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The smile fastened itself to Bucky's lips, inseparable. He let out an impulsive laugh that shook up his throat. He was in the dirt and crawling for his life from a zombie, from the zombie, and even still, inexplicable trills echoed up and down his legs.
He couldn't get up. It had to be terror. He was just so scared of what he'd created.
And yet he could only just find the strength to inch a morsel backwards. Another. Dirt flecked his palms, grating under his skin. Backwards he crept, until his arms ached all over and he couldn't manage another measly bit.
Freedom, his mind begged. But there would be none for him. He heard Zed's banshee-like howl, and an uncomfortable heat gushed through his cheeks. His heart stuttered. He could barely swallow, his mouth was so hot.
Zed crashed down before him, swallowing up Bucky's lead whole. His body, overridden by its primal tendencies, shuddered with a strength Bucky could only imagine. He flexed as he approached Bucky, ducking below the bleachers and creeping closer, closer, closer until there was so little air between them Bucky could feel Zed's breaths clawing across his face.
There would be no escaping from this. He swallowed a weak chuckle, his heart stammering dangerously.
He eyed Zed, determining his demise. Zed's lip twitched, a soft groan creeping through. Bucky's heart slammed into his chest ceaselessly until he lost count.
Then Zed's hands shackled his wrists and held him down. Bucky gasped, sweat glistening across his throat. Zed's brow furrowed, his tousled green locks curtaining his dark, crazed gaze. The heat of his palms seared into Bucky's arms. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, begging the sounds not to escape him.
“Go on,” Bucky urged before he could swallow it back. His core burned. “Do it.”
He held Zed's gaze longer than he should have dared. He was sweating, sweating hard, wanting things he couldn't find words for, things he couldn't possibly say out loud. Things that Seabrooke would skin him for if they knew. Things he hadn't even shared with his cousin.
He couldn't let this zombie near him. The closer he got, the thicker the sweat glistened on Bucky's skin, the heavier his heart shook against his ribcage, vibrating, practically winged.
He gasped louder, sharper, when Zed's hand snatched him by the forehead and pushed him into the dirt. He stared at him, close enough to bite, and his mouth slowly flickered open.
Bucky's heart was wrecking the very foundation of his being. Please, he prayed, God, make it end, make it end.
But Zed's teeth did not bare. His onyx gaze, lined in hot, entrancing crimson, did not leave his face. His hand did not release his forehead. Bucky's clothes suddenly felt too tight, practically tearing at their seams. His skin sweltered wherever Zed touched, from his forehead to his cheek to his lips. He pulled Bucky's mouth open with one finger, then silenced the coming moan with a rough kiss.
No—God—
Yes. His entire body glowed. Yes. His soul strained against him, desperate to entangle with Zed—and suddenly their legs had entwined—and suddenly they had rolled over, once, twice. Zed was pinned beneath him, and despite his superior strength, he relented to Bucky, moaning sharply against his mouth. His lips lingered, nipping at Bucky's skin—but lacking the force to tear.
“Stop teasing me,” Bucky hissed, biting into his neck. Zed bucked against him, ferocious. Captivating. Everything. God.
They had rolled under the bleachers. Lights punctured them in the shapes of support beams and stacked metal, obscuring the majority of their shadowy forms. Nobody saw when pants slid off legs, when briefs followed. No one else heard the desperate friction of skin on skin, the grind of hard dick into ready ass.
Bucky cried out into the peat, unable to stifle himself any longer. His mind, released, shot out into his most horrid fantasies—of Zed sneaking into his room and under his covers; Zed barreling down on him, heavy enough to bruise; Zed fucking him so hard that words fractured into senseless, all-consuming pleasure, a paste coating every sense in his body, until all he could beg for was more.
When Bucky came, out hurled the pent-up frustrations of years and years of a boy who had held himself in just the right poise, with just the right pinch of flair. Any more and they would call him words that would stamp themselves across his front, render him different. And worse.
He did not know Zed's troubles, no, not truly, but he knew more than his fucking cousin did.
And with its release came cold, crystalline tears, easy enough to wipe away.
His ass was hot from the pressure, from Zed's semen. The Z-Band had recovered by the time it was over, and within the clarity of the moment, they each redressed without speaking. Bucky would drag him out of the bleachers and hand him over to the officers as soon as his shirt was over his head, and everybody would go on none the wiser, and he would pop the lid on top of his ecstasy, and he knew Zed would never bring it up again. They couldn't. Even if he wanted to.
Which he didn't. There was no point.
But Zed let out a wet noise akin to a whimper when his hand addressed the nape of his neck, and in a moment of fleeting carelessness, Bucky allowed himself to caress him. Just once more. Once more, before Zed would go back to fawning after his cousin and Bucky would go back to pretending he wasn't in love with him.