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Sometimes Eugene feels like he senses when they're about to go at it even before they do.
And not just because Abraham loves to announce it and Rosita will roll her eyes but not deny it. No, Eugene will catch a look the two of them exchange, or see the way one of them is moving, like they're itching for it, and he'll know when to follow.
As always, his instincts are right. He's half-hiding in the hallway of their latest hideout, outside the bedroom where the door is open, as it often is. His eyes are stuck on them and how Rosita smiles and Abraham smiles like they both know he's watching and it's no secret that they know, that maybe, and here comes the forbidden thought, that they like it that way, then the even more selfish thought that tastes so sweet that maybe they even prefer it that way.
He watches them go at it and he doesn’t touch himself, not even sure if he wants to, there’s something sweeter about letting his dick swell without attending to it, watching her mouth and watching his cock and watching them move and thinking about that closeness, about the way they talk to each other throughout, laughing all the while, but thinking too about how they talk when they’re not doing it because this isn’t the only time he presses his ear to the wall to listen.
Pam would probably accuse him of being a creep and Rex would snicker at the idea, but Eugene maintains that this isn’t something he does just for the fun of it, it’s more of a need, and it’s not something he would do for just anyone, it’s special because it’s her, and because it’s them.
There’s something magnetizing about them in particular.
Abraham has always been magnetizing, with his muscles shining with sweat and dirt, the way he smiles when he kills, and his absolute obsession with keeping Eugene safe. But the pull comes stronger now that Rosita is the one with him, with her breasts that peek out of every outfit, the way the leather on her gloves flexes when she shoots so steady and the way she takes absolutely no shit from the both of them.
Eugene had watched them before he had meant to. It had been their fault for doing it near him, them on the floor and him alone in the bed in the same room, rustling under the sheets like they’d forgotten him completely, or decided he was close enough to their dog that it didn’t matter what he heard or saw. And Eugene considered giving them privacy, when he’d first heard his laugh and her stifled moan, because he was capable of restraint and respect, but then he’d gotten curious.
Had kept his eyes open, had even tilted his head to catch a glimpse because the noises weren't enough, and he’d seen them making out, and known from the way their hands were moving under the sheets that that couldn't be all they were doing. He watched them all the way through, but lay back down right before the end, because he got worried they'd remember he was there and check on him.
And once he started watching them, he quickly discovered that it was impossible to stop.
He watched them kiss and he watched them go down on each other and touch each other and fuck and he did it even as he worried about what Abraham would do to him if he caught him, as he worried about what Rosita would do. Every moment was a calculation, a balancing of fear of death and something else that he didn't want to call arousal, to decide if watching was worth it. But it was always worth it.
It had been worth it, and then one time he'd looked up from where he'd been watching their hips move in sync, standing amongst the trees, and had realized Rosita was staring back at him, beautiful mouth open in a perfect O shape. The fear submerged him briefly, and then her eyes scrunched up and she whispered something in Abraham's ear, and the strange part was she was smiling.
The stranger part was that whatever she said to Abraham didn't make him stop-- it made him speed up, pulling Eugene's gaze back downwards. They finished soon after, but he made sure he was gone by then, and his heart beat too fast for the rest of the day, face pale enough that the rest of the group noticed, but neither Abraham or Rosita came to kill him that night. They didn't even confront him about it.
So he didn't stop, because he was a weak, weak man, and if this wasn't unspoken permission, nothing was.
That theory was quickly confirmed because Rosita caught him the next time and the next time but there was never a confrontation, just a half-heard joke to Abraham and then one time Abraham was the one to see Eugene and he broke into a great big grin and Eugene wanted to look away but he didn't, face feverishly hot and that pulse deep in his gut, he didn't know what this meant or what they wanted from him. He almost wanted to ask.
But he understands how it works now. Things you want to say, you don’t say, and most of the things you do say happen to be untrue. That’s the way it has to be. He is tolerated by the two of them not because they particularly like him but because they believe he has a purpose, something grand and world-saving. Sometimes, tolerance becomes amusement, and perhaps one could even charitably call them fond of Eugene, but that is as far as it goes.
It has to be pride-- the reason they're smiling-- pleasure at the fact that they're good enough to be watched. Rosita likes to be watched, takes great pride in her appearance, or she wouldn't rip the sleeves off her jacket, wear short-shorts that show off her ass, or carry a razor in order to shave religiously even after the end of the world. Not that Eugene doesn't support the shaving, but it's the principle of the thing.
And Abraham most certainly likes to be watched, or he wouldn't go around telling people when he and Rosita are about to go at it, and he wouldn't grin so big at the sight of Eugene watching him, and slap him hard on the back later like he's congratulating Eugene on his bravery. Laughing like he laughs when he catches Eugene's eyes lingering on Rosita's ass when they walk. Eugene wonders if he would laugh if he caught the times that Abraham would flex and Eugene's eyes would follow the muscles, helpless to resist and trying not to think about why.
But though he tries so hard not to question this-- he is too smart to ever really turn that part of himself off. He examines the two of them in his head, this quiet arrangement, looking for motivations, trying to be objective even though his dick twitches every time he looks back on their previous experiences for evidence. It has to be pride, and comfort and distraction-- watching each other and performing for each other instead of waiting for the dead to creep closer, instead of thinking about what the hell is going to happen when they finally make it to DC-- It has to be for the pleasure of the audience and nothing more. It has to be.
It would be insane to think there's more to it, though Eugene doesn't know what else to think anymore. He can't ask anyone else, he can't ask Abraham and Rosita, and he can't trust his mind to stay on topic when he asks himself.
And Eugene is pretty sure they know when he wants to watch now. If he was letting his thoughts turn sweet again, too sweet, he'd say they like to go at it when they know he's in the mood to watch. A symbiotic relationship-- a parasite that pleases its hosts.
Maybe, Eugene thinks, barely hiding in the hallway and watching them laugh and moan as Abraham buries himself to the hilt and Rosita drags her nails along his back, they leave the door open for a reason, and maybe one day, they'll turn to face him good and proper, and ask for him to come inside. Ask him to come and close the door behind him, because they've got all the audience they need with him.
Tell him that maybe he's got another purpose after all.
Eugene can't help it: he watches, imagining, and he smiles too.