So this is it. The end of the world.

It ain't none of the things we've been afraid of for years - no nuclear war, no asteroid blowing us to bits, no plague. No, that's wrong. It's a plague alright. Decaying corpses staggering around like in a butcher's shop, tearing and ripping at those few of us still alive.

And I'm not sure we ain't worse than them; they're like hungry dogs, killing on instinct. We're killing them and each other, and a lot of us are enjoying it too much. Like that mad cop Wooley, going on a rampage. Or those rednecks we flew over earlier, making a hunt of it.

Oh yeah, we're all going to hell. And hell is right here on earth. It's enough to drive a man crazy.

And I guess I must be, because in the middle of all that, all I can think about is how much I want to touch Roger. How much I want to put a hand to his peachy looking cheek, or run my fingers through that fine golden hair.

When I first saw him, trying to get the better of that tank of a man, Wooley, I thought, 'This is it. I've been killed and didn't even notice.' I thought that somehow, I'd made it to heaven. He was like sunrise in all that death and darkness and blood. Looking so fragile, pretty but not in a girlish way. And damn, he was fighting like a tiger.

I think I fell for him at that moment, because I raised my rifle and shot Wooley before I even finished the thought. And then I got the hell out of there, back into the faceless, masked mass of SWAT guys like a shadow. But somehow, I knew he'd seen me, just for a moment.

I followed him after that, into that basement. We stood there, aiming our rifles at each other, and he recognized me alright. Said he didn't see nothin'. He lowered his rifle first, and then I did. And my mask came off too.

Just about the first thing he talked about was running away. I wanted to tell him that yeah, he should run. As fast and as far away as possible, anywhere he'd be safe. If there was any such place left.

The second thing he did was to tell me about his friend's chopper, and I knew he was offering me a last way out. Me, a total stranger. Didn't he have anyone closer left anymore? I tried to search his eyes for a reason, but he looked at me so open, it was as if it never could have been anybody else. I just didn't wanna question that.

And here we are, in that second empty room, rifles next to us, with Stephen and Fran just behind that closed door.

We barricaded the only way up here with so many boxes and empty spam cans and bottles, nothing could get in here without making a hell of a lotta noise. And we're close enough to hear and not planning on sleeping. Don't think either one of us trusts flyboy and his girl at this point to keep watch.

Roger is leaning against the wall, his neck craned while he smokes a cigarette like it's the greatest pleasure in the world. A little smile is playing on his lips.

I lick mine.

"Want one?" he breathes.

"What?" I'm shifting, feeling caught.

"Cigarette." He grins and holds one out to me.

I reach for it and our fingers brush when I take it. "Got a light?" Looks like I always need to rely on him for heat.

He looks right at me, smiles, and I want to die for him. Just might end up doing that, considering. "Sure," he says.

He lights me on fire and sits back again with a sigh, his legs falling open. "This isn't so bad," he says, then chuckles.

"It ain't?" I can't help but grin.

"No." He tilts his head at me. "We're sitting here, smoking, eating caviar, drinking whiskey, as opposed to..." He tries to think of something to compare it to.

"Playing a game of tennis? Going for a drive?" I suggest. "Or to the movies?" Wouldn't ever be doing anything like that again.

"No," he corrects me. "More like... I don't know. Instead of running from them, dehydrated and starving, until we can't run anymore and our lungs burst."

"Huh. You got a point there, man." I'm chuckling.

"It's not so hopeless," Roger says like that's not the craziest thing in the world. "We might survive days here, even weeks. Months, who knows."

"It's still just dying slower." I don't wanna be talking like that. But every time the thought settles in my head that now I've just found him, I'm bound to lose him again soon, one way or another, I want to scream.

He puffs on his cigarette and looks at me real hard for a moment. "Why did you come with us?"

"You offered," I say before something real crazy comes out of my mouth instead.

Grinning, he says, "So you just wanted to run, like I did? Is that it?" When I don't say anything, he goes on. "Or did you want to run with me?"

I don't know what that is in his eyes. Fear? Or is he embarrassed about asking?

"Yeah, trooper. Yeah, I wanted to run with you."

He's puffing out air, like he's been holding his breath, and he looks nervous. His hand is shaking when he raises his cigarette back to his mouth.

I'm shaking all over too when I shift around so I can face him. We're sitting opposite, alongside each other, and the floor is damn cold. But I don't care, because the outside of my right leg is hard against the outside of his. I take a few more drags from my cigarette and stub it out in the spam can on the floor. Then I look at him. "Why did you ask me?"

He knows what I mean, I can tell. He's looking kinda bashful. "Would you believe me if I said it was because you saved my life?"

"Yeah, why not," I shrug as if it didn't matter.

"Well, it wasn't." Roger looks at me, like he's telling me something else, then looks away quickly.

I don't know what to say. But I understand. And it seems right to put my hand over the one he has resting on his thigh.

He takes a sharp breath, and I think, 'Shit, I messed this up bad.' And I want to pull my hand back, but he turns his hand under mine and holds onto it.

God, it's really happening. I'm touching him, and I can't believe how soft his skin is and how warm. So alive. Not like everything else. Suddenly, I want to feel his pulse, and I shift my hand to his wrist.

He's watching what I'm doing, and if he's confused, he doesn't show it. He watches my fingers searching for the right point inside his wrist, which is so narrow I can close my whole hand around it easy. My middle finger is on his pulse now, and I feel it, nice and steady, but a little fast.

I look at him, and he smiles. "I'm right here, Peter. Real as you." His voice isn't steady.

"Yeah." I don't know why there's a lump in my throat. I feel like crying, but I don't really know how. Or why. I'm just glad he said that, and I lift his wrist to my mouth, and then I feel his pulse against my lips.

It's even faster now. But that's okay. I want it to be fast. I want it to sound like it's running to me.

"Peter," he whispers.

I purse my lips against Roger's wrist, and then I give it a lick, and I can feel it even better like that, with the tip of my tongue. And it's racing now. Oh yeah, this is good. "You're okay," I say against his soft skin.

"Yeah, I am." Roger shifts closer, and his thigh bumps against mine.

I get a flash of us lying wrapped in each other's arms, naked, and I feel dizzy thinking how I would feel every single pulse point of his body, everywhere we'd touch. How it would feel like lying wrapped in pure energy.

I don't know if he can read my mind, but he looks hungry suddenly. His eyes are darker, bluer, and so much wider. His lips are parted, and I have a new obsession.

"You're breathing," I tell him, like I'm surprised by it. I take the cigarette from his fingers blindly, stub it out somewhere on the floor behind me.

"Sure am, Peter." He leans in close to me, and I feel his breath against my cheek, against my lips. His eyes are on my mouth, and mine are on his, and he's licking his lips.

But he's shaking so hard, I can feel it. Or maybe I'm the one shaking.

"Go on and take it," he whispers. "Take my breath away,"

And I do. He meets me halfway and his lips are tingling, and so are mine, and when I kiss him and press and part his lips, he's waiting for me. His mouth is like silk around my tongue, soft and wet and sweet. I want to live in him, deep inside all that life, to make sure it doesn't flicker out.

Roger's right hand settles on my thigh, his left around the back of my neck, and he pulls himself even closer against me.

I take his hand, move it up my thigh, and in, and we both stop breathing for a moment when I settle his hand on my cock. I've never had another man's hand there. I've never wanted it. Until now.

"Want you so bad, Baby," I hear myself whispering against his parted lips. I hope I'm not scaring him. "Is that okay?" I have to make sure.

He shivers. "Oh yeah. It's okay. Have me, Peter. I want you to." And then he's kissing me again, and I want everything to go away. Everything that's left of this lousy world. Everything but Roger.

I press my face against the side of his neck, catch my breath, and he's running his hand over my neck like he's soothing me.

"I wanna lay you down and make love to you," I tell him. I can hardly believe I'm saying those words. Meaning them.

"I wish you would, Peter." He's all breathless and urgent sounding.

"We'll wake flyboy and flygirl." I nuzzle his neck. He smells so sweet, so perfect. I want to breathe his skin for hours.

"Can't say I care right now, Peter." His fingers are digging into my shoulder, and his lips are against my ear. "I need you, baby. Need you now." He kisses me again. "Please!"

That's it. I don't care if a dozen of them things come through that door, or if Stephen and Fran walk up with a camera. "Okay. Okay. Yeah." I'm babbling, and he's chuckling. "Shit, Roger!" And I'm kissing him again, feeling like I can't ever stop.

His tongue flicks against the tip of mine, and we're both groaning.

I move us around a bit, lifting his right leg across me till I can get my arm around his waist. When I pull him up close to sit across my lap, he smiles. He puts his arms around my neck and slides up real close against me. And for a moment, I can't think. Can't even see, except enough to realize that like this, his eyes are right on a level with mine.

He's so warm and hard against me. Wanting me like I want him. When he starts grinding into me, I have to stop him with my hands on his waist.

"Gimme a minute here, Rog," I'm rasping. But we don't have a minute. He's close enough now that I can start on his overalls. With one hand, 'cause the other one's making sure he ain't going anywhere.

He's not helping, getting busy on my zip instead, but somehow, we manage to get out of the sleeves at least and end up with blue cloth bunched up around us. And we're still in damn turtlenecks.

"Stop, Roger. Just a minute." I hold his hand still against my chest, and when he leaves it there, just looking at me, I run my fingers up his arm underneath his sleeve. Leaning over, I kiss his forearm, and that soft spot inside his elbow. Another pulse point. Fast. Irregular. My fingers are running all the way up inside his loose sleeve, and he leans in to rub his face against my neck right under my jaw.

"You're so warm, man." I hold onto his shoulder and untuck his pullover until I can feel his bare back under my hand. "So warm."

He sighs, shifting against me. And he keeps pulling at my turtleneck until he's got it free and can pull it up and off. Just as I'm getting rid of his.

When I pull him against me again, skin against skin, we're both shaking. The thin chain around his neck is like liquid ice between us, because we're both burning up, rubbing against each other. I shift us until I'm flat on my back and he's leaning over me, kissing me, his chain dragging over my collarbone, the pendant catching on a nipple when he leans to whisper stuff in my ear that makes me sweat and my heart hammer in my chest.

"I want you so bad, Peter." He licks the base of my neck. "Been wanting to touch you like this all day," he whispers. "Since the moment you took that mask off."

I hold his head against me with one hand, my eyes closed as I let him have at me. "Just as well you didn't say, baby. We'd never have made it outta there."

He laughs softly, and his breath drifts over my heart when he shifts lower. Then he's kissing me there, soft little kisses I wish would never end. But he keeps moving down, his warm fingers fumbling with my clothes, unzipping and pulling and parting, and suddenly, I feel the scratchy fabric of his overalls against my bare belly, and then - cool air and a rasping of cloth over my hard-on in nothing but boxers.

I grip his shoulders, before he can get any ideas.

"Don't you want me to?" he asks with a little frown between his eyes.

"Oh, I want you to, Rog. Trust me." I nod my head towards the room next to ours. "But if I have to watch your pretty mouth goin' down on me, I'm not gonna be able to keep mine shut. And I don't feel like company. Any but yours."

He smirks, and that glitter in his eyes almost changes my mind. "Pretty mouth?" he teases.

"Pretty everything, baby." I pull him back up until his face is just above mine. And just to prove I mean it, I kiss him so deep and so hard that I feel him groaning all the way down my spine. I also feel him real hard against my belly.

"Shit, Peter. Do something." He's panting. "Can't we do something?"

"Alright, babe." I reach between us, unzipping him just far enough so I can push his overalls down around his hips.

Roger is grinding into me, impatient. "Peter," he growls.

"Shh. It's okay now. Come on." And when I push my hand down inside his boxers, he goes still against me. Except his breathing. That's rushing like he's run for miles. And his pulse again, too, because now I can wrap my hand around it, feel it beating inside my palm. And when I stroke, like this, it speeds up, and Roger whimpers. Just a little.

"That's it, baby." I'm kissing him, whispering to him, stroking him a little harder, and now he's moaning. I let him moan into my mouth, and when he gets louder and louder, and his pulse faster and faster, I give him my tongue to suck and bite on however much he likes.

On a downstroke, I push my own boxers down a little bit, and I let him go to almost snap up against me, his cock lining up with mine, and with a rough push, I get my hands on the cheeks of his ass inside his boxers before he can protest.

But Roger's not protesting. He's panting into my neck, his hips flexing and grinding hard against me, and when I spread him and squeeze his cheeks and arch up into him, he starts moaning, "Peter... Peter... Peter..." over and over.

My lips are against the pulse point of his temple when we come, and I feel his mouth opening against my neck on a gasp. And between us, everything is melting, white hot. We're coming all over each other, and it's so good. So right. And my groan almost turns into a laugh, because this moment, right here, I'm happy. So goddamn happy.

Roger is smiling against my neck, so I guess he is too. "Oh man, that was beautiful," he says. "Just like I knew it would be." He looks at me, and his eyes look like hope.

My hands are on his back, going up and down his spine. "Best thing I ever did..." I start, swallowing when he lays down with his cheek on my heart. "Was run with you."

"Yeah, baby. Best thing ever." And a minute later, he's asleep.

I stay awake, holding him close. He's warm against me, and breathing evenly. And I can't help but wonder if after this, anything can ever be this good again.