„You‘ll be happy to hear the tea‘s actually still warm today!“
You declare later that evening and hand him a cup. He arrived earlier today, the sun is still setting outside. He looks more confident today than yesterday. Your plan worked to an extent; word got around Eugene helped you fend off walkers. It might have been a surprise to some but still, being able to kill them is very much still the baseline and not an extraordinary accomplishment. However, a win is a win.
He takes the cup a little awkwardly, seemingly glad to have something to occupy his hands with. You watch him take a sip, then you limp over to the bed and sit down.
“I brought you batteries for your little luminaire,” he tells you and points to the night-light. You - never having heard that word being used for your little companion - raise an eyebrow.
“I’m sure my little luminaire will be very delighted about that.”
You look at him expectantly.
“Outch, (y/n).” He says it seriously as always, but you see amusement flickering in his eyes.
„Come on, I want to know how the story continues. Otherwise I’ll tell more puns,” you threaten with a grin.
As he keeps standing there, hesitant to come closer, you pat the space next to you. You feel slightly more insecure now. It’s like the air has gotten thicker and he has to feel it too. Somehow anticipation - especially when unnamed- tends to have the viscosity of honey and likewise, the tendency to stick to every part of the interaction, wanted or not.
His eyes follow you, observing the sinking of the mattress and your fingers gliding over the sheets. The silent intensity in his gaze serves, more often than not, as the only indicator of his interest, given the monotone intonation of his voice. You feel it onto your skin too, now. Almost like a touch. A breath away from intrusiveness. Or maybe your tolerance for his intrusiveness is just above the normal. One way or another, he steps closer, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features before he sits down next to you. A solid, warm force beside you.
He takes a sip of the tea which serves at this point more like a social lubricant, rather than an actual enjoyable beverage. It's thin, the herbs worn down, just like your nerves. And maybe his as well, if you dare to read the twitch around his eyebrows correctly. Unfortunately, reading other people correctly has never been one of your strengths, neither pre- nor post-apocalypse.
„Shall we continue where we left off then?” he asks, adjusting his position slightly to face you more directly. You draw a breath. The next part takes more courage today than it did yesterday.
“We could…“ you say, nodding to the pillows, hinting at the position you have been in the day before with him sitting halfway up and you lying on his chest. „If that’s not uncomfortable, I just- The day has been intense, and I thought we both could use some comfort.“
The excuse is joining the tea and your nerves in terms of being see-through and all you can do is to look up at him through your lashes, eyes wide in a gesture that could be interpreted as flirting but provides plausible deniability as well. Eugene's gaze follows your gesture and a hint of something like anticipation is crossing his features. He takes a second to answer and when he does his voice sounds deep and unnervingly steady as always. „Physical contact is indeed efficient in providing regulation for the nervous system. Not that I‘d be overly familiar with the execution.“
He nods, though it takes him a moment to put the mug away and shift into the position you suggested, leaning back into the cushions.
„Please, get comfortable. After what you did today it’s only fair play if I provide you comfort and enjoyment.“
Eugene holds your gaze as you grin and lift an eyebrow.
„Comfort and enjoyment?“ you repeat, a teasing lilt to your voice because of his clumsy choice of words. As you do so you lie down and place your head on his chest, hearing his quickening heartbeat in the silence. „Well,“ you add, placing an arm over his chest, „I won‘t enjoy this if it isn‘t pleasurable for you too.“
You try to sound light and carefree, but the words come out strangely shaky. You can hear him swallow heavily.
„Ah, well, be assured that my pleasure is intrinsically linked to yours. In matters of social affairs it is my belief that pleasure is most fully realised if both parties are… mutually sated.“
You feel your face heating up and you have to bite the inside of your cheek as you exhale slowly through your nose. Is he aware of the innuendo? The question hammers inside your head and despite having a weakness for his Texan drawl you briefly wish his voice would for once waver in cadence to give you a hint at what he is thinking. At the same time his hand that’s not occupied with the book comes to rest on your arm. You don’t shiver but it’s a close thing.
For a fraction of a second you believe that this finally crossed the line. A hitch in his voice, a brief hesitation, a tensing in his body. Then he starts reading because of course, five ordinary words aren‘t enough encouragement for someone who is himself half a fancy dictionary. And his voice vibrating in your eardrums is good - god, it’s soothing and deep - and you wish it was enough to silence the pressing, wanting voice inside you instead of making it louder.
Time passes. It gets dark outside as the story progresses. The story you can regrettably barely follow. The realm between being asleep and awake has your thoughts wandering to dangerous places and with the progressing hour they grow more reckless. How easy it would be for him to cast the book aside and press you into the mattress. Your mind is conjuring images of him pinning you down, holding your wrists as he kisses you, taking you, making you yield for him. And you know he isn‘t the type. A voyeur maybe, but not the forceful type. Despite knowing this an involuntary whimper escapes your lips at the thought. Your eyes fly open, startled by your own sound.
Eugene pauses in his reading as he hears the soft, needy sound you made. His brow furrowed slightly in concern or wonder, likely both, as he tries to discern if you are in distress or discomfort. He carefully sets the book down beside him, full attention focused on you.
„Are you alright? Did you experience pain from your injury?“ His voice is low and soft, tinged with a hint of something akin to worry. There is a shift in his body, maybe due to the sudden heightened attention. You feel his thumb brushing your shoulder, a steady and insistent motion and you shudder under the feeling of it. Your brain is foggy from the half asleep state you have been in and from the overwhelming and burning want that’s been building inside you. You take a deep breath to steady yourself but it only comes out shaky.
„I-It was probably the injury, yes. I- I faded away for a second. Must have moved it,“ You lie. You have no Idea whether he feels the same or not and you are terrified to scare him away.
Eugene, however, felt your shudder beneath his touch and the sensation made him tense. He was aware of the hoarseness and the breathy quality of your voice and it gave him an inkling - or rather pathetic hope - that it might stem from a source detached from physical pain. His mind raced, worse now without the book, since there was nothing left to distract him from the alluring stimuli - your smell, your touch, the feeling of your weight on his chest.
„Alright. If you say so,“ he murmurs. „I just want to inform you that you can be open with me. About anything.“
As he speaks his gaze drifts over you. Taking in your face and the silhouette of your body in that damn night gown that does little to hide your form from him. It makes it increasingly hard to suppress both the longing he feels, and these vivid images his mind conjures of you, ever since you started sleeping next to each other. Images of you squirming beneath him, gasping as he does the things to you he knows Abraham is doing to Rosita.
He has to keep those lustful fantasies in check, urgently. You obviously trust him deeply and he is not going to jeopardise that, but he wants you - God, how he wants you. And the sound you made, because of pain or not, made him hazy.
You didn‘t know exactly what was going through his head but you very well noticed the shift in the atmosphere.
„Are you alright, Gene?“ You ask quietly. „You seem a little stiff.“
You feel him nod and mumbling something you can‘t quite make out.
„Maybe we should sleep. It is getting late and we should save the batteries,“ you add, a little anxious that something might be off.
„Y-yes. I think it would be best to cut the light,“ he says quietly and a few seconds later it's dark. But somehow you don‘t have the impression either of you is honestly tired right now. Anyway, you roll over to the side, waiting breathlessly for what he is going to do. You hear him shuffling next to you and a second later he wraps an arm around you. It feels a little stiff and he doesn‘t quite know where to put his hand but it doesn‘t matter. What matters is that you are not sure how to endure this kind of proximity in your current state of arousal without losing your mind. Pushing him off, however, isn‘t an option either.
„Is this… okay?“ You ask into the dark because he hasn’t quite answered your question.
Eugene, meanwhile, feels a little off guard with the sudden closeness, with the way you feel pressed up against him and he has to fight down his own desire, to manage a cohesive answer.
The scent of your hair and the warmth of your skin have his heart racing and are making it increasingly hard to think straight. He swallows hard and resists pulling you closer. An instinct is screaming at him to grind his hips flush against you, making you feel what you do to him and ease the pulsing, aching desire.
Somehow he resists. Even he knows this would cross a line and set a tone impossibly to undo. Instead he holds you pressed against his chest, breathing your scent, overly aware of every breath you take. Each intake of air makes your chest rise and your tits brush softly against his hand. Jesus, he feels so wound tight he might rip apart any moment.
„I apologise for any tension I might have provided. Sensation as a variable is irritatingly incalculable.“
You open your eyes. It’s challenging enough under normal circumstances to decipher what he is saying but you believe you have a hang of it by now.
„What sensation are you feeling?“ Your voice feels too loud in the silence. Eerie even, since your world consisted only of breath and heartbeat for the last few minutes. Laboured breath in his case and you are almost sure by now that you are not alone in this want you are experiencing. If Tara was right, if your perception of his gaze on you was correct, then you might know what’s going on. Lust, you are almost certain, is the sensation he meant, even though he remains silent. His hand resting on your stomach is sending constant heat down between your thighs. You are very much completely wet by now. You can feel it as you shift because of the slightly awkward angle he is hugging you in. And not only this. Whatever he might have planned to answer is replaced by a hasty, broken sound, as if to stop you from shuffling closer to him. But it's too late. You gasp audibly as you feel him pressing firmly against you. The feeling sends a shock through your lower half so fiercely it borders on painful.
„Oh Eugene, I… are you…?“ you stutter.
A strangled groan torn from his throat is the answer. His grip around your waist tightens as his arousal is digging into the curve of your rear.
„(Y/N), I… ah…,“ he gasps, eloquence gone for the moment. All that’s left is a low, broken rasp as the world seems to shift.
„I-I apologise, I didn‘t mean for y-you to feel… that.“ He is stammering, his breath coming in sharp, harsh pants against your ear. His hips jerk forward slightly as he finds himself incapable to stop squirming and you moan at the feeling. The sound makes him halfway lose his mind. „I can‘t help it, I‘m sorry, (Y/N). You are incredibly hot.“
His hand is sliding up to cup the sweet swell of your breast through the thin fabric of the nightgown. His fingers are shaking and he is half expecting you to push him off harshly any second, but it feels good. Too fucking good.
„Tell me to stop, if you.. If my actions are…Unwelcome. But I gathered from your previous reactions a certain calculation. About this situation.“
You are doing nothing of the sort. Your needy whimper turns into a long, loud moan as you feel him pawing at your chest and you think you have to die if he stops now.
„Eugene… Please, oh please…“ You press against his touch, urging him to touch you harder, to keep grinding against you. You can feel the blood rushing through your ears and your heartbeat between your legs. You can also feel him trembling like crazy and the desperate need to reassure him.
„You are right, it‘s not unwelcome, not at all. Please, go on. I… I need you to touch me.“
You lift the gown as best as possible to show him what you want. He is so achingly hard behind you and you can feel your own fluids running down between your thighs.
Eugene is taking a sharp breath, desperately trying to regain some sort of composure. The way you are arching your back and pleading for him nearly undoes him then and there. He acts mostly on instinct as he slips his hand down the curve of your belly, his trembling fingers delving into the slick heat between your thighs. It coats his fingers, proving to him he wasn‘t imagining things and he groans at the feeling of it. Curiously he dips one, then two fingers inside you. Despite his desperation there is a method to his exploration. You feel him feeling along your walls, listening to each and any hitch in your breath. His hands are so large, when he thrusts his fingers inside you you cry out his name.
„Elevated moisture levels indicate a high state of… of arousal,“ he pants, his voice strained with both desire and surprise.
„Yeah, no shit, Sherlock,“ you sigh, voice braking as he starts to finger-fuck you in ernest. „How- How are you even still able to t-talk like that? Have you any idea how hot that is?“
You moan as his thumb finds your clit, drawing small circles. The pressure is not quite right, a little too light, but he is eager not to hurt you which is more than can be said about others. „Of c-course I am turned on. Be-Because of you.“ You slip a hand backwards between you two to palm his erection through the fabric separating you two. He hisses at the sensation, hips flexing forward into your touch.
„(Y/N)… Are you… Do you want to proceed?,“ he rasped, hesitation warring with desperate need. „I must confess I have limited experience in… intimate matters.“
He sounds a little bashful there at the end and you take some pride in making his voice waver. That’s before the meaning of his words settles in.
Somehow it only now occurs to you that he might actually be a virgin. You took that for a joke before. You don’t have to wait long for the confirmation.
„More limited than the norm, I am afraid,“ he admits, his voice a whisper, raw with vulnerability. „To be precise, you would be my first.“
The confession is hanging in the air and makes you want to hold him close, makes you want to kiss him stupid until every doubt he has about himself leaves his body. You turn your head, turning your body so you are almost facing him. He looks flustered, even in the faint moonlight.
„Then I‘ll be your first. If you want me to,“ you breathe and lean a little forward, hesitating until your lips are merely an inch away from his. You can feel his breath on yours.
„Please,“ is all he manages and you close the distance, pressing your lips to his. You can tell he is inexperienced by the way he kisses you back a tad bit too eager, but it doesn‘t matter. Nothing matters except the feeling of his tongue brushing against yours.
The feeling of his soft abdomen under your fingertips as you let them slip under his shirt and earn a whimper in return.
The feeling of his lips kissing down your neck before he pushes you back into the spooning position you have been in and that seems to be comforting for him. It matters even less as he slides his fingers back inside you, moving them in and out, building a rhythm that has you writhing and moaning for him. Maybe he was truthful when he said his pleasure was intrinsically linked to yours because it‘s only when you clench hard around his fingers that you hear his broken voice again, „May I… May I remove my trousers, (Y/N)? I burn to be inside you. Even though there is no amount of… durability I can assure you of.“
„Don‘t worry about that. Please… Just hurry. I need you.“
With trembling fingers he fumbles with the fastenings of his cargo shorts, the urgent need to be inside you overriding any lingering nerves. He kicks the fabric off impatiently, finally freeing his aching, hard length. Eugene’s hips jerk forward instinctively, the head of his cock slipping between your thighs to nestle against the slick, soft warmth of your most intimate area. He shudders at the contact, a broken version of your name on his lips.
You have to catch your breath and take his hand, interlacing your fingers with his, signaling that you are here with him. It only takes a little wiggle of your hips until he is pressing against your entrance. You can feel him squeezing your fingers harder as he fights the instinct to thrust all the way into you.
„(Y/N), I… Tell me, if I am not being gentle enough,“ he pants. „But I fear my… My restraint may be limited. Foreplay has left me… Quite eager for the main event.“
„‚‘Fucks sake, Eugene! Just fuck me already,“ you whine, slightly pushing back so he slips a little into you. The motion is accompanied by a punched out sound from him. Then, finally, he pushes into you. Inch by inch. You lift your leg a little, so the new angle provides better access. He moans loudly as he slides inside, the sound almost painful. You see stars as he pushes deeper and deeper and deeper still and you gasp sharply.
You suspected so as you felt him pressing against you but feeling him inside is a different matter altogether. So that’s why he was so worried about being gentle. You take a deep breath to get used to the feel of him and hum as you feel ready. He, however, is making no effort to proceed.
„Gene?“ You try to get a look at him over your shoulder. „You know you have to move, right?“
You softly move your hips so he is sliding a few inches out and back inside. He makes a sound that’s damn near a whine and you startle.
„Are you alright, Eugene?“ You ask, voice now depleted of teasing. He struggles to find his voice.
„I-I am adequately familiar with the mechanics,“ he grits out, pulling you impossibly closer to him. „But it‘s… You are incredibly tight. I… ah, you feel so good, I can‘t…“ He fights to get it together and you let him, give him time to handle the overwhelm. „I‘m afraid this will inevitably end prematurely.“
„If it does we‘ll try again. Don‘t worry too much,“ you whisper back, squeezing his fingers. He seems a little taken back by the prospect of a next time. As if the thought of that possibility hadn’t crossed his mind before. Then, without further warning, he begins to thrust into you again. You both moan at the sensation and you feel him holding onto you for support, making it feel somewhat like he’s making love to you, rather than just fucking.
It's so sweet you want to cry. Too sweet in a violent world that has turned bitter and merciless. Actually you do, cry that is. Tears are falling down your cheeks from the sensation of Eugene sliding in and out of you, from the litany of whispers of your name falling from his lips, from the tenderness of it all. Your soft sobs are swallowed by your own moans however, as his fingers separate from yours, leaving them forlorn, before he finds his way back to your clit, continuing their pattern from before. It's good, good, good…
The sensation is building rapidly, the knot in your abdomen tightening until you feel like shattering. His thrusts have quickly gotten sloppy and erratic and you didn’t expect him to last long enough for you to get off at all. It's all the more shocking as your orgasm suddenly crashes through your body, knocking the air out of your lungs, leaving nothing but him burned into your mind. He seems shocked as well, as far as he is in his mind enough still to realise you just came around him with a shuttering force.
“(Y/N)… Oh, fuck me, I‘m going to...”
With a last rough shout, some silly imprecation, he follows you. You feel him swell and pulse, followed by the hot, wet sensation of him coming inside you, painting your walls white and panting heavily.
It takes a few moments for you both to catch your breath and for post orgasmic bliss to mingle with resurfacing anxiety. He is still holding you and it is hard to feel seriously insecure when he nuzzles into your neck like that, seemingly unwilling to part from you just yet.
There had been no prior agreement of the nature of this entanglement. You just went from being companions to friends to shagging quite fast. It's not unheard of that some people's feelings change abruptly after the post-coital clarity hits.
You draw breath the same second he starts talking, cutting off the sentence you hadn’t fully formed in your head.
“I believe it to be of paramount importance to clarify certain parameters about what transpired.”
The monotone cadence is back and you briefly miss the clarity with which his body communicated to you what his verbal habits fail to do. “I am aware that casual sexual encounters are common practice. However, you should be aware that besides finding you seriously hot, I hold certain affections for you. And while I don’t expect you to reciprocate, I want you to-“
Suddenly your heart is in your throat again and the darkness around you gains density. He grows silent and you continue, “I think I have for some time now. I don’t expect you to say it back, just… I want you to know.”
For someone with social dyslexia this situation might read like social Kafka and you hear the gears turning in his head. Maybe it's a little much to ask of him but the words slipped out and now they are hovering obtrusively in the room.
“I reciprocate,” he finally says and you turn around to meet his gaze in the dark. “I don’t pretend to be an expert in this field, but according to what I experienced in your proximity I can most certainly say, the feelings I harbor for you are akin to… Love.”
You smile at him because of course he can’t put it simply. He doesn’t have to though, because you are here, listening. You lean in and kiss him again, more softly this time and without urgency. He returns the gesture, his hand back at your waist to turn you around, to finally face you. You are melting into each other because it's so much better than giving up.
Every day could be the last. Better make it worthwhile.