises that might bring a smile to the other man’s face.

Murray looks up at him from under his lashes, mouth twisting to the side. He doesn’t look fully convinced but he takes a step closer, and lowers his gaze again. “I don’t think you should be making promises you can’t keep, David,” he mumbles and his voice is sad and lost.

The air around them feels electric and not just from the lightning outside. It’s charged with something that flows between them. Something that connects them through more than just where Murray has moved to grip his wrist and run his thumb across the soft skin and Dave doesn’t want to question it because he thinks that it might take him down a dangerous path.

Who leans in first is and will always be a mystery. All Dave knows is that one minute Murray’s standing in front of him with those sad eyes of his that have Dave’s heart caught up in his throat, looking at him cautiously with a downturned mouth, and the next moment Dave’s hand is coming up, cupping his cheek, and the other hand is reaching out to pull him closer by the belt loop as their lips press tentatively against one another. The bumps and ridges of the wall that he finds himself pushed up against cut harshly into his back and he gasps when Murray shuffles closer, slipping a leg between his and snakes his hand down to rest on Dave’s hip.

It’s weird because he’s kissing a dude. It’s weird because he’s kissing Murray, but it’s right because he’s kissing Murray too because Murray’s the first person to see him for who he really is in a long time and because he had somehow managed to worm his way inside of Dave’s carefully constructed bubble and care about him. About the real him.

Dave breaks the kiss first, pulling away abruptly and leaning his head back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling as he tries to catch his breath and to not hyperventilate. Murray takes a step away from him with his eyes staring resolutely at the floor.

“We should go back inside,” he suggests softly after clearing his throat, “before Bret and Jemaine wonder where we’ve gone.”

Unable to form any sort of coherent thought on his own Dave just nods dumbly, “Yeah,” he exhales and blinks, watching the other man turn away from him. “Yeah, sure.”

--*--

Dave gets drunk that night, really fucking plastered, after finding some beer in the bottom cupboard. It’s warm and disgusting but he drinks it anyway.

He ends up leaning against the doorframe in the kitchen listening to Murray prattle on about something he can’t follow as he drains beer after beer and tries not to think about his parents, or the end of the world, or how he inexplicably wants to brush at the hair that never wants to stay to the side Murray’s combed it too. He’s ignoring how his eyes keep drifting to stare at the other man’s mouth as he talks because that’s fucking sappy and weird and he’d never, ever think about something like that sober - or maybe he would - but his brain is just not in control anymore and before he knows what he’s doing he’s reaching forward with one hand clutching the doorframe for support and tousling his hair instead. It’s soft and silky beneath his fingers and he smiles, content, as he leans back against the frame again.

Murray’s speech halts and he gives him a startled, resentful look. “I’m a grown man, David,” he’s informed with an arched eyebrow and somehow he manages to look indignant and sullen all at the same time. “Grown men don’t have their hair tousled by other grown men.” Regarding Dave carefully he adds, “Or at all come to think of it.”

But Dave just shrugs and takes the full beer out of Murray’s hand for himself. When he lets go of the doorframe to move to the couch the room starts to tilt and his vision goes a little bit wonky. The colors in the room start to blur together as he looks around at his home. It’s one big, bright mess of nonsense and he stumbles through the kitchen doorway into the living room before just barely catching himself with one hand on the end table. He can feel Murray watching him with concerned eyes and a frown and Bret and Jemaine have stopped scribbling in a notepad and fiddling with their guitars to openly stare at him. Their flashlight blinds him as Bret points it in his direction. He wants to laugh and tell them all to stop worrying but there’s a tightness in his chest that stops him when he tries and he can’t breathe as the panic suddenly rises.

Murray’s there in an instant to steady him with one hand on his shoulder and the other gently prying Dave’s fingers from the can he didn’t realize he was still clutching in his fist. The other man’s touch distracts him sufficiently, and he blinks to try and focus on Murray’s face and give him a sloppy smile.

“Hi, Murray.”

“All right there, David?” Murray’s voice is soft and sweet in his ear and Dave loops his arm around the other man’s neck and grins.

“All right there, David?” he slurs in his best attempted accent and lets his weight fall against Murray’s side, leaving it up to the older man to support him. He mumbles, “Can’t ever understand what the fuck you’re saying,” as he rests his head against Murray’s shoulder and shuts his eyes to close out the room.

He feels Murray’s nervous chuckle vibrating through his body and Dave’s pretty sure he’s never been this drunk in his entire life.

“I’m glad it’s you, though,” he exhales and goes to move his hand in a wide sweeping gesture but decides at the last minute that it’s too heavy to lift it for that long and brings it up to rest on Murray’s other shoulder instead, turning his body so that they’re facing one another. “You know. You guys. Here at the end with me.”

Murray’s arms encircle his waist to keep him upright and they stand chest to chest with Dave’s forehead resting on Murray’s shoulder. He stands as still as he can just breathing him in. He smells like he hasn’t showered in a long time. He smells like dirt and sweat and fear but most of all he smells alive and Dave presses closer, tightening his arms around his neck. They had tiptoed around each other the rest of the afternoon and haven’t discussed what happened in the stairwell and he doesn’t think they ever will but he wants to kiss him again. Wants to feel him trembling beneath him, alive and just as scared as Dave is.

Clearing his throat Murray finally says, “I think you need to go to bed.”

Dave tries to shake his head and tell him no but the motion unbalances him and he closes his eyes briefly before agreeing, “maybe.”

Somehow, because he’s some kind of superman Dave is almost positive, Murray manages to get them across the apartment without breaking anything in the darkness or running into any walls, and he even manages to keep Dave upright as he snaps a couple of water bottles from the cupboard. When they reach the bedroom, though, he ends up tripping over a book or something and they fall in a heap on the bed with Dave’s arms still locked around the other man’s neck.

Dave giggles. “I forgot to clean.”

Murray laughs awkwardly and stilted. “Yeah, I noticed,” he says as he tries to disentangle himself from Dave’s grasp but he’s not about to let that happen and grabs at his arm instead and holds on with all of his drunken strength.

“Don’t. Don’t go,” he pleads and under any other circumstance he would never say it, never admit it, but he’s drunk and he keeps saying things that he doesn’t want to say and he can’t seem to stop himself. “I don’t. I don’t want to be alone.”

Making a soothing, shushing sound the New Zealander gets Dave to let go of him and works to get him settled in the bed. “I’m not going anywhere,” he tells Dave gently as he lies down on the bed next to him on his side so that he’s facing Dave.

Wriggling closer he whispers against Murray’s neck, “there are zombies out there, Murray. Fucking. Real life zombies coming!” Saying it out loud has a sobering effect that leaves him shaken to the core. It’s all just now really sinking in and he presses himself against the other man. “I never thought it would happen. Ever.”

He’s having trouble breathing again, breaths coming in rapid succession as he lets go of Murray. Rolling onto his back he presses the palms of his hands against his eyes in an attempt to calm down.

Murray sits up and takes Dave’s hands in his. “Look at me, David,” he demands and Dave lets him slowly lower his hands. Murray holds them tightly in his own and says with a good amount of force behind the words, “Everything is going to be okay. It’ll be fine. You said so yourself. Remember?”

Barking out a slightly hysterical laugh Dave practically shouts, “I was lying, Murray! I was lying! How will any of this ever be okay?”

Letting go of one of his hands Murray reaches back to get a bottle of water. “Drink this,” he demands and watches Dave eye him before carefully sitting up and taking the bottle of water with his free hand, “and these,” he adds, handing him some aspirin. He watches until he’s satisfied Dave’s gotten enough and then takes it back and places it on the floor. Dave flops back on the mattress with a groan and shuts his eyes tight. He can feel the covers being drawn up to his chest and a kiss, so light he almost thinks he imagined it, being dropped on his forehead as Murray settles back down beside him. Their fingers are still laced together and they lie side by side.

“If all else fails,” Murray murmurs in the darkness as Dave is drifting off, “I’ll protect you.”

When he wakes in the morning there is an arm slung heavy and warm across his chest. his head is pounding just slightly and his legs are tangled up with Murray’s. He rolls over to his side and presses his nose against the other man’s collarbone and lets his eyes drift closed again. He thinks that maybe he should be freaking out about this, but he can’t bring himself to figure out why. He’s still in the cozy, sleep-buzzed state somewhere between sleeping and fully waking and Murray’s weight against his body and his steady breathing makes him feel safe and secure.

Murray mumbles something unintelligible as Dave shifts closer and his hand moves against Dave’s back, thumb brushing along the hem of his rucked up shirt and coming to rest on bare skin. Dave sighs, content, and lets himself fall back to sleep.

--*--

November 1st - weather still ridiculous. today it hailed. also no zombies as of yet. one incident does not the zombie apocalypse make. that’s what I keep telling myself but I always forget how big new york is. they could be anywhere. but there was only that one night and I never saw anything once those lights disappeared. haven’t seen or heard anything since. it was just a gut feeling we all had. maybe it was nothing. maybe the cops were out for unrelated events. it could have been anything.

“There’s no way it could spread all the way here without the government capturing and containing the infected, right?” he tells rather than asks Murray. They’re sitting in the kitchen together with a deck of cards and he’s feeling a bit more rational now that it’s been more than a few days and nothing major has happened outside of the weather growing increasingly worse. “I mean, it’s ridiculous to think that they don’t have some protocol about this already in place just in case something were to happen.”

Murray glances up at him, eyebrow raised, and shrugs. “Maybe,” he responds, “but we haven’t heard anything about it being over yet. They were in Nebraska last we heard. If they could get that far without being stopped...” he trails off and leaves his sentence unfinished.

“Yeah, I guess,” he mumbles, bouncing his knee nervously. Another thought comes and he swiftly leans forward and folds his arms on the top of the table whispering, “But the power is still off. Maybe they just haven’t fixed the power and that’s why we haven’t heard anything.”

The ginger haired man gives him a half smile, but Dave can see right through it by now. He knows that Murray is only humoring him and he deflates once again, collapsing back in his chairs and stretching his legs out in front of him, kicking Murray in the process. Murray gives him a pained expression and Dave tilts his head as he shrugs his shoulders in way of an apology. He leaves his feet caught between Murray’s and laces his fingers together on the table as the other man deals out the cards.

As Dave is positioning his cards in his hands Jemaine enters the kitchen looking perplexed. With his hands tucked into his front pockets and his shoulders hunched he nods hello to them and then stands awkwardly by the table.

“Yes, Jemaine? What is it?” Murray asks him as he studies his cards.

Clearing his throat Jemaine inquires, “Have you guys noticed anything off about Bret lately?”

“You mean more than usual?” Dave mutters.

Jemaine shoots him a dark look and tells them, “He’s just been over there standing at the window for hours. Just standing there. Not responding or anything. I kept calling his name and he just stood there. Didn’t even look up or say hi.” He pauses. “It was pretty rude of him actually.”

Dave doesn’t take his eyes off of his hand of cards and says, “Maybe he’s just ignoring you.” Shifting a few of the cards positions he grins at his luck and continues, “Your voice can get pretty annoying after awhile you know,” and then looks up at Murray. “Threes?”

Murray shakes his head triumphantly. “Go fish,” he tells Dave as he turns his attention to Jemaine. “Have you tried snapping your fingers at him? Sometimes that works.” He demonstrates by snapping his fingers in Jemaine’s direction.

Jemaine bats at Murray’s hand irritably before scratching his head. “Well I, I pushed him a little bit. I got mad he wasn’t answering so I...pushed him,” he admits and Murray frowns at him.

“You pushed him? Jemaine, that’s no way to solve your problems!”

“Yeah,” Jemaine concedes, “coz it didn’t work anyway.”

The older New Zealander opens his mouth to retort but Dave breaks in. “Look, Jemaine. We’re kind of in the middle of a game here so was there something you wanted us to do or did you just come here to bitch?” Beneath the table Murray kicks him hard and Dave winces but bites back the curse ready to fly from his mouth.

“It’s just worrying behavior, s’all.” Jemaine ducks his head, seemingly embarrassed. “I thought maybe he’d answer to one of you.”

Brushing him off with a wave of his hand Dave repeats, “Game.”

Murray, however, has a different idea and taps the bottom of his cards on the table a few times before lying them face down and standing up. “All right,” he agrees. “Lets go see him.”

“Hey, wait a minute!” Dave exclaims. “You’re just looking for an excuse to stop because I’m winning aren’t you?”

“I am not,” Murray informs him. He grabs Dave around the bicep and hauls him to his feet. “And you were not.”

Grumbling, “I was so,” Dave allows himself to be easily pulled up.

Jemaine has been hovering over them anxiously through the entire exchange and as they squabble amicably with one another on the way to the living room he follows so closely behind them that he steps on Dave’s heel multiple times .

“See?” He gestures at Bret who is standing by the window peeking out through the blinds with one hand stuffed into the back pocket of his jeans. “Just like that. He’s been there for hours.”

Dave and Murray fall silent, exchanging a suddenly solemn glance, before Murray takes the lead and steps ahead of them. “Bret?” He approaches him cautiously like Bret is some kind of wild animal who might go crazy at any moment. “Bret?” But Bret doesn’t move a muscle, eyes glued to an image outside and Murray looks helplessly over his shoulder.

“I told you,” Jemaine hisses. “I told you it was weird.”

Dave rolls his eyes and crosses the room to stand on the other side of the smallest New Zealander. “Bret,” he says sharply, “you’re being pretty freaky, dude. What’s going on with you?”

After a very long moment Bret finally lifts his hand and takes a step away from the blinds as he points towards them. Jemaine moves forward quickly and grabs his arm to steady the younger man as he suddenly stumbles on shaky legs. Murray rushes over to grab his other arm and help Jemaine move him to the couch while Dave turns back to the window curiously. There’s dread pooling in his stomach and a knot that tightens as he reaches forward and slowly moves the blinds to see outside. He already knows what he’s going to see. Already knows what waits for him beyond the safe cover he’s lifting away but that doesn’t mean he’s prepared.

The sight that greets him as his blood running cold and his heart freezing to a stop. He turns back around slowly to face the other three and he can feel the blood draining from his face.

Bret strangle a sob and whimpers from the sofa, “They’re finally here.”

--*--

Every day more and more of them show up. They keep multiplying like bunnies and it seems like every time Dave chances a glimpse out of the window there are even more of them crowding the street and the sidewalks as they lurch and stumble about just like every zombie in every zombie movie he’s ever seen. It’s so stupid and cliche and he hates it.

He hates how trapped he feels. How powerless and helpless they all are. How there’s nothing that they can do to stop things and even if they tried it wouldn’t make a difference. All they can do is wait. Wait for the food to run out. Wait for the zombies to realize they’re in the apartment. Wait for them to swam the building. Wait for the end.

Every morning when he wakes up he hopes it will be the morning when the Earth can’t take it anymore and finally splits in half and opens up beneath them to swallow everything up and put an end to everything once and for all.

But it never happens.

November 5th - they’re everywhere and we’re running low on food. amazing how fast food goes with four guys in the house. I don’t know what to do anymore. I look outside and they’re all I see. we can’t run for it. where would we go? we should have left a long time ago. but the weather. who knows what would have happened. staying was the best plan I guess. all we can do now is keep our voices down, stay under their radar, and hope.

He sets his notebook aside and peeks out the window again. The sight outside makes him gag and he tries his best to suppress the violent shudder that runs through his body. It’s like nothing he’s ever seen before but he keeps coming back. He can’t stop himself from looking. It’s fascinating in the way only truly horrific things can be.

Their skin is a sickly yellow-green color and it seems to almost be melting off of their bodies and it must have something to do with the type of chemical that was spilled, but Dave’s not a chemist. He has no idea what could do that to the human body. It’s terrifying. Some of them have parts of the bones in their arms and up around their collarbones exposed. Their eyes are sunken and sallow and they stare blankly out in front of them as they stumble along with an inconsequential path and no direction.

Dave can hear them making sickening moaning sounds even through the closed window and when he listens closely he can hear something else that he can’t quite put his finger on. It sounds like someone slogging through slush and it takes him a few minutes before he realizes what it is. It’s their skin dropping off as they walk and mixing up with dirt and loose bits of asphalt. It’s not slush they’re walking through it’s flesh.

This realization leaves him feeling ill and shaky on his feet.

“Come away from the window, David,” Murray tells him, coming up behind him and placing his hand gently on Dave’s arm. “We don’t want them to see us.”

Dave’s voice is strained when he replies, “In a minute,” and doesn’t move. Can’t move. “Do you think we’re the only ones left? Do you think there are others out there?” he asks quietly.

“There have to be,” Murray says. “If we’ve managed to get by for this long there have to be others.”

With a twist of his mouth Dave dubiously says, “There are a lot of them out there.” He looks back down and there’s one standing in front of the shop staring back up at him. Her head is twisted in an impossible angle and Dave’s entire body locks up. His muscles tense and he stares back down at her in horror for what feels like an eternity before managing to regain control of his legs and stagger away from the window in panic.

“Shit.” he curses, heart hammering in his chest. “The girl. She saw me. She fucking saw me.”

--*--

They decide not to tell Jemaine and Bret what has happened in the vain hope that nothing will come of it. The next morning Dave wakes to find Murray sitting up in bed, back against the headboard, with his knees pulled up to his chest and Dave sits down cross-legged across from him. Bending forward, he rests his cheek on Murray’s knee and Murray uncrosses his arms to run his fingers through Dave’s hair.

“I didn’t even get to say goodbye to Toby,” he whispers out of the blue. “I wonder if he’s doing alright.”

Dave’s heart leaps to his throat and he swallows thickly, wringing his hands in his lap, before saying, “I’m sure he’s fine, Murray. He’s a dog. They can take pretty good care of themselves.”

“I guess you’re right,” Murray says softly but he still sounds miserable.

The silence of the room enfolds them and Dave closes his eyes and lets himself get lost in the feeling of Murray’s nails scratching rhythmically across his head. It’s soothing and he nuzzles at Murray’s knee without thinking as he makes a sound somewhat akin to a purr. Murray’s hand pauses and Dave, utterly mortified, immediately pulls back.

He moves to get of of the bed as he stammers out, “I should go make - ” but when he meets Murray’s eyes there’s something in them that stops the flow of words and makes him hesitate from getting all of the way up. It stops him from bolting out of the room like a frightened child runs from a monster.

The other man sits up a little bit straighter, situating his legs so that he’s mirroring Dave as Dave eyes him cautiously. He already knows what’s going to happen. He’s been waiting for it to happen. Knew it would happen the moment they kissed in the stairwell. They’ve been dancing around one another ever since. It was just a matter of time. He knows that Murray is fully aware of it as well as Murray’s gaze drops to his mouth and he unconsciously bites at his lower lip. So Dave moves in, crawling forward little by little, until he can fit his lips against the other man’s tentatively asking a silent question that doesn’t need to be asked. Never needed to be asked. Murray responds immediately with a broken whine, surging towards him with a reckless abandon that takes Dave aback and gives the New Zealander the upper hand.

They shift and adjust until Dave is pinned flat on his back with Murray hovering over him, supporting himself on his forearms and breaking from the kiss to nip at the soft skin of his jaw. Dave whimpers as his eyes close and his hands find themselves sliding beneath the hem of Murray’s shirt and over the warm skin he finds there. He tugs and tugs and Murray finally relents his assault on Dave’s neck long enough to pull his shirt off. His fingers reach down to pull on Dave’s and he lets the other man work it up and over his head, baring his chest to the cool air of the room and he shivers, goosebumps breaking out all across his skin, but Murray is right there again, mouth finding his and capturing.

When Murray finally, finally, lowers his body to press right along Dave’s and Dave feels his erection through his pants against his leg all he can do is groan helplessly, mouth falling open and head lolling to the side as he tries to catch his breath. His head is spinning and he’s not sure which way is up anymore. Nothing makes sense and nothing is happening the way it should.

All he knows is this is now, and all of the bruises on his skin that Murray makes with his fingers are real and he can feel them and everything is messy and clumsy and desperate and all he wants is to press closer, dig his nails in deeper, leave his own bruises and feel everything and nothing.

Above him Murray is speaking in whispers and broken sentences that Dave has to force himself to focus on to understand. He’s saying, “Dave,” and it’s gruff, and reverent all at the same time. His accent is thick around the word and it’s Dave, not David. It feels significant and has his heart clenching and Dave reaches out, drawing him down for a kiss and working his hand between them to pop the button of Murray’s jeans.

“Yeah,” Dave responds breathlessly. “Yeah. Here. I’m here.” He’s got his fingers on the zipper now and he hesitates with one hand against Murray’s chest to hold him back and looks up at his flushed face. “Murray,” he whispers and the other man stops trying to press into Dave’s hand and looks at him with a damaged smile and wild eyes and Dave’s heart skitters in his chest as he begins to slowly lower the zipper so that it unhitches notch by notch at the rate of his choosing that forces Murray to go with it.

Feeling anxious and awkward all of a sudden Dave freezes and Murray whines and tries to buck his hips. “I’ve never,” he tries to explain, not able to look at Murray’s face, “with a guy.” There’s so much more he wants to tell him. So much more he wants to say, but he can’t so instead he rolls them so that they’re on their sides, facing each other and he can press his forehead against Murray’s.

And Murray finally stills. Finally slows down. With one hand he reaches up, tipping Dave’s chin so he can kiss him slowly and deeply. With his other hand he reaches down and then his hand is covering Dave’s and they move together and Murray whines and whimpers and makes soft noises into the crook of Dave’s neck and Dave bites his lip and tries to remember how to breath. He can feel Murray’s heart thudding in a rhythm that matches his own.

Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door, startling them both so badly that they end up banging their foreheads together as they both flail and turn their heads to stare at the door. The first knock is quickly followed by another and then the door is swinging open to reveal Jemaine entering the room with Bret close behind him before Murray and Dave even have a chance to react. They freeze when they catch sight of the pair on the bed and Bret’s eyes go wide.

“Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?” Dave demands with a voice that is husky and rough as he glares daggers at the two of them. He knows his hair is disheveled and his lips kiss swollen and red but there’s nothing he can do about it now so he stares at them as steadily as he can.

Jemaine raises a hand and points at the door with his thumb in a strange gesture that Dave doesn’t really get the meaning of and says, “I did knock. I knocked twice.”

Murray has his back to the door and he’s pressed his face against Dave’s chest to try and hide, but he irritably tells him, “One knock and then another knock right after it doesn’t mean you knocked twice, Jemaine.” His voice is muffled and his lips tickle against Dave’s skin.

“Well you didn’t answer now did you?” Jemaine’s voice raises to slightly hysterical. “How was I supposed to know you’d be in here half naked and doing,” he waves his hands frantically at them, “that!”

Dave runs his fingers lightly up and down Murray’s back as he scowls at Jemaine. “Was there a reason you decided to barge in here, or do you frequently go around banging into rooms where you aren’t invited?” he snaps out.

Jemaine opens and closes his mouth a few times, clearly trying to work out everything happening around him. Dave can practically see the gears turning in his head and then Bret elbows the taller man and Jemaine jumps like he had forgotten Bret was standing there.

“Tell them,” Bret whispers and when Dave finally spares him a glance the smaller man seems unsteady on his feet.

Jemaine looks down at him, and then reaches over to pull him tight against his side before looking back up at Dave. “I think they’re in the building,” he says soberly and Dave feels like he’s been punched in the stomach but his expression doesn’t waver, doesn’t falter to show the fear coursing through his body.

“Give us a minute,” he tells them with a steady voice, swallowing around the lump in his throat. When neither Jemaine nor Bret move to leave the room Dave raises an eyebrow and points at the door and barks, “Get out!”

After they’ve gone he slides back down until his face is even with Murray’s. He runs his fingers along the other man’s arm catching up his hand in his own. He tightens his fingers and Murray squeezes back.

“Happy Halloween,” Murray whispers. “This is about as scary as it can get.”

Dave doesn’t respond, doesn’t mention that it’s November, he just kisses him hard and with everything he’s got bottled up inside.

--*--

“What happens now?” Jemaine asks quietly that night as they sit around in the living room in a tense silence. He can’t seem to look Murray or Dave in the eye, opting instead to stare at the wall just behind their heads. “They’re going to find us up here sooner or later with their creepy zombie powers.”

Beside Jemaine, Bret suggests, “What if we build some kind of a barricade? Something that would hold them off for a while longer?” He gives them an embarrassed, half smile, blushes and averts his eyes quickly.

Murray’s mouth turns down a bit in thought. He seems to not notice the tension in the room. “What would we use? It’s not like we have bits of wood that we can nail across the door or anything lying about suitable for a job like that.”

Dave narrows his eyes and looks between Bret and Jemaine a few times, studying their faces attentively, before he rests a softer gaze on Murray. “We can use the furniture. The couches, tables, chairs. Shit like that,” he decides. “We’ll just stack them up against the door and maybe they won’t be able to get through all of it.”

“We won’t be able to get out either,” Jemaine points out, finally meeting Dave’s eyes with a quarrelsome expression firmly in place. “We’d be stuck in here until they got through. Sitting ducks.”

“We’re sitting ducks anyway. We don’t really have very many other options, Jemaine. Do you want to run for it? What do you think your chances of survival would be if you did?” Dave bites out. Jemaine’s face falls into a pout and he sinks back against the cushions. Bret touches his elbow gently and Dave frowns at them. “Right now I think it’s the best idea that we have so that’s what we’re going to do until we can come up with something better.” Climbing to his feet decisively he says, “We don’t have time to waste on any more brainstorming. We need to do something and we need to do it now.”

Next to him Murray rises as well. “He’s right,” he agrees. “We need to do something to stop them from getting in here in the first place otherwise we have no chance at all.”

Bret stands up and forces Jemaine to his feet with one arm hooked around his friend’s elbow. “Let’s get started then,” he declares, blushing again when he catches Dave’s glance and Dave rolls his eyes in exasperation.

They quickly, but as quietly as possible, get to work dragging the larger pieces of furniture across the apartment and stacking them against the front door. The dressers from the bedroom go first because they’re the only things that will stack almost flat. The two couches from the living room follow and Dave is glad that all they have to do is slide them across the floor. Moving furniture has never been something high on his to-do list. For the lighter objects they form an assembly line formation. Dave goes from room to room gathering up end tables and chairs and he passes them to Murray who passes them to Jemaine who passes them to Bret. Bret hums the Tetris theme to himself as he arranges and positions everything to fit solidly together and his soft voice fills the emptiness of the apartment.

Every little bit helps. Everything they add makes it all the more difficult for them to be reached so when they’re done with the substantial pieces they begin to add books and lamps and all of the other hodgepodge items they find lying around. It might not be enough to stop them, but hopefully it will be enough to trip them up.

“I have swords,” Dave announces to them when they’ve finished and are critically surveying their work for any weak spots. “In my room I have a few Samurai swords that I used to keep on my dresser.”

Jemaine glances over at him and rolls his eyes. “This is not surprising,” he says dryly.

Dave scowls at him. “We need weapons, don’t we? I have some. Now, do you want to use them or are you going to fight off these creatures with your sarcasm?”

Looking slightly chastised Jemaine bows his head and mumbles, “Weapons, please.”

“You should be grateful I have anything at all,” Dave tells him sourly over his shoulder on the way to the other room. He returns with them along with his paintball gun, simply because it makes him feel better to hold a gun even though he knows that, logically, it isn’t going to be of very much help. “I only have three,” he notifies them when he enters again. Automatically, he hands one of them over to Murray and then looks between Bret and Jemaine. “Guys?”

“That’s okay,” Bret says looking at the sword in Dave’s hand with some wary trepidation. “I’ll just make do with something else.”

Dave shrugs. “Suit yourself,” he says, handing the weapon to Jemaine instead. “You can hold the paintball gun if you want. You might be able to, I don’t know...blind them with it or something.”

Bret looks skeptical still but when Dave hands it over he takes it carefully and says, “Thanks.”

“I don’t think that will really work very well,” Jemaine mutters and Dave turns angrily towards him.

“Look, Jemaine. Do you have some kind of a problem tonight?”

Jemaine looks taken aback by the confrontation and he ducks his head as he says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Are you sure?” Dave clips out, crossing his arms over his chest and gripping the scabbard in his hand so tightly his knuckles turn white. “Because I kind of feel like maybe you do know what I’m talking about.” Beside him Murray shifts his weight uncomfortably and reaches out to lightly touch the middle of Dave’s back but Dave doesn’t back down. His heart is pounding away in his chest but he’s not going to let them see how nervous he is or how important it is to him that Jemaine doesn’t turn him away right now.

Jemaine stays quiet for the longest time. Dave can see the battle raging inside of him in the way his hands clench into fists and how he chews on his lower lip and Dave’s ready to storm out of the room when the New Zealander finally shakes his head, looking up and straight at him and declares, “No. There’s no problem.”

Dave narrows his eyes and studies him. Jemaine matches his gaze steadily with one of his own and they stare at each other in silence until Dave nods once. “Okay,” he says. There’s still a small amount of distrust and suspicion in his voice, but he allows his body to relax.

“It’s just,” Bret speaks up suddenly and three sets of eyes turn to stare at him, “it was just unexpected.” Quickly he tries to explain, “Not that...that isn’t okay. It was just, you know...” he trails off at the end and shrugs. “You’re Dave.”

“Unexpected,” Dave repeats, deflating. “Yeah, I know.” Without sparing any of them another glance he crosses the room and sits down with his back against the wall, staring straight ahead at their makeshift barricade and placing the sword across his lap.

Murray follows and sits down beside him. “He doesn’t mean anything by it,” he whispers into Dave’s ear. “He’s just Jemaine.”

“I know,” Dave responds with as much indifference as he can muster. He chances a look over to where the other two are still standing and talking amongst themselves. They’re too quiet for Dave to hear but it’s clear from their body language that they’re arguing and after a few moments Bret grips Jemaine’s hand and drags him over to join them. He pats Dave’s knee as he settles down, yanking Jemaine down as well, and Dave gives him a brief, weak smile.

“Now what do we do?” Murray asks, letting his head fall back to rest against the wall.

After a few long moments Dave responds with, “Now we wait.”

--*--

November 8 - 10th - the noises are faint but they’re definitely in the building. they get louder every day. they’re getting closer. I don’t know how much longer we’ll be able to stay here undetected. we’re pushing our luck as it is.

The next few days are spent listening to the creatures outside shuffling into the walls and staggering up the stairs as they groan and moan and progress through the complex. The squish of their skin makes Dave sick and his own skin crawls in disgust when he catches the sound. They decide to relocate to the living room to keep a watchful eye on the door and with all of them together there’s a false sense of comfort and safety that settles in the air. They’re together and still alive and that’s what counts.

Their days become filled with fear and desperation and panicked glances every time there’s a creak or a crack near the barricade. Every step they take is deliberate and cautious to avoid any complaining from the floorboards and they move around as little as they can. At night they sleep in shifts. Two of them stay awake while the other two sleep curled up on the wooden floor. Dave’s hand is never far from his weapon and he doesn’t think he could sleep if he tried. There’s too much going on in his head to let him sleep. The end could happen at any moment and he wants to be awake when it does.

That’s why he’s the only one who has managed to stay awake tonight. Murray had fallen asleep during their shift with his head dropping to rest on Dave’s shoulder about an hour ago and Dave hasn’t bothered to wake him up just for the company. From where he’s sitting with his back against the wall he can keep an eye on the entire living room area as well as the front door and it’s been a relatively quiet night anyway. He isn’t too concerned about being the only one up.

It’s kind of peaceful this way. The moonlight rests on Bret’s sleeping form and creeps across the floor as the wind rattles the windows gently. The zombies are abnormally quiet which makes Dave a little bit wary, but with the silence it’s almost how it was before all of the shit hit the fan. Before their lives became one giant nightmare. Suddenly there’s a rustling and Dave is instantly on his guard but it’s only Jemaine climbing out of his blankets and crawling over to him. Dave relaxes and nods in greeting when he settles down.

“I’m sorry about the other day,” he mumbles after a few seconds. He slouches his shoulders and looks like he wants nothing more than for the wall to open up behind them and swallow him up. “Bret says I didn’t handle it very well. Said I should apologize.” His fingers tap restlessly in a silent rhythm on the hilt of his sword and he looks everywhere but at Dave. “So...sorry.”

Dave is startled by the apology and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before managing to reply, “Yeah. It’s cool, man. No worries.”

“I just never thought you,” he stops and shrugs, “especially with.” He stops again and gestures vaguely instead.

Murray makes a soft sound in his sleep. His hair brushes at Dave’s cheek but he manages to stop the gentle smile that wants to come out when he says, “Me either.” He still hasn’t really thought about everything that has happened between them, or about where this attraction came from in the first place. Under the circumstances the whys and hows of it all don’t seem too important.

“Okay,” Jemaine says.

They fall into a comfortable, companionable silence and after a while Dave’s eyelids begin to drop. Murray’s body is warm against his side and Jemaine is humming softly under his breath, and suddenly he’s so tired. He can’t remember the last time he actually let himself sleep and he rests his cheek against the top of Murray’s head and allows his eyes to slip shut.

He’s not sure whether he’s dreaming or if he’s awake when he first hears it. It’s the creaking of the wood and the metallic sound of a handle being turned with the lock still in place. He is certain, though, that there’s a hand on his shoulder shaking him insistently and he blinks to find Jemaine’s terrified face inches from his own.

“What?” he whispers. “What is it?” The door rattles and realization dawns and he slowly, slowly shifts his gaze from Jemaine’s face to the front door. “Shit.”

He straightens up as much as he can without dislodging Murray as he tries to clear the sleep from his brain and he stares in horror across the apartment. The door shakes and the doorknob jiggles in place. Terror races through his body and his heart is pounding so loudly he’s sure that it’s going to give them away. He can’t breathe and has to fight the rising panic. He can hear them breathing heavily on the other side as the doorknob clinks once more and then it falls silent once again.

They sit immobile on the floor for what feels like hours after that trying to get themselves under control. Once Dave regains command of his muscles he looks over at Jemaine. His friend’s face is ashen when he looks back. Neither of them speak. They’re too afraid that something might still be out there.

Beside him Murray stirs. Coming back to himself bit by bit he yawns, “How long was I out? Did I miss anything?”

At that, Jemaine lets out a shaky laugh. “Just a near death experience s’all.”

--*--

When morning comes and the first rays of the sun light up the floor Dave feels infinitely better. He knows it’s foolish but the daylight always makes things seem a little better than they really are and he can’t help but take comfort in it.

On the other side of the room Bret is crawling out from under his blankets. His hair is standing up every which way and he gives the three of them a sleepy smile. “Was there some kind of top secret meeting last night that I wasn’t invited to?” he croaks out before yawning.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Jemaine tells him.

Bret makes a thoughtful sound and then shrugs. “You guys want some breakfast?” he asks with a jerk of his thumb towards the kitchen. “I’m gonna see if we have any cereal left.” The other three shake their heads and Bret shrugs again. “Okay, but I’m not going back in there to fetch stuff later.”

Dave watches him leaving before leaning his head back against the wall and allowing his eyes to drift shut. He’s feeling serene for once as his body relaxes but then the sound of something bumping against the door cuts through the air and Dave’s heart stops beating. He can feel the blood draining from his face and turning cold as his eyes fly back open.

“Guys,” Bret whispers urgently as he tiptoes back in from the kitchen. He hastens over to where he left the paintball gun and snatches it up.

Dave gets to his feet and steps forward. “We heard it.”

“Maybe if we don’t move they’ll go away,” Murray suggests as he casts a nervous glance at the door and gets to his feet as well. He moves subtly closer to Dave and fidgets with the handle of his sword.

Dave wraps an arm around Murray’s waist and tugs him closer. Murray fingers anxiously at one of Dave’s belt loops and Dave’s hand slips beneath the hem of the other man’s shirt. “Maybe,” he says without much confidence. “It worked last night but I don’t know if it’ll work again.”

The color drains from Murray’s face. “They were here last night? Why didn’t you tell me?” he hisses as a scowl passes over his features for a moment. “Why did you let me fall asleep? You should have woken me up to keep watch with you.”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference.”

“We thought it’d be better not to make everyone worry,” Jemaine explains. He picks up his sword and gets up of the floor to come and stand beside them. “We didn’t think they’d come back after that.” Dave glances at Jemaine from over the top of Bret’s head and they share a grim look.

“But they did,” Bret whispers. He clasps his fingers around Jemaine’s wrist nervously. “They came back. They must have figured out that we’re in here.” He’s got the paint pellet gun clenched in his fist so tightly that his fingers are turning white.

“It’s okay,” Dave tells them as the banging becomes more intense. “We’ll be okay.”

They all stand together in the middle of the room and they wait, and they watch, and each of them crosses their fingers in the desperate hope that somehow luck might be on their side today. They can hear the door groaning with insistence and little cracks and faults start spreading slowly throughout the wood until the door begins to splinter bit by bit and fold beneath the pressure applied by so many hands pushing and shoving against it.

The first thing to reach them is the smell and Dave actually takes an involuntary step backwards as he gags and chokes. It’s like nothing he’s ever smelled before. It’s putrid and rancid like burning garbage mixed with rotting fish and he’s pretty sure that normal decomposing bodies aren’t supposed to smell like this. His eyes start to water as he fights to get his gag reflex under control and focus. There’s a sizable gap in the middle of the door and he can see them pushing and stumbling over one another as they reach and claw to be the first one through.

The barricade is still holding strong but he can see the weaker areas. The areas he knows won’t hold for very much longer. All they can do is stand there and wait in terror as one of the beings finally breaks free of the others and manages to get a leg through the gap. The dressers get pushed to the side and topple over as he tries to come through properly.

All of a sudden there’s a loud pop and the monster is staggering backwards, ripping the rest of the boards from the door, and crashing to the ground where he is promptly trampled. They turn, mouths open, to see Bret lowering his gun.

“Why wait until they’re inside?” he asks simply.

This ignites something deep within Dave and he announces, “Bret’s right. If we keep them out there it’ll be easier to deal with all of them. He looks from his friend’s back to the door where another is starting to come through. “This is it, guys. It’s time to show these bastards what we’e made of,” he says while trying to keep his voice from quavering and trying to sound as strong as he can.

Bret nods and shoots again successfully sending another back through the door.

Dave turns to Murray and there’s so much that he wants to say, wants to tell him, but they don’t have time and he doesn’t know if he’d be able to find the right words anyway. Murray smiles weakly at him with sad eyes and for a second everything fades away as Dave leans down to kiss him one last time.

“Guys,” Jemaine shouts and they break apart as the kitchen table goes sliding across the room.

Reluctantly Dave turns his attention back to the attack. He raises his sword and with one more glance at the other man he charges towards the door.

Epilogue:



art by:mumblemutter

Stuffing his notebook in his back pocket with a sigh Dave wipes his forehead. His fingers come away sticky with sweat and dirt. They have no food, no supplies, and no where to go. They can’t go back to the apartment. There will be another surge of them soon and who knows if the ones they left behind are really dead. Surveying his surroundings with a grim face he frowns. They’re in the open and unprotected and they need to get moving before night falls and they can’t see where they’re going anymore or see what’s coming towards them. They need to get inside before they’re spotted.

He watches as Jemaine rips at the bottom of his shirt and sets about tenderly bandaging up Bret’s bleeding arm. Beside them Murray shakes with his arms wrapped tightly around his body. He’s got blood in his hair and something else that Dave doesn’t want to think about. They’re standing in the shade of an old tree and when Dave walks over to them his legs are unsteady but he tries his best to look in control.

Slinging his sword over his back so that the hilt rests on his shoulder he says, “We need to get moving and the sooner we do the better.”

“He’s right,” Jemaine agrees as he ties the last knot to secure the cloth around Bret’s arm. Bret winces and Jemaine immediately looks up at him. “Too tight?” he asks, concern etched across his features as he studies his friend’s face.

Bret shakes his head and cradles his forearm against his chest. “No,” he replies. His voice is barely above a whisper and it’s weak. “No, it’s fine.”

With his free hand Dave takes up Murray’s and laces their fingers together. “Come on,” he says and with a gentle tug he leads him out from under the shelter of the tree.

Bret and Jemaine fall diligently into step behind them and they set off down the road with the hopes of finding some place better than what they were leaving behind.

end.

+a/n. don't forget to check out the mix and tell her how amazing it is. I love it so much!