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English
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Ships Crossing Exchange 2024
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Published:
2024-09-15
Words:
1,168
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
7
Kudos:
10
Bookmarks:
3
Hits:
63

some extinct animal

Summary:

Matt and MacReady wait out the end of the world.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

At least there are no sharks in Antarctica.

That’s the thought that keeps Matt going through the second worst week of his life, repeating it under his breath like a mantra as the entire world goes to shit. There are no sharks in Antarctica. The creature can’t swim. Nobody is getting off this frozen wasteland alive.

“What are you muttering about?” McReady asks. They’re so close together that Matt can practically taste the other man’s breath, the fire crackling around them. He can just make out the shape of McReady’s flamethrower underneath his blanket – unless, of course, he’s just happy to see him.

“Sharks,” Matt says, and the corners of McReady’s mouth twitch.

“Still going on about them?”

“You know me,” Matt flexes his feet to try and get some feeling back into them. “Love pointy teeth.”

McReady gives a low chuckle and adjusts the grip on his weapon. The cut on Matt’s palm still stings, he never got a chance to wipe it over with anti bac or slap a bandaid on it. He can still remember the way that Palmer’s blood had physically recoiled from the flames, some dumb frightened animal.

The Amity shark hadn’t been frightened. It had been cunning, and clever, and it had looked at Matt with its giant black eyes and wanted to swallow him whole. Matt knows great whites, hell, he’s been in cages with at least ten. Not once had they attacked like that before, biting the weak points of the metal until the door was ripped right off. It had known the best way to kill him.

“Thirsty?”

Matt blinks back into the present. McReady is holding a bottle of Scotch Whiskey in his gloved hand, the good kind he keeps secret from the rest of the crew. Matt feels a flicker of smugness that he’s being offered it, before remembering that everyone else is dead. There is nobody else to share with.

“Thanks,” Matt says, and McReady takes a long swig before motioning for Matt to take it from him.

Matt hesitates. The neck of the bottle has McReady’s spit on it, shining in the firelight. If Matt was to touch it, if McReady was infected – He’d be dead before he even swallowed.

“What?” McReady says.

“I don’t know if I should,” Matt says.

“You think I’m one of them?” McReady’s eyes are fixed on Matt, like a lionfish about to strike.

Matt shrugs. Every cell in his body is screaming not to trust McReady, but he’s so tired, and the warmth of the alcohol will feel good in his belly. He’s going to die out here. Might as well do it painlessly.

“Here.”

McReady shuffles forward and takes hold of Matt’s jaw with his gloved hand, tilting his head backwards. Matt, stupidly, feels like he’s going to be kissed. McReady is his type after all, an older man with a beard and a rebellious streak. Images of Quint flash across Matt’s brain as he stares up at McReady, waiting for something-

“Open up,” McReady says.

Matt parts his mouth. He can hear his own heartbeat in his skull, thundering as his eyes meet McReady’s. There’s that familiar gleam, the smugness of a man who knows he’s attractive to other men, even at the end of the fucking world.

MacReady carefully tips the scotch into Matt’s mouth, lips not touching the bottle. It burns going down, and Matt coughs, almost chokes on it. The alcohol spills over his lips, down his chin, and Matt swallows, eyes watering.

“There we go,” McReady says, tilting the bottle back up. “You’re good.”

Matt hiccups. McReady’s hand is still on his jaw, keeping him firm. He hasn’t been touched in so long, not since Amity, when he’d been spat back onto the beach and Brody had wrapped his arms around him. Matt wants to be touched. God, even if it means certain death.

“If you were infected,” Matt says. “You wouldn’t have done that.”

“What would I have done?” McReady asks. His thumb strokes over the underside of Matt’s chin where he still holds baby fat.

“I don’t know,” Matt says. He can feel the alcohol burning in his stomach like he’s swallowed battery acid. “Spat in my mouth.”

“You like it when men spit in your mouth, Hooper?”

Matt doesn’t reply to that. He closes his eyes instead and listens to the crackling of the flames, the buckling of wooden beams. He’s either going to freeze to death, get burnt alive, or crushed when the outpost completely collapses around them. He’d always thought he’d drown. Funny how things turn out.

“Hooper.” MacReady’s voice cuts through Matt’s thoughts. “I asked you a question.”

“I’m not answering it,” Matt says. His voice is hoarse.

McReady’s thumb swipes over Matt’s mouth, collecting the remains of the scotch and Matt’s spit. Matt opens his eyes and watches in horror as McReady raises his hand to his mouth and licks the residue off the pad. It’s probably the most stupid thing he’s ever done, and Matt’s seen him do a lot of stupid things this past week.

“If you’re infected,” McReady says. His lips shine with Matt’s spit. “I would have been assimilated.”

“You’re a complete moron,” Matt says. “Seriously. On a scale from one to ten, you’re a straight eleven, honestly-“

“Hooper,” MacReady says lazily. “Are you all talk, or are you actually going to do something?”

Matt yanks MacReady down by the front of his jacket and presses their mouths together. MacReady’s beard burns as it scrapes across Matt’s cheeks, but the pain is pleasant, reminding Matt that he’s alive, and there’s still some heat in his body. MacReady tastes of scotch and something bitter, and when Matt opens his mouth, MacReady slides his tongue inside.

“Fuck,” Matt manages to groan, and MacReady is pushing him down onto the frozen floor, hands scrabbling to find their way underneath Matt’s snowsuit. The weight of MacReady’s body on top of his has Matt feeling dizzy, and he hooks one leg over MacReady to pull him even closer.

“That thing’s going to have a fright if it stumbles on us now.” MacReady mumbles, and his fingers are cold on Matt’s belly.

“Maybe we’ll teach it a thing or two about human relations.” Matt manages to say, and MacReady chuckles, mouth against Matt’s throat.

“Maybe,” He says, and nips at the skin. “We’ll have to give it a good show.”

“Yeah,” Matt agrees easily, and digs the heel of his snowboot into MacReady’s back for purchase. “Show it what we can really do.”

The remains of the outpost splinter around them, sending sparks up into the black sky of the endless night. It’s like fireworks, Matt thinks, as MacReady sucks a hickey into the pulse point of his neck, it can probably be seen for miles.

Then MacReady finally figures out the zipper situation of Matt’s trousers and all Matt can think is he’s alive, and MacReady is warm, and the scotch is hot on both their tongues.

Notes:

matt hooper seeing a man with a beard and an alcohol problem: is anyone else gonna fuck that