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“Thomas, I-…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“No.” Thomas shook his head, a tremor starting somewhere at the base of his spine and radiating outward until it felt like his whole body had gone numb. “No, no.”
He was frozen in place as he watched the trickle of blood drip down Newt’s arm, following the hollow of his wrist, sliding across his palm, swirling around one long finger and beading on the end of his nail before finally, as if in slow motion, growing heavy enough to fall to the floor. Newt wasn’t far behind.
His bad leg gave out and Thomas rushed forward to catch him, and as he wrapped his arms around Newt he realized the other boy was shaking.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he was saying over and over, before Thomas shushed him, turning Newt’s head into his chest and cradling him close.
“It’s not your fault. You’re—you’re going to be alright.”
“Thomas I was bitten. Oh, god!” Newt suddenly started crying, shoulders moving with the force of his sobs, and Thomas spent a long time kneeling on the floor with him like that—Newt’s slender body drawn across his lap, his tears soaking through the fabric of Thomas’s shirt, and that awful, bloody bite mark staring up at him as if it knew that it heralded the end of his universe.
The crank that had done it was still in the room with them—its corpse, anyway, with the handle of Newt’s knife sticking out of one eye socket.
As soon as Newt started to get ahold of himself he was apologizing again.
“So stupid, it’s so bloody stupid.” He still shook with the occasional sob. “I wasn’t careful enough. I wasn’t fast enough. My fucking leg—oh, Tommy. Oh, love, I’m so sorry. I’m so bloody sorry. I’m going to leave you here. I—I’m going to die.” He choked out the words.
Thomas couldn’t breathe.
“I won’t make you do it,” Newt went on, and Thomas would never stop marveling at the immense stores of strength hidden somewhere deep within the lanky young man. Already he was pulling a sleeve across his eyes to wipe away the tears, a steely resolve entering his voice. “I’d never make you do it, love, never. I can do it myself.”
“What are you talking about?” Thomas’s voice was raspy, barely above a whisper. His thoughts were jumbled and the only thing that felt real to him in that moment was Newt’s weight against his chest, his warm breath fanning across Thomas’s neck, his unruly blonde hair tickling Thomas’s chin. He realized Newt was stroking his arm, a soothing motion—Newt was soothing him.
“Love. Love, love, love,” Newt whispered, eyes glassy and distant. “I would’ve said it a thousand times. Ten thousand. Every hour of every day for as long as we had together.” He swallowed visibly.
“Now I only have tonight.”
“Stop.” Thomas’s arms tightened reflexively around Newt. “Stop talking like that.” Stop talking like you’re already gone.
He licked his lips, then said the words that he somehow knew Newt didn’t want to hear:
“You could be immune.”
Newt’s hand froze on his arm.
“Don’t do that to me, love.” He looked up at Thomas. “Don’t give me that false hope.”
“It’s not false. It’s just hope.” Thomas leaned down to nuzzle his nose against Newt’s, closing his eyes briefly. “Let me clean your arm and bandage you up.”
“No. It would be a waste.”
“Not to me.”
“You’ll need those supplies, Tommy.”
“You need them now. We’ll find more.” Together. Like they had been for years, ever since the first outbreak of the virus had plunged the world into anarchy.
“Thomas, I’m not immune.” Newt’s voice was close to breaking, and Thomas felt the heat of tears stinging his eyes. He blinked, refusing to let them fall. “I’m not special like you. WICKED never wanted me, I’m just another unlucky bastard and the sooner you get that through your head the easier it’ll be for you.”
Thomas didn’t have an answer for that. Instead he pressed his forehead against Newt’s, a resolve of his own solidifying until every ounce of fear was replaced with the scorching heat of pure determination and no little amount of denial.
Newt wasn’t going to die. He couldn’t. Thomas wouldn’t let him.
“Let’s get you up,” he said finally, moving carefully to stand and drawing Newt up with him. The blonde man never left his embrace and when they were finally standing he leaned heavily into Thomas, unable to put any weight at all on his bad leg.
The old injury that had never fully healed had been giving him hell all that day, as Thomas and Newt had searched the houses of a suburb tucked away in rural Pennsylvania for food and other supplies. He was wearing both an ankle and a knee brace but evidently the struggle with the crank that had been trapped in the closet of this second-story bedroom had exacerbated the injury and it took Thomas less than a second to decide to simply sweep Newt up into a bridal-style carry rather than try to have him hobble out of the room.
They couldn’t stay there, with the crank that had bitten him. Instead Thomas took him to what had once been the master bedroom, and sat him down on the moth-eaten mattress. Thomas looked into Newt’s face and saw about what he’d expected, given the fact that Newt hadn’t protested being carried: he looked resigned and distant, and when his eyes locked with Thomas’s his eyebrows crinkled in pity.
Newt thought this was his last night on earth and so, if Thomas wanted to carry him, then he’d let him.
Thomas decided to press the advantage and knelt beside Newt, drawing his backpack over to him and rummaging around for the nearly-empty bottle of rubbing alcohol and thin, measly little roll of bandages.
“A waste,” Newt said dully, as Thomas started cleaning the wound.
“Then humor me.”
“Tommy.” Newt’s hand darted out to cup Thomas’s chin, tilting his head up until their eyes met. Newt’s thumb stroked the line of his jaw and his eyes were watery again as he whispered, “God, you’re so beautiful.”
“So are you.”
“I was lucky to have you, for as long as I did.”
Thomas took Newt’s hand and turned it so he could press the knuckles to his lips. Then, without another word, he turned his attention back to the injured arm. He finished wiping away all of the blood and dabbing the last of their alcohol into the wound. Then he wrapped the remaining bandages around Newt’s forearm and tied them off. As soon as he let go of the arm Newt brought both hands up to cradle his head.
“And now you’re out,” he said. “And I can’t do a thing to help you and you’re going to be alone and—”
He was crying again.
“Tommy, my poor Tommy. It’s not fair.”
Thomas moved to sit on the bed next to Newt, wrapping his arms around him again. Newt’s head immediately found his shoulder.
“I love you,” Thomas said.
“God, I love you. I love you so fucking much Tommy.” Newt clutched his shirt with both hands, fingers curled into fists around the fabric. “I’ve loved you since the day I met you, with every ounce of my being, in ways that shouldn’t be possible and probably aren’t decent. You’re everything, you’re absolutely everything to me and I’m so fucking mad at myself that I’m going to leave you.”
“Hey, hey—”
“And now I have to decide when I’m going to do it because I’m not leaving you with a mess to clean up, I’m not fucking doing it. But, god, that means—that means at some point, tonight, later please god let it be just a little bit later I have to—”
“Stop. If you love me, just stop.”
That shut Newt up, but Thomas felt him trembling against his chest.
“Let’s get one thing straight, okay? You’re not doing a damn thing.”
“Thomas—“
“There’s a chance you could be immune. There’s a chance that you could wake up tomorrow and everything will be fine. I wouldn’t let anyone take that away from me, not even you.”
“There’s a small chance,” Newt allowed. “Vanishingly small. What’s really going to happen if you don’t let me do this is that you’ll wake up tomorrow to me trying to kill you and then you’ll have to kill me and that’ll break you.” Tears were sliding down his face at a rapid rate but his voice sounded almost normal. “And that’s what I can’t allow, Thomas. This can’t break you, you have to be okay, do you understand?”
Newt’s arms tightened their grip around Thomas until he felt the ache in his ribs.
“Please, just tell me you’re going to be okay.”
“I’m going to be okay,” Thomas said, voice full of confidence as he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Newt’s head. “Because you’re going to be okay.”
Newt sucked in a breath, and then gave a heart-wrenching sob that somehow morphed into broken laughter.
“God, you’re impossible, Tommy. Always have been.”
“Always will be.” Thomas kissed the tip of Newt’s nose.
They sat in silence for a few moments, listening to birds chirping outside in the summer heat. Thomas was content to simply hold Newt, letting the moment stretch on forever, but a sudden suspicion made him move one hand to press his palm against Newt’s chest.
The other man’s heart was beating rapidly, fluttering hummingbird-frantic against his skin.
When he looked down he saw panic in those dark eyes.
“Tell me what you’re thinking?”
“I—I don’t have much time left. How much time has passed already? An hour? How many do I have left before—before—”
“Newt, you’re okay. Breathe.”
“Tommy I don’t have much time left and I’m going to spend it panicking. Fuck.” Thomas heard tears in Newt’s voice again and felt at a loss of what to do. Newt had never cried this much in all the years Thomas had known him.
“Well,” he said finally, “How do you want to spend it, then?” He’d given up, for the moment, on telling Newt he could be immune. It only seemed to hurt him more.
He was shocked when Newt suddenly pulled him down into a desperate kiss.
Newt was breathless from the start, gasping into Thomas’s mouth as his hands came up to grip the collar of his shirt, pulling and pulling as if he could possibly get any closer when their bodies were already pressed against each other.
Thomas kept thinking that the kiss would end, that Newt would pull away and lean his head on Thomas’s shoulder again, but instead Newt deepened the kiss, pushing his tongue into Thomas’s mouth and giving a shuddering little moan.
“Mmm, Newt—” Thomas put a hand on Newt’s chest and pushed gently, reluctantly breaking away from the kiss.
“Please, Tommy,” Newt breathed, eyes fluttering shut. “I don’t want to think any more.” He tipped forward slowly, letting Thomas decide whether or not the next gentle kiss would land. Thomas didn’t move away, and Newt’s lips brushed his, impossibly soft.
“I just want to be here, with you. Not trapped alone inside my head.” Newt’s hand came up to cup Thomas’s jaw and he rocked his head forward until their foreheads were pressed together, noses brushing. “Will you help me?”
How could Thomas say no?
Instead of answering with words he brought his hand up to wrap around the back of Newt’s neck and started playing with the soft hair of his nape while he claimed his mouth in a kiss that quickly turned heated, mouths open and jaws moving in tandem as they drank each other in.
Newt moved desperately, wiggling his way into Thomas’s lap and wrapping strong, slender arms around him, pressing into Thomas as if he could somehow slip inside his skin and merge the very matrix of their cells. Newt’s cheeks were still wet with tears and Thomas faltered in the rhythm of their kiss as the reminder of their dire circumstance consumed his mind.
Newt could be dying. This really could be the last night he ever spent with the man he loved.
But before the panic could overwhelm him some defense mechanism deep within his mind triggered, and suddenly Thomas had never been more certain that something wasn’t true.
He would always have Newt. They would always be together because nothing on earth had the power to break them apart. It was obvious in the way they fit together in moments like this—and Thomas dove forward again with renewed vigor, nipping gently at Newt’s bottom lip, grabbing the other man’s hips in a grip strong enough to leave bruises on pale skin.
Newt seemed to anticipate the move because he rocked his hips forward in that exact moment and Thomas, already semi-hard, moaned at the sudden rush of pleasure. Newt did it again, and again, and Thomas closed his eyes, mouth going temporarily slack as a warm glow suffused him, tingling along his spine until he was very aware of every inch of skin he possessed because all of it was suddenly alight with crackling, molten pleasure.
“Slow,” he managed, mumbling into Newt’s mouth, “Let’s—ahh—let’s take it slow.” He had to slow this down because the way Newt was moving in his lap was sure to end things far too quickly for either of their satisfaction.
“Don’t wanna,” Newt said petulantly. He grabbed one of Thomas’s hands and moved it from his own hip to the back of his neck, pushing Thomas’s fingers into his hair, and Thomas obeyed the unspoken command by curling his fingers and giving the blonde hair a rough, sharp tug.
Newt gasped, head rocking back, and Thomas took the opportunity to plant a trail of kisses down that long and graceful neck, starting at his jaw and ending at his collarbone. Though he had to weasel his way there around Newt’s shirt which reminded him that they were both wearing far too many clothes for where this was inevitably going to lead.
And that reminded Thomas that they really did need to slow things down because Newt was injured, and he couldn’t just violently rip off the other man’s clothes like he might have really, really wanted to.
So he untwined his fingers from Newt’s hair and his hand was soft as it held the side of his lover’s face while he kissed him, intentionally slowing down until Newt’s frantic movements were forced to slow as well, even if it came with an unappreciative little whine.
“Tommy—“
“Let me undress you,” he whispered. Newt nodded and Thomas kissed him again before maneuvering around to lay Newt gently down on the bed, his arm around his back the entire time and holding him until he finally came to rest on the mattress. Still Thomas hovered over him, planting kiss after kiss on Newt’s lips, relishing the way the very softness and tenderness of the moment poured heat into his desire, like sluggish rivers of molten gold.
“Well get on with it, then,” Newt said huskily, and Thomas had to chuckle at the snappy wit he heard in his voice, which was much more like the Newt that he knew and loved. He pushed up the hem of Newt’s shirt and carefully tugged it off, making sure it didn’t snag on his injured arm, and as it went it dragged Newt’s hair into a state of rebellion that Thomas always found wildly sexy.
His pants were another matter entirely, and the part that Thomas was really worried about. While the bite was what could kill Newt—even though it wasn’t going to, and that was the end of that—Thomas knew that his leg was causing him far more pain in the moment. So he stalled as he unbuttoned Newt’s trousers and focused on kissing him instead.
He was taken by surprise when Newt grabbed his hand and tugged it down, pressing it to the swell of Newt’s erection. Thomas gasped, then moaned as he felt Newt’s hardness through his boxers.
“Feel that?” Newt asked breathily, his hand on top of Thomas’s to make sure it didn’t go anywhere. Thomas pulled back from the kiss so he could look at Newt, and the other man’s eyes were nearly black, pupils blown wide and lids heavy, cheeks stained red with a hazy look of pleasure that had Thomas biting his own lip. He nodded.
“That’s for you.” Newt pushed his hips up, grinding into Thomas’s hand, and his eyes fluttered shut. “A-all for you, Thomas. My Tommy. I’m yours.”
Thomas moaned again and started tugging Newt’s pants down his thighs before he even realized he was moving again. Which had probably been Newt’s intention with that little move.
Thomas’s brain had stuttered to a complete halt around the realization that Newt was perfect. Absolutely perfect. Nothing else in this universe as beautiful and flawless as the man beneath him had ever been conceived.
Newt’s breath hitched as Thomas brought the trousers down to around his knees, and he paused, looking up at Newt and seeing a spark of pain flitter across his face just before it was wiped away.
“Sorry,” he whispered, face falling. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You could never,” Newt said, eyes blazing now as he levered himself up on his elbows, staring Thomas down. “Get them off, Tommy, and then take yours off, too.”
Clearly, Newt was done fooling around.
Thomas worked the pants off as gently as he could, trying not to move Newt’s injured leg in the process. Eventually they were free and with a relieved sigh Thomas tossed them to the floor before he sat up to undress himself. When he finally leaned back down to resume the kiss he found Newt laughing breathily into his mouth.
“See?” He said. “Not so breakable, after all.”
And that right there was the confidence Thomas was after. He laughed, too, giddy in this moment of delicious forgetting. Forgetting what? There was nothing to forget. This was them. This was their infinity that they found together. Together they could tear a hole in spacetime and slip right through into their own private galaxy where nothing else existed and nothing could hurt them.
This was a place where forever was the same as now.
“What do you want?” Thomas asked, settling himself between Newt’s legs and kissing his way up from his knee (the good one) to his thigh. “I’ll do anything. Anything.”
“I want you to fuck me.” Newt’s voice was quiet as he laid back on the pillows, and they could have been any two normal people in a normal world.
“Yes,” Thomas breathed, moving up to kiss and mouth and lick Newt’s cock, his hands on Newt’s hips. “What else?”
He took Newt into his mouth just as the blonde man began to answer.
“I want—ohhh.”
With his mouth full, Thomas could only make a little hmmm? sound.
“Yes,” Newt was nodding, “Yes, that. God yes.” And he fell silent, his breathing growing ragged as Thomas worked to please him. After a moment he took one hand off of Newt’s hips and began stroking his entrance before gently pushing in a finger.
Newt’s hips lifted entirely off the bed, and his cock would have choked Thomas if he hadn’t been so practiced at this already.
“Oh god.”
Newt seemed to be more responsive now than ever, and a distant, detached, still-somewhat-functioning part of Thomas’s brain chalked that up to the desperation of the moment, to emotions running high and Newt’s body responding in accordance. But the greater part of his brain was so occupied in physical matters that it just made Thomas even harder than before, if that were even possible, as he moaned around Newt’s cock.
He realized Newt was pulling on his hair.
“That’s so good,” he whispered, “You’re so good, Tommy, so—ohh—oh—”
Thomas continued working the finger into Newt while he reluctantly released his cock from his mouth, licking his swollen lips. He didn’t want Newt to come yet, after all. The hand tugging in his hair grew insistent.
“Come here,” Newt said, and Thomas rose willingly to take him into another passionate, toe-curling kiss. Slowly, he pulled out the finger, then added another, pushing in until Newt’s hips snapped forward.
“Talk to me,” Newt gasped, both hands twined in Thomas’s hair. “Tell me—mmm—tell me what you’re thinking. What you want to do.”
Thomas felt his cheeks heat up. He’d never been any good at dirty talk but damn it if he wouldn’t try.
“I want to fuck you,” he whispered, curling his fingers and feeling Newt’s body tense like a coiled spring beneath him. “You—you’re so tight, so hot. I want to feel you around me.”
“Please,” Newt whined. “God, I need it, Tommy. I need you. I need you.”
Thomas began to slowly scissor his fingers, stretching Newt out while the blonde man shuddered at his touch. As he threaded his free arm between Newt’s shoulders and the mattress, he couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling that he was holding something infinitely precious in his hands.
Thomas leaned his head down to kiss Newt, long and slow and sweet, and Newt started to ride his fingers, hips moving in a delicious and hypnotic rhythm that made Thomas’s entire body tense with wanting.
“Now.” Newt was panting, eyes closed. “I need you to fuck me now.”
Thomas looked at him. Really looked at him.
Newt was stretched out on the bed, his pale skin glowing, eerie but beautiful, in the hazy red light of the sunset that filtered in through the broken blinds of the bedroom windows. His body was taut, like a bowstring ready to snap and release a tsunami of kinetic energy. A thin sheen of sweat covered him, beading on his brow.
His eyes were closed, scrunched up tight, with little wrinkles of worry and tension evident on the bridge of his nose.
“Not yet,” Thomas said softly, kissing the wrinkled skin between Newt’s furrowed eyebrows.
He didn’t want Newt’s desperation. He didn’t want to be a distraction. He wanted Newt to be here, in the moment with him, wholly and completely. And he knew that that was what Newt wanted, too.
So Thomas spent the next ten minutes doing everything he’d ever known to please his boyfriend. He took him into his mouth again, bobbing eagerly along his length, tongue swirling around the tip. He brushed his thumbs over Newt’s erect nipples, then moved up to take one of those into his mouth as well, flicking his tongue over the pink little nub again and again.
He stroked Newt’s cock while planting kiss after kiss on his neck, taking the sensitive skin in between his teeth and sucking hard enough to leave a mark.
And all the while Newt tensed and moaned and squirmed beneath him until Thomas was dizzy with lust for the other man.
“You’re beautiful,” he breathed, finally working his fingers into Newt again, not even realizing he’d started to speak. “You’re perfect. You’re so fucking hot right now, oh my god.”
Newt wasn’t capable of responding with words. His mouth was open as he sucked in air, dark eyes burning into Thomas when they weren’t on the verge of rolling up into his head. His expression was completely relaxed, softened by the immense pleasure he felt in that moment, and when Thomas asked if he was ready to be fucked Newt nearly broke his neck as he nodded frantically.
Thomas lined himself up, but had to pause for just a moment, marshaling his self-control as Newt opened his legs to receive him and the sight of his boyfriend, willing and waiting for him, proved almost too much for Thomas after such a long, teasing buildup.
Thomas couldn’t help the loud moan that slipped out as he slowly entered Newt, arms shaking as he held himself up and pushed in gently, so gently. Never in a million years would he do anything to hurt Newt. No matter how much he wanted to move, to thrust in hard and fuck Newt senseless, he waited until he felt Newt adjust around him, until the blonde man began rocking his hips, seeking movement and friction.
Newt’s hands were moving constantly, pulling on his hair, stroking his back. Thomas slowly started to move, thrusting in and pausing to lock his mouth onto Newt’s, tongue diving in to claim the soft heat he found there. Newt moaned loudly into his mouth and Thomas started to move faster, threading an arm under Newt’s hips to angle him up until he was rewarded with a loud, keening whine torn from the man beneath him.
“There, Tommy,” Newt gasped. “Right there, yes, god yes.”
Thomas thrusted harder this time, and Newt’s hips snapped forward. Thomas sat back, knees digging in to the mattress as he closed his eyes while continuing to thrust into Newt, hitting that pleasurable spot again and again and drawing ever more animalistic moans from the other man. His self-restraint crumbled completely as he found his own pleasure in their frantic rhythm, his hand closing around Newt’s cock to begin stroking him in time to the movement of their hips.
“Tommy!” Newt’s voice had risen half an octave at least.
“Newt,” Thomas groaned, forcing his eyes open so he could look down at Newt, drinking in the sight of him laid out on the mattress below him, cheeks on fire, mouth open in ecstasy as Newt’s hands scrambled for purchase on Thomas’s upper arms.
“So good,” Newt panted, “Can—can I come?”
Newt was asking his permission? Thomas nearly swallowed his tongue, breath whooshing out of him at how insanely, impossibly hot that was, and he almost forgot to answer as he continued thrusting his cock into Newt, eyes closing as he relished the feeling of Newt’s tight, hot body around him, muscles clenching and providing delicious friction that nearly sent him over the edge.
“Tommy, please,” Newt whined, wide, hazy eyes locked on him, and Thomas nodded jerkily. A few seconds later Newt’s hands tightened on his arms and his hips jerked as he came, biting his lower lip at first but then releasing it as Thomas thrusted into him again and Newt, for the first time since Thomas had known him, screamed out his pleasure.
Thomas came immediately from the sound, his own deep shouts mixing with Newt’s ragged breaths as he shuddered and rode out his orgasm before collapsing on top of Newt.
Sticky with sweat and other things, the two of them laid there for a moment, silent except for the way they panted, chests heaving as they caught their breath.
“Bloody goddamn hell,” Newt said at last, head flopping uselessly against the pillow as he gasped for air. “Jesus rollerblading Christ in a bucket, Tommy, that was bloody marvelous. Bloody brilliant.”
“Glad you thought so,” Thomas replied, equally out of breath. He pulled out of Newt then, as gently as he could, before rolling over onto the bed beside him. “It was kind of average for me. Y’know, I’ve had better, had worse.”
Newt immediately turned on him, delivering a flurry of light punches to his chest and arms before grabbing Thomas’s hand and using it to smack his face.
“Apologize!”
Thomas grinned, grabbing Newt’s wrists and using his strength to his advantage to disable the more slender man. Newt continued to struggle, laughing even as he tried to keep up his fake-angry expression.
“Wanker. Dunno why I put up with you. You’re an absolute git and a tool.”
Thomas held Newt’s hands above him, pausing for a beat before he darted upwards to kiss him. Then he folded Newt’s hands on his chest and drew the other man down until Newt was curled up on top of him, and Thomas wrapped his arms possessively around him.
Newt waited until he was certain Thomas was asleep.
Then he got up from the bed. His leg protested immediately but he ignored the familiar ache as he bent to grab his pants from the tangled heap of clothing left in the wake of their lovemaking. He shimmied into them and pulled the belt tight.
He and Thomas had been making their way in this broken world for so many years that Newt had forgotten what it felt like not to be hungry, not to be too skinny for his pants to ride comfortably on his hips.
For so long his only comfort in this life had been Thomas.
And god, he had been more than enough.
There were so many little things that made living worth while. Newt reflected on them as he quietly padded over to his backpack, bending down despite the pain screaming up from his ankle to his knee and pulling the gun out of the side pocket.
There was Thomas’s smile. A rare and precious thing, that came easier in the mornings and late, late at night—in those quiet hours when the day’s exhaustion had caught up to them both, making everything sort of hazy-loopy-tired, but good, so good because they were together.
And that laugh of his, god—Newt never would have thought he could be so soft for anything but Thomas’s laugh simply melted him. There were few enough things to laugh about these days but Newt prided himself on finding little ways to draw it out of him.
There were even the things about Thomas that he shouldn’t have loved, but somehow did. Like the way he interacted with this hellish, rusted, broken environment. The way his warm brown eyes turned calculating and distant as he took in his surroundings, cataloguing ingress and egress, choke points and junctures, puzzle pieces slotting together until he formed a plan of attack.
Things that made Newt’s heart race. Things that swept him along into that turbulent wake until he himself had entered another state of mind entirely. A place where he held himself apart, one hundred percent pure reaction—a state of flow—freeing and terrible and effective.
Newt liked the parts of himself that were brought out by Thomas. Alternately soft and violent, they were extremes that existed deep within his psyche, that manifested and found form and expression and release all thanks to the man he had long ago decided that he loved.
He stood, holding the gun in one hand, barrel pointed at the floor. He turned slowly until he was facing the bed, eyes roaming over Thomas asleep under the ratty old blanket. His back was to Newt but he could make out the rise and fall of his bare torso, the muscles on his back evident even in the dim light. He wanted to run his fingers over those taut lines but he’d done enough of that already tonight.
His time was over. He was as good as gone. A ghost, already, and that was the way it had to be.
He had to do this. It was the only way. The only real way to make sure Tommy was safe. He should be feeling the effects, soon: the fever brought on by the virus which would eventually kill him…only to resurrect him moments or hours later, a shambling monster seeking flesh and violence.
It was very likely that he would die in his sleep. That he would stir as a creature, inhuman and deadly, a pile of flailing limbs and grasping fingers and gnashing teeth. And the only way to avoid all of that would be to put a bullet in his brain right now.
Then he’d be nothing more than a corpse, and harmless to his Tommy.
Well…Newt knew that wasn’t entirely true.
And that was what made him hesitate.
He’d never had much love for himself. His will to live had ebbed and waned over the years before he fell in love with Thomas. Like the tide moving out, like the moon reduced to a sliver—he’d lost himself in this awful world. He’d wanted to die.
Until he met Thomas.
And Thomas had breathed life into him, as if nursing a tiny ember—providing the kindling, cradling it between palms that sheltered it from the harsh and threatening wind, all while giving a steady flow of oxygen, soft warm breath lifting him until he’d blazed into being like a burning phoenix.
Thomas had done that for him, somehow, and every day of his life Newt sought to repay him. Nothing he did ever felt like enough but Thomas seemed happy with him and in the end, that was all Newt had to give: himself. The same thing Thomas had given him.
When Newt had been bitten by that crank hours—a lifetime—ago, he hadn’t cried for himself. He’d cried for Thomas, for his Tommy, and the knowledge that he was leaving him here alone when neither of them had been alone since they’d found each other.
Newt stood by the bedside, handle of the gun hard and cold against his palm, index finger along the barrel, chewing on his lower lip as he thought.
He knew what he should do. He should take the gun and sneak out of the house. Go out into what had once been the back yard, sit at the base of the tall oak tree with its rotted swing hanging from the lowest branch, and use the gun on himself.
There would be no need to leave a note. Thomas would know where he had gone, and he would know everything Newt would have wanted to say in the end.
That he loved him. That he was sorry. That this was the only way.
But he couldn’t do it.
Newt exhaled, squeezing his eyes shut and running his free hand through his hair.
Why couldn’t he do it? Was he that selfish?
All he wanted in that moment was to put the gun away and crawl into bed next to Thomas. Fall asleep in his arms like he’d done so many nights in the past, letting the slow and gentle rise-and-fall of Thomas’s breath lull him to sleep. He wanted it so badly it hurt, but wouldn’t that be Thomas’s death sentence? If Newt fell asleep next to him he could wake up—though it wouldn’t really be him—already sinking his teeth into Thomas’s neck before Thomas had a chance to defend himself.
And he couldn’t risk that. He had to do this. He had to.
The bite hurt. It was burning his arm, a brand that never let him forget, even for a second, that his fate had been sealed.
But Thomas didn’t think so.
Newt looked down at the gun and realized his hand was shaking.
So that was it, then.
Thomas had done it again.
He’d gone and made Newt hope.
Logically speaking, there was really no reason Newt couldn’t be immune. Except for the fact that it was laughably uncommon and Newt had always considered himself to be solidly average.
He wasn’t special. He wasn’t Tommy.
He hadn’t been tracked down and tested by WICKED and spent years behind their walls, part of an elite group of prisoner/celebrity/test subjects.
He was part of the masses, striving to survive against a virus that had all but wiped human civilization off the face of the earth. He’d grown up with the knowledge that something as simple as a bite from an infected person (and how the cranks loved to bite, as if they ached to hold solid, healthy flesh between rotting teeth) would be his undoing.
He’d seen it first hand—friends succumbing to that fate. Good friends, like Minho.
God, it still hurt to remember Minho.
He was getting lost in his thoughts again. He had to focus. He had a decision to make.
It should have been easy. It would have been easy, if not for Thomas. If not for the niggling little worry in the back of Newt’s brain that Thomas was as incapable of living in this hellscape without Newt as Newt had been, would be, without Thomas.
Suddenly, he wanted to scream.
He wanted to break something. He wanted to turn and shoot the gun into the wall until the chamber emptied. He wanted to take out his knife and cut himself into a thousand ribbons and sort through the mess until he found the answer to the impossible question of what he should fucking do next.
Every answer was wrong. Every answer ended in hurting Tommy. Every answer ended with Newt dead. And every answer planted the blame, the guilt, solidly on him.
Kill himself and save Tommy. Kill himself and ruin Tommy.
Spare himself for tonight, die anyway, and kill Tommy.
And was killing him any worse than ruining him, or even any different?
Because it all came back to Tommy, anyway, Newt finally broke and allowed the man he loved—the man who was sleeping, unaware of the torment he was putting himself through—decide.
Thomas didn’t want this for him.
He would do what Thomas wanted.
Newt licked his bottom lip and tasted blood. He finally moved, a statue coming to life as he slipped around to Thomas’s side of the bed, laying the gun on the bedside table, handle within easy reach. He stood there a moment longer, looking down at it, wondering if he’d made the right call.
The thought that finally allowed him to return to his side of the bed, to crawl under the blanket and slot himself in beside Thomas, curling into him with his chest pressed securely against Tommy’s back, arms wrapped desperately around him, was the realization that in this life there was no such thing as the right answer.
He must have been more exhausted than he realized because within a few minutes of feeling Thomas’s comforting warmth against him Newt found his eyelids growing heavy. Just before sleep claimed him, the man in his arms, who he’d thought had been asleep the entire time, shocked him by whispering,
“Thank you.”
Newt blinked back tears as he simply nodded, nuzzling his head against the back of Thomas’s neck as he drifted off to sleep.
Thomas opened his eyes to late-morning sunlight and the realization that he could no longer feel Newt’s arms around him.
Instantly wide awake, he turned to see Newt sitting up in bed, looking down at his hands. The other man’s back was to him and from this angle Thomas couldn’t see Newt’s face.
“Newt?” He said cautiously, voice raspy from sleep.
Newt turned to look at him.
“Tommy.”
Thomas’s eyes raced to take it all in: Newt’s wide eyes and watery gaze.
His hesitant, disbelieving grin.
His face was clear of any signs of fever. There was no unhealthy flush to his cheeks, no sheen of sweat. Thomas was suddenly sitting up, hands reaching out for Newt, roaming over his back and chest, his arms and finally his hands.
No sign of infection. No swollen, blackened veins. His hands were steady as Thomas held them in his own.
Newt was okay.
“Tommy, I’m—I’m—”
Thomas blinked as he met Newt’s eyes, vision blurry with his own tears of relief. They stared at each other for a long moment, breath coming in giddy, agitated little stutters before the realization broke over them at the exact same moment.
Thomas’s arms jerked Newt into his embrace, crushing the other man against his chest as he kissed his hair, his forehead, his nose and cheeks and chin, hands reverently cupping his face. Newt was laughing, but the tears were streaming down Thomas’s face now and he released a shuddering sob as all the fear he had suppressed the night before suddenly bubbled to the surface.
“Tommy? It’s okay, it’s okay.”
“Thank god,” he said brokenly, head falling to Newt’s chest as he caved into him. Newt’s arms were strong as they wrapped him up in a comforting embrace, a hand stroking the back of his head. Thomas didn’t believe in any god but he didn’t know what else to say. “Thank you, thank you. Oh god, Newt, I—you don’t know how scared I was.”
“I know,” Newt murmured, cheek pressed against the top of Thomas’s head. “I know, love, I know.”
“Thank you,” Thomas said, addressing Newt now instead of whatever cosmic presence might have intervened to save the love of his life. “Thank you for not—thank you for staying with me. I heard you get up but I couldn’t—I thought—I had to let you choose.” The admission brought on a fresh wave of tears and Thomas squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face into the crook of Newt’s neck as he cried.
He still didn’t know if that had been the right thing to do. Ever since he’d met Newt he’d known that the other man had a darkness in him—something that Thomas couldn’t touch. He knew that Newt struggled against it every day and that there was only so much he could do to help him and that in the end, Newt had to be the one to decide. He had to choose to live. Thomas couldn’t do that for him.
Though last night had come close to breaking him of that vow, now he was glad that he’d held to it. He never wanted to feel like Newt was only here out of an obligation to him. He wanted Newt to be here because Newt wanted to be here. It was the only way all of this would work.
And it had. By some miracle, through what must have been divine intervention or literal magic on Thomas’s part, willing something into existence through sheer stubbornness and denial, Newt was immune.
He was immune. He was going to live and nothing, nothing would ever separate them.
“Thomas.” Newt’s hands were strong as they cupped his face, lifting until their gazes met. “You know I never would have even considered that if I hadn’t been completely bloody convinced that I was going to die anyway. That I might become one of them. That I might hurt you.” His gaze was intense and deadly serious, until he broke into a tiny little ironic half-grin. “I’ve never been so happy to be wrong.”
And he kissed Thomas, a sweet kiss full of love and relief as Newt’s thumbs brushed away the last of his tears.
“I’ll never let you live it down, you know,” Thomas said teasingly.
Newt laughed into the kiss.
“Oh, I know.”
Then he pressed a hand against Thomas’s chest and looked around, eyes bright, and Thomas could only imagine what he was thinking now that he had woken up to a new day after resigning himself to death the night before.
“So what’ve we got to eat, love? I’m bloody starving.”