The Zombie Apocalypse with MCR (Complete)

Public Announcement

Ray's calm, polite reaction to the sight of Frank and I clawing at each other in the dead of night gives me courage, and I decide to stop being a baby about things.

I think it over for a few days, weighing the pros and cons of announcing our relationship. In the end, my fear of upsetting the delicate balance of the group gives way to my frustration at hiding my affection for Frank.

"You okay?" He checks, one afternoon in the bathroom. He's bandaging my ankle, which is swollen and scraped after a scuffle today with a rotund, beefy corpse.

I'm sat on the bathroom counter, back against the mirror, one leg tucked under my knee. He's got my foot braced on his thigh. His movements are sure and steady as he wraps me up, checking and rechecking that he's done the bindings right.

I hum, still thinking. Eyes on his hands, on the shift of muscle under his bare forearms and rounded shoulders. His dark hair curls against his temples, falling forward to brush his cheeks. There's muscle on him now, fat too, and he looks healthier and sturdier for it. They've all lost the starved, hollow looks they had when we first met. But Frank's face has remained sharp; wicked jaw, curved cheekbones. His eyes are amber, more brown than gold in this light.

He's... Entirely too tempting.

"What're you looking at?" He asks, and he's not looking at me but down at my leg, which is bare and smooth up to my knee, and his voice is gruff.

My chest is too tight, my heart too fast. "You, I suppose." I say it like a dare, with a slow smile.

He glances up at me, notes my expression, shakes his head and looks back down. He's fighting a smile and a blush, it seems. Fighting and losing against some urge, anyway. His fingers slide from the back of my injured ankle, over the swell of my calf, settling in the warmth behind my knee. I fight a shudder.

"Why're you looking at me like that?" He asks, and his voice is pitched low.

His other hand curls under my other leg, manoeuvring until it dangles off the counter like the one he's just bandaged. I'm silent as he tugs me to the very edge of the counter, as he spreads my thighs, draping them over his hips, as he presses himself against me.

My breathing stutters, "Because you're beautiful."

He doesn't believe me, I can tell by the surprise that sparks in his eyes. By the little huff of disbelief that leaves him. I slide my hands up his chest, over his neck. Bury my fingers in the thick nest of hair at the base of his skull. Give a little tug that makes his chin flinch upwards.

"I'm a bad liar," I remind him, and rock forward to claim his mouth. He lets me, hands tightening on my thighs, and he gasps when I suck on his bottom lip, and shudders through a breath when I bite on it. "Therefore," I mutter, leaning back, "I must be telling the truth."

He scoffs, and pulls back, and hooks his tattooed fingers over the waistband of my black leggings.

"Lift your hips for me," Frank orders. My stomach tightens and I do as I'm told, bracing my weight on my hands to lift my ass, and he strips my trousers and my underwear in one strong pull. I move to jump down, but he hooks his hands under my thighs and pulls them wide, lifting them upwards so I'm draped again over his hips.

He reaches to twist the handle of the tap, and the noise of the water fills the bathroom. Hopefully, that will cover some of our noise.

My hands go between us, to the buttons on his jeans, which I yank open. I shove them as low as I can but there's not much room for me to move, not around his grip on me. There is enough room to grab at him, to wrap my hands around his-