but then you took me by surprise

Minho checked three times. Three times, you tell yourself. The door is secure. A whole damn industrial printer sits in front of the office door. Hell, it took both of you to move it. Not to mention the stairs are crumbling away to the point no one is going to make it up here in the middle of the night. Human or otherwise. 

All the precautions do nothing to soothe anxiety. The subconscious dances with your fears to create the worst potential outcome in your latest attempt at sleep. The imagery results in you bolting awake with a scream followed by flailing limbs, fighting off a nonexistent threat. 

Minho’s voice came first, then the tight embrace. “Shh, I have you.”

“Sorry.” You say, clinging to his shoulders, and eyes rapidly blink the lingering haze of the dream away to assure the sight in front of you is reality. Guilt hits hard. The scream was undeniably loud. “I’m so sorry.”

A makeshift fire still burns in the metal trash can in the middle of the room, providing just enough light to confirm you are lying on the same dingy couch you fell asleep on. The sleeping bag you initially pulled to your chin is now tangled around your lower limbs. There are no monsters, no extremities holding you down, and no teeth gnawing at your skin. You live another day, avoiding doom. 

So does Minho. 

Time has aged the jacket he wears. Your nails dig into the fresh stitches where you sewed the sleeve back on. He needs a new one. However, finding clothes has been rough the last three runs. You were lucky with the boots. He could only duct tape the toe box so many times. 

The material under your fingertips tells you he’s physically holding you. It’s not comforting. It’s not reassuring enough. All of your senses recognize him. From Felix’s homemade lavender soap, which Minho used to wash up in the river earlier, to the lingering fumes of paint thinner spilling onto his jacket during the scuffle in the art store. 

“Breathe, baby. How I taught you.” More words spill from his lips, yet your racing heart pounds as the terror courses through you. Even if you could crawl into his chest cavity to hide, it wouldn’t be enough to soothe you. “Come on. Breathe with me.” 

Minho knows you well. He doesn’t budge, keeping you in his suffocating embrace until your body runs its course through the adrenaline rush. No matter how much you squirm, he waits, grip never faltering until your body releases the tension.

“I never used to be like this.” You say as embarrassment creeps under your skin. “Not even as a kid.”

“That’s because there wasn’t real danger out there until now.”

Minho is right. Young and carefree you never even considered the possibility of the dead rising. It was fiction rooted in old folklore. A popular trope used in storytelling for years. Not reality. Now here you are sitting in a dilapidated building that used to be in the middle of a busy city, trying to round up supplies for your compound. 

“Why did we do this?”

“Because we have to.” He says, not missing a beat. “We need supplies.”

“But why us?”

“We’re good at what we do. Plus, you hate working the wall.”

“Ugh,” you groan at the thought. “I fucking hate working the wall.”

“And that’s why Chan sends us.”

You pull away once Minho finally releases his hold, needing the space to stand and stretch your limbs. Some pacing by the large windows will help get the blood flowing to work out the prickly pins and needles sensation in your extremities. 

Minho doesn’t seem bothered, plopping back down on the couch near his bag. He pulls out a small bag of deer jerky. Minho’s specialty when he makes it. The dried meat lasts for a while. Perfect for these trips. Weighs nearly nothing, is easy to store, and is full of protein for energy. It’s a bonus when Minho rehydrates the jerky. He uses it in a handful of recipes at home. 

Home. 

Home sounds good right now.  

A two-day trek still. Only one day if you can catch the hunting group on their way back. Maybe you will get lucky again. Chan expects both groups to return at the same time. He doesn’t enjoy having his people away for too long. Just in case something goes wrong at home. 

‘Home’ sits tucked away amid the mountains. The head of the valley is rather rough to traverse thanks to the wide river. Easy to defend, though. When you first arrived, the reinforced barbed wire fencing stood tall around the property to protect a hydroelectric power plant. 

This means electricity. 

The river powers actual electricity in this day and age by pouring through the dam. There are a few people in the compound who maintain the turbines. Another handful of electricians take care of the power lines. With the growing community, Chan ensures the knowledge can be passed on to others to ensure longevity. 

One nice thing about a small population is that the town doesn’t use much power. Not compared with what the dam used to supply in the surrounding area. Unless a massive drought lasts several years, there is no genuine concern about a lack of power supply. 

Chan has done wonders for the town. He’s built up a commendable community where people share supplies the best they can. Everyone pulls their weight from agriculture to maintenance. Whatever it takes to keep the group stable. The real question is how dirty the leader’s hands are to keep bandits and undead out. 

No dirtier than the military in quarantine zones swearing to protect the population. 

A cold shudder runs through you at the memories. You never want to relive those experiences again. You will do whatever Chan asks of you if it means you can stay. 

You glance over at your partner in crime. His eyes are closed as he silently snacks. A sigh leaves him. You know the answer to your question, yet you still ask. “Have you slept?”

“A little.”

“I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“You didn’t.”

No, because Minho barely sleeps when outside the wall. Guilt still hangs heavy on his heart. One close call was enough to change his routine. He can’t lose you. As grim as the mentality is, you are his only reason to continue going. The day he loses you is the day he puts a bullet in his head. He refuses to turn into one of those disgusting creatures. 

You don’t blame him. If your worst nightmare happens, you may do the same if you have the courage to do it. The dark thought sends a wave of nausea through you. No, don’t go down this route. You need to stop thinking. 

Your eyes turn back to the window, straining to take in the view of the street. People don’t realize how dark the world becomes without electricity. The visibility is low. Even more so when several floors high. The full moon barely helps illuminate parts of the parking lot below you. It’s not enough. Shadows play tricks, but you are smart enough to know there are undead creatures down there. There are always at least a handful. 

This town is small, smaller than heavily populated areas or capitals. Hordes from those cities haven’t reached out here. Not yet, at least. Perhaps the military bombings cut those cities off. You wouldn’t count on it, though. It’s only been a few years. 

“How many bullets do you have?”

“Two clips.”

‘Same as last time you asked’ is what you expected Minho to say. He doesn’t. He never does. Maybe it’s a blessing to have a patient partner. He understands you can’t control ‌anxiety. So he replies as if it’s the first time you have asked. A million times if he has to. He’ll never call the excessive questioning out. No point. 

Although two clips of ammo are hardly anything. Ammunition is hard to find. Chan has a few people in the compound who make ammo, though it’s rationed out by need. The pair of you could ask for more. Minho isn’t particularly fond of guns. Only choosing to rely on one in emergency situations. Guns are far too loud, attracting more bad things than good. He prefers his axe, reliable while serving multiple uses, and above all, it’s quieter. 

His axe isn’t his only silent weapon. No, his bow sits next to yours in the corner. The ultimate stealth weapon. Arrows are cheap to make and retrievable unless broken. Plus, the quiver is fairly light when carrying supplies home. 

The only problem is the damn bastard is nearsighted. He leaves the long range to you most of the time. Especially when scoping out an unfamiliar place. You climb up to a high vantage point before taking out as many as you can. Minho stays low to finish the remaining stragglers. Sweetheart even retrieves arrows as he goes.

In addition, if anything goes wrong on his end, you still have a clear view with your rifle. The system works well for the two of you. The pair of you have cleared hundreds of undead this way. 

Minho’s voice comes from across the room. “Get out of your head. You’ll have another nightmare.”

“I’m trying.”

“Come here.”

You spin on your heel, taking in the sight in front of you since you woke up. Minho pushed the second couch in the room to face the one you fell asleep on. He created a makeshift bed of sorts. This way, the two of you could sleep next to each other. Minho hates being called out for his subtle romanticism. So you simply smile while the other turns his flushed face away to hide. Maybe he does it for you to help ease the situation. Though you like to think these actions help him just as much. The sucker just won’t admit it. 

Minho shifts to lying across the length of his couch. His backpack, now on its side, is used as a pillow. You mirror him on the other with only a couple of inches separating the two of you. He’s close enough that you can smell the remnants of the spices he used to season the jerky. The poor guy has dark rings under his eyes. Only two more days, and then he can sleep as long as he wants until the next mission from Chan.

Your hand reaches forward to touch the ends of his hair. “It’s getting long.”

“It’s annoying.” He huffs in distaste. “Constantly in the way.”

“It looks good. I like it.” Minho’s nose scrunches in more dramatic fake disgust at your words, causing you to chuckle before you continue. “I’ll cut it for you when we get back.”

“Try not to cry when you do. I’d like it to be even on both sides.”

The playful punch against his chest only causes him to grin wider. His hand finds yours to hold it against him. It’s moments like these that remind you how much Minho contributes to what your happiness has morphed into. Is it fair that he is your only motivation to keep fighting every day? No, and it's selfish. You know this; you have accepted that. However, typical life has long gone out the window. 

As the room falls into silence, Minho’s fingers trail over your arm, traveling down to your hip. The shirt you wore rose during your movements to expose a sliver of skin. Goosebumps formed across your body as the pads of his fingers ran over your hip. He had no intent in mind, just repetitive little circles to soothe your buzzing nerves. 

Out of instinct, you shift onto your back, thighs parting slightly. Minho takes the open invitation to slide his hand between your thighs. Desire sparks in your core in an instant. You thrust your hips up, allowing yourself to grind against his palm, the clothes between offering some pleasurable stimulation against you. 

It’s when Minho moves to undo the button on your jeans that your hand covers his, halting his hand from progressing further. “We shouldn’t.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No. I want to. I just…”

“Hey,” Minho’s voice is softer, reassuring you. “We’re safe.” 

“Feels wrong. We are technically working.”

“Got nothing else to do to pass the time. A few more hours till sunrise. Though I may have something to sway your decision.” Your eyebrows knit together, watching Minho pull away to dig through his bag once more. He retrieves a tiny box and then throws the object your way. “Not expired either.”

You can’t hold back your laughter. Condoms. The fucker has found some sealed condoms. A rare commodity these days. “Please tell me you found more than this.”

“Three boxes.” 

Three boxes are a lot. Minho could barter these away for some expensive things on your wishlist. That’s if Chan doesn’t confiscate them himself. The selfish part of you wants to keep them, but you have been eyeing the extra pistol that Jisung owns. 

“Should we keep them?”

“I found them. What is Chan gonna do? Take them? It’s none of his business if we bring what he asks.” Minho grumbles, mildly annoyed at his own words. “Anything else is ours.”

He’s always believed the supply runners should get first pick on any items found. It’s only fair when they are the ones risking their lives. That’s a discussion for a different day, though. You hold out the box for Minho to take. He does, turning to show you the base. The bottom of the box has a printed date next to the barcode. “Besides, I have two years till they expire, and I plan to use all of them with you.” 

“Won’t last long. We fuck like rabbits.”

“Then stop being a goddamn goddess then.”

“Ugh,” you playfully cringe. A smile on your face. “Stop being so in love with me. It’s gross.”

“Can’t help it.” He says before leaning closer for another kiss. It’s tender, full of love, like the ones he often places on your forehead. This time his voice is softer when he speaks. “Baby, let me help you relax. You can let go for a few minutes.”

He’s not wrong; it's still a few hours till sunrise. You are in no mood to try sleeping again so soon. Not to mention the two of you wanted to fuck at the river this morning when washing up. Minho didn’t cave to the idea regardless of the sexual tension. The clearing was far too open; even if the pair of you hadn’t run into other humans, it doesn’t mean the risk of bandits went away. 

“You know, your tongue could sway me in another way.”  

Minho playfully swats at your knee. “Hands and knees, baby. I’ll show you how persuasive I can be.”

With that remark, you rise, positioning your body to face away from him. Both knees sink deep into the cushions while your arms rest on the back of the couch for stability. Minho shuffles around behind you while anticipation pools in your gut. His gentle hands slip under your waistband, swiftly pulling down your clothes, leaving you bare.

A second later his wet, hot mouth follows, finding your pussy. He flattens his tongue to run up and down your slick folds to lap at the juices already forming. You can hear a muffled moan of contentment. This just might be one of his favorite places to be. 

Minho loves testing how long it takes to have your pussy dripping down his face and chin. He enjoys the way you buck back against him, not caring if you suffocate him. Yet nothing is more self-indulgent than when you try to squirm away when he moves to tease your clit relentlessly. 

You haven’t forgotten the last time you were in this position; his grip is iron, unmoving until he decides you have endured enough. However, tonight isn’t about his selfishness; no, it's about proving his mouth isn’t only good for reassurance. 

“Oh Min, that feels so good.” You say while shifting the angle of your hips, trying to bait him to your buzzing, neglected clit. His tongue remains dipping in and out of your hole while his fingers surprise you as they messily circle your clit. It’s the perfect pace and pressure. You won’t last long like this. You couldn’t hold your orgasm back even if you wanted to. He knows your body too well after years of relationship. More curses slip out. “Oh, fuck, just like that. Don’t stop.”

Minho doesn’t obey ‌many people in his life. For you though, he keeps up his actions without fail, and in record time, your orgasm peaks, washing waves and waves of delicious and much-needed pleasure over you. 

“Ah, fuck,” you mewled under your breath, head bowed, breathing tight and labored. Even with oversensitivity creeping up, it’s not enough just to come. Deep down inside of you is an itch you can’t scratch. Yes, the orgasm was blissful, but not enough to satisfy the long wait you endured. The want, that growing desire, is insatiable tonight. “Baby, please.”

His words come out muffled, not wanting to stop. “Miss my cock that much?”

“I need it.” Your arms wobble as they struggle to hold you up. “Please fuck me.”

“How badly do you need it?” Minho asks, finally pulling away from your dripping hole. “Tell me.”

“You will lose any future opportunities if you don’t take your chance now.” You say with some bite in your words. 

That seems like enough of a threat to him. There was a rustle of clothing behind you, followed by a crinkle from the plastic covering the box of condoms. Minho curses under his breath as it fights him. He’s just as desperate to have you. The opportunity to fuck consistently slipped away with how busy you two have been. No thanks to Chan, who scheduled back-to-back supply runs. Antibiotics were a necessity and one unable to be delayed. 

“Bad timing, but you know he wants you, right?”

You ask for clarification, even knowing who he means. “Chan?”

“Mhm. He talked to Jisung about you. He asked about your favorite things. If I’m with you romantically."

Your curiosity peaks. This is new information for you. Chan typically treats everyone the same, professionally and diplomatically. He takes his leading role seriously. No room for what he deems isn't vital to survival. A mentality you believed for a few short months before realizing how lovesick you were for Minho. 

You prod for more info about their discussion. “What did Jisung say?”

“That you love guns and don’t care for love.”

“He gets points for lying.”

“What part?” Minho asks, slightly muted while tearing open the foil packaging of a condom with his teeth. He knows the answer even if he is asking. He’s not one for validation; he just enjoys hearing it from your lips.

“You damn well know I’m yours.” You pause for a moment, turning back to hold his gaze. “I’d only fuck him to get what we need.”

“I know. I don’t question your loyalty.” Minho responds while his hands find your hips. The soft pads of his thumbs rub reassuring circles into your skin. It’s a sweet moment to be sincere but is just kindling to the growing fire inside of you. “When we get back, I want you to go for it. Fuck him and get some horses secured before he assigns more runs.”

You laugh in response, knowing damn well Minho is being serious. You both would do whatever it took to survive. No price is too high, no risk too dangerous. It wouldn’t be the first time you have used sexual favors for resources. Chan would be no different. At least he’s clean. Takes care of himself. He’s not bad-looking. 

“Fine, I’ll try. But if you don’t fuck me right now, you’re losing privileges. I wasn’t kidding.”

“Maybe I just wanted to hear you beg again? Ever think about that?”

Your response never gets voiced. All annoyance disappears when the tip of his cock briefly prods at your entrance. Minho isn’t slow like he typically is; instead, he sinks every inch of his cock in one rough thrust. A satisfied groan leaves him as your tight walls give in to his length. He’s always a pleasant stretch. Your low moan slips past your lips when his hips press flush against your ass. You wanted to tell him he was good to move, but words failed you, stuck in your throat as you enjoyed the fullness. 

There was a chuckle behind you at the way you immediately push yourself back onto his cock the second he pulled away. “Don’t worry, I’ll fuck you stupid.”

His grip on your hips tightens, almost bruising as he pulls your body back to meet every thrust. Your head rests on the couch while Minho finds his pace. All thoughts of the trip, where you are, and the threat outside fade for a moment. This isn’t some sweet lovemaking, nor did you want it to be. All you needed right now was for Minho to keep fucking you till you couldn’t move or think. He seems happy to oblige, judging by the needy noises leaving him. 

“You love my cock, don’t you?” He goads while panting lightly. “Filling you up and stretching you open.”

“Yes,” you say while trying your best to nod. “Can feel you so deep.”

“Shit,” Minho groans low; it's nearly a growl. “Baby, you’re perfect. So fucking perfect.” 

Your hand slips down to your clit to sloppily rub at the sensitive bud. Another orgasm already sneaking up on you. Minho has to feel the way your pussy clenches around his cock. His voice is rough, almost feral. “You’re gonna come again so quickly? Give it to me.”

“Close. So fucking close.” 

Your words are a plea not only to Minho, but to your own body as well. Both of your thighs tremble from how tense your body is. The promise of another orgasm is right there, waiting to flood all of your being. 

Relief finally hits, and it's explosive. The short-lived high feels like an entire lifetime. Colorful stars dance across your vision while you finally let out the breath you were holding. The only thing you can hear is the sound of skin on skin slapping. 

Minho only speaks once your orgasm dies down. “He may get to fuck you, but you’ll never be his.”

“Yours.” You reply without hesitation. “Always yours.”

Minho pants over you, exertion getting to him. His thrusts were getting clumsier, telling you he was close to his own release. You were ready. You wanted him to bury his cock inside you and fill you to the brim. He has the same idea. “I’m gonna come and you’re gonna take it.”

Part of you almost caves, telling him to pull the condom off. Keep true to his word and stuff you full. 

“Fuck, baby.” Minho whines in desperation. The need is all-consuming. It’s been months since being able to finish inside your tight hole. He’s accepted your mouth, hand, or ass. Anything with less risk of consequences. 

"Deep inside." You coax, pressing back to keep him buried to the hilt. “I wanna feel it.”

Minho stills as his seed fills the condom. His cock twitches inside you as he enjoys the momentary bliss.

“God, I need to worship you more.” Minho says while pulling away to remove the condom, discarding it in an old trash can. You roll your eyes in response. “My pussy can’t be that life-changing.” 

“Oh, baby, you have no idea. Absolutely no idea.”

The two of you return to the previous position, facing each other as you lie down on the couches. Minho’s lips waste no time finding your own, pressing a flood of soft kisses to your chapped lips. It’s full of love and appreciation. Minho would worship the ground you walk on if you would let him. You won’t though, not in this lifetime or the next. You are equal. 

Gradually the kiss deepens, and there is a hint of you still on his tongue as he explores. Minho’s eagerness tells you he still wants more of you. He’s not sated yet. You’ll let him take as much as he’s craving. 

A hand sneaks back between your thighs a moment later, knocking one away to spread you back open for him. His fingers are slow-moving when they find your sensitive clit. He circles the bundle of nerves just enough to keep the fire of desire going. 

Though it’s inevitable, he’s going to press for another orgasm out of you. You can feel it building in your core; the high will be slow and molten when it peaks. The perfect way to wind down and let the stress still clinging to your brain melt away. 

The next time you wake up, Minho is finally out cold. One arm dangles off the couch, his leg hooked awkwardly over the backrest, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. He doesn’t stir when you slip from your sleeping bag. Good. A couple of hours is better than none. He’ll need whatever energy he can scrape together just to make it home.

You pull on your clothes; the chill of the morning cuts right through the warmth you left behind. Pink and orange hues draw your attention to the large windows again now that the sun is rising over the horizon. What you believed to be shadows last night wasn’t playing tricks on you. There’s enough light to reveal an impending problem. 

Zombies. More than a handful.  

A sigh escapes before you can stop it.

“What?” Minho groans behind you, voice rough with sleep. “What is it?”

“A small horde. About twenty, maybe.”

“There’s nothing we can do about it now. We’ll have to wait a couple of hours.”

“Are you gonna radio in?” You question, gaze fixed on the street below. One zombie stumbles over a heap of debris, collapsing face-first into a bus bench. If the sight weren’t so familiar, it might almost be funny.

“Mhm.” Rustling fabric signals Minho getting up, pulling on his clothes. “I’ll let them know we’re delayed.”

Of course, Minho wants to deal with the zombies. You understand why. It’s dangerous to attempt going home. A horde that size could do a troublesome amount of damage not only to you two but also to the outside wall of the compound. A risk not worth taking. Bandits already push the limits; no sense in giving the dead an opening too.

Minho is fully awake now, mind already moving ahead. You ask the inevitable anyway: “We’re taking them to the hole?”

“Yeah. I guess Hyunjin is shit out of luck with that paint thinner. I’m gonna have to use it.”

You frown; Hyunjin’s been asking for months. “We can check for gas. I’m sure we’ll find some.”

“No. A storm is coming through today. I want to be home before it hits.” Minho digs through his bag for the battered radio Chan requires you to bring along. The very one that barely reaches the distance of the compound. “Try to sleep some more. I’m gonna find a higher elevation for a clearer signal. I’ll let you know what Chan says.”

There is no meeting up with the hunting crew. 

Dealing with the horde and the incoming storm hindered the trip home. The rain came down in large, pelting drops, soaking ‌both of you to the bone in a matter of minutes. Thankfully, a crumbling farmhouse was nearby and suitable enough for the evening. 

However, you weren’t the only ones delayed in returning home.  

The wagon the hunting group uses is still being unloaded when the two of you cross back over into the safety of home. Minho makes a note of the substantial quantity of deer carcasses. The hunting group was incredibly successful. 

This is wonderful news. Winter is coming quickly, and the storms will start forcing everyone into their homes for days at a time. Therefore, the town will store half the deer in a freezer and use them to feed the town as needed. The remaining will undergo a drying process for a longer shelf life. Chan always wants a backup plan just in case the dam can’t provide electricity. 

If there is extra meat outside of Chan’s established quota, it will go to a building known as The Supply, where townsfolk can barter. Minho saves any extra resources for these moments so he can make more jerky for trips outside the city. Chan always offers to supply food for runs, but Minho hates relying on him fully. Though he craves the bread Felix makes. 

The entire process of checking back in takes about half an hour. Guards do a thorough check for bites or symptoms of the infection. Typically searching for jaundice of the eyes, a high temperature, and motor problems or lack of coordination. When they deem you healthy, you finally surrender over supplies and head home. 

Chan’s crew appears pleased to see the stash you two have brought back. Several bottles of isopropyl alcohol, amoxicillin tablets, moxifloxacin, oxycodone, questionable but usable penicillin, and a handful of suture kits. Minho doesn’t stick around to hear their praise, already slipping away when you decide to sit down to catch up on town gossip.

Minho is still in the shower when you slip inside the shared home half an hour later. It was a gift from Chan after the first year of supply runs. The one-bedroom home was probably a prime bachelor pad for someone in another life. There were minimal repairs needed when you first moved in. Whoever the previous owner was, they took care of their property. It took weeks of reassurance from Minho for you to feel comfortable even calling it home. You held onto a lot of guilt, not knowing if they were alive or if they would ever come home. Societal rules have changed, Minho would say. You need a roof over your head, and this home was far better than the cots the military used to offer in the capital. 

A lot more private as well. 

The hot water was a genuine surprise. A few of the properties in town had wells instead of using the public water system. A solar pump brought water inside, and with the help of an electric water heater, it would be heated. Talk about a true luxury. 

A long shower is the first step to feeling good about being home. You shed your clothes before joining him under the cascade of water. No funny business occurs, not with Minho dead on his feet. The rings under his eyes are more prominent, and he struggles to get his thoughts together. He only mumbles out a few words when you offer to wash his back. His goodbye kiss when stepping out barely lands on your lips, more cheek than anything.

Minho is asleep by the time you return to the bedroom to get dressed. He pulled on an old pair of pajama pants and collapsed on the bed. There wasn’t even an attempt to slip under the covers. It’s further proof that he truly could fall asleep anywhere. You quietly dress before draping a spare blanket over him. 

He looks at peace. The rise and fall of his chest are slow and paired with his little snoring. You would give anything in that moment to stay with him, to fall asleep next to him, and to have those few domestic moments that make you feel like a proper couple living a normal life. 

The mission isn’t over yet, and with that thought, you give one last glance at his sleeping form. Your discarded backpack is still at the front door, now a lot lighter when you pull the strap over your shoulder.  

Your trek towards the center of town doesn’t take long. Several groups in the community are enjoying the evening weather. Somewhere in the distance, a guitar is being played while another person sings a classic tune. A handful of children are playing tag in the middle of the street. Further down, the monthly axe-throwing competition is underway. A pity. Minho will be upset that he missed it. 

There really is an entire community here. Families are having a safe space to flourish, a real chance to have a future regardless of how grim the world is outside these walls. You dare say it’s almost normal living again. 

Hopefully, you can take it for granted. 

Your walk continues, getting closer to an old hotel in the middle of town. It’s tucked next to the city hall and the town’s small library. The towering building houses Chan and his oldest friends. Though all are welcome, ‌the large kitchen and dining hall are open to the public during scheduled meal hours. 

In the lobby sits one of Chan’s minions, known as Seungmin. He sits behind the check-in desk with his muddy boots resting on the counter, only bothering to look up from his open book when you clear your throat. 

“What do you want?” His tone is flat, impatient that someone is ruining his free time. 

“Is Chan in?”

“Chris?” Seungmin asks before nodding. “Yeah, he just came from the dining hall.”

Chris. Only the inner circle gets away with calling your leader by his real name. A reminder that Chan’s trust is earned, not given. Though it makes you wonder what someone did if they needed to change their name after the world ended. 

Seungmin immediately goes back to reading as you begin your ascent up towards Chan’s room on the second floor. Thankfully, it isn’t higher; the thought of dragging yourself up twelve flights after a run would be torture. The elevator still exists, but it is not maintained, and that’s a risk you won’t take. 

Gold numbers, tarnished with age, glint in the middle of each door in the long hallway. The silence feels heavy up here, as if no one dares risk disturbing Chan. You slow when you reach the last door, pulse hammering.

This isn’t anything new. Chan typically asks to see you when you come home. Though this is the first time you are asking something big of Chan. Self-doubt is a mean little voice on your shoulder. Maybe he doesn’t have a crush on you. Perhaps he won’t even agree to your terms, and he’ll send you home, tail tucked between your legs. 

It’s now or never. 

You bring your hand to the door before lightly knocking. Chan’s voice comes from the other side a second later, encouraging you to enter. 

Cozy is the first thing you think of when stepping inside, closing the door softly behind you. His room could have been a honeymoon suite at some point. The small area is now an apartment. It’s well furnished, like one, despite the end of the world happening outside. A decorative throw rug lies under the newer couch and his cherry wood desk. He made his bed nicely, no doubt using quality sheets and plush bedding. Since your last visit here, he has hung new artwork on the walls. 

Must be nice being in his position, always getting first pick of supply runs and constant gifts from people trying to be in his good graces. You inwardly laugh to yourself because you are no different. 

Chan stands across the room where an old record player rests by the wide window. A black plastic milk crate holds his vinyl collection, mixing old classics with a few newer finds. He’s always had a soft spot for smooth jazz after dinner, claiming it helps him unwind. He gently guides the needle over the edge of the vinyl, and a few seconds later, the soft hum of music fills the space.

You waste no time plopping down onto the couch across from his desk, backpack at your feet. “I figured you’d want to see me.”

“I did.” Chan replies without missing a beat. “I wanted to talk about the details of your run.”

He’s dressed casually today. A dingy old tee with paint specks on the fabric paired with some faded denim. There’s a good chance he was probably in town helping with house repairs to further improve his standing among the townsfolk. 

The town’s golden boy, or some shit, the old ladies would love to say. 

“Where’s your other half?” He asks, glancing over.

“Resting. You know how he is when he gets home.”

“I’m starting to think he doesn’t like me.”

You scoff in disbelief, a playful tone creeping into your voice. “Minho? Oh, honey, if he didn’t like you, you’d know. Trust me. He didn’t sleep well last night.”

He gives a curt nod in response. Chan understands Minho will stretch himself thin to protect you. It’s expected of him. Some ingrained protector mentality bullshit they have, even though you are more than capable of doing the same. Though because of Minho keeping you safe, Chan tends to be lenient with him about these required follow-up meetings. 

Chan notices your hands moving toward your bag and steps ‌closer. “Got something for me?”

A smile tugs at your lips. “You’ll have to forgive me for not surrendering it. But I knew you’d like this.”

In your hands is a large sealed container of powdered drink mix. One he recognizes instantly. His face lights up, like a kid in a candy store, and he reaches for it. “You spoil me.”

“Only the best for you,” you reply, voice soft.

“You want a drink?”

“If you feel up for sharing. I got it for you.” 

You knew from the first time you brought him the pineapple lemonade drink mix that Chan was wrapped tight around your finger. It wasn’t the pineapple juice he craved, but it was a damn good substitute. 

And now, here he is, offering to share it with you.

A devilish little voice whispers in your mind, nudging you to follow through with that half-formed plan you’ve been toying with. You want to argue he’s just being kind and civil with you. Yet deep down you know that’s not true. There have been several meetings in his space where he’s only offered water with the drink mix in sight. 

Chan steps away briefly, heading to the bathroom. You hear the sound of running water, followed by the clink of a spoon every so often against glass as he stirs the drink.

Minho’s conversation with Jisung is present in your mind again. Chan hasn’t taken an interest in anyone in the city in the entire time you have known him. He doesn’t mingle more than he needs to; he doesn’t flirt. His priorities come first, and yet he’s asking about you with questions that go beyond curiosity. 

Chan returns, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Would it be worth heading back?”

“Yes.” You nod, accepting the glass he hands you. The drink itself is tart and chalky, still miles better than the typical well water you are used to. “We took essentials like you asked. Stashed a bit more under the building. It’s discreet. No one will find it.”

“What about the horde? Which way did they come from?”

“Do you have a map?”

Chan shuffles around his desk to sit. He places his own glass on the edge of the table before rummaging through his desk drawers. Towards the bottom is a larger compartment, and after a few seconds of digging, he pulls out a thin book. 

You raise an eyebrow. It’s not a book at all when you inspect it. Rather, it’s a goddamn road atlas being sprawled out in front of you. It’s a historic relic, used long before the world went to shit. The map on the page is outdated. You recognize the highway numbers, the same river where you washed up, but the city on the map is way smaller than it is now.

“They came from the south.” You say, rising from your seat to lean over the desk. Your fingers trace down the page towards the old capital. “Probably from here if we’re honest.”

Chan’s jaw clenches; he doesn’t like the answer. Rightfully so, large groups of zombies are unpredictable and dangerous. If they are moving toward the compound, he needs to be prepared. You silently watch as he pulls a pen out of his pocket to mark the area in question. “I guess I will send you out. Scope it out and see if there are more of them. I just don’t like you guys being so far away.”

You smile, a little teasing. “Aww. You do care, don’t you, Channie?”

“You’re valuable,” he says, his voice flat. “There’s a difference.”

“Sure.”

He’s the same person who dropped everything two months ago when you came home injured. A few bruises, a gash on your calf from climbing over a broken fence. He still showed up, no hesitation and carried you to the med bay himself. He was worried about infection, and even after the all-clear, he stayed to change your bandages. You will never forget the way Minho silently seethed, glaring at the leader while he fussed over you. He’d muttered curses under his breath the rest of the night when Chan criticized him for his first-aid skills. You had completely forgotten about it until now. It’s just more proof for you. 

Chan’s voice grows serious. “How soon are you two willing to go back out?”

“Sooner rather than later. The weather is getting colder.”

Chan nods, retrieving another book from his desk. It’s a logbook, the one where he keeps track of everything. Pages and pages of assigned jobs, security patrols, hunting missions, and finally the supply runs. All kept together so he can make sure there is a minimum number of people to defend his community. He never spreads his people too thin. 

“Hyunjin’s group is coming back on Friday. If there are no complications, I can send you out the next day. Is that enough time for you?”

Four days? That’s more than enough time. The extra meat brought in today should be available at The Supply before then. That’s all Minho would care about. He gets antsy if he is stuck in town for too long. Aside from Jisung and Felix, he doesn’t care for anyone else here. You have tried to get him out of his shell, to make him connect with more people, but he won’t. He doesn’t want to form any bonds. The more attached he is to others, the harder their deaths are to deal with. He can’t afford that kind of grief anymore.

“Yeah, we’ll be fine.”

“You sure? You look like you want to say something else.”

“Well… there is something.” Your voice is steady, yet you can feel every single one of your nerves crawling under the surface. Chan’s brow furrows for a second, his face briefly clouded with concern. Then it shifts to confusion as he watches you lean forward, palms flat on the desk, the oversized shirt hanging loosely around your frame. “A different business matter.”

It’s one of Minho’s shirts; the pastel plaid flannel is very thin from years of use. In the right light, the shirt is practically see-through. You purposely avoided the first two buttons. Nothing too unusual, just enough to tease your leader with. He falls for the bait easily. Chan’s gaze flickers down, almost involuntarily, lingering on your chest. In that moment, you know you have his full attention, his breath catching as his eyes snap back to yours when you speak. “I want to make a deal.”

A smirk plays on his plush lips; he fights to try to hide it, pretending to be annoyed. “So, what? You walk in here with your tits on display and make demands?”

“I know you want me. You’re not exactly shy about it.”

His eyes fall back to his desk. He squirms in his seat trying to find a response. There isn’t an immediate denial. He’s still fighting, fighting himself and the battle of trying to hold on to his collected persona. It’s a clear losing battle. The giveaway is the way his body reacts to you. The tips of his ears flush a bright red. His voice comes out hesitant, curious. “What do you want?” 

“I want two horses when you send us out and then first in line at the supply store for a year.”

“A year? That’s a little greedy, don’t you think?” Chan scoffs, clearly thrown off. “What the hell are you offering me?”

With that, you reach back into the backpack at your feet, pulling out one of the sealed boxes of condoms Minho gave you. As much as you would prefer to spend this rare commodity with him, you will always do your best to better his life. If he’s okay with you sleeping with the leader, then it’s no skin off your back. 

Frankly, you want to see what the leader can do. You have witnessed his strength and stamina firsthand out in the woods when chopping down trees for firewood. He hides a toned body under those layers. Not to mention his stamina rivals Minho’s. A small, gluttonous part of your brain wonders what the two can do together if given the chance. It’s a thought you’ll never vocalize but store in your mental filing cabinet for nights alone.  

“Myself.” You reply, tossing the sealed box of condoms across the desk. Chan catches it without hesitation, eyes flicking over the box as his mind runs through the possibilities. You continue your spiel. “A warm, submissive hole on demand. What more could you want?”

Chan freezes for a second, eyebrows furrowing. Suspicion clouds his face as he glances back up at you. “And what does Minho have to say about this?”

“I’m not his property.” You shrug, indifferent. “His opinion doesn’t matter. Do we have a deal or not?”

Chan contemplates, sitting in his thoughts as the gears turn. Perhaps he’s waiting to see if this is some sort of sick joke. He’s wondering if Jisung, one of his inner circle, was the one that ratted him out or if you found out on your own. Maybe he’s curious about your dynamic with Minho, if you are lying about that. There’s even a chance he’s picturing himself being intimate with you. 

Maybe his moral compass is forcing him to acknowledge what a red flag this whole situation is. 

In the end, he is just a man caught up in the spell of lust.

Just as you expected, his desire for you outweighs his moral high ground. Chan isn’t subtle the way he sits up straighter or the way a hand sneaks down to adjust his jeans. The box of condoms lands on his desk with a small thud, his voice low and almost defeated. “I can assign horses tonight. Six months with supply. I’m not budging.”

“Deal.” You nod, satisfied. It's enough to work with. “I want your word in writing.”

Chan’s eyes narrow, and the game you two are playing is changing. “Get on your knees and take off your shirt.”

You stay rooted in place. Not because you’re shocked by his command, but because you know the arrangement isn’t finalized yet. The tone in your voice shifts, turning more authoritative, an obvious challenge to his command. “I want it in writing, Chan.”

“And I want to see how obedient you say you are.” He leans back in his chair, matching your energy, and fires back with the same attitude. “I’ll write it while you put on a show for me.”

A spark of arousal simmers low in your core hearing him use such a tone with you. Never has Chan matched your energy, always offering a calm and cordial voice even when you are playful with your banter. Sure, you have witnessed Chan’s command, even his scary interrogation of others, but this? With you? This is unfamiliar territory. 

Frankly, you like it.

With that, you walk the short distance to sink to your knees beside his chair. The plush carpet offers some cushioning. Shaky fingers fueled by the small rush of adrenaline come to the buttons, easily slipping them through the worn holes in the shirt. You gave up wearing a bra most of the time, a useless piece of clothing when at home. Not to mention a rare item at that. 

A quick roll of your shoulders lets the shirt slip down to your elbows and eventually to the floor. You tuck your hands in your lap, giving a slight push of your bare breasts closer. A shiver runs up your back, either from the cold air in the room or in anticipation of what will happen next. You told Minho there might be a possibility Chan cashes in on the offer tonight. 

Good to know you were right.

That’s one more on the tally count of losses for bets Minho has with you.

Chan curses under his breath, his gaze glued to you. His eyes drink you in, appreciating the view. “I quite like this view of you.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” you tease, your voice playful. “I could get used to it.”

The flirtatious tone came out of its own volition. Chan doesn’t seem to be convinced that this is all real. You, here in front of him and on your knees, like some sort of gift. There is still a hint of disbelief in his voice. “Are you really gonna go through with this?”

“Think how many more runs we can go on if we don’t have to walk. If anything, I’m helping the community more than myself.”

“How selfless of you.” Chan chuckles before digging into his desk once more. He retrieves a small bottle, gently tossing it your way. It’s easy to catch. The bottle ends up being baby oil. It’s nearly empty when you give it a once-over in your hands. How often is your leader getting off? How many times have thoughts of you been involved?

Your leader cuts off your mental visual with a command. “Play with those pretty tits while I get your proof.”

The dollop of oil is cold in one of your palms. You set the bottle down and rub your hands, trying to warm the liquid. Chan’s eyes haven’t really left you. Only briefly to tear a page out of his notebook. You can’t read his expression, completely stoic and again hypnotized by your hands cupping both of your breasts. A shiny sheen soon coats your skin the more you knead your soft skin. Both nipples slowly harden from the attention you give. 

Chan blindly reaches for the pen he discarded earlier. He gets a couple of words down before speaking again. “We have to set boundaries if you want this to happen.”

“I don’t have a lot I’ll say no to.” You respond nonchalantly, as if talking about an everyday conversation. “Don’t come inside me unless it's in my mouth or ass, check in with me from time to time, do the bare minimum of aftercare, and at least say I’m pretty if you’re gonna choke me.”

“Fuck.” Chan curses, his pen faltering as he tries to write. “A little blunt, don’t you think?”

“You know I don’t like to waste my time.”

“And what about kissing, or is that too soft for you?”

Oh, bless his heart, you think. He’s the romantic type. 

In the past when you exchanged sex for favors, only one of them was interested in kissing you. Most wanted the deed over with and went separate ways. Interesting that Chan would differ from the rest. Despite the world’s efforts, it hasn’t crushed that side of him into the ground. 

You stare up through your lashes just to add a little seduction to your tactics. “If you think I’m gonna squander my chance to kiss those pretty lips, you’re insane.”

Chan appears to hit a breaking point. Either too desperate or fed up with your teasing. He slams the poor innocent pen down before he pushes away from the desk, the wheels on his chair allowing him to turn to face you. His legs spread, creating a space for you to slot between. The command was silent, only a hand motion while his other hand worked to undo the button on his jeans. 

You shuffle closer, not caring about the burn of the rug against your knees, too focused on Chan pulling his clothes down just enough to free his cock. He’s half hard and, by the looks of it, is around Minho’s size. He will be a treat to play with. 

Chan wraps a hand around his cock to stroke himself to full hardness. The view is almost too distracting; you barely hear the words he speaks. “You teased me with those tits, so I’m gonna use them.”

“Then allow me.” You say, rising slightly to bring your entire body closer. Both of your hands move to the outsides of your breasts to not obstruct his view but provide enough support to guide them. He groans at first contact with the warm skin of your breasts around his cock. The oil makes the glide of your movements easier as you tease him. It doesn’t take long for the tip of Chan’s cock to leak sticky pre-cum. 

“Fuck.” His teeth sink into his bottom lip, perhaps in some pathetic attempt to ground himself from the sensations. Maybe even to inflict just enough pain to keep him in control so he can enjoy the moment longer. “That feels nice.”

The more Chan’s composure falls apart, the more powerful you feel.

Your tongue slips out on basic instinct, chasing to lick up that bead of pre-cum that is teasing you. A warm, firm hand finds your neck, tilting your head back to deny you. Your eyes stare up at your leader. He coos at the pout on your lips. “Your eager mouth can wait a night.”

You huff, the full brat side of you on display. “But I want it.”

Chan’s gaze darkens, and for a split second, you don’t feel as in control. “I really thought Minho would fuck the brat out of you, but I guess I’ll have to.”

“You can try.”

Chan gives another light squeeze on your throat, another warning, before letting it fall away to allow you to continue. “I have a rather successful track record.”

“I believe it when I see it.”

His voice gets lower, huskier with this threat. “I’ll remember this conversation and make sure you eat your words when I have the time.”

Chan’s words are a lightning bolt through your nerves. The anticipation is an all-consuming greed inside of you. You pray he will make good on his word. Until that time comes, it’ll be you that ruins him. You have already won in your book. It’s you who is the one here between his thighs, earning all his pretty moans. You are the one who got Chan to cave, and you are the one who will witness his peak. 

“There we go.” You mutter, gaze locked on the way his cock is now steadily leaking. “Does it feel good?”

“Like a fucking dream.” Chan pants out. His nails dig into the arms of his chair, audible enough you wonder if he's managed to etch into the hard plastic. “Eyes on me.” Chan commands, his voice sounding desperate. “And don’t you dare move away.” 

You press harder on the sides of your breasts to keep his cock surrounded. His thigh muscles tighten while his hips shift below you, driving his cock up and down the valley. Chan’s breathing becomes more ragged as his chest rises and falls quickly from exertion. It won’t take much more to tip him over the edge. 

“Come on, Chan, give it to me.” You don’t break eye contact with your leader. “Cum on my pretty tits. Mark them as yours.”

Unlike Minho, Chan keeps his noise to a minimum. Perhaps too hyperaware of his surroundings. His moan is reserved while he continues to rut his hips a couple more times before freezing completely. The red, sticky tip of his throbbing cock only peeks between your breasts, with warm seed erupting a second later, landing on your chest and chin. You maintain the hold, letting him ride out his high.

The room falls to a silence as Chan sinks back into his chair. You pull away, letting yourself sit back on your knees, hands in your lap. Once again presenting yourself to him, waiting to see what the next move is. There is no attempt to clean the evidence of the event that took place. No, you once again maintain eye contact with Chan to the point you wonder if it's you under his spell.

A beep coming from Chan’s watch appears to distract him. He glances at the time before sighing. It was getting late when you arrived; evening curfew is catching up with you two. He curses under his breath as he tucks his softening cock back into his clothes. He pushes his chair further back to give him the space to stand. His hands are buttoning his jeans when he makes his way past you. Chan says only three words. “Stay like that.”

You don’t move. The cold air of the room dances over your skin, making the oil on your skin feel tacky. His cum is no better as it dries. Both of your thighs ache with how tightly you have them pressed together. It doesn’t ease the way your pussy aches with need, dripping juices while neglected and waiting for some form of attention from either yourself or him. 

As quickly as Chan disappears into the bathroom, he returns with a slightly dampened hand towel. He squats down in front of you, scoffing at your attempt to take the towel from him. So you sit up straighter, allowing him to touch you. The towel starts at your chin and neck, moving down and around your breasts, wiping away all the evidence. He's thorough and maintains the same care he showed weeks ago in the med bay. 

At least he’s a gentleman. 

Chan speaks as if he can hear your thoughts. “I take care of my people.”

“Is that what you call…”

Chan swallows the rest of your words up by crashing his lips against yours. It’s a hungry, fiery kiss. One that’s charged with yearning. He’s wanted this moment; he’s waited for the opportunity. 

Both of Chan’s hands cup your face, hand towel long forgotten on the floor. It’s subtle when he pulls you closer, a wordless message to rise to your feet. You follow the silent command on unstable legs, as the time on your knees paired with the soreness from walking has you struggling for a moment.  

All of ‌Chan floods your personal space once you are stable on your feet. His broad frame is a brick wall keeping you trapped between himself and the desk. It’s so different from Minho. He smells different, from the fading laundry soap used in his clothes to the sweat on his skin. It doesn't feel wrong to you, just foreign from what you are used to. 

He presses closer now. The edge of the table digs into the flesh of your ass, yet it’s not a concern. Not with one of his hands slipping down between your parted thighs. His soft touch is back as his large palm cups your clothed pussy over your shorts. Your body works on instinct, trying to grind against the meaty part of his palm. 

A foot knocks against yours, a signal to spread your stance wider. You comply, still too busy fighting the tongue invading your mouth. He can’t get enough of you. Even when he parts for air, he’s immediately back with another bruising kiss. 

Both of your palms now rest on his chest, firm muscles under your fingers. You wish you could see, explore all the sun-kissed skin yourself, but you can’t. You are not in control ‌tonight. Your job is to take what your leader offers you. 

Chan doesn’t make you wait. His hands fall away to find the front of your shorts. There is a light tug on the waistband while one hand slips under your clothes; it keeps traveling south, over your panties to where the wetness caused the fabric to stick to your pussy. He pushes the material to the side for the pads of his fingers to run over the slit. 

“Oh,” Chan’s breath is hot against your face even with how flushed your face is. “You’re so fucking wet. Enjoy being used that much?”

“Yes.” You manage a slight nod when speaking against his lips. The breathlessness surprises even you, but you are not done. You could trap him further in your web. “Yes, sir.”

Chan groans low in his chest; the palms of your hands feel the rumble. “Always knew you’d be a good girl.”

“When I want to be.”

Chan’s fingers are larger than Minho’s. Two slip in with ease from how slick you are, still there is a stretch around them. Both digits curl deeper inside of you, experimenting with what gets him a response. He lets out his own amused noise of approval when you get vocal. 

“Like that, please.” You whimper as your grip on his shirt tightens, almost in some pathetic attempt to pull him closer. He physically can’t be any closer, but that doesn’t deter you from trying. “That feels divine.” 

“I bet you are so pretty when you come.” Chan says while watching your face for every little detail, ingraining it deep into his memory. “Can you come for me?”

“Keep doing that, and you’ll find out.”

It’s a challenge now for Chan, one he’s determined to succeed. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, placing wet kisses till you sigh in contentment. His teeth sink into that sensitive spot he found, causing you to gasp at the pain. Chan doesn’t let up, instead sealing his lips over the spot and sucking harshly. The skin will no doubt blossom into a pretty bruise. 

Is he marking you for evidence for yourself to reminisce later? For him to see when you walk around the compound? For Minho to see? Chan doesn’t appear to be the type to instigate Minho, but this feels like a jab towards him in particular. 

It doesn’t matter. Not when Chan fucks his fingers faster, causing you to clench around them. Your core tightens, knowing that high you are craving is right on the cusp. He’s sending you headfirst into a climax in record time. 

Chan’s free hand immediately hooks around your frame the second your knees buckle. All the sensations are too much at once. The pleasure is a tidal wave nearly knocking you off your feet. His fingers mercifully slow down as the high runs its course. The pinch of his teeth lets up, now resorting to gentle kisses across the tender area while you attempt to collect your breath. 

When he finally pulls his fingers out, he brings the digits to your mouth. You accept them greedily before he finishes his command. “Be good. Get them nice and clean.”

You moan at your own taste on his fingers, slipping your tongue around and in between to leave only saliva behind. Once Chan decides they’re clean, the fingers leave your mouth to grab the pen again. Right at the bottom of the piece of paper, he signs his name, officially sealing your contract. 

“I want you here an hour before curfew.”

“That desperate for some pussy?” You ask while looking over the paper. The large signature sits at the bottom, ink still drying. He kept the message short and concise: Household 27 has explicit permission to shop at The Supply as first pick until February 18th.

“Just making the best of these six months as I can.” Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as Chan pulls away to reach down for your discarded shirt before holding it out for you to take. “Besides, Supply opens at dawn, and since you can’t be out after curfew, tell Minho to get in line early. You’re dismissed.”

With those words, tuck the evidence of your contract into a pocket for safety. There is no rush as you pull on and button up the flimsy shirt. Chan’s gaze still burns into you the entire time. You are no fool; you know that look. He’s not satisfied even with coming. He will count down the hours until you arrive tomorrow.

Will he bend you over the desk? Or will he fuck you like a bitch in heat till you soak his sheets and mattress? Maybe he’ll take you pressed against the glass of the large window. Your body buzzes with the possibilities. 

You hold a lot of power, more than Chan even realizes. He’s a touch-starved man who is getting his basic needs fulfilled. A slippery slope for him to navigate. Perhaps this is a door opening. One you’ll be able to continue bargaining with until you are at the top. It’s manipulative and evil, but in a world where every day isn’t guaranteed, you don’t survive this long by playing fair. 

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