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Bill didn’t survive the last four years by seeing the best in people. He’s always been generally wary of the world around him, even before this whole mess started. Optimists don’t normally spend years building bunkers on the off chance that disaster strikes.
His mother had always given him hell for being such a pessimist. “I’m a realist,” he would tell her. “Someday you’ll see, and you’ll be grateful.”
She didn’t make it long enough to be grateful. There was no satisfaction in being right. There was only survival.
Frank isn’t the first wanderer to end up on his land. Most of them don’t last long enough to have a conversation with Bill. At the end of the world, a broken ankle can be a death sentence. Bill doesn’t feel any guilt about that; he knows that a stranger on his property could just as easily lead to his own demise.
He lets Frank live. That should be enough. Anything else is beyond reckless, and Bill has never been reckless. No amount of smooth talking or smiles that make his heart beat faster will make Bill invite him in.
Bill invites him in. Sure, he pats him down for weapons first, and then immediately makes him strip down to shower. Frank has a little height on him, but Bill is armed and prepared to take him down before Frank even raises a finger toward him.
Even still, it’s terrifying. No one has been behind his gates before. No one has seen what he’s built for himself. It’s the biggest risk he’s taken in four years. That’s what makes his heart race and his palms sweat. It has nothing to do with the fact that there’s a beauti—that’s there’s a man naked in his shower. Nothing at all.
His mother taught him well. There hasn’t been a place for hospitality since this whole thing started, but now he finds himself pulling out all the stops. A few extra minutes of a precious resource so Frank can enjoy the first shower he’s probably had in years. The nice glassware. The chargers under the dinner plates. A bottle of his favorite Beaujolais.
Bill has never been looked at by a man like Frank before. Before this mess started, a man like Frank wouldn’t have given him a second glance. And Bill would’ve told himself he was grateful for that because he knew what getting glances from men like Frank would mean.
But now… Now Bill finds himself blushing under Frank’s gaze. Bill can’t remember the last time he received a compliment. It was an extraordinarily rare occurrence even before the end of the world. Frank doles them out like they’re nothing, like they’re not rocking Bill to his very core. The food, the house, the no, you do that has Bill so flustered that he stumbles awkwardly back into his seat. He can barely look at Frank, because the wonder and awe and childlike delight that he sees every time he does is nearly blinding.
They eat in mostly silence, only interrupted by Frank’s occasional sound of enjoyment as he finishes his meal. Bill looks down at his plate, unable to think about anything other than the fact that he’s never going to see this man again. He should be running through every possibility in his head: was Frank sent here by someone? Is he going to give intel about Bill’s place to some group of raiders when he leaves? Is Frank quietly plotting some scheme to attack Bill when he’s unaware? But none of those thoughts can stick in his head, because Bill’s head is too full of I’m never going to see this man again running in a loop that feels a little faster and a little more panicked with each repetition. It shouldn’t matter. Bill has spent the last four years on his own. He was expecting to spend the rest of his life alone—and given that alone was synonymous with alive in his head, he’d never been bothered by that at all.
And yet.
The thought of Frank finishing his meal and walking out the door is making Bill feel… something. Something he can’t put a name to, but that is consuming his every thought to the point that he finds himself offering Frank a second helping in the hopes it might extend his stay for even a moment longer.
It doesn’t, but the piano does. Bill hasn’t touched his mother’s piano much apart from keeping it in tune. He feels something tight in his chest at the sight of someone else going through his things, of pressing their fingers to the keys. Frank isn’t the worst singer he’s heard, but it still grates at Bill. It’s wrong, and it’s wrong in Bill’s space, and it meshes with the unsettling feeling in his gut until Bill can’t help but burst out to make it stop.
Bill hasn’t played for anyone but his mother in decades, ever since his one and only failed concert when he was no older than nine. He doesn’t like people staring at him, or at least, he hadn’t back when there had been people around to stare at him. He’d frozen under the bright lights of the community center, and after a few long moments he’d been ushered back off the stage. His lessons had continued because his mother enjoyed hearing him play—and maybe because he enjoyed it as well, although that had never mattered to his mother much—but he’d never performed for an audience again.
Frank doesn’t feel like an audience in the same way. Bill can feel the heat of his gaze on his back as he plays, but instead of feeling stifling, it just feels… warm. Maybe if he plays for him, Frank’s eyes will light up again with that boyish delight. Maybe he’ll casually drop another compliment that Bill knows he’ll remember for the rest of his life. Maybe he’ll smile again in the way no one’s ever smiled at Bill before, and Bill will feel that clench in his stomach that’s equal parts terrifying and euphoric.
“So, who’s the girl? Girl you’re singing about,” Frank asks.
“There is no girl.” His voice is tight. It’s a confession, something he’s never told anyone.
He hasn’t even really told himself, if he’s being honest. He’s averted his eyes in locker rooms. He’s laughed at jokes that he doesn’t find funny. He knows what it means to be a man. He knows what’s expected of him. Once there wasn’t anyone around to expect anything from him, he’d started to let his guard down. He can enjoy a vintage wine. He can take the time to care about the presentation of his food, letting the summer he’d worked at an upscale restaurant in the city all the way back in his teens guide him through how he knows things should be. He can put on the kind of record that gets men beat up without worrying about anyone overhearing. And now, he can sit here next to this man that’s somehow pushed through all of Bill’s defenses, and he can tell the truth.
“I know.” Two words, warm and kind. Bill feels exposed, like he’s ripped open his chest and shown Frank his most vulnerable spots, like he’s walked outside of his perimeter without a single weapon. He wants to run away. Frank’s hand reaches out, warm and sure on Bill’s shoulder, and Bill is rooted in place.
He’s never been so scared in his life.
He’s never wanted anything so badly.
Frank moves slowly, making his intentions clear as he leans down. Bill can feel the tears in his eyes, and he’s sure Frank can see them. He meets Frank’s lips, leaning into the kiss. Suddenly, Bill isn’t frozen anymore. He clings to Frank, standing up and clutching him tight, desperate to be closer. He has no idea what he’s doing. He just knows he never wants it to stop.
When they pull apart, there are tears in Frank’s eyes too. When was the last time Frank was touched like this? Could it possibly feel as electric and life changing as it does to Bill?
“What’s your name?”
Bill has already let Frank in this much. It isn’t scary at all to let him in a little further.
“Bill.”
He likes the way his name sounds in Frank’s mouth. He can’t remember the last time anyone used his name. He can’t even remember the last person he’d talked to before everything fell to shit. He thinks that maybe he’s missed hearing his name—but then, had anyone ever said Bill’s name like this before? Like they want him?
He gets one more kiss, and it’s just as earth-shattering as the first.
He feels the weight of what’s to come as he showers. He knows how it goes between two men, mostly thanks to years of jokes in locker rooms combined with a handful of magazines hidden deep in the recesses of his closet. There’s no one around to find them, and yet they still don’t see the light very often. He’s never been able to picture himself in any of the things the men in his magazines are doing. He doesn’t know what role Frank expects him to play. He doesn’t know if he’ll be any good at it.
Bill is a rational man. He knows what he has to offer Frank: a life unlike the life he must have had back at Baltimore QZ. A life that’s comfortable, full of so many of the luxuries Frank hasn’t experienced since the outbreak. If Frank is a smart man, he’ll know the value of what he’s walked into. He’ll be willing to do anything to keep it. It won’t have anything to do with Bill at all, but rather with the life Bill has built.
Bill thinks he can be okay with that. It’s a trade. Safety and security for Frank in exchange for Bill feeling like Frank cares about him. Like Frank sees him in a way he’s never been seen. Perhaps it should make Bill feel pathetic, like he’s only being used, but he’s too pragmatic for that. He’s going to take every ounce of affection that Frank is willing to offer. He’s going to let himself have this.
Stepping out of the bathroom is still one of the hardest things he’s ever done. He wants to pull his clothing back on, but he could hear Frank coming into his bedroom as he showered. He’s waiting for Bill. Regardless of what he thinks about Bill’s body, he’s willing to do this. Maybe he even wants it too, on some level. Bill really wants that to be true.
He takes a breath, steeling himself before stepping out of the bathroom. Frank is shirtless in his bed, but before Bill can fully take that in, he’s distracted by the way Frank is looking at him. Bill thinks he might do anything for Frank to keep looking at him that way. Frank reaches out to drop Bill’s towel, and then he pulls back the sheet, inviting Bill in. Climbing under the covers feels a little safer, but he can’t ignore the delicious body heat radiating off of Frank. Frank moves closer, easily invading his space as if it’s not a revolutionary act. He slides his hand on Bill’s chest, and the touch is grounding enough to help Bill get the words out when Frank asks if he’s ever done this before.
He’d slept with his prom date back in high school. They’d grown up together, stumbling into a relationship because it had seemed like what everyone had expected. She was nice and sweet. She got along well with his mother. He’d known how he was supposed to feel about her, and his mother had made enough comments about going ring shopping after graduation for Bill to know what was supposed to come next. A few weeks later she’d told him she’d gotten into college a few states over, and Bill had been a little embarrassed by how much relief he felt at the natural end to their relationship.
She was probably dead now. If Bill had stayed with her, maybe she wouldn’t be. He doesn’t let himself think about that.
And right now, he can’t think about anything except the way Frank’s hand is moving over his chest. “I’m going to start with the simple things,” Frank tells him. Bill isn’t sure he even knows what the simple things are, but if they’re anything like the delicious burn of Frank’s fingers sliding against his nipple, he knows he wants them.
“But before I do,” Frank continues, “I want you to know that I’m not a whore. I don’t have sex for lunches, not even great ones.”
He swings his leg over Bill, climbing on top of him so that their entire bodies are pressed together. He’s so close to Bill that his breath ghosts against Bill’s lips as he talks. Bill can feel Frank’s cock heavy and warm against Bill’s leg. His own cock is so hard it’s leaking, the tip dragging against Frank’s hairy chest. Bill reaches out to wrap his arms around Frank without letting himself think about it.
“So if I do this,” Frank says, his thumb sliding delicately against Bill’s cheek, “I am gonna stay for a few more days. Is that okay?”
“Yeah. Yes.” Bill agrees before he can think about it. He’s not sure he believes Frank. He’s not sure that this is anything more than an exchange of resources. But no matter what, it means that Frank is willing to let Bill believe that he’s wanted. He’s willing to pretend. Right now, that’s more than enough.
When Frank kisses him, Bill feels completely surrounded. He feels cherished. Frank’s mouth is so soft against his as he slowly trails kisses down Bill’s jaw. He’s never felt someone’s lips on his neck before, or trailing down his chest. He’d never known so many different parts of his body could be so sensitive.
Bill jerks off because of course he does, but it’s never been anything other than meeting one of his body’s needs. Not all that different from showering or brushing his teeth, other than the mild guilt he’d sometimes felt as a teenager. This is unlike anything he’s felt before. How is it that Frank can make him come undone like this? Sex has always seemed like a vaguely unpleasant ordeal, rife with awkwardness and uncomfortable proximity to bodily fluids. Bill finally feels like he understands why people always seemed to want it so badly. He watches Frank with wide eyes, grateful when the blanket falls away so that he can see. There’s an inherent vulnerability in letting his cock so near someone’s teeth, but the only fear Bill feels is that this moment won’t last.
“Oh,” he gasps, arching up into the first brush of Frank’s lips on his inner thigh. His cock hasn’t even been touched yet, and he already feels like he’s right at the edge.
“I’ve got you,” Frank says softly, running his hands down Bill’s legs. “Just lie back and let me make you feel good, okay?”
“Okay,” Bill agrees in a shaky voice. “I might not—I won’t last long,” he admits, his face burning with a familiar flush.
“Lucky me,” Frank says with a grin that’s so charming Bill feels like he’s burning with it. “Because I can’t wait to watch you fall apart.”
Bill might come untouched just from Frank’s soft voice. Every word Frank says is more devastating than the last. He might not survive this. He doesn’t fucking care.
Frank’s hand wraps around Bill’s cock, giving him a few slow strokes. “You’re gorgeous,” he tells Bill, sliding his thumb through the sticky precome at his tip. “And so responsive,” he adds after Bill’s sharp inhale.
“Please,” Bill begs, not sure if he’s more desperate for Frank’s mouth or for Frank to stop saying such beautiful things. He reaches down, clutching at Frank’s shoulder as if it’s a lifeline, the only thing tethering him from floating up out of this bed and straight through the ceiling.
“Here,” Frank offers, taking Bill’s hand and moving it up to curl into his hair. “Be gentle, but I don’t mind a little tugging.”
“I won’t hurt you,” Bill says. I won’t let anyone hurt you, he thinks.
Frank presses a kiss to his hip, smiling up at him again. “I know you won’t, sweetheart. I trust you.”
You shouldn’t, Bill thinks. How has Frank lived this long? He imagines Frank setting back out into the woods, unarmed and trusting and sweet and kind and definitely ending up dead within a week.
Frank moves his mouth down, pressing a gentle kiss over the hair at the base of Bill’s cock as he strokes him. “Warn me before you come,” he tells Bill. “But other than that, just relax, yeah? Let me take care of you.”
It really does feel like being taken care of. Frank pulls back enough to slide his tongue over the head of Bill’s cock, suckling it into his mouth. It’s obvious that he’s done this before, his movements practiced and confident. It makes Bill wonder about Frank’s life before all of this. Had he been open about who he was? Had he had a life filled with touch and warmth and happiness? Bill can’t help but hope that he had.
Frank’s hair is soft in his fingers. He doesn’t pull, but he lets his hand cup Frank’s head like he’s holding something precious. He gasps with each movement of Frank’s tongue, each hot burst of suction as Frank takes him down deeper than Bill thought possible outside of the magazines. Frank’s mouth is the best thing Bill has ever felt, second only to the way his heart squeezes in his chest when he meets Frank’s eyes, soft and dancing with something near joy.
“I’m going to come,” Bill gasps out in warning, starting to pull his hand away so that Frank can move off of his cock. But Frank just shoots him a wink, sinking down a little further. His throat flutters around Bill, and that’s all it takes to have him crying out, his head falling against his pillow as he comes. Frank swallows around him, sucking him through it.
“Oh my god,” Bill says breathlessly, his chest heaving as he comes down from his orgasm.
“That good?” Frank asks, pulling off of Bill’s over-sensitive cock to grin at him.
“I didn’t know it could feel like that,” Bill tells him. He can’t help but be honest when Frank looks so goddamn earnest.
“It only gets better from there,” Frank tells him. Bill feels something near hope bloom in his chest at the suggestion of doing this again, of having more time with Frank.
“I want to—” It’s hard for Bill to get the words out. He’s never been a very verbose man, and years of isolation have made him rusty. Even before, he’d never been the type to talk about this kind of thing. But Frank’s eyes meet his, patiently waiting for Bill to finish speaking, and Bill finds himself wanting to become the type of man who can talk about this. “Can I do that to you?” he finally manages to say.
“You don’t have to if you’re not ready,” Frank tells him, giving his hip a gentle squeeze. “But if you’d really like to, I’m certainly not going to tell you no.”
“I’m ready,” Bill says, believing it as soon as the words are out. It’s the end of the world. If he’s not ready now, he’ll never be. He sits up a little, and Frank follows his movement, getting up on his knees and sitting back on his heels. It makes Bill’s eyes narrow in on his cock, which is hard and flushed against Frank’s fuzzy stomach.
“Like what you see?” Frank asks, and Bill rips his eyes away, embarrassed to be caught out. “Hey, no,” Frank says, reaching out to cup Bill’s face. “You can look at me. I want you to look at me.”
After a lifetime of being told not to look at other men, Frank’s easy permission is enough to bring fresh tears to Bill’s eyes. He doesn’t let them fall, leaning forward to kiss Frank again. He can taste himself on Frank’s tongue, and that has him moaning into the kiss.
“My turn,” he says, pulling away to let himself look at Frank again. He reaches out, letting his hand slide down Frank’s stomach. He loves how hairy he is, how firm his stomach is against Bill’s hand. There’s no ignoring the fact that this is a man in Bill’s bed, especially not when Bill’s hand finally wraps around Frank’s cock.
“See? You’re a natural,” Frank laughs, pressing up into Bill’s touch.
“Tell me what to do,” Bill says, meeting Frank’s eyes. “Tell me how to make you feel good.”
“Fuck, that’s hot,” Frank groans. Bill’s struck with how powerful it makes him feel. He did that. He pulled that noise out of Frank. He’s immediately desperate to make it happen again.
Frank moves so that he’s sitting against the headboard, and Bill awkwardly climbs between his legs, lying on his stomach in a mirror of the way Frank had sucked him earlier. He wraps his hand around Frank’s cock again, sliding his thumb over the head the way Frank had done to him. He doesn’t have as much precome, though, and instead of a smooth glide it’s more of a rough drag, enough that Bill can see the muscles in Frank's stomach clenching as he winces.
“Sorry,” Bill says, pulling his hand away.
“Just a little dry,” Frank tells him. He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind Bill’s ear. It’s such a soft gesture, almost as soft as the look in Frank’s eyes. It’s too much. Bill leans down, doing his best to keep his teeth out of the way as he sucks Frank into his mouth.
“There you go,” Frank says, his voice soft and quiet. He cups Bill’s cheek, his thumb sliding over his cheekbone reverently. “Don’t try to take too much. You can use your hand too.”
Everything’s easier once Bill’s spit is smoothing the way. Bill can’t bring himself to look up at Frank, so he closes his eyes, trying to focus entirely on making this good for Frank. He tries not to think about how much he loves the hot weight of Frank’s cock against his tongue or about how fucking good he smells, lest it distract him from the task at hand. But even with his focus, he can’t ignore the sounds Frank makes. Soft moans, little gasps, and a steady stream of praise that has Bill’s toes curling against the sheets.
“Oh, fuck, darling, that’s so good,” Frank tells him. “You’re making me feel so good. That’s it, just like that.”
It makes Bill feel like this isn’t quite so one-sided. Maybe Frank sucking his cock was about having a safe place to stay, but surely this isn’t. Frank wants this. Bill can take care of Frank the same way that Frank took care of Bill. And maybe if he’s good enough, Frank will want this again.
It takes Frank much longer than it had taken Bill. Bill learns what Frank likes. He learns to follow the gentle pressure of Frank’s hand as he guides Bill, to listen to each shift in his breath as he shows Bill what he wants. He can tell when Frank is close, can feel him getting harder in his mouth, and the powerful feeling from before is back two-fold.
“Pull off, sweetheart,” Frank tells him. Bill is tempted to refuse so that he can try his hand at swallowing, but he doesn’t want to risk ruining the mood by choking so he complies. He strokes Frank through it, groaning as he watches Frank shoot off all over his stomach. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“Fuck,” Frank says breathlessly, collapsing back against the bed. Bill looks down at his come-covered hand, not entirely sure what to do with it. Now that it’s over he feels more awkward than ever, frozen in place on the bed. “Oh, sorry,” Frank says with a laugh when he notices. He sits up, reaching for the discarded towel on the floor and offering it to Bill. Bill uses the towel to clean his hand, and then he drags it over Frank’s stomach. They’ll both need another shower. Two showers in one day is indulgent. A waste of resources. Bill doesn’t even give a fuck.
Frank pulls him forward until they’re both lying on their sides facing each other. Frank cuddles close, tucking Bill’s head up against his chest. Bill feels himself letting go of the tension in his shoulder, letting the awkwardness fade away as he rests against Frank.
“Thank you,” he says in a quiet voice. “That meant a lot to me.”
Frank’s hand is in his hair again, curling a lock around his finger. Bill feels the warm press of Frank’s lips against his temple. “Today has meant a lot to me,” Frank says. “I’m really happy I found you.”
“You found my trap,” Bill clarifies, smiling against Frank’s chest. “You’re lucky you stumbled on one of the least lethal of my traps.”
“I’m very lucky,” Frank agrees as he strokes his hair. Bill knows that he’s right. Frank’s lucky to be alive right now, luckier still to be in one of the safest places he could’ve found. But in this moment, Bill feels like he might be the lucky one.