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At the suggestion of a friend I am making an exception of my rule about backdating entries.
EDIT: But of course it didn't nevermind...if you want to read, you have to come here.

Title: Zombies of Love
Song: London Calling ~ The Clash
Genre: Original Fiction/One Shot
Warning: NC17-ish....flluuuffffffy
Pairing: John and Pete

A/N: Written for Original Fic Ficathon, Mark 2 with thanks to organizer [ profile] tsuki_no_bara

Thank you, thank you, thank you to [ profile] marasmine and [ profile] celeste_506 who both provided valuable input and advice, and are wonderfully talented writers. Their stories are found at Pomme de Sang"

I couldn't get this line out of my head....

London calling to the imitation zone
Forget it, brother, you can go at it alone
London calling to the zombies of death
Quit holding out - and draw another breath
London calling - and I don't wanna shout

'This is a terrible movie, I can't believe I'm watching this,’ John thought to himself, trying to stifle a moan as, on-screen, body parts fell from a disintegrating member of the living dead.

Rotting corpses, zombies, rising from their graves, heeding the call of their master, Baron Samedi. They roamed the night, feeding on the flesh of the living...

Pete overheard John’s stifled sound, and sighed inwardly, wishing that moan was for him. He couldn’t help thinking about kissing John; kissing him until he really moaned, until he begged Pete to take him. Couldn’t stop thinking about running his hands over John's body, stripping his clothes off and caressing smooth, bare skin with his hands, his lips, his...

Shaking away the fantasy, he realized he’d been staring intently at John, who was looking rather odd. Suddenly nervous that he’d been caught staring, Pete asked quietly, "Are you okay?", pulling himself away from his thoughts of making John melt with desire as he passed the popcorn over.

"Oh, I'm fine. Really. I’m OK." John's face was turned away from the screen and his eyes were almost closed. Pete didn't think he looked fine, or okay. Hell, he hardly looked like he was enjoying himself.

"I thought you liked horror movies?" Pete was a bit confused; he thought John shared his passion for classic cult films. He was happy to share anything with John, though he was far more interested in John than the films.

The hero and a group of civilians were trapped in a tube station, the zombies were closing in. Suddenly the train arrived...unfortunately it was filled with zombies. The zombies fed on anyone not able to escape.

"You like this stuff, right?" John asked as he slipped further down into the seat, balancing the popcorn on his lap, and wiggling a bit to get comfortable. Pete appeared to be keeping his eyes on the movie, or maybe on the popcorn, but John wished Pete were keeping his eyes on him. John sank deeper into Pete's comfy old sofa and wanted fervently for it to be Pete's lap. The only reason he was here watching second-rate horror movies that would undoubtedly give him nightmares was Pete.

Pete, who he'd had a crush on since forever. Pete, who flirted with the girls in the office and was undoubtedly straight. Pete, who had dark brown eyes, and curly brown hair that was just a bit too long, and a smile that lit up a room. John slumped deeper into the sofa. He wanted Pete.

Pete, who even if he were gay, wouldn't be interested in someone like John.

Unfortunately, to Pete he was just a friend, a buddy to laugh at crummy movies with. He'd only mentioned liking movies to get Pete's attention. He'd noticed the movie poster hanging in Pete's office. Night of the Living Dead, it advertised; classic horror. So he struck up a conversation on how he loved genre films like that.

John didn't regret lying; didn't regret telling Pete that he loved old horror films, or accepting Pete's invitation to come over and watch something from his movie collection. What he regretted was not being able to have Pete's arm around him, to have Pete kiss him, to be able to tell Pete how he felt about him. He gave himself an internal shake. Falling for a probably straight guy; he couldn't believe he was being so stupid.

No, he didn't regret lying, not about the films, or the invitation. He only regretted not being able to have Pete's arms around him, to have Pete kiss him. He pushed more popcorn into his mouth; sucking the butter from his fingers and wishing it were Pete’s cock. He had a vision of sliding the zipper of Pete’s jeans down, pulling out his cock, rubbing his buttery fingers all over it, and then tasting the butter and salt as he sucked Pete off. He figured Pete thought the glazed look on his face was an appreciation for the movie. It was an appreciation for so much more.

Action on the screen caught John’s eye. ’Eww, that is really gross,’ John thought, his eyes squinched almost closed.

Hapless humans attempted to flee the scene, unfortunately running into a second wave of zombies, who attacked them, grabbing their prey and in an unholy parody of a kiss began to eat them face first.

Pete noted John's look of disgust from the corner of his eye. All he wanted to do was put a comforting arm around John; wanted to pull him close so that John could hide his face on Pete's chest.

Pete appeared to be keeping his eyes on the movie but was really admiring the movement of John’s hips wiggling on the couch, while keeping his eye on the popcorn that was traveling from the bowl in John’s long fingers, past John’s butter wet lips, to finally be shoved into John’s mouth. Pete found it incredibly provocative. His mouth watered, not from the popcorn smell, but from watching John’s tongue flick out to lick the salt from his fingertips, from his lips. Pete wanted very badly to lick those lips.

He was breathing faster, and all that was going on was some snack eating. It was all Pete could do not to trap John’s hands in his own and run his tongue over his fingers, tasting salt and butter and John. He wanted to taste popcorn on John’s lips, kiss John’s mouth, and suck John’s tongue deep into his own mouth. He watched greedily as more popcorn made its way from the bowl to John’s mouth, his mind wandering to other things he’d like to have his mouth on. Heated up, Pete looked away and shifted, trying unsuccessfully to ease the discomfort of his rapidly hardening cock.

On the screen the undead monsters had breached the first line of defense. A particularly nasty zombie complete with rotting skin and exposed bone fell on a hapless victim, biting and tearing at the human's flesh.

Pete noted another look of disgust on John’s face from the corner of his eye, the slight shiver of revulsion. Damn,he wanted to make John shiver, and not in revulsion, either. He wanted to do things to John, wanted John to do those things to him.

Pete imagined John rubbing his face against Pete’s chest; slightly stubbly cheek over his nipples; nipples that peaked and hardened at the thought. Thought he’d like to feel John biting and nipping at his living flesh, imagined John’s mouth, sweet, warm, and wet, kissing and sucking a path from his nipples, down his stomach pausing to lick his belly button, planting hot, damp kisses across his hip bone, down his thigh, sucking and biting until he ….

“Pete?” John’s face was right there, mere inches away, a concerned look written all over it. “Pete, are you okay?” John leaned in and put his hand on Pete’s arm. Pete almost came from John’s touch, the feel of his warm breath, looking at the parted lips.

“We can watch something else!” Pete blurted out, almost pushing John away in his haste to get off the couch and away from John before he could see the bulge in Pete’s jeans, before he realized that Pete was gay, that Pete wanted him.

“No, that’s okay. I guess I need to go home.” John answered, more than slightly disappointed, for just a moment he’d thought Pete was looking at him with more than a friend’s interest.

“I don’t want you to go,” Pete said quickly. “Uh, I have other movies!” He panicked. The night was disintegrating faster then the on-screen zombies. John was putting down the popcorn bowl, getting his jacket, leaving.

“Thanks, anyway,” John replied, had his hand on the door. "Pete, there's something I should tell you."

Pete could guess what it was, his shoulders slumped. He knew what was coming. John put his hand out as if he would touch Pete then drew it back.

"I know, I mean I understand. You don't really like zombie movies." Pete didn't care if he never saw another one, he wanted to give John an out, so they could still be friends.

"I'm really just tired, but no, I don't think zombie movies are my thing." John was looking at the floor. "It was stupid of me not to say so. I just might be fun. Sorry."

"Wait," Pete put one hand on the door beside John's head. "It was fun. We could do something you'd like. Anything you'd like." Pete heard John's breath catch.

"Anything?" John looked at Pete now, head up, mouth inches from Pete's and leaned forward to add, "I'd like to do anything." John smiled as he kissed Pete.

Soldiers with flamethrowers drove back the crowds of animated corpses, but it was too late. London was burning.

London wasn't the only thing on fire.
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