Leah

You know he's not a bad person per se, just fucking stubborn and hard headed; if he headed out to help, he'd probably start arguing with someone about them not doing something the way he thinks it needs to be done.

People wonder how you're together - you, the one who goes around doing odd jobs to help everyone, and him, the one who stays far away from any signs of life.

(They don't know you've known him since you were children, and have thrown hands more than a handful of times. They also don't know he confessed a couple years ago, with a simple hand-picked bouquet and flushed cheeks, staring at you as if you were the hardest mission of his life.)

"Sit the fuck down."

Randall doesn't need to be told twice; he sits on one of the seats by the middle, one where he knows has a curtain so he can draw it and avoid being seen by one of the creatures outside.

They like to taunt him, listening to his muffled noises, and sometimes he has to go after you, angrily stalking to a window to give them your middle finger, cussing loudly as they just smile.

Tonight, however, they're dispersed - you don't know what the fuck is going on, but it's better this way. Randall has drawn the curtains, pushing the reclining seat all the way back, a smug grin on his face.

"You fucking knew, didn't you?" You ask, and his cheeks start to flush a pale red, easily showing under his milky skin. "You knew I was going to Colony house and pissed off Donna."

"I didn't do shit." He bluffs, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes stare into yours, and you feel the urge to strangle him.

"She cussed at me, Randall. Because of you." You hiss.

Although Donna usually held herself back near you, knowing you were sturdy but actually teared up when people swore at you, this time just seeing your face reminded her of the way Randall got on her nerves.

You had no doubt she'd apologize later, but for now, you were still mad.

Randall spread his legs, his bulge already tenting his underwear as he slipped off his pants. He placed them neatly on the seat beside him, a grin on his face.

"You little shit." You groan, but stalk up to him anyway. He fidgets slightly, and adjusts the seat so he's half-sitting, half-laying down.

"You spend too much time with her." He grumbles, looking down. You can see his brows furrow, and you laugh as you see an almost-pout on his face.

"Oh, is that it?" You ask, squatting in front of Randall. "You're jealous, so you pissed her off?"

You reach for the lever, pulling it all the way. Randall yelps as the seat reclines all the way back, his head softly hitting the plush cushion.

"Brat." You chuckle, sitting beside him. He just looks up at you, pale cheeks completely flushed, and cock hard as a rock.

At the first touch of your hand over his clothed dick, he hisses. His arm comes up, covering his eyes as he huffs out a breath. "Just jerk it already."

Your brows shoot up, and you swat at his thigh, the smack echoing throughout the bus. He jolts, a sharp hiss leaving his lips, but he's still covering his eyes - he can't see your disappointed looks.

"When have I ever done that?" You ask, and tug at the waistband of his boxers, pulling it and letting it snap back against Randall's navel.

"Fuck!" He groans, sitting up quickly. His eyes are wild, narrowed to slits as he looks at you.

"When will you stop being a bitch?"

Randall takes a few seconds to answer, fingers clutching the plush cushion on either side of his thighs. "I,"

He inhales deeply, looking down.

"I'm sorry for pissing off Donna. I won't do it again." He says, and looks up at you. His eyes search yours, and he takes one of your hands, lacing your fingers together. "If I want your attention, I'll seek you and ask for it."

Your heart does a little flippy flop as Randall's eyes gaze into yours; it's been so long since you've seen them for the first time, but it always takes your breath away - how they look like sparkling malachite, bright and intense.

"Good." You finally say, and he visibly relaxes, letting go of your hand.

You reach into his underwear, freeing his cock without pulling the fabric down, and he hisses; you're feeling a little desperate today, but it's fine.

"Now, what got you so... Pent up?"

Randall breathes in sharply, a pretty ruddy blush flooding his cheeks as you kneel on the seat beside his own, bowing your back to blow on his wet tip - the spongy skin is flushed, glistening as precum slowly gathers on his slit.

He gulps, laying his head on the set with a dull sound. "You- shit, you haven't touched me in a few days."

You chuckle, tongue flicking out to lap at that single drop of pre, laving over the slit. "That's all?"

You drape your free arm over Randall's hips, before he can try to buck up into your mouth. A cute, breathless 'hah!' escapes his lips, and you lick a stripe up the underside of his shaft.

"Oh, fuck!" He grunts, and you can see he really is desperate - more than you.

So you do what any loving, willing partner would do - wrap your pretty lips around his cock, slowly taking him into your mouth.

You breathe in through your nose, hollowing your cheeks as Randall keeps grunting and moaning. It would be cute, really, if you weren't feeling your nether regions ache with desire.

So, with renewed vigor and the urge to make your lovely boyfriend come at least once, you wrap your hand around the rest of his cock, and set to work.

What follows is a symphony of its own - Randall's voice is a staccato, only short words and garbled noises leaving his mouth as his eyes roll back, dick twitching in your mouth.

"Ah- like that, yes!"

You suck around his cock, running your tongue up as you bob your head. When you get to the tip, you let only the spongy head stay inside the warmth of your mouth, sucking harder at it, feeling the precum pour on your tongue.

But the high point of this whole thing is when Randall's nails scratch at the seat cushion, eyes rolled into his skull as he literally sobs when you take all of his shaft in one swoop, his tip hitting your throat.

It's a chain reaction: you gag slightly, he moans loudly, his cock twitches and down your throat goes most of his cum.

You pull off, a wet sound echoing through the bus as his dick softens, a line of saliva and sticky semen still connecting to your lips. A light cough is all you manage, breathing in whatever air you can muster while Randall lays limp on the seat.

You huff out a laugh at his fully relaxed state, giving his shaft a last lick, and tuck it back into his boxers. When you sit back on your haunches, your boyfriend opens his eyes, his forehead damp and his hairy chest thoroughly flushed.

"Was that good enough?" You ask, a teasing smile on your face.

"Hn." He answers, a deep sigh leaving his lips. He reaches out, taking both your hands in his, and pulls you up - struggling as he does so, trying to adjust your body.

Your brows furrow, and you look at him, confused, when the damned blush on his face deepens.

"Just sit on my damn face now."

"Hah." You snicker, shuffling up.

Can't believe the audacity of this man.

Outside, the creatures whisper and mock somewhere, people hide away in their houses, dreaming of leaving this nightmare.

But for now, you and Randall have each other - and that is more than enough.