you’ve been slowly scrubbing at the same plate for god knows how long now, the dish water having long since chilled due to your obvious distraction. which came in the form of your tan, ripped and painfully gorgeous next door neighbor.

abby anderson, who has been working on mowing her lawn for the better part of the afternoon. an ordinary, mundane task really…

except the raging heat had her forgoing a shirt altogether, leaving her in just a dark grey sports bra and a pair of baggy gym shorts that hang dangerously low on her hips.

it has your body warming in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with the humidity that still sticks to your skin, as you continue to sneak glances at her out of your kitchen window every few minutes.

because fuck—who gave her the right to look like that?

with her cheeks flushed from exertion, layers of sweat clinging to her exposed, freckled skin and the muscles in her forearms flexing each time she grips harder onto the handle of the mower to push it along the edges of where your yards meet.

you quickly turn the tap back on, willing the cool water to snap you out of your lustful leering as it runs along your overheated skin. but your eyes still drift back to your window, where abby has taken a short drink break. she brings a bottle up to her full lips and the beads of condensation slip down the neck of the bottle onto her wrist where they trail all the way down to her elbow.

and god, you’ve never felt so envious of something in your entire life.

without thinking about why you shouldn’t be doing this in the first place, you slip your hand past the waistband of your shorts and into your panties which are already soaked with a mixture of your arousal and sweat. your lips part as you slide your fingers through your slick center, gathering up the wetness that’s already pooled at your entrance.

“fuck,” you whine, bracing your other hand against the counter as you slide your fingers back up to circle over your swollen clit.

and all you can think about now is her hands, calloused and warm from a full days work replacing your own as she pins you between the counter and her body. hear the filthy words she’d spill into your ear as she fucks you harder, faster—grinding herself against your ass in tandem with each flick of her wrist.

“been gettin’ off on watchin’ me work, sweet thing?”

“christ, you’re so loud, darlin’. can’t wait to see what else that filthy mouth of yours can do.”

“look at you, takin’ me so well, you want another one?”

you’re too enthralled in your own fantasy to notice the sound of the lawn mower shutting off, or hear the sounds of shoes crunching against the gravel of your walkway. your fingers work themselves even faster against your clit now, sweet relief mere seconds away.

all of it shatters in an instant when you hear a firm tap, tap on the window to your left, and your eyes instantly flash open to find abby on the other side—her eyes zeroed in on where your hand is still buried inside your shorts.

and now you’re caught, red fucking handed.

They dragged her out the front doors of the resort just after dusk. Made of sticks already, poked full of holes; not the sort you’d think capable of killing all those people. The entire southern perimeter patrol, plus the farm gate lookouts, a good chunk of the resort rotation too. All the bodies were theirs. The bitch had done it all herself. 

She’d thought it’d be real funny to set the scarecrows loose. Been brazen about it; shot people’s legs out from under them, made waiting meals of them, held them at gunpoint and fed them right to waiting teeth. Real sadistic shit. So when they caught her by the cells, bleeding on the white marble, joining her smears with the bright red door, they pulled her all the way to the pool. One runner left chained and gnashing; shoved her forward and let it grab, pull, gnaw. And all the while she kept on laughing. 

One of those crazy new-world kids, the old, shriveled ones said wisely. They’d been there in the times of order; laws, calendars, infinite ammo. But these post-outbreak brats were born and raised wild, life meaning nothing. Pain and death meaning nothing. Even the infected didn’t frighten them. 

They stuck her in the fields. Bolted a collar around her neck and chained her to the ground with a reach-around radius far from the crop lines, but close enough to scare. A warning to the cattle; something to keep them in line as they worked the fields. Stop would-be thieves or escapees. Those rows were a minefield of grasping hands and teeth, generally cleared and replaced soon after they started clicking, at risk of sprouting spores. 

There she sat, slumped; small and crusted over crimson. Laughing low. 

Left there over buzzing night, they found it strange when in the morning she wasn’t twitching. Was hunched and nodding, though, muttering. Dying. Bloody hand knotted in her tank top to hide the bite that grew there. Another wept from her neck.  

The guards passed her on their morning shift, herding cattle; chain-linked, jangling, panting already. Chattered and pointed from beneath their visors: That’s her. She’s the one who killed (insert name here).

Amber, Mateo, Wes, Angie, Cole, Judy, Nika, Pete, Val, Todd, Marta. 

Twice over; three times. So many bodies. 

She deserves worse, but this’ll do. 

She didn’t react. Had probably lost half her mind by now anyway. She made a sound under her breath beating be, be, be, be. Just spasms of breath as the fungus overrode her will. 

The cattle trudged on, all braced for the whip. Set loose one by one, barrels trained on their skulls as they lugged rusted tools with dry branch-brittle arms. The odd fervent glance thrown back to the new scarecrow at the end of the crop row. Rumours spread fast; they already knew her. The storm that’d blown through fierce with a tailwind of blood. Didn’t look like much now. Wasn’t much left. 

Most of the scarecrows were attempted escapees unfortunate enough to be spared from the pillars. Spared instead for the mad limbo of infection; weapons for their slavers. Examples to the rest. They’d all been caught trying to run from this place. You didn’t hear about anyone running the other way. 

Whoever she’d been trying to rescue must have meant a lot to her. 

Bodies stumbled down the line, rusted sickles and scythes in hand. Worn, raw hands, bone thin, scratched and burning. One swinging, another hacking away the excess, another collecting the severed harvest, little of which they would see again. A disjointed human machine working down the row until they reached her. Until she reached her.

One cog, just as worn into anonymity as the rest. Sunken, peeling, though there was a strength she somehow clung to, had held proud and broad when she was first dragged in. This place had sapped it from her slower than most. She glanced at the new scarecrow with the same idle, awed curiosity as the rest. No recognition. The meaning didn’t go both ways. 

She gripped her scythe in both hands. Apart from being one of the strongest animals, they had her well under control. Leverage in the form of the scrawny kid they’d found her with on the road. She would never risk putting him in danger by stepping out of line. Raising the scythe, she kept focus on her task, her ragged breathing, pushing all pain and exhaustion far from her mind.

But when the metal between her fists caught the light on its upward arc, the sky flashed white, bit down cold. Swirled to dim drifts behind fogged glass dashed with fresh blood.

The scarecrow’s head jerked upright. She saw it all and it stole her breath. Stopped her muttering still. 

Please don’t do this. 

And the club came down. 

“ABBY!” The scarecrow surged upright in a twisting lunge. Dry grass scattered with the sudden motion, made heavy with blood as she stumbled forward, screaming out a guttural, wild noise. 

The bolt around her neck cut both sound and progress short. Her cry burst into a choke as her body seized rigid, clamped, then folded down. Quivered in the dust. Muttering again.

“I got you. I got you.”

Abby watched from a wary distance, scythe gripped loose and low, because the girl wasn’t a threat. What was her name again? They never said her name back then. It was just the girl; the host. The light. 

She’d come all the way to this place, a place as far gone as the new world could twist, just for her. Killed a damn good lot of Rattlers, too. It was almost impressive. More than that it was just sad. 

“See, she’s definitely turning now,” said one guard to another, attracted by the outburst. 

“Took her long enough. She got bit on the fucking neck.”

“She’s a fighter.” 

The scarecrow chuckled to herself, hacking up dust and bile and blood between heaves of stinging humour. 

“I’m not gonna turn.” It was a splutter, barely heard. 

“How the fuck is she still talking?”

The scarecrow clawed herself up onto her knees and shouted. “I’m not gonna turn, you assholes! I’m motherfucking immune!” Her laughs came breathless now, almost giddy. 

“Crazy bitch.” The guard kicked her hard in her bleeding side. The other pointed his gun at the row of cattle. “Back to work.”

Abby couldn’t look away from the light. She could’ve been everything, could’ve saved the world. The worst thing was that she probably knew it. 

What was her name?

She curled up on her side, chain slack, grass slick with a growing pool of blood. Saying, “Abby, Abby.”

“I said back to work!” The baton crunched into the back of Abby’s thigh, forcing her knee to the ground. She dropped the scythe. Swallowing her pain, as she’d learnt to do long before becoming a prisoner, she picked it up and rose slowly to her feet, turning away from the girl left injured on the ground half pleading, half cursing, all with a single word. Laughter creeping back in, hard to distinguish from the sobs. Maybe every emotion all at once leaking out of her with the blood, because for too long the only noise in her mind had been that word. 

Abby almost joined in, couldn’t stave off the urge. They had to laugh. Miracle of science and the saviour’s daughter, murderer’s goader, rotting here under the same sun. Left at the absent mercy of the worst of humanity, somehow worse still. Worse than each other in some cyclic, stupid competition. 

Fingers. Ellie’s fingers. Abby finds herself staring at them quite a bit. Far too often for her own good. Long and dexterous. One time she had overhead Ellie telling Lev (Ellie would never confide that much of her past to Abby and perhaps that’s what makes this easier) that she used to play guitar and Abby bites back the urge to try and interject in on the conversation as she mulls over the truth of that statement.

Used to.

Ellie used to play guitar and Abby is the reason she can’t. Abby is the reason why Ellie’s hands falter and tremble when she tries to grip her sidearm or when she fumbles with her well worn button down on the colder days.

Abby is the reason why Ellie hunted her across the country, why Ellie butchered every one she knew and loved. And Ellie is the reason why Abby and Lev are still here. And why Abby still tastes the thick swill of iron on her tongue as she stares at the nubs where Ellie’s pinky and ring finger used to be.

And together they’re the reason why every night, the wordless flurry of their bodies chasing after one another, chasing an outlet for the emotions that living alongside one another leaves them with. Hatred and bitterness bubbling boiling over to hide the acknowledgement that in this world, the only person who could truly understand the other’s pain was also the cause of it.

Every day of survival means work for them. Respite comes in short bursts between scavenging for food and whatever supplies will keep the crescendo tour of hovels the trio pass through on the journey to who knows where. This week’s safe house was at least capable of keeping the cold out and Lev under a stable roof. Abby sensed things were off this morning, that Ellie was stiffer, more on edge than usual.

Eyes heavy and dull, the sharp outline of her jaw pulling tight as she chewed through the rationed out pieces of dried fruit that would hopefully fuel them throughout the day. Abby doesn’t like seeing Ellie like that, can’t peg down exactly what she’s thinking and that makes her scared. Reminds her of Santa Barbara. Of the way she looked as she held a knife to Lev’s throat.

Abby doesn’t bring Lev along on days like this. Call it a maternal instinct, but when Ellie walls off like this, Abby knows the wider the berth between her and Lev, the safer Lev would be if things go south. Go the way they should be, when Ellie snaps to life and goes for Abby’s throat.

The tension is thick in the air as the two prepare for their daily trek into the remains of suburbia, Lev doing his best to cut through Abby and Ellie’s machine-like precision in checking their guns and rucksacks. It’s cute. Abby knows he’s trying his best. Doing what he can to grant what level of normalcy this ragtag assortment of disjointed and traumatized orphans can be left with. Usually Ellie is polite enough to grunt out a response to his questioning, sometimes she’ll laugh at one of his jokes.

Today she just quietly packs her bag and steps outside without a word. Lev’s mouth collapses into a frown, worried eyes glancing over to Abby.

“Keep her safe out there.” he mumbles. Abby leans down to kiss his forehead before telling him to lock up. It’s not Ellie’s safety she’s concerned about as she looks ahead to see the silhouette of the brunette stomping into the empty street ahead of her. 

It’s a particularly fruitless endeavor. Everything picked clean long before Ellie and Abby rolled into town and whatever was left had succumbed to time and the elements. Unsuccessful ventures are painful enough, even more so when Ellie has decided that speaking is off the table.

Abby never thought of herself as a particularly emotionally observant person but with every single empty house and store the two crept through, she could feel Ellie get moodier. Her huffing and grunting getting louder with every readjustment of her backpack’s shoulder strap.

The day continues forth at a languid death march. Abby had learned quickly that when Ellie gets like this, talking can only really go south and when things go south the only thing she can do is tuck her chin and get ready to sprawl.

By midday the only thing that’s changed is that Abby has managed to wordlessly offer Ellie a swig of water from her flask, the tin greedily snatched from Abby’s hands and gulped down with wordless abandon. Abby turns her head fast, trying to cut away from the way Ellie’s throat bobs as she swallows, the spillage rolling over her chin and dripping down to the front of her shirt.

Abby’s stomach inverts quickly, the sight of two fingers, two nubs, and one thumb shoving the now half empty flask back at her before Ellie wordlessly takes off again. Abby stares at Ellie’s back as she trails behind and tries not to think about how quickly she takes her own drink.

The duo continue forth through abandoned streets, every nerve on edge and muscle primed for danger. Times like this are when Abby finds herself wishing they’d run into a few infected, something to break the tension and give the two an outlet, something meaty and primal and screaming for Abby to clatter fist first into but today that physical chance for reprieve did not come.

Abby can feel the tension and tightness of her coiled fists grow worse and worse as she trails after Ellie. A throbbing annoyance in her joints that bolts to life as she watches Ellie kick a piece of urban detritus aside as if the damn scrap of brick had personally offended her.

It scatters off to the side, directionless and fueled by bitterness and Abby knows Ellie is imagining that it’s her head. She follows its path until it collides with a building that immediately catches her eye. Her tongue sticks to the side of her mouth as she looks over the aged and weather beaten logo.

Ellie whirls around like a woman scorned when Abby’s hand comes to land on her shoulder. She goes to spit something at Abby, a terse rebuttal to whatever Abby is going to say until the words die in her throat. She stares at the same sign as Abby.

Hayman’s Music Supplies.

Ellie knew following Abby inside here would be a bad idea. She knew full well this wasn’t somewhere she wanted to tread, let alone with her of all people. She wants nothing more than to turn tail and walk right back home to their safe house but something inside of her stills her revulsion. A side of her saying that walking away right now would be like letting Abby win and right now Ellie is feeling extra petty in that regard.

“Don’t go fuckin’ with anything. I am not in the mood for tinnitus or for you go and alert everything in a ten mile radius to our location,” Ellie’s breathing is already getting a little bit erratic as the two women march forward into the store, the stagnant air filling their nostrils as decades of dust and spiderwebs get kicked up from their intrusion.

Abby rolls her eyes and lets out a sarcastic snort, looking over her shoulder with that smug expression that always grinds Ellie’s gears. “Fucking with stuff isn’t my thing. Honestly, Ellie, what’s got you so antsy all of a sudden?”

Ellie’s laugh is hollow, her stance closed in and her eyes focused entirely on Abby, as if she was trying to blot out the alignment of instruments rotting out of her peripheral vision. She does not want to see them. She does not want to acknowledge them. She does not want to be here.

“I am not antsy, I just… don’t see why we’re here. I doubt there’s food or anything worth taking here,” that gets Abby’s attention, her body moving towards a display stand that makes Ellie’s body freeze.

The guitar had obviously been sitting there for as long as this place had fallen into disrepair, and Abby touches the headstock as if she’s scared the entire thing will collapse in on itself with any firmer touch.

“Nothing worth taking, you sure?” Abby turns around to look at Ellie, and Ellie meets her gaze with lips pulled tight and shoulders squared up.

Ellie takes a deep breath, trying to keep her voice stable. She shouldn’t hate this, she shouldn’t be so mad seeing Abby touch something that reminds her of him. “What are you doing Abby?” Ellie chokes out the words as she keeps her eyes locked on the blonde.

There’s a long beat of silence shared between the two. An arduous stretch where Ellie could feel her heart beating in her skull and Abby seemed far too alert to every movement of Ellie’s quickening breathing.

Abby’s hands instinctively raise upwards, trying her best to defuse the tension already permeating the not-wide-enough gap between the two.

“Now, Ellie hear me out okay-“ whatever Abby wanted Ellie to hear out is quickly forgotten due to Ellie all but lunging forward, disfigured hand accusingly jabbing into the much larger woman’s chest.

“No, I am not going to hear you out, I am not going to hear anything you have to say about-about this! Not from you of all people!” Ellie does not like how her voice wavers and the words stutter from her throat, almost as if her body is refusing to even acknowledge the possibility of what Abby is trying to broach.

Abby holds her ground, eyes focused and hands still upturned. She recognizes the look in Ellie’s eyes, the same wild unpredictable fire held behind a beleaguered emptiness that reminds Abby of what she looked like back on that beach. The potential of violence, the potential of danger, like a dog silently tugging at its leash from its place on the floor as if it couldn’t lash forward. 

“I heard you and Lev talking about… before and I was just thinking-” The crack of knuckles against skin rings throughout the building and Abby finds herself keeling over, the indent of Ellie’s fist already blossoming into what would later that night be a disgusting array of bruised skin. Abby wheezes, hands finally falling as she has to grab at her side to try and steady her breathing. Her head flicks upwards to stare into Ellie’s eyes, tears pricking at the corners as she watches Ellie wind up to strike her again. 

“There is no before for us.” Ellie spits, fingers curled so tight her remaining nails threaten to prick and tear at the skin of her inner palm before everything inside of her manages to subside, Ellie managing to choke it back inside of herself, back into the gaping pit that was her mechanism for living alongside Abby. She turns, head shaking as she makes a way to the exit. 

“Let’s just go. Now.” She doesn’t look back at Abby, and that’s a mistake. Abby heaves forward, hand darting forward to grab at Ellie’s wrist and stop her in her tracks. 

“Goddammit Ellie, just listen to me for one second.” Abby is clambering back to her feet, wincing as she feels her side ache as tries to resist Ellie’s attempts at pulling away. Ellie panics, no matter what Abby had been through, despite the fact she wasn’t back to the hulking figure that had once pounded her into the cold concrete of a Seattle floor, she still had the size advantage between the two. 

“Let go of me!” Ellie shrieks, her guise of aggressive detachment gone as her free hand whirls around to claw at Abby’s grip. It’s a familiar tussle, Abby knows Ellie is all nails and teeth and a flurry of anger when wound up like this, but she refused to let go, even as Ellie dug into the flesh of her wrist to try and get her to let go, and because Abby knows what Ellie is like, she rolls with it. 

Practiced military precision in pulling Ellie towards her chest, collapsing the dead angle of her elbow inwards and trying to envelop Ellie in her arms to try and straight jacket the squirming thing and stop her from hurting her. To an outsider it would almost look akin to the tender embrace of two lovers until the anger on Ellie's face betrayed the truth of it. Ellie’s body thrashes and squirms, she’s in a place she doesn’t want to be, trying to escape a conversation she did not want to have, with the last person on the planet who should be trying to offer it to her. 

Who did Abby think she was right now? In what world did she think she was living to try and broach this with Ellie, of all people? To dare and try to smooth the storm that is their coexistence now of all times? Her limbs splay out to try and force herself free from Abby’s grasp, to return to the safety of separation. Ellie cocks her head back and with blinding force rams it straight into Abby’s nose, and the crunch of cartilage and tissue mix with Abby’s pained grunt as her grip loosens just enough for Ellie to slip free. 

But Abby persists, like she always did, like the stain on her soul that she was she doesn’t let up, grip loosened but body already chasing after her, lurching after her like the nightmare Ellie knew her to be, the nightmare Ellie wanted Abby as right now. Hands grab her shoulders and with all the ease her larger frame grants her, Abby is driving Ellie backwards into the nearest wall.

“I said let go!” Ellie’s voice is high pitched, panicked as she is unceremoniously battered against cold, forgotten brickwork. Abby is wheezing, her side still aching as her arms try to loop around Ellie’s tiny frame. 

“And I said, listen!” It’s the last real solid sentence Abby can get out before Ellie batters an elbow into the top of her head and the two women go tumbling onto the ground, arms and legs flailing to break the fall and keep the fight going. They’re on the ground, twisting and grinding at each other in an all too familiar way.

The only way Ellie could ever picture the two of them, the only way for her to allow herself to keep living this. Hands claw and pummel as the two roll around on the floor until Ellie withdraws the fist she was keeping at Abby’s jawline to violently twist into the waistband of her jeans and pull out the great equalizer. 

Abby’s breathing seizes up as she feels the pang of steel against her throat. She lets out a shallow wheeze as her eyes dart from the blade at her neck, up to Ellie’s face, the exertion causing her cheeks to flush brilliantly, a crimson hue raking over her face as she stares down at Abby from her seat atop her torso. Everything is so still and silent now the two have stopped tussling, the world closed back in from the emotions of moments previous to the immediacy of a single knife’s edge. 

It’s a pathetically familiar arrangement of their bodies. Something brought together in the heat of the moment. The desperate human desire for touch and contact in spite of scars and bruises. Ellie always had to be on top, had to feel the control of it all in order to try and forgive herself for chasing after Abby for something other than vengeance and anger. 

Abby looks small beneath her, soft and nervous as she tries to angle her throat as far back as she can all while snug against the ground and Ellie leaning over, examining her like a cut of meat. Taking in the way her throat bobs as she swallows back the discomfort in her body, how Abby’s eyes dart from Ellie’s knife up to her face, how her chest heaves with the adrenaline crash, lips parted, cheeks flushed… 

Abby looks good like this. 

Looks like how Ellie wants her to be. How Ellie has to have her. Abby goes to speak and Ellie pushes forward, reeling a little as she watches Abby crane her throat as sharpened steel slides ever so close to veins and arteries. 

“Ellie…” Abby sounds meek, sounds small, sounds like she did back… back then. Back when Ellie last had her like this, but the sound of her breathing, hot and uneven mixing cruelly with fouler thoughts. Blending into the cold nights where Ellie crawls into Abby’s bed. When their bodies, beaten, and raw, and bruised, chase after each other so intimately it makes Ellie’s skin crawl. Makes her splayed hips push down hard over Abby’s heaving stomach, all while her knife remains right where it needs to be. 

Abby knows when things aren’t in her favor. Once again, her hands rising up in defeat as Ellie looms over her, a horrifying memory that lives beside her every day. That sits atop her with parted lips and eyes that take over Abby’s prone body and that holds that knife over the meat of her throat. With hands that tremble as she rolls her hips down into the weight of Abby’s core.

“Ellie, please just… just please listen okay,” Abby’s voice is quiet, whether it’s from the amount of energy she just spent wrestling with this girl or the innate unnerving feeling of cold metal against her jugular, she ends speaking too softly for her own liking. “I just thought that… this could be something nice, you know? S-Something that-“ 

Ellie’s free hand darts itself forward, clambering quickly to shut itself over Abby’s mouth and silence her, stopping her from broaching this uncertain area of her heart. It’s an area she refuses to tread, refuses to acknowledge and the cold feeling in the pit of her stomach rolls over with the revelation that Abby is the one to venture forth first.

She refuses to let her speak it. Something nice. She was not nice. What she had done to Abby’s friends was not nice and what Abby had done to her, was the same. Nice was an ephemera for them and Ellie refused to let Abby try to change that. 

“Shut up. Just shut up, okay? Stop fucking talking like-like you know me.” Ellie spits, her body shifting forward, her face mere inches away from Abby’s as she once again lets her composure slip and her hips grind downwards just enough to make her breath hitch.

The adrenaline still pumping through her veins, her position, straddled over the vast expanse of Abby’s strong hips and the desire to chase down the unknowable olive branch of kindness and understanding that Abby offered out to her was mixing through her body. A lurid cocktail of emotions and desires and distastes telling her what to do.

To keep Abby pinned. To keep her on edge, and when Ellie feels the way Abby’s body shudders beneath her, all taut muscle and anxiety writhing to try and grant some distance between herself and danger, Ellie groans. 

Low and hungry, consumed by one desire. 

“You don’t get to give me things, Abby. You have taken too much from me to ever repay.” And I’ve taken just as much from you. Maybe more. Ellie groans again, eyelids fluttering as she gives her hips another sharp roll forward, the coarse fabric of her jeans compressed just right when framed against the rigid muscle that made up Abby’s midsection. “You’re lucky I stayed around to play your fucked up game of happy family.” I’m lucky you pulled me onto that boat. 

Ellie feels her body folding over, her position of control slowly slipping away as her hips roll their way up and down, the outline of Abby’s core just prominent enough through her tank top to let Ellie chase this fantasy. She grunts under her breath, eyes shut for just one second until she hears a quiet yelp and feels Abby buck from underneath her. The sudden upwards pressure caused Ellie’s jaw to drop and her body to sit back up to readjust. 

She stares down, dumbstruck at the sight under her. It wasn’t serious. A crimson line just bright enough over her throat. Nothing deep. Nothing that won’t heal. Nothing that would seriously hurt Abby but that sound… The raw expulsion of sound and air as the knife made contact was something Ellie couldn’t ignore. Her hand comes free from Abby’s mouth, sliding down so the edge of a finger can trace over the few rising welts of blood coming from Abby, smearing back and forth as Abby remained under her, still watching her with cautious eyes. 

Ellie licks her lips. She needs to hear Abby like that again. With the burning ache in her core, she knows that’s what she needs. She keeps her eyes on Abby, biting down on her own bottom lip as she drags her knife downwards. The tip aching its way over the fabric of Abby’s top, rising and falling with her breathing as Ellie reels her hand back ever so slowly.

Ellie gives in, her eyes lidding just enough to hide the excitement within them as she trails her blade just to the edge of her own hips, pointed tip pressing into Abby’s stomach from where her top had ridden up (due to their scuffle and the misgivings of Ellie’s own hips). 

Abby goes to speak once more but Ellie merely shakes her head. The hand that had caressed the soft cut over her throat following the lead of her blade downwards over her frame. A pathetic crimson etching over fabric before, without provocation Ellie balls her fist and yanks hard, pulling Abby’s top upwards as the edge of her knife catches into it and with one violent thrust the entire thing is shredded in two, splaying itself out and over her sides.

Abby gasps, arms flying upwards to try and cover her shame, grab at Ellie’s wrist, slap the knife away anything at all but her movements are still as the tip comes to rest right atop her belly button.

It’s always a sight to behold. Muscle regain is far easier than pure growth and despite their nomadic lifestyle, Abby had managed to pack on some of her once trademark size. It was almost mesmerizing to Ellie, the curves and ridges of her abdominals, tapering downwards from a pair of breasts that if in a kinder world Ellie would comment on being ever so cute.

The cushion of Abby’s flesh, equal parts soft and hard, pressed taut beneath her, involuntarily flexed upwards by Abby to try and relieve the pressure of Ellie dead weighting herself atop Abby and by design to try and foolishly keep the tip of the knife at bay. Ellie licks her lips as she takes in every scarred bump of tissue and fading bruise, and feels an ache run through her to touch and kiss over all of them. To invariably push herself into the map of Abby’s life more than she had already done so. 

“Ellie… please just… just don’t do anything rash.” Abby’s breathing is slow. Deliberate in how deep and paced it was coming out, as if she was trying to reign in a wild animal, trying to steel herself for stepping forward into what should be a painful, bloody end. But Abby knew better. She had felt Ellie’s bones break under her grip before, heard the shouts and sounds Ellie’s body was capable of, what Ellie was capable of pulling out of her and time and time again they had performed this dance. Abby knew Ellie couldn’t kill her. 

And Ellie knew she couldn’t kill Abby. Not when she’s like this, when her bottom lip trembles ever so slightly, how her hands hover just ever so slightly off from her hips, as if she’s afraid to grab Ellie, commit to what they’re both seeking right now. Ellie laughs, the tip of her blade pressing just right, a sharp and sudden burn that comes about agonizingly slow. It’s a methodical cut, nothing deep but enough for Ellie to relish, to make her statement. That this is what she will give to Abby, as Abby will give under her, pain in just the right amount and pleasure in the same. 

Abby’s jaw pulls tight, teeth grinding together hard and all of a sudden her mind is pulled back to the memory of a particularly egregious deadlift attempt years back. How her core burned tight as she heaved her hips forward, the entire body strain equally horrific yet addictive and right now, under the far-too gentle weight of Ellie’s knife, her body repeats this action.

She commits, hands finally sinking into the sharp angles of the smaller woman’s hips and holding her steady as she bucks upwards, the raw muscle of her core pressing just right into Ellie’s crotch and the sound Ellie makes upon Abby’s reciprocal grind is perfect. 

Ellie almost keels over, her eyes shutting tightly to try and hide the way they threatened to roll in on themselves as Abby’s strong hands grab a hold of her, pinning her hips into place atop the etched slots of her toned abdominals. Thick fingers curl into the curve of Ellie’s ass and pull her forth, a slow compressive force right into the heat between Ellie’s thighs and it makes her toes curl into the soles of her Converse as she almost doubles over, stopping just short of where she wants because any further and that knife is going to push too far for Ellie’s liking. 

Abby wheezes in response, the slight addition of pressure from Ellie losing herself more into the friction of her jeans bunching against the blonde’s core drawing her breath outwards. The sting of Ellie’s blade still a factor as Abby feels the sparking burn of splitting skin under its weight. But it’s soft. The harshness of steel counterbalanced with how Ellie is almost reluctant to make that final push. To sever Abby from her life permanently and that… that has to be something.

Abby takes another deep breath, hands holding Ellie steady as she proceeds to drag her up and down over the subtle slope of her abdominals, every effort put forth to pull more of those breathless groans from Ellie’s throat. 

“Just… breathe girl, you just take what you need,” Abby tries to keep her voice level, tries to act as if any of this is normal, that the blade digging into her stomach wasn’t there and that the girl seated atop her chest, humping herself into her stomach wasn’t this broken. That the connecting factor between them wasn’t this poisoned, wasn’t something that made them so volatile but that’s just wishful thinking, childish fantasies and Abby had long sealed that part of her away. This is what they were and there was nothing wrong with relishing in the reality of it.

The reality of Ellie’s half lidding eyes and gaping jaw, the way she squirmed just the right amount when Abby sunk her fingers deep into her hips, almost furious that Ellie had pants on while she had her upper half bare. Each squeeze causing Ellie to gasp and slip the knife to a new portion of her stomach, another shallow crimson coated divot carved into her flesh, as Ellie continues to chase her release. 

“God just look at you… careful now, don’t want to go and make a mess right?” The teasing twinge to Abby’s voice made Ellie pout, literally pout. As if the wild, snarling dog had been reduced to a whimpering bitch in heat. Before Ellie can retort, Abby, with hands still firmly holding her in place, makes one harsh motion to pull her forward and the sheer pressure of it all causes Ellie to squeal in pleasure. 

Ellie’s body gives in, chest coming down flush to press into Abby’s bare skin. She tries her best to remain collected, as if that’s a viable option, with rivulets of spit rolling over her chin as Ellie almost lackadaisically slots her knife back into Abby’s throat, but the violence is subdued now, the blade nowhere near something as vital as a jugular vein, just slovenly pressed into the underside of Abby’s jaw. Less of a threat and more the vapid attempt of Ellie to pretend like this is still a fight, that it's something other than the lewd motions of two desperate people. 

She thinks she likes it to be a fight. The physicality in it doing something to make the damp patch in her jeans grow even wetter, the slick sound of soaked fabric squelching into Abby’s stomach as Ellie tries to swallow back her moans. 

“Just… j-just shut up, shut up… okay, shut up and let me ah-ahhh…” Ellie’s voice trails off into a distorted guttural moan, every muscle in her body seemingly coiled down into a tight spring and aching for release. She can feel her brow get damp with sweat, her head hanging limply against Abby’s bust, the pert mountains of muscle and flesh that made up Abby’s breasts bouncing right into her eye line as Abby does all the work.

She always does. She carried Ellie into that boat and into this life and here she was, giving Ellie exactly what she needed, and Ellie was thankful for it. 

Thankful that the cuts she had drawn over Abby could meekly smear themselves over her chest as Ellie lay atop her. Thankful that her legs could give out and hang uselessly over Abby’s waist, as Abby, only Abby pulls her towards her impending orgasm.

Abby lets out a huff of exertion, taking the risk of yet another cut to nurse as she angles her head down to bury her nose into the crown of Ellie’s tussled hair, huffing the addictive scent of Ellie as she further debases herself into Abby. Her lips part and she presses down a kiss. Soft, fleeting, a press of reassurance as Ellie lets out another gasp as the seam of her jeans grinds straight into her throbbing clit at just the right angle for her body to shake in Abby’s grip as a result.

“That’s it. That’s it Ellie. Need me like this to get yourself off, go ahead, do it, take it from me.” Abby mutters into Ellie’s scalp as she feels the telltale signs of Ellie’s impending climax. 

Ellie’s jaw contorts wide as she lets out a wordless cry of pleasure into Abby’s chest, the grip on her knife finally relenting, falling away and clattering to the floor so she can push herself up just enough to bury her face into the warmth of Abby’s throat. She whimpered, her body hot and her lips parted just enough to hover over the same neck she had held a knife against, the same neck with tendons straining as Abby dragged her closer and closer to the edge.

Ellie’s keening loudly, her empty hands now gripping weakly onto Abby’s shoulders, as if this woman, this testament to Ellie’s nightmares was the only thing that she needed to weather the storm that was this new life. 

Ellie’s voice is wavering as the heat and damp and friction within the crotch of her jeans becomes overwhelming, almost painful as her body gives in. Her body, her pleasure, this entire situation is in Abby’s hands right now. Strong hands that hold her tight, that grip her like a lifeline, that can keep Ellie on edge even as her body fades into the perfect collapse of over stimulation, that squeeze her just right to get more and more breathless gasps from her as she sobs into the warmth of Abby’s throat.

Ellie can feel it, feel the tightness in her core becoming more and more unbearable, a violent crescendo to an irrevocable violent connection. With a voice that falters, Ellie hiccups a hushed apology, a plea, a slurred whisper of reverence that’s far too gentle for the two of them. 

Abby doesn’t want to hear it. Not now. Not when Ellie is so wet and weak. Not when the ache of the cuts over her stomach still sting enough to remind her of their existence. Not when she wants to try and do right. So one of her hands frees itself (reluctantly) from Ellie’s hips, a movement that pulls a soft whine of disapproval from the smaller woman that is quickly silenced as Abby returns Ellie’s earlier favor.

She clamps a meaty palm over parted lips and silences her, stuffs the apologies away to die in her throat. Not wanting them to spoil this, spoil the peak Ellie was about to topple over. 

Ellie gurgles into Abby’s palm, lips parted and tongue outstretched in… what it was neither Ellie or Abby could guess. Reverence? Displeasure? Adoration? It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing in this moment besides the whimpers of a woman losing herself, mixing alongside the sound of two bodies grinding and rolling into one another. 

It snaps so suddenly, a violent reflexive shuddering down the entire length of Ellie’s spine as she feels her body spasm, hips suddenly coming to life once again as she makes a frenetic attempt to somehow dry hump an apology into Abby’s chest. Tears in her eyes as she feels herself clench around nothing but the soaked fabric of her underwear, the throbbing ache of her clit as it sends the reverberating, body-shocking pulse of release through her. 

Ellie climaxes. Atop Abby’s bare, bloodstained chest with nothing more than swallowed memories and soiled jeans to show for it. And she couldn’t be happier for it.

Her movements still, Abby’s grip softens and the pressure she had been applying in holding Ellie in place finally relents. The hand on Ellie’s hip slips up to grab a reassuring-no-restraining hold over the small of Ellie’s back to hold her in place, while the hand over her mouth comes free to cup at flushed, panting cheeks as spit-coated lips babble an incoherent string of insults, apologies and thanks to Abby. 

It’s fucked up. It’s deplorable. It’s desperate and pathetic. And it’s all they had. 

The clean up is detached. Wordless. Backpacks opened, bandages and antiseptic applied, spit wiped away and hair shaken back into place. The tattered remains of Abby’s shirt exchanged for Ellie’s jacket and for a second, a beautiful, fleeting second, that both would think about long after this day ends, Ellie takes the time to do it up for Abby. Eight still shaking fingers, tenderly weaving buttons upwards, a quiet wince coming from Abby as she feels the tight hug of it against her freshly bandaged wounds.  The walk back to the safe house is lethargic, what little words are exchanged revolve around wondering what Lev had been up to in their absence. Perhaps they walk a little more in step this time, a little more shoulder to shoulder with the only barrier being the only in-shape guitar in the entire place. Ellie swears she remembers how to tune it. 

“You know if you want to learn so bad, I won’t go easy on you.” Ellie mutters. 

“Oh I’m sure you’ll be ruthless.” Abby winces slightly, a hand coming up to pat her chest, the ache of wounds fading away as the two trudge back to normality.