Warnings: angst/comfort (somehow), Death Angels from AQPDO, light smut, mention of violence, blood and World’s end.
You barely made it inside.
Your heart was pounding like a war drum as Eric shoved you and closed the steel door shut, pressing his back against it, both hands shaking as he held it in place.
The silence that immediately fell was so thick it nearly suffocated you, making your ears ring on nothing while trying to control your shallow breaths.
Complete stillness stretched out as you looked at him, careful to catch any noise outside, even the most insignificant.
Long seconds passed, nothing came.
You crouched on the dusty concrete floor of what looked like an old boiler room—your muscles trembling, lungs burning, blood still rushing like thunder through your veins.
This time too, the Death Angels had not reached you.
Thin rain tapped against a filthy window up above, soft and rhythmic—a lullaby trying to soothe two hunted animals.
Outside it was Spring, but the sky was gray and heavy and the whole world was on the brink of collapse.
Eric was staring at you, chest heaved and sweat on his temples.
No words, just eyes—big, wide, frantic and honestly too sweet.
You nodded once in his direction, your whole body still shaking, trying to say ‘I’m okay’ without using your voice.
It was the first and only rule to survive that...apocalypse.
Not a sound, no matter what.
He nodded back at you, mouthing something you didn’t catch the first time—as usual.
He smiled at your furrowed brows and repeated it, slower this time.
You nodded again, biting your bottom lip hard, trying not to cry.
Eric was still here with you and you were so happy, so grateful to this… stranger.
You hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words since that first morning a few days ago, when he had found you during a foray into the mainland to look for food, but somehow you and him had stuck together without a second thought.
You trusted him, following and moving like shadows among ruins and corpses, surviving on instinct and scraps, waiting for one of the boats that went back and forth on the Hudson to pick you up.
His presence had become a solid constant, a steady heartbeat beside yours in the dark, a warm embrace against fear and death.
You didn’t even know his last name, or how old he was, but right now that kind of information didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered anymore except that tiny miracle: you were both alive, still together.
Finally, he moved toward you—slow, careful, like approaching a wounded animal. His hands reached out, showing you he meant no harm, then settled gently on your upper arms, squeezing just a little.
You sighed, studying his soft face—brown curls, slight beard, a few scratches on his pale skin, pink full lips—and the moment bloomed by itself, raw and unreal.
You wanted to feel his body against yours—inside yours.
He was thinking the same thing too, you could tell—you just knew.
You could see the tension in his jaw, in the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed hard.
His fingers slipped to your cheeks and stayed on your skin, warm despite the rain, the terror—despite everything.
Suddenly, Eric bent his head and pressed his forehead against yours, closing his eyelids to hold back the tears.
It wasn’t meant to be intimate, not really.
But your body was already spiraling while your brain short circuited.
You didn’t mean to make the sound, but it came out anyway.
Just a broken little gasp.
The relief of not dying turned into something else—heat, need, the desperate hunger for anything that made you feel alive.
Eric’s gaze locked on yours again.
Something in him cracked too. You saw it.
The same panic, the same madness, the same craving for something real—something good—in this nightmare of shrills and blood.
His thumbs brushed your cheekbones and his eyes fell to your slightly open mouth.
You didn’t look away, just grabbed his torn jacket, pulling him softly towards you in a silent plea.
When he leaned in—barely a millimeter between you—you didn’t push him.
His lips didn’t touch yours at first. Just hovered.
You gave him your confirmation in a whisper, your lips moving carefully.
Eric didn’t rush, but his mouth found yours in a sudden, closed press—soft, almost reverent, but firm.
You whimpered against his lips, the little sound trapped between your mouths, swallowed immediately as he deepened the kiss, alert even in the urgency, as if some part of him was always listening for death.
And he was, you understand him.
Your hands clutched his hair without thinking, fingers digging into the locks like he might disappear if you let go.
His body was true, real—and that alone almost broke you.
You kissed him back and he hummed.
You were not gentle, not shy as you used to be.
You felt exactly like someone who had almost died and didn’t want to forget what it felt like to be alive, breathing and desiring.
Eric just froze for half a second, startled by your hunger, then a quiet growl left his throat—a deep, vibrant echo that made heat and slick coil low in your belly.
He broke apart for air, whispering words you couldn’t catch.
You shook your head, a silent ‘doesn’t matter’, but he stilled, looking at you intentionally.
You smiled, even finding the strength to blush.
"You're quite handsome, too.”
Eric laughed without a sound and his hands slid to your waist, fingers splaying there, digging in through your soaked, light jumper.
You felt his breath hitch when your hips shifted instinctively, seeking friction, seeking relief.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and blown now, wild with something that wasn’t only fear anymore.
He lifted a finger and pointed at you, then to his own chest, brows drawn together in a silent argument.
You nodded impatiently, eager for more.
Eric waited just a short moment, then leaned in again, this time kissing under your ear.
You bit down on your lip to keep from moaning and bend your neck to give him better access, your hands flying to his shoulders, nails pressing in as a languid sensation rippled through you.
His mouth slowly traced the line of your throat, your collarbone, reverent and shaky, like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you like this.
Like he was afraid the world might punish him for wanting something good any moment now.
When his teeth grazed your pulse point in a gentle bite, you whispered his name, lips forming it in a breathless prayer.
He lifted his head sharply at that, eyes snapping back to yours.
You smiled sweetly at him.
Something changed in a fraction of a second.
He kissed you again, harder this time, one hand sliding up your back, pulling you flush under him and down on the ground.
His tongue invaded your mouth, exploring and conquering.
You felt him all—solid, trembling, unmistakably hard—and the realization sent a dizzy rush from your heart to your molten core.
Your fingers slipped between your bodies, tentative at first, then bolder when Eric sucked in a silent breath, eyes fluttering shut as you pressed your palm against his erection.
He dropped his forehead to your shoulder, shuddering violently, gripping you like you were the only thing holding him together.
You tongued his ear once.
He stilled and inhaled deeply, sharp, like that alone was almost enough to finish him on the spot.
His hands moved with hunger now, sliding under your clothes, mapping your skin by blind touch.
Every caress felt amplified, electric, like your nerves were on fire after being numb for too long.
You clung to him, breathing into his neck, letting the panic drain out of you in hot waves.
Finally, Eric slid between your thighs, still fully clothed, both of you grinding against each other like teenagers in the dark, like you didn’t have time to get naked, like even unzipping a fly would risk your lives.
This wasn’t about perfection, but it was anyway.
When he finally thrusted his hips into yours, hard and deep, you both moaned and froze, listening.
A thunder rumbled in the distance.
Only your breaths and savage heartbeats.
Eric made you wrap your legs around his waist and moved again, carefully, rocking against you in a deliberate rhythm that made your knees weak.
The heat, the friction, the weight of his body pressing you down into the cement beneath…
You held onto him like you were drowning.
Your fingers clutched his back, slipping under his shirt, feeling the taut muscles flex and twitch as he moved.
He was trying so badly to stay quiet—his face buried in the crook of your neck, lips parted, breath shaking—but every time your hips lifted to meet his, he nearly lost it.
Eric grabbed your ass and pressed harder, your thighs began to shake around him, the pleasure building in you so fast it was frightening
And he was feeling it too.
You could tell by how fast he was pushing now, grinding and panting.
He was right there, with you. Teetering.
And yet—he didn’t let go.
His movements slowed just while your vision was getting too white, too bright.
Suddenly, his forehead pressed hard to yours, teeth clenched.
You could feel the moment it hit him—the pressure rippling through him, wave after wave.
He held himself back with everything he had, breathing fast, eyes shut tight, his body twitching with restraint.
You looked at him in shock, swollen lips barely moving.
He opened his eyes, mouthed the words while shaking his head.
“Not here. Not like this.”
God, your heart cracked for his tenderness.
Eric was flushed and sweating, painfully hard, but he didn’t want to finish like this.
Not with you biting your lip bloody just to stay alive.
He shifted beside you and one of his arms curled under your neck, the other wrapped around your waist and pulled.
You moved closer, legs tangled, chest against his.
Both of you were shaking, and it wasn't because of the cold.
He leaned his forehead to yours again.
His fingers brushed your cheek, your hair, your neck—so gently it made your chest ache.
“Later, on the boat. Bed. I want to hear you,” he whispered.
A tear slipped from the corner of your eye.
“Later you won't want me anymore.”
He caught it with the pad of his thumb, looking desperate.
“It's not true. I just want to breathe you, feel you. Live you.”
You stilled, looking at him.
Eric kissed your temple, a feather touch.
Then the tip of your nose.
You stayed like that, in silence, in the dusty penumbra, pressed together for what seemed like hours.
Hearts still pounding, clothes damp, bodies unfinished but not unsatisfied.
For the first time in days, you didn’t feel like a prey.
You buried your face against his neck to muffle the broken sounds you couldn’t stop anymore, your body chasing him like he might save you.
Because in that dark, filthy room—tangled, shaking, crying into each other’s skin—you felt it clearly.
