A Pleasant Awakening

The morning comes far too soon for your taste.

But you can’t complain about the first thing you see when it does.

The sight of Sam, framed by light from your window and almost bare except for her underwear (and the pair of denim hotpants she’s pulling up her legs) would be ogle-worthy even if you were completely lucid. In your current sleep-drunk, groggy state, the curve of her waist and flare of her hips are intoxicating.

So much so that you don’t even notice her head turn, allowing her to catch you undressing her with your eyes (not that there’s much to undress).

“Enjoying the view, captain?” Her voice rouses you from your skin-drunk euphoria, and your eyes flash up to her face. Her expression seems simultaneously exasperated and satisfied, and she raises an eyebrow with her arms akimbo.

“Immensely, yes.” Lifting yourself onto your elbows, you grin as a thought occurs to you. “So did you get your clothes and come back here just to give me a show?” Your grin widens as her face goes red again.

“N-no.” She visibly swallows, her eyes breaking contact with yours as her blush lessens to a fetching pink. “I, uh, I had my change in a bag and put it in here, last night, and I didn’t think to….” Her lips purse and she glares at you. “S-stop grinning like that.”

“Like what?” You have no regrets. The groan she lets out as she seizes a red t-shirt from her bag, combined with her half-hearted grumbling, do nothing but amuse you further.

“Like you just won some prize.”

“Oh. Sorry.” You’re not sorry. Sam’s expression loosens as she looks away, sitting on the edge of the bed. As she digs something else out of her bag, her brow furrows.

“Do you know when your sister is coming?”

“No.” This, you realize, is something of a massive problem. Bella said she’d come ‘in the morning,’ but that’s not very specific. You managed to get supplies together yesterday, and could probably survive a few days on your own, but that’s a worst case scenario. Not knowing when to expect Bella? That could be dangerous in itself, since it would be best to be ready when she arrives. “And I don’t know if I can call her. I don’t know if it would be safe for her.”

“I guess.” Sam stands up and stretches slightly, and you see what she took out of the bag.

Thigh high, varsity striped, black socks.

She’s trying to kill you. She’s trying to cut off all circulation in your brain by draining all of your blood to your dick. You think it might be working. And you’re not sure you actually mind.

“Well, better to be ready too early than too late.” You resist the urge to let your eyes lock onto the strip of pale thigh between the bottom of her pants and the top of her socks, and manage to get through your morning routine without too much trouble.

There’s a comfortable silence as you get dressed, throwing on a pair of dark-wash jeans and a patterned t-shirt before donning your blazer out of habit. As you leave the apartment, Sam looks back in, her expression troubled.

“Is something wrong?” You can’t tell what she’s thinking.

“I just…” she sighs, “I feel strange leaving, knowing that we probably won’t come back… at all. We’ve been here for three years, and now….” She shrugs helplessly, looking up at you as though all that needed to be said could be conveyed by a single look.

Even if it couldn’t, you could understand what she meant. This had a sense of finality to it, even a kind of portentous dread. It felt like leaving the world you had known only yesterday behind for good.

“I know.” Wrapping an arm around her shoulders for a short hug, you pull the door shut, the click of the latch seeming to echo in your ears.

As you walk down the stairwell, farther and farther away from the room you all but called home, your most important possessions from it in a bag over your shoulder, you get the feeling this isn’t the last time you’ll feel this way.

The door of the building is still blocked by the chair, and Meg is already waiting for you.

“Buttercup, Red. Morning.”

“Morning, Meg.” Sam nods to her, setting her bags down nearby Meg’s own pile. As you look the bags over, you feel as though you’re missing something. There are three ammunition pouches to be slung over the shoulder, two small duffels and her own bag. One of the duffels appears to have a nail sticking through the canvas.

“What’s all this?” You raise an eyebrow at the blonde, who huffs and shakes her head.

“Supplies. Essentials, really. You have my macuahuitl-”

“I’m just gonna call it a ski-bat.”

“My macuahuitl, and I have Trusty, but the rest of the party’s gonna need a personal defense tool to keep those rotting bastards away, yeah?” She stands up and bends over the pile (which just draws your focus back to her legs - which are barely hidden by the denim cutoffs which end mid-thigh - and the mouth-watering curve of her ass), returning with what appears to be a shortened rifle or large submachine gun (homemade, of course, because you needed more reason to fear this woman’s abilities) and one of the ammo satchels. “Red, this one’s yours.”

“Mine?” Sam holds the weapon like it’s going to explode in her hands. “What even is it?”

“Slugthrower carbine.” Meg’s tone is deadpan, but her expression betrays her amusement at your girlfriend’s confusion. “Not a full rifle, obviously, and the structure isn’t professional, but it launches slugs semi-auto. They’re big and don’t care much about things like leaving bone in one piece, so as long as you keep the ammo compartment loaded, that should mulch a zombie ribcage at short rage.”

“And…” Sam tentatively opens the satchel, gaping when she sees the (admittedly disturbingly large) ammunition inside. “What caliber even are these?” You can’t blame her for the shock in her voice.

“They’re modified shotgun slugs.” Meg shrugs. “Best I could find. Not much modding, honestly, but a little was needed to let them fly right with the shorter barrel.”

“And you have weapons for everyone?” You feel your brows rise as you consider the possibilities. This might be the edge you need if things go bad. Even your ski-bat is a decent weapon in this situation, and could be a good backup when you get something for range.

“Not guns, but I have weapons for everyone.” Meg looks a little smug. “You’ve got a good one there, and I think you know how to handle it, but I don’t trust one or two of the others not to hold the rest of us at gunpoint given a chance.” She looks thoughtful for a moment. “So, when’s the uh… plan coming through?”

And then you hear footsteps on the stairwell.