Will
Robert blinks and looks at the buzzing, flickering light's reflection in the kitchen window. He's snuck out of bed for the third time this week, drawn inexplicably to the drawer of fancy cutlery.
No, he knows why.
Only it's such a horrid idea he doesn't want to think about it. No, don't think.
Squeezing his eyes tightly shut and clenching his teeth, he banishes the thoughts firmly from his mind.
His hand's in the drawer already, pushing aside the rack to the false bottom he used to hide things in.
Yeah, it's still there, and he pulls it out.
The knife was facking expensive to get, not to mention the unholy shipping charges.
"Bloody American craftsmanship..." he rolls his eyes and then chokes on his poor choice of puns.
Shuddering lightly, he picks up the knife and watches the shimmering gleam; his own reflection stares back at him.
He looks haunted.
He is haunted.
There's something in his arm that's been bothering him these past few weeks. He just assumed it coudldn't be taken care of by a normal doctor, and that's why he bought the knife. Auto-surgery wasn't something he'd taken a course for in school, but he knows exactly where to cut.
There were angry red and purple marks from his scratching and clawing when he rolled up his left sleeve to the shoulder. It kept sliding down so he took a bit of it in his teeth. There. That's better.
It had looked like a spider's bite at first, or maybe a mosquito, but it burned like fire and ice, especially when he put anti-itch creams on. It was raised about a quarter of an inch now, and rubbed against his side when he walked. It's driving him mad.
He examines the blade again. It at first appears serrated, but when he squints just so, he can see that all the little tiny edges are perfectly flat.
Aerodynamic! Concave blade cuts through much faster than any other!
Blinking; where did that come from? Oh, it was on the flyer. Yeah. He shakes his head to clear it again, then presses the blade to his arm.
He can see his skin stretch like rubber. It doesn't want to break. Slightly frustrated, he digs in the blade and saws at his flesh.
The knife suddenly goes through the angry red wound like it's nothing but air. And then he's seeing a wall of bright red; it takes him a moment to realize that blood is gushing from his arm. He wipes his face in surprise and looks at it; it's pumping with his heartbeat.
There's no pain, which he finds both confusing and slightly amusing, though the thought leaves quickly as he realizes he's cut an artery and he can't stop the bleeding.
"Oh, f-"
And the world stops.
Simon holds a pillow and punches it, wants to rip it to shreds. He wants to scream. He wants to die. He breaks down, now crying into the cushion; he can feel the couch shaking under his sobs.
"Here now, why're you so upset?"
"Oh Christ." Simon's head snaps up, so fast he winces in pain. And there's the man himself. "No, you're dead." He blinks, feels light-headed; he's going to faint.
Robert smiles brightly; apparently he doesn't notice that he's oozing embalming fluid and is presently a sickly shade of gray-green. "Silly Si. I'm not dead. Just cut a little too deep, is all. But the hospital must've patched me up all right, 'cos here I am. Funny thing though," he purses his lips and puts a finger on his chin. "Can't remember how I got here. Oh well."
"ROBERT SMITH, YOU ARE DEAD!" Simon shrieks, feeling very much as if he's in a bad zombie movie. He leaps up from the couch and hides behind it. "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"
Robert scowls and crosses his arms, pouting. "Am not. If I'm dead, why am I here talking to you?"
"Uh...well...I suppose if you're not going to try and eat my brain..." Simon, feeling rather silly, walks around the couch and takes Robert's hand. "Ugh, sticky and cold..." he leads him to the mirror in the hallway. "Take a look, mate."
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Robert screams and leaps back into the wall, crashing and falling to the floor. He's scrabbling backward and Simon watches him awkwardly try and get away from his ghastly reflection. "I LOOK LIKE I'VE CRAWLED OUT OF SOMEONE'S TOMB!"
"Um, luv, we buried you today." By now, Simon is feeling more amused than afraid. Robert seems to be his normal self, apart from being dead. "Unless somebody dug you up, you probably did crawl out of - "
"I! AM! NOT! DEAD!" Robert screeches, putting a fist through the mirror. It shatters, falling to the floor, and Simon steps forward in alarm, grabbing Robert's hand.
"You're not bleeding..." he's oozing some kind of sticky, clear fluid. "Oh, gross..."
"It doesn't hurt..." Robert examines his fist. He wiggles his fingers. "Wild..."
Simon bites his lip. "Well, uh...what are you going to do?"
"I'm not dead - "
"But everyone else thinks you are. And you can't go around town like that. You certainly can't play like that!" Simon points to Robert's still-oozing hand. "You have to be careful; your body's dead and can't heal itself anymore." Simon pauses. "Christ! This is too surrreal.."
Robert shakes his head, trying to clear it. Simon can hear ugly little snapping noises. "Gently...gently...you're going to knock out your spine..."
Robert lets out a sigh and closes his eyes. When he opens them again they're full of what can only be embalming fluid, but Simon supposes they're his version of tears. "I can't go home...Mary will have a heart attack..."
"Maybe if you go back to the graveyard and lie down, you'll be dead again?"
"I don't want to die! It was an accident!" Robert protests, turning to Simon, pleading. "Let me stay with you!"
Simon blanches. "Wh-what? No! No, Robin, you have to go back. Please." he's edging away, going back towards the living room. "Robin, I can't deal with this. You need to stay dead."
Robert pushes past him and plops himself down on the couch, fishing out the remote control and turning on the TV. "Too busy trying to live."
Simon buries his face in his hands. "God I hate you, Robin."
"Well I'm not eating your brains, or being stupid, so you'd better treat me with respect!" he calls from the couch. "Got any lager?"
Mindlessly, Simon wanders into the kitchen and fetches it, bringing bottles into the living room. He sits beside Robert on the couch and hands him one. "Don't touch me. You'll get that stuff all over my skin, and it can't be good for the living."
Robert pouts. "I can't kiss you any more?"
Simon shakes his head. "Not unless you want me to get sick. Or die."
"Does this mean we can't f-"
Simon's eyes widen. "ROBIN! You can't be thinking about that now! You haven't got any blood! It should be impossible for you to-"
"I meant you could fuck me." Robert grins eagerly. "I mean, you always told me you wanted to, and now that I can't - "
"Oh, that's disgusting!" There's an image of that in Simon's mind, and he runs for the bathroom, covering his mouth for the sake of the freshly steamed carpet.
"Well I suppose I would've been concerned if he really was a necrophiliac..." Robert muses as he turns back to the TV and drinks another beer.
Simon emerges from the bathroom feeling slightly better, yet slightly worse. He's brushed his teeth a good dozen times and still can't get that awful taste out of his mouth.
Robert is still lounging on the couch, but now he's got a bowl of crisps and several empty bottles next to him.
Simon retreats.
"Hey Soz!"
Caught.
"Get over here!"
He sighs and plops down next to Robert on the couch. "Yes, Robin?"
Robert throws his arms around Simon's shoulders and the younger man shudders and winces at the cold stickiness. "Ugh. Please, remember what I said about the touching..."
"Who cares? I've been dead, s'not that bad, don't you love me?"
Simon sighs again and wraps a tentative arm around Robert's shoulders. "All right. But if I start feeling sick you lay off, got it?"
Robert kisses him on the cheek and snuggles down to watch the TV. Simon plays a little with Robert's hair and tries not to think morbid thoughts, like how hair is supposed to keep growing after death, at least for a while.
Then he begins to notice the smell.
"Oh, God, Robin..." he wrinkles his nose, covering it with his other hand. "You're starting to reek!"
Robert takes a whiff and promptly gags. "Sick! I must be starting to rot..."
Simon heads for the bathroom again and Robert follows. "Sorry..." he says delicately. "Say, d'you have a freezer downstairs? A big one?"
Simon's a bit busy and he gestures to Robert with one hand to let him know how wonderfully relevant he thinks this is at the moment. "Hold my hair back."
Robert follows his instructions dutifully until Simon is finished, slightly put-out by his friend's tone. "Do you?"
"Yeah." Simon's washing his face. "But it's empty. Why?"
"I should probably sleep there to keep myself from rotting."
Simon gags.
"Sorry!"
Luckily, there's nothing left, and Simon brushes his teeth again. His gums are bleeding by now and he's inspecting himself in the mirror in a rather disgruntled manor. "Right. Turn it on to as low as it'll go, and you can stay there during the day."
Robert nods. "I'm sorry about all this..."
Simon shrugs, patting his friend on the shoulder and trying not to let the smell affect him. "It's...well, yes, it IS your fault. But I'm not going to yell at you, since you probably feel bad enough as it is."
Robert nods, pouting, then he sighs as they walk down to the cellar together. "I'm just going to keep rotting until I fall apart, aren't I?"
Simon fights the urge to be sick, and nods sadly. "There's nothing we can do. Just keep you comfortable, I guess."
Robert gives him another kiss, then leans his head on Simon's shoulder. "I miss you already."
Simon bites his lip. "Robin, we can't..."
"I know." Robert's face is buried in his friend's neck. "I'll think of all the ways around it, though. I promise."
Simon helps Robert make a bit of a nest in the freezer, stripping him out of his clothes and dumping them into a garbage bag to keep them from seeping chemicals into anything. "You still look as gorgeous as ever."
Robert smiles cheekily through his gray pallor as he climbs in and curls up amidst the forming ice crystals. "Lipstick and eyeliner, that's all I need now."
Simon laughs, his first real laugh in a week, and closes the lid.
With his left foot in a considerable amount of pain, Simon limps in through his front door and locks up before he begins to put the groceries away. Some stupid fucking git had run his foot over in the parking lot. Knocked him down and he couldn't even get the licence plate. It had shaken him up, reminded him he was human and could die.
He'd thought of Robert as he got into the car and started it up. Now he sits down on the kitchen counter with a beer and kicks his shoes off, massaging his foot in his empty hand. "Christ."
Robert comes up the stairs, naked as the day he'd been born, yawning slightly and giving off a faint steam like dry ice. "Evenin' Soz."
"Evening." Simon avoids looking at Robert's nakedness and decides to contemplate his beer. Fascinating. Look at all the pretty little bubbles and swirls. "Sleep well?"
"Like the dead." Robert says, completely straight-faced.
Simon against his better judgement snorts with laughter into his beer. "Damn! Stop making dead jokes, Robin!" He can't hide his smile, though, and tips the drink towards Robert in a gesture of friendship. "Want one?"
"Dyin' of thirst, man!" he grabs one from the fridge as Simon laughs helplessly. "I swear!"
"Knock it off!" Simon tosses his empty bottle at Robert and it hits the older man square on the head.
"Owch!"
"Hey, I didn't know you could still feel pain."
"Yeah, I can - and check this out." Robert holds up his arm. "That big gaping hole is closed over. I'm healing."
Simon blinks, then blinks again. "No way." he has to take another beer. "Wierd..."
Robert nods. "And notice anything about me?"
"Um, you're steaming?"
"I'm pink." Robert says crossly and puts his hands on his hips.
It's true. He's got his colour back and if it wasn't for the dark unnatural tones in his face Simon would've thought he was still alive. "Blood flowing?"
"Odd thing." Robert pokes his chest, then beckons. Simon hops off the counter for a listen, pressing his ear to the older man's heart. "No heartbeat. But blood's coming from somewhere."
"Beyond bizarre." Simon stands, touching Robert's cheek. It's just as cold as before, but the skin feels soft. It's not sticky, maybe the chemicals are sloughing off. "Does this mean you can - "
"I doubt it." Robert shakes his head. "I got bored around noon when I woke up. Damn thing." he pokes at his groin and Simon can't stop a giggle.
"Looks like I'm on top then." he grins, running a hand up Robert's side. It's hardly creepy now, he looks almost normal and feels fine. Aside from the pain in his foot, which still isn't going away, throbbing a little, the alcohol is buzzing and Robert is whispering something into his neck. "Ooh." It feels just like old times, and -
"Yikes! That's cold!" Robert's put his hands up under Simon's shirt, and combined with the heat of the day, his fingers are absolutely freezing.
"Warm Robin's cold hands!" the older man pouts, then grins, kissing Simon devilishly on the lips. He can't resist. He doesn't want to. He moans into the kiss, tasting Robert's ice-cold mouth and it does nothing but make him harder. He presses Robert backwards into the kitchen table.
"We'd better move," Simon pants, kissing down Robert's freezing neck helplessly, "or I'll end up fucking you over the table."
"I wouldn't mind." Robert chuckles low in his throat, pushing Simon's shirt off his shoulders and leaning backwards, a hand sliding up his own chest to his throat.
That does it. Simon snaps and kicks his pants off, squirming and writhing almost pathetically against Robert's thigh. "Oh Christ." He forces Robert onto his stomach, bending him at the waist, and without going for any kind of lubricant, thrusts deeply into his lover's body.
How Robert can be hot here and no-where else is beyond him, but a second later as Robert is clenching tighter and moaning loudly, Simon's mind empties of all conscious thought and he's pounding, thrusting away, fucking the older man hard into the table.
This is going to leave a mark, he hears himself think. It's like he's watching his own mind work. Robert's tighter and hotter than he ever could have imagined, and he lets himself go, almost brutally so. He's got one hand digging into Robert's hip, the other tangled in that silky dark mass of hair, pulling the older man's head so far back it looks unnatural. His lover is hissing and scratching at the table and letting out the most delicious sounds along with things like "fuck me!" and "harder!"
And then he's coming, Simon's coming, and his knees give way and he's sliding to the floor, bringing Robert with him.
They lay there for a while, blinking, neither of them saying anything, just breathing hard. Simon's sandwiched between Robert's cold body, which is soft and pliant, and the cold kitchen floor, which is hard and tiled. It's shiny too, and Simon can see himself reflected in the glint off the linolium from the light above the sink.
He looks happy.
It takes Simon a while to get to settle down. Robert's down in the basement in the freezer, and he's running the events of the evening over in his head. It's disturbing. He's just fucked a dead body. Yes, it was his best friend and sometimes-lover, but essentially a dead body.
He's beyond freaked out.
He twists around in bed, fiddling with the sheets and the sides of the pillow. He wishes Sarah was back from her vacation, selfishly, so that she could convince him to do something about the corpse in his basement. The more he thinks about it, the more he thinks, Yes, I want him gone.
It's a dangerous and powerful thought.
In his mind, he sees himself creeping down to the kitchen and taking a knife, one just like Robert's, and going to the basement. He's opening the lid in his head, and he's taking it to Robert's cold flesh, tearing him apart, cutting off his head and burning the body so he can't come back to haunt him.
The bedsheets rise and the hair on the back of Simon's neck stands up. He's come for me, he's come to kill me.
A soft kiss is pressed to his cheek; warm lips. "Soz?"
"Yeah, Robin?" He licks his lips. His voice sounds raspy and dry.
"I have a heartbeat."
This is impossible. Dead is dead. He presses a hand back, not looking, and feels a distinct pulse. "Jesus Christ."
"Back from the dead..."
Simon turns over. "Robin." he's serious now. "You were dead and buried. You are still dead, the world thinks you're dead. You can't come back."
Blue eyes cloud over, shining with confusion and tears. "But Soz..."
"Go back, Robin." he can't stop the cruelty in his voice. "Be dead."
"I don't want to be dead! I want to live! I want to be with you!"
There's a struggle and Simon hits his head on the back of the dresser with an ugly crack. Robert picks him up.
"If I can't live with you..."
He cuddles Simon's unconscious body and begins to walk towards the basement stairs.
...
Sarah finds them, a week later, in the downstairs freezer. Together.
[THE END]
Back