Chapter 15: Unhallow

 

“Take it off.”

Jarod scowls. “I told you, I can’t.”

There can’t seriously be this much grime on his body, can there? He grimaces as Gabriel tugs on the hem of his shirt. How the hell does this even happen? Jarod grunts. He knows exactly how. It’s all the zombie gunk crusted to him.

They weren’t even in close contact with the horde outside the facility. Then again, he’s been wearing these same damn clothes since he woke up. All those zombies at the bridge by the river, at the Hive when Robbie came. It must be close to midnight now. He purses his lips at the thought of all the filth caked to his body.

“God, you’re dirty.”

“Got it.” Jarod’s scowl goes deeper. “Thanks.”

Gabriel leans back, giving a scowl of his own. “I didn’t say I smelled any better, okay? Now hold your arms up again. I might have to rip this thing off you.”

“Please don’t,” Jarod mewls. “It’s not like I have a lot of clothes left.”

Whatever’s in the duffle bag, that’s it, all the possessions they have left. It’s sitting on the floor of the locker room like some reminder of everything they’ve lost – the comforts of Jarod’s apartment, the conveniences of life before Paragon, the lives of people they knew and loved. Jarod raises his arms and thinks deeply of the things he’s gained instead. New friends, new memories, new lessons. Most of all, the boy standing before him, grunting as he struggles with a stubborn T-shirt.

The damn thing finally slips off over the top of Jarod’s head. He feels the heat come off his body in waves as the air hits his skin. And maybe the stink of him wafts up, too, because Gabriel sniffs and wrinkles his nose.

“Sorry,” Jarod grumbles.

“No, no,” Gabriel says, laughing to himself. “I’m sorry for that. I stink like hell, too.”

He peels off his tank top with much less ceremony. It was the sleeves, Jarod thinks. That’s why the cloth was clinging to his body. Gabriel sighs and lets his shirt fall to the floor. Even grimy like this, streaked in dried blood and gore, the kid is beautiful. He smells like hell, but he’s beautiful.

“Oh god,” Gabriel mutters. “I smell like death.”

“I’m going to die. We smell terrible.” He nudges Gabriel, palm on his lower back. “Shower. Now.”

They shuck off the rest of their clothing on the way to the showers, practically stumbling out of their jeans. Jarod reaches the stalls first, and when his hand lands on the shower knob he realizes he’s forgotten which way to turn it. Has it really been that long? Wow.

How’d that rhyme go again? Lefty loosey, righty tighty. Most important thing he’ll ever learn. He twists the knob to the left, narrowly dodging the spray of water that rushes out. He tests it with one hand. Warm. Just right. He steps under, then sighs as the water dampens his hair, runs down his forehead, then suffuses the rest of his skin in a heat so perfect that it may as well be liquid sunlight.

Then Gabriel shoves himself into the stall, and the space feels that much smaller, yet at once warmer, and wetter.

“Hey,” Jarod sputters. “I, uh, didn’t know we were sharing.”

“We are.”

Gabriel pushes up against Jarod’s torso, wrestling himself into position, fighting to get under the water. He moans when it hits him, running down the grooves of his body, sending the grime swirling down the drain. Gabriel is taut with muscle, as perfect as he ever was, even more perfect now as the water sloughs away the dirt to reveal his body in all its obscene glory.

“Oh god,” Gabriel says, in a way that reminds Jarod entirely too much of different situations, other things. He stiffens his resolve, making sure not to allow anything else to stiffen, and starts soaping up. It almost slips out of his grasp when Gabriel makes a grab for it.

“Hey,” Jarod says. “Bossy much.”

“Not bossy. Just filthy.” Gabriel grins. “Oh, don’t pout. Here, turn around.”

“What?”

“Exactly what I said.” Gabriel nudges his head. “Turn around. I’ll do your back.”

“Um. Okay.”

Jarod feels like some kind of ogre, doing his best to maneuver the tiny space, stumbling about in place, his feet making little splashes against the tile. Then Gabriel starts working on his shoulders, then his back, and it’s all he can do not to melt into his hands.

“Oh. That’s good.”

“I know,” Gabriel says. “Just enjoy it.”

“Did you ever think we’d get to take hot showers again?” Jarod splays his hands against the wall, staring at the grout. “Oh,” he moans, when fingers dig into his shoulder blades. “Yeah, right there.”

“Never. Who knew?” He leans in, his chin on Jarod’s shoulder. “Spread your legs.”

“Whoa.” Something pinches inside of Jarod’s chest. “What?”

“You heard me.” This time Gabriel’s voice is more authoritative. Guttural. “I’m just going to clean you up.”

For a second, Jarod almost says his usual line, the one they both know is a joke. “You aren’t allowed back there.” Instead, he obeys.

The process is almost clinical, how Gabriel’s hand works at the crease of Jarod’s ass, soaping and cleaning. Jarod bites his lip, his nails digging into the grout as he waits for the inevitable. He hisses when the finger goes in, slick with soap, twisting and probing, but just as quickly it disappears. It’s exactly as Gabriel described it. A couple of pats on the rump, and Gabriel leans in again.

“All done.” Jarod hears Gabriel’s grin as he continues talking. His tone is open and friendly. Jarod’s almost disappointed. “Just making sure you’re squeaky clean everywhere. You can turn around now.”

Jarod isn’t sure if he wants to. He’s fully aroused, and somehow that seems so inappropriate here. But is it, really? Gabriel just stuck his finger up his ass. And what’s there to be ashamed of? It’s the two of them, just like always. Jarod turns around, his erection like a dowsing rod, but Gabriel doesn’t even give his cock the benefit of a glance. Huh.

They finish showering after a few more minutes, Jarod wondering all the while what that whole scenario was in aid of, but his erection subsides by the time they towel off. Gabriel hasn’t even bothered to look below his waist this whole time. Mixed signals indeed. He considers asking about it, then decides that Gabriel probably did just want the two of them to be clean. It’s been an incredibly long and sweaty day for the two of them, after all. It’s the sensible thing to do.

“So,” Jarod says, by way of shifting the conversation someplace it won’t make him feel awkward. “How come you never showered here instead? Back when you squatted here at the facility, I mean. When I found you, you were washing up in the sink.”

“I needed to get under your skin, so I went to the bathroom you always used in the morning.” Gabriel bites his lip, water dripping from his hair, and he stares down at his navel as he wipes himself off, avoiding Jarod’s eyes. “You never went to the gym, remember?”

“Ouch.” Hurtful, but true.

Gabriel pats him on the stomach. “Not like you need to anymore, let’s be honest.”

“Turn me loose in the cafeteria and I’ll be back to full form in no time.”

Gabriel laughs, but the sound of it trails off, his fingers moving limply down Jarod’s body, then lingering on the hair just above his navel. “I know I haven’t been the best person to you.”

Jarod smirks. “We all know that.”

“I’m being serious. You know that I wasn’t just manipulating you, right? All that time we spent together at the apartment. That wasn’t just for show. I didn’t just need a place to live.” Gabriel breathes in, his lips shuddering. “You know that, right?”

Jarod thought he did. Laid out like that for him, it all sounds so different, what with everything that’s happened these past months, or just these past weeks. The question of Hortega, for example, and whether Gabriel truly blames him for that. But now’s not the time or the place, not when they’re getting along so well, when they’re so tired.

“I know,” he says quietly.

“Love you.” Gabriel bumps their hips together, scratching his nails against Jarod’s stomach like he would with a puppy’s belly.

Jarod smiles. “I know.”

He reaches for the duffle bag, still unsure of how much or how little they were able to pack. He finds a familiar shirt, a well-worn black one he likes to use, and tugs it out of the bag. Something must have been caught on it, and that something falls out and makes a leathery splat on the floor.

“Wait,” Gabriel says.

It’s an old wallet. Jarod squints at the cracked, flaking leather. This thing has seen years inside the back of someone’s pocket. Must be Gabriel’s, surely.

“I’d tell you to buy a new one, except that we don’t need money anymore,” Jarod says, chuckling.

“Wait,” Gabriel sputters.

Jarod remembers now. The night they escaped from Pleasance, when they were still packing things up at the apartment, he found this wallet then, too. Gabriel was equally defensive then, for no real reason, the way he is now. The wallet sits on the ground open and flat, with its insides turned up and out. Whatever Gabriel’s worried about is already exposed, so no harm done, right? Jarod shrugs as he picks it up, mindful of the leather’s roughness. He brushes a speck of dirt away, and when he sees his own face staring out at him, his breath catches in his throat.

This was his graduation picture, the one from Bairston Public. He was a baby then, fresh-faced, with soft skin mostly untouched by cigarette smoke, lips curled into some perpetual pout, and eyes thick with a sort of sadness. He lingers on the eyes, marveling at how those haven’t really changed.

“Why do you have this,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“I’ve had it for years. I told you back then. Coach Bennett wouldn’t shut up about you being the best runner she ever had, so I looked you up. I needed to know who I was up against. That’s all.”

Georgia Bennett was the coach of their high school’s track team, and the same woman who supervised Gabriel’s progress as a runner even years after Jarod had graduated. She never really made it a secret that Jarod was her favorite, and quietly, he always enjoyed that. It felt nice to be wanted, to be acknowledged. Jarod reaches for words as he stares at the photo, this piece of yellowing paper lovingly snipped out of an old yearbook. He never thought anyone wanted him quite as much as this.

“So you lied again,” Jarod says, hardly able to contain his grin. “I totally inspired you to be a better runner.”

“Fuck off,” Gabriel growls, swiping for the wallet. He’s too quick, snatching it out of Jarod’s fingers in a single motion. Jarod laughs and backpedals, but his laughter peters off when Gabriel starts pawing at his body, pelting him with half-hearted fists.

“Hey, ouch. Okay, you already have it back. Relax.”

Gabriel cradles the wallet in both hands, then brings it to his chest, clutching it there like a prized possession, some treasured secret. “Mine,” his eyes seem to say.

“I knew you loved me,” Jarod says. “But I didn’t know you were obsessed with me.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Gabriel snarls. “Okay, so you made me want to be a better runner, but only to get Bennett to stop talking about you. And I told you, even when I beat your record, she never did.”

“Sorry about that.” Jarod shrugs, smirking at his own insincerity. “At least you beat the record at all. So tell me. You cut this out of a yearbook, right?”

Gabriel’s glare could flay Jarod’s skin from his body.

“And you kept it to inspire you to run faster." Jarod sidles closer, but Gabriel doesn’t back off like he thought he might. Jarod leans in, grinning, a deliberate attempt to ruffle Gabriel’s feathers. “When did you first know you had a crush on me?”

Gabriel bares his teeth and shakes his head. “You keep this up and I’ll crush something, all right.”

Jarod steps back, raises his hands, and laughs. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop. Jeez. Such a sore loser.”

“Humph.” Gabriel turns his nose up. “I don’t appreciate being taunted about something that’s important to me, is all.”

“Taking it a little too seriously, don’t you think?”

Gabriel stares at his thumb, then at the wallet in his hand. “I don’t know why I didn’t throw it away.” He hesitates, then smiles. “Sure, I guess I thought you were cute? Whatever, it was a piece of paper. But it’s more than that.”

He tosses the wallet lightly back into their duffle bag, then approaches. There’s something different in his step, something that makes Jarod lick his lips, then move back, just a tiniest inch.

“It wasn’t just running. You’ve made me better in every way. Even when you didn’t know who I was, you helped me. And you’ve helped me all this time.”

Jarod scratches at his chest, unsure of how to react to this sudden change in tone. “You keep sweet-talking me like that and you’re gonna get into a heap of trouble.”

Gabriel smiles. “It’s cute when you try to talk dirty.”

Jarod smiles back.

“Even when it doesn’t land.”

Jarod flinches.

“But listen,” Gabriel says, stepping even closer, finally drawing their bodies together. “I’m trying to be serious. I don’t blame you for Hortega. You saved me, the way I saved you.” Gabriel runs a finger down along the shiny, ragged tissue of Jarod’s scar, then glances down at the three lines slashed into his own chest. “This is how things were meant to be for us. Helping each other survive. Symbiosis, is that what they call it? It’s who we are.”

It’s at this point that Jarod’s body remembers that the both of them are still completely naked. It’s also at this point when Gabriel reaches between them, between his legs, with curious fingers, then kneads and strokes.

“Symbiosis,” Jarod breathes.

“Mutual benefits?” Gabriel says, tilting his head. “Something like that. Give and take.” He smiles. “Push and pull.”

And pull he does, bringing Jarod to full hardness. Jarod groans.

“Come on, Jarod. It’s been a minute.” Gabriel steps away, the air rushing between them, and he sifts through the duffle bag, unearthing a bottle of lube. Jarod knows he shouldn’t be amazed anymore. It’s only expected considering all that time Gabriel spent scavenging. “I’m better now. We can do this.”

Gabriel means his scars. Jarod looks down at his feet, a strange sense of guilt burning in his throat. Why does he feel that? He hasn’t been thinking about fucking Gabriel in a while, anyway, not when there are so many other ways for them to experience each other. And not for lack of attraction, either. It’s just something that hasn’t come to mind. Their hands and mouths have been good enough for doing the job, and he admits, he’s been enjoying that immensely. That’s when he realizes that maybe he’s ready to do new things – or, more specifically, to have new things be done to him.

“I was thinking,” he says, his mouth bone-dry and the air completely vanished from his body, “that we could switch tonight.”

Gabriel’s mouth falls into a perfect O. It takes mere moments for him to regain his composure, but his stuttering gives away his excitement.

“Are you sure?”

The corner of Gabriel’s mouth is twitching, like he’s trying so very hard not to smile.

Jarod’s heart does a somersault. It’s good to see the kid so happy, even if it means – well, what does this mean, anyway? It’s something that’ll bring them even closer together. He shouldn’t be afraid. He nods, just once.

“You’re absolutely sure.”

All this time of knowing Gabriel, all these months they’ve lived with each other’s strengths and faults, all the times they’ve given each other the gift of survival and life. This is nothing compared to all of that. Jarod would do anything.

“Anything. Fucking anything for you.”

Gabriel gives a careful, shy smile, then licks his lips.

“Where do you want me,” Jarod mutters.

“Right here.” Gabriel turns him around gently, pressing him against the wall. “Right here is fine.”

“I can’t see you like this.” Jarod leans his forehead against the wall, his breath fogging up the gloss of the tile.

“That doesn’t matter,” Gabriel says, his fingers kneading Jarod’s shoulder, his voice soothing. “You just have to feel.”

“But,” Jarod stammers, cutting off into a soft cry when a slick finger enters him. “I want to see you.” His body goes tight as he remembers. That’s what Gabriel said to him that first night they slept together.

“Relax. Shush.” The smile on Gabriel’s lips travels with the sound of his words. He’s doing this on purpose, the little asshole. “You’ll be fine.”

Then the finger slips out, and something harder and thicker presses in. Jarod cringes, his nails digging into the grout. He bites his lip, his breathing hitching, Gabriel groaning in his ear as he pushes inward with every excruciating inch.

“Fuck,” Jarod sobs.

“You can take it,” Gabriel mutters. “I’ll be gentle.”

Fingers tangle in the wilds of his hair. The snarl above him says love, hunger. The first thrust comes. Jarod cries out.

Gabriel isn’t gentle, at least not at first. There’s this boyish entitlement in how Gabriel enters him, as though he’s spent all these months being on the other side of the equation quietly burning with his own urge to do just this to Jarod. Instinctively, Jarod knows that this isn’t even the roughest Gabriel could handle him. He bites down harder on his lip, groaning, tears building in the corners of his eyes.

And then the pain subsides, and suddenly it’s as if the world has changed color and timbre, every one of Gabriel’s thrusts stoking an orchestra of terrible, beautiful sensations inside of him. Each time Gabriel goes full tilt he touches something in Jarod that makes his eyes scrunch up, that makes his mouth water. He claws so hard at the wall that he’s afraid his nails are going to bleed. He chuckles from deep inside his throat. He wants to bleed. Gabriel bites into his neck. Jarod wails.

At once Gabriel’s roughness subsides, his thrusting slowing in cadence. He whispers, his words a slurry of nothing, a low rush of muttered sweetness. It’s like the first time all over again, how Gabriel touches his fingers to Jarod’s waist, like he’s asking permission, or showing approval. Or dominance.

Jarod reaches up behind him to grab for Gabriel’s hair, perplexed, then desperate that it isn’t there anymore. He whines at that, half out of need, half out of frustration, and he settles for letting his hand linger on the softness of Gabriel’s cheek instead. Gabriel turns his head, slipping small kisses into the palm of Jarod’s hand, his breathing hitched now, the rhythm of his thrusts changing, his body shuddering.

“The best,” Gabriel mutters into his ear. “God, you’re the best.”

Jarod chuckles. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Cocky, aren’t we.”

A hand travels down the front of Jarod’s body, trailing along his stomach, then wrapping firmly around his cock. Jarod raises his head and groans. The hand, it pushes, pulls, working across the entirety of his length, pressing here and there with delirious fingers, even as Gabriel slides in and out of his body. There’s a shudder in Gabriel’s hips, then a small, hollow keening just by Jarod’s ear. This can’t last much longer, not for either of them.

“Tell me.” What does he even want to hear?

“Tell you what?” Gabriel’s groaning mounts, as does his thrusting.

Too many questions, too much confusion, all this time of playing so many roles for Gabriel and never truly understanding where he stands. A boyfriend, maybe, a lover? An obsession. A pawn. Or just some object. Jarod cries out, unsure if it’s from the pain inside him, or the ache of not knowing.

“What am I to you?”

Gabriel bites deep into his neck, huffing against the mouthful of flesh, and Jarod wails. He strokes with more strength, with finality.

“Please,” Jarod says, so close. “What am I to you?”

“Everything.”

Jarod loses his grip, on the wall, on reality, on everything, and under Gabriel’s hand he loses himself all over the tile and the grout in front of him, his life and his strength leaving his body in desperate spurts. From behind him, Gabriel shudders, groans, then slams their hips together one final time. Jarod’s insides flood with white heat even as his knees start to give. He claws at the wall, barely maintaining his posture.

He pants, forehead embedded against the crisscross of the tile. “Everything, huh?”

Gabriel kisses at his neck, each breath leaving his body like a slow, desperate whimper. “Everything. Brother. Lover. Friend. The best thing that’s ever happened to me. Everything.”

Jarod slumps against the wall, hiding his smile against it. “Didn’t know you could be so rough, Anderson.”

“Been a while since I fucked anyone,” Gabriel says, something almost apologetic in his voice. “I got excited.”

“You’re the worst.” Jarod chuckles.

Gabriel presses more kisses into the crook of his neck, leaving his mark in spit and in sweat. “You’re the best.”

Jarod believes him.