Our House, My Bed

Killing Off Our Shame

Richtofen crept to his clothes and put them on in complete silence, lest he wake Dempsey, though he wanted to moan his pains. Once dressed, he crept down the hallway and stepped into the kitchen where he was greeted by a surprise: Takeo cooking breakfast. Looking around the kitchen and dining area, Edward discovered the other had also cleaned in some time before his wake.

Unbeknownst to Richtofen, Takeo had not only cleaned and cooked, he had sewn up his clothes, washed himself and Nikolai, semi-cleaned the bed because someone was sleeping in it, bandaged himself and tucked Nikolai in all within a short time, without a single noise and legs sore and jelly-like.

It was remarkable.

Takeos' eyes shifted and he looked at the stunned German, before giving a small smile of greeting. Richtofen nodded his head in response, before taking a chair and being served a plate of potato pancakes. The German felt saliva in his mouth and did not hesitate to start eating, realising how hungry he was.

It was not long before Nikolai and Dempsey joined them for breakfast, looking messy and a little proud. Dempsey had his jacket on to cover his back marks and Nikolai was missing everything, bar his shirt and pants. Takeo and Richtofen gave a light blush each, but no looks were exchanged. The four sat and ate in silence, looking at each other through their eyelashes, figuring out things as best their imaginations would allow.

It was evident Dempsey had been up to mischief with his marks. Nikolai looked a little too cheery and undressed. Richtofen felt and acted stiff, collar left up to cover any evidence. The only normal one was Takeo, who was... normal. Richtofen watched him with curiousity as Takeo reached up to itch his neck and unwittingly reveal his 'shame'.

When his fingers were an inch from his skin, Takeo stopped, carefully and slowly running a finger over a bandage under his collar instead. It was only visible because his hand pushed the fabric down enough for Richtofen to spot the white and cream bandage. Richtofens' eyes widened and he looked at Nikolai, pieces falling into place.

"Why you stare, Doctor?" the Soviet asked, mouth full.

"I vas just vondering vhere the rest of your clothes are, Nikolai."

"Is easy question!" he grinned. "They are in--"

And just like that, he snapped his jaw shut and spoke no more. Dempsey looked from him to Takeo and caught the Jap returning to stare at his food, the amber eyes threatening death. Unsure why a stare would stay the loud Russian, Dempsey pretended to tie the laces of his boots and looked under the table where his eyes were greeted by the cold steel of the Path of Sorrows, Takeos' ancestral katana, as it lay across the Japs' lap.

Slowly, Dempsey sat up and mouthed an 'oh' in understanding, looking to Richtofen, who understood as well. It was now quite obvious their nights had been eventful, as was evident. No more was said and no one looked at anything, but their food. The silence was not necessarily awkward, but it wasn't pleasant either. To ease whatever was around them, Richtofen spoke.

"Ve should not stay here too long."

"Why not?" Nikolai asked.

"Have you forgotten zhe undead?"

"Would they even come here?" Dempsey quizzed.

Richtofen smiled. "Vhy not?"

On some ridiculous cue, the familiar howl of the undead sounded like a siren. Takeo gave a sigh and a roll of his eyes. Richtofens' smile broadened a touch as he ate and listened to the sound of the undead. Tank put a hand on his head. Can I not have a normal day? he thought in anguish. Fuck those freak-bags ruin everything! Angrily, he jumped to his feet and took off to find his guns, the others following soon after.

The undead unenthusiastically wandered around towards the house, unaware they had disturbed a quiet breakfast, until grenades and bullets rained upon them. The crawlers and standers shrieked, before descending upon the house, desperate to bite into the men inside who fought back.

As the battle dragged on, the events of last night seemed like fantastical dreams of deprived minds. Each breath, each touch and kiss, just a distant memory. The only thing to tell them it was real was the way one looked at the other.

Longing.

Loving.

Loathing.

Their was no shame in fantasy, just reality, if they were revealed.