naming of parts
Two-thirty in the morning, the day after she killed what had once been Andre's baby, Ana went out onto the roof with a pack of cigarettes. She fumbled for the lighter in her pocket and kicked off a shoe to prop the door open with, only to find it already ajar.
"Here," Michael said, taking the lighter from her pocket, easy as anything. Like he'd done it a hundred times before. He flicked it open and lit one for her, then took another for himself. "What're you doing up?"
"I could ask you the same question," Ana said, coughing a little. She'd quit just before she and Louis were married. He was mildly allergic, and quitting was easier than heading outside to do it and remembering not to do it in the car -- and it was easier not to think about Louis at all.
"Couldn't sleep," Michael said, shrugging. "Nightmares." He took a drag, blew out a breath of smoke. "The usual."
The usual, for Michael, was fleeing the city and not making it out. For Ana, it was that last morning, Louis falling over her, already mostly dead weight. If Michael ever dreamed about his daughter, he never said and she never asked.
"I couldn't sleep," Ana said, staring down at her own, at the red filter in the darkness. Not total darkness, since the generators were still holding and the power lines were mostly undamaged this far out of town, but darker than she'd seen it in -- what, years? It would've been really nice out, if not for the constant growling and shambling a couple stories below.
"I miss sports," Michael said suddenly. She looked at him. He shook his head, smiling a little. "Stupid, I know, but the Stanley Cup was in a couple months."
"Hockey nerd," she said, smiling back. "I miss CDs. Mine, I mean. You can't find a decent Tara McLean album in this place to save your life."
"Mmn." Michael closed his eyes and thought for a second. "I miss -- okay, you're going to think this is stupid, but running errands. Grocery shopping, getting gas, like that. Stupid, boring crap, but I'd give a year off my life to have to go out and get bagels and coffee on Sunday morning again."
"I miss sex," Ana said.
Michael just looked at her.
"I mean -- shit," she sighed, rubbing her forehead. "I don't know what I mean." She stopped. "Okay, no, that's not true. I know what I mean. I miss sex." She looked at the hand holding the cigarette, not really seeing it. "I miss smells, and the sounds you make, and the way you feel really, really good the last five seconds before the endorphins wear off and you start worrying about getting cleaned up. I miss being touched. I miss being played with. I miss dirty talk and being woken up by oral sex, and holy shit do I miss orgasms."
"You don't miss orgasms," Michael said, shooting her a look. "You don't miss them any more than I do."
Ana glared at him. "All right, fine, I miss someone else giving me orgasms. Happy?"
Michael looked at her for a minute, then stubbed out his cigarette and reached for hers, stubbing it out too. Then he leaned over and kissed her, and her brain went blissfully offline for a few seconds.
Okay, suspicion confirmed: he can kiss. Next up: seeing what he can do with his shirt off. We can worry about pants in another couple of minutes.
And no, the rocks weren't the best place ever to have sex, but her stomach was tingling and she was squirming against him, and judging by the way Michael was arching up into her Ana guessed he wasn't complaining, either.
"Condoms," she muttered, biting his collarbone. The little noises he was making weren't really verbal, but that was all right; she could feel them through his skin, like an earthquake. "We need -- I don't have any."
"Neither do-" Michael started, and stopped.
Ana moved down his body, mouth brushing against his shirt as she went. This wasn't what she'd come up here for, but no way in hell was she saying no, not now. One hand skimmed his shirt up over his stomach -- oh, lovely flat stomach, little scar there that Louis hadn't had and don't think about him now goddammit -- while the other headed for his fly.
"Ana," Michael said quietly. "The condoms are in the Rite Aid."
"Okay," Ana said stupidly, half-listening. She got the button open and started tugging at the zipper. "The Rite Aid. That's, what, downstairs?"
"It's down the block."
Ana lifted her head. After a few seconds, she said, "Please tell me you're kidding."
"I'm with a beautiful woman, and we're two minutes away from having sex for the first time in three months. I'm really, really not kidding. If you look out, you can see it from up here."
Ana groaned and thudded her head against his stomach. Oh, this was just wonderful. Stuck in a shopping mall, world overrun with zombies, husband dead, and now the first time she'd had the chance to have sex was gone because of poor planning by the mall committee. She resisted the urge to scream.
"Hey," he said, still quiet, and touched her face. Ana lifted her face to meet his eyes. "It's not -- this isn't a timetable, okay?"
And there was no good way to say it, no good way to tell someone she actually liked -- liked a lot - that she sort of wanted a relationship with him, or as close as they could get right now, but she right now she really wanted him to just shut up and fuck her senseless, so Ana just closed her eyes and nodded.
She almost missed him scooting to get into a better position, but she figured it out when he slid his hand under the waistband of her sweatpants.
"Hey," she said weakly, blinking her eyes open. Not total darkness, no, but she couldn't see his expression. It was worrying. "Michael, you -- you don't have to -- it's okay. I was just talking shit. It's not a big de-"
"You said you miss being touched," he murmured, right in her ear, and he wasn't wrong.
He wasn't wrong at all, and it really had been too long because not even five minutes later she was making embarrassing noises into his shoulder and clenching herself around his fingers. And when she could think again he was spooned against her side, breathing hard and not making any move to slide out of her. She could think of more interesting things to do than give him a handjob, but he seemed just as excited and orgasm-stupid with the possibility as she had, and when she wiped her hand on his shirt he kissed her temple and ran his other hand through her hair.
"When we get out of here," he murmured, "we'll stop somewhere on the way."
Ana nodded, her head pillowed on his chest, and made a note to ask Keith if Andy knew any way into the Rite Aid down the street.