Wishing for something{Buster,Open}

Buster watched as the needle ticked down to empty.  The gas gauge was a motherfucker. "Come on don't do this too me god damn it!"  Buster complained.  The car he was riding was a piece of shit but at least it was transportation.  Well, it 'was' transportation.  The car sputtered and coughed and crawled to a stop in the middle of the road.  The headlights were an ironic slap in the face. 

The warm beams hitting the road almost said 'Hey there guy! Don't give up now.  All I needs is a little tender love and care and I'll be right as rain." It was a 75' stationwagon.  It wasn't right as rain when it rolled off the fucking assembly line.  This car was ass from the very start.  Buster was used to the finer things in life.  Ever since this apocalypse  it had been handmedowns and leftovers.  Fucking A.  He would kill for a clean shirt.

Of course he had lost his own wheels.  They were stolen by that little redhead with the long legs.  If he hadn't been so busy thinking about her fucking legs maybe he would've realized she was riding off in his car.  She left a note.  Of all things she was apologizing to the dirtbag for being a dirt bag herself. 

Saying she was going to find her family.  She left him what was left of that bottle of whisky and lipstick on the bottom of the letter smearing the page.  That and an autographed picture of herself.  "To my Biggest fan, Came all the way from Florida to see me.  Love Reliegh Stone."  Florida? What the shit is she talking about? 

Without much thought, Buster shoved the bottle the note and the photograph into an old dirty knapsack and hit the road.  He stole the first piece of shit he found outside and had been riding it until the gas tank gave him a nice middle finger and a "Fuck you buddy!"  There was a Jesus bobblehead on the dash just shaking his head at Buster as the car rolled to a stop.  Buster stared at it a moment.  "Yeah? What the fuck are you smiling at?"  He rolled his eyes and started to get out.  

Some random unexpected gunshots cut him off though.  Buster jumped back into the car and slumped in the seat.  Breathing hard and eyes looking around wildly.  Buster spit out the toothpick he had been casually chewing on.  Buster slammed the gear in park, not like it would have done much good.  He was still wearing that dirty green and black silk Hawaiian shirt. His Fools Dice jacket still nestled in the passenger seat on it's way to god knows where the fuck!

"Jesus fuck!"  Buster called out He had a gun in his gun holster on his shoulder, though it was empty.  He had used the last few bullets on a few dead fucks 2 days ago.  It was mostly for show, but he stuck his hand out the window waving it all the same.  "STOP SHOOTING!"  He warned.  Empty threats but his voice was loud and carried over the windy night.  "I'm going to give you one chance!  Put your gun down and back the fuck up, or....I'll shove my fucking foot down your throat and play tonsil socceer." 

He was sweating and nervous and not really sure who the fuck it was.  What more could go wrong? He was already lost on this backroads and out of gas.  He had been drugged handcuffed kidnapped and carjacked.  And now he was getting shot at.   Fuck the apocalypse.

Buster felt the quiet circling around them.  The tension hung in the air between them like a hungry vulture swinging down for a meal.  Things were difffernt.  Tense.  He couldn't begin to say how happy he was to see her, though he slung his bag in the truck bed and swung the door closed with little to no emotion on his face.  Buster stared at the doorknob.  Every so often as the truck bed bounced and shook them around on the rocky road he would look up.  He would steal a glance at her out of the corner of his eye.  His finger tips were sweating.  

Buster felt the quiet circling around them.  The tension hung in the air between them like a hungry vulture swinging down for a meal.  Things were difffernt.  Tense.  He couldn't begin to say how happy he was to see her, though he slung his bag in the truck bed and swung the door closed with little to no emotion on his face.  Buster stared at the doorknob.  Every so often as the truck bed bounced and shook them around on the rocky road he would look up.  He would steal a glance at her out of the corner of his eye.  His finger tips were sweating.  

In all this time she was all he could think about and now that she was here he couldn't think of a single fucking thing to say to her.  He was choked up.  He was broken.  Frozen. Paralyzed.  Regretful.  Sad.  Buster's fingers itched at the jeans on his thigh.  He looked over at her and saw a far off distant look on her face.  She was probably off in her head thinking about god knows what.  If Buster had known the details about what those guys had done to her it would have been alot worse.  Buster wouldn't have just killed them But he would have savored killing those assholes.  

His mind wandered back to what she had said.  That when you're dead....You come back.  He had never really given it much thought.  Where all the dead fuckers kept coming from.  I mean, he dealt with it, but he never reeally stopped to consider it.    Buster didn't want to end up just another dead fuck wandering around with his last meal dribbling out of the crack of his ass.  He shifted nervously in his seat until the truck came to a hault.

The inside he didn't even bother to look at Buster followed Queenie inside with slumped hunched shoulders and a dazed look.  It was him off in his head now.  He saw Queenies face torn in half, blood dripping from the edges of hanging flesh.  It hadn't happened yet, but it might.  It could easily fucking happen and if you turned when you died......Buster didn't want to think about it.  He offered her a little shy smile when she mentioned his car.  It was the first thing he had heard.  He didn't realize she had been talking about supplies this whole time.

"Wrecked it.. Sure." He agreed.  It wasn't very convincing, but he said it with a smile and nodded slowly as if he was still trying to grief his precious baby or something.  His voice was soft and not the usual cocky shit he was always spewing.  "Crashed in a ditch trying to get away from the dead ones."  He lied.  Buster just didn't want to admit that he had gotten carjacked and kidnapped.  Then she hit him with another stumper.  Asking what he was doing in Kentucky.

He didn't have a good answer.  "Things turned to shit.  I just got lost in it ya know?"  He shrugged his shoulders as he looked around the room.  There were dusty moonshine bottles on the counter and half eaten pig roast.  He wasn't touching it.  He didn't want to get hepetitus or some shit from Clem's leftovers.  He heard feet on the stairs.  Honestly he was in and out of listening.  Everything felt like a dream.  So he didn't really actively engage much.  He felt as if he could wake any moment.  Then he saw her stripping away her clothes as she moved up the stiars.  Buster's mouth hung open and he stared.  he didn't even try and hide it.

"Fuck." He mumbled as he saw the curve of her back and bare skin.  He could've gone after her.  The old Buster would have followed her up... Pushed the bathroom door open and stepped into the shower with her.  The old Buster would have swam his hand up her cheek and breathed in her startled gasp as his lips found her quivering lips and even the water splashing down between them wouldn't have made him close his eyes.  He would have wanted to see that look of surprise on her face.....  

That's what Buster would have done to anyone else but Queenie.  With Queenie he was too scared to make a move.  He considered Queenie his dream woman and the thought of doing something to fuck that perfect, imagined status up.... Wasn't something he could handle.  What if he threw it out there for her and she turned him down.  Buster could handle rejection, but being by the one woman he ever cared about....That would have  crushed him and his fragile ego. 

"I'll just secure the house...." He muttered to her as he watched her disappear upstairs.  He could hear the water running and he took a moment to picture what was happening up there.  Shaking his head he started searching drawers.  He was looking for anything useful.  Batteries.  Cigarettes, flashlights and bullets.  For stupid as fuck white trash hillbillys they were pretty neat and orginized.  Buster found a bunch of useful shit and piled it all on the table.  Batteries stop watches, pills, booze, ammo, A few rifles and more bear traps and rabit traps than you could shake a stick at. 

The water was still running upstairs.  Buster made his way up.  His step was slow and steady on the stairs.  The steps creaked and groaned beneath his weight.  Each step his feet felt heavier than the last.  He pushed open the door and saw the steam of the room floating out into the hall.  "Venessa.  I found some shit downstairs.....I think we should load it up and get going soon.  Maybe hit up Vegas."

He smirked.  He could see her naked form in the reflection of the mirror.  He didn't turn away from it.  Instead he licked his lips and watched the soapy water slip down her abdiman.  He started to say fuck it.  He started taking off his Hawiaan shirt to get in himself when her voice spoke up behind the blue curtain.  He stopped and listened to her response.

 He was having second thoughts about his ballsy play.  He pulled his shirt back up on his shoulders.  "Yeah Okay...I'll be right downstairs if you need me." He said taking one final look at the reflection before closing the door.

Buster had resigned himself to not spending a single moment wrapped in her warm embrace.  Tragic yes, but honestly..... The moment didn't feel right.   Here they were at the edge of the world and all they had was each other.  There was blood under his nails and faded crimson in her hair. 

They had both fought to stay alive and logic screamed that it happen right then and there, but it didn't feel right.  Not in his gut anyways.  This was the house were she was held prisoner.  He was supposed to share this beautiful moment with her here?  Of all places?  Buster was a fucking sleeze sometimes but even he had more romantic notion than that.  Maybe she wanted to die a little. 

Maybe she wanted to feel death cling to her and craddle her so she could appreciate the taste of something sinful.  Buster never had a problem finding sin.  Maybe it was his fucked up idealized version  of their supposed love but he wanted better!  He wanted fucking fireworks.  When every other girl on the planet was just a skirt to him, she was different.  He wanted to give her everything and yet his tongue locked up.  Weighed a 1,000 pounds.  He couldn't bring the words to the surface and struggled against a powerful tide of fear and paralysis, but he was gonna.  He started too.  He was going to kick that fucking monkey off his back and finally tell her how he felt right then and there.  Then why didn't he?  

Buster sighed.  Queenie was in the backseat quietly snoring.  Buster was pulled over on the side of the road.  He was sitting up on the hood of the truck with his back leaning against the windshield.  His sweaty shirt sticking to the glass as he breathed in the prickly cancer of a cigarette and squinted at the night stars.  They had only been driving an hour or so before he pulled over.  He needed to sort some shit out in his head and the fact that Queenie was quietly dreaming gave him the chance.

Buster lived his whole life without regrets.  He didn't feel bad about the kid down the street with the sick grandma.  He didn't feel the slightest bit of regret when he ripped off joe nobody and left him penniless.  Buster absentmindedly turned his pinky ring on his finger.  That shit never bothered him.  He supposed he was used to not giving a shit about anything.  It really fucked with your head when you think you have nothing and everything you ever wanted slips back into your life.  He felt like she was behind six feet of bullet proof glass.  Might has well have been in fucking China.

Buster wasn't good at reaching deep down and accessing the emotional needy side of his brain.  His father would have said that shit was for dirtbags and lillypickers.  Maybe Buster was a dirtbag.  He had broken countless hearts and by the look on her face he knew something was off.  Buster cared about her too much to make their first time in some dirty hillbilly's shed, covered in stink and shit and only carrying about the notch on the bedpost.  It wasn't that he didn't want her it was he didn't want her that way.  Not there.  Buster flicked his cigarette and sat up.

The wind pushed his shirt around his slender frame and he could see his breath a little.  It was cold out.  Inside the car he could seen Queenie shiver a bit as he turned to look at her.  "Fuck.  You need to tell her."  Buster said quietly to no one in particular.  He started to get back in the car when he saw a bushel of wild roses.  He walked over and grabbed one and placed it in the backseat beside her.  It was smooth, cocky and had a little bit of Buster charm, but he didn't work that hard for his meals before.  Queenie was someone he fantasized about often.  He wanted to enjoy the build up.  

Leaving the rose beside her he got back in the car and started driving.  About 20 minutes later a bump in the road finally woke her up.  "Uh....Tennessee I think?  Not really sure.  Can't see much of shit actually.  You feeling any better?" He asked genuinely looking at her in the rearview mirror.  There was no expression on his face.  It was dull, uninterested but a twinge of a smirk on the corner of his boyish face.

  "The way you snore you're going to bring the deadboys down on us." He joked.  Tigthening his grip on the steering wheel he sunk into the familiar.  It was flirting and joking, never outright SAYING "HEY I FUCKING LIKE YOU!"  Buster looked at her in the rearview again.  His eyes were sersious and his boyish smirk was gone.  "Hey.....How come we never hooked up before?"  He asked.  Honestly curious. 

Having time to sit and think gave him time to prepare something to say to her, and that stupid ass line was the best he had come up with.  Buster wasn't as smooth as he liked to think it was his looks and his swagger that carried him most of the time, but he got away with it.  Now he found himself swimming in emotional depths he wasn't used to and feeling insecure, but also wanting to really live life with her, for the first time.

At the mention of going to Georgia Buster said nothing.  He wasn't opposed to it.  What the fuck did he have going on beside a whole lot of jack shit.  He could try and get his car back, but honestly chances were that thing was long gone.  Buster figured she'd probably crash it the first chance she got.  He didn't put alot of faith in the girl.  Seeing as how she almost got eaten by the dead the first time he saw her out there in the world.  Hell he only skim read the note Religh had left him.... He didn't even know where she was headed. 

Buster sat in the truck a few moments longer than she did.  She stormed up to the hosue pulling a knife, being a one-woman army of sorts.  He watched her and said nothing as she opened the door and stepped into the darkness.  Buster grinded his teeth.  Slamming the gear into park he ripped the keys out of the ignition.  Buster headed inside after her.  When he got there he was greated to a cold smile and a roll of her eyes. 


She had a bottle of tequila in hand and she told him to park the truck before someone stole it before disappearing again.  Buster ran his hands through his hair.  He came in here with the intention of pushing her up against the wall and finally taking a swing at what he had always wanted but it seemed she was going to get shitfaced instead.  She seemed to be throwing herself a pity party.  Buster knew about that all too well.  He was head of the fucking party planning committee.  

Buster followed her into the other room.  There was that same dull expression on his face.  It almost looked like a scowl.  Like he expected more from Queenie.  Instead of talking to him she was getting drunk.  It was a nice house.  He was sure this place had seen it's fair share of parties.  And if he had a blacklight he would honestly be surprised how seman stains had gotten on the ceiling, but here he was.... Flesh and blood and weakness.  

Buster posted up on the wall by the door.  Lifting one foot he pressed it against the wall and foled his arms against his chest.  Pouting didn't suit him.  Here he was ready to much right the fuck in here and take her, but again something stopped him.  His face softened.  "You really think Will is out there?"  He said dropping his foot and moving across the room he sat on the floor next to her.  Buster snatched the bottle from her grasp and threw it back. WIth a loud sigh from the burn of the booze he looked at her.  "WIll's a tough motherfucker.  He might be alive. If he is alive He'd probably be in Georgia." 

Buster handed her back the bottle and took a deep breath.  He could feel his chest tightening as he  leaned over grabbed her head and jerked it to face him.  He could hear the protest spilling out of her lips.  "Hey what the...."  He silenced her with a kiss.  An earth shattering kiss that was everything pent up aggressive blueball enducing thought he had been holding back for the last 10 years.  Buster's eyes fell closed and his hand moved up her thigh.



c

reated by Lilith of Adoxography

He wasn't going to lie.  He had thought about this moment a lot in the past.  How the sweat of her skin might taste.  What her cries sounded like nestled in his ear.  The feeling of her smooth skin riding beneath the eager touch of his fingers.  There was a million fantasies in the past, but they were just that....Fantasies.  This was actually, happening.  In some little fucking house in the middle of fucking nowhere.  

Someone else's family portraits watched, disapprovingly from the stained walls.  Someone else's memories lingered in the walls, but he didn't care.  For once.  For god damned once! He wanted to be out of his fucking head.  Buster was a quiet and collected monster most of the time.  What he didn't express outwardly with a violent display he tore to pieces inside his head with an assault of self-judgment and well deserved pity. 

He was narcissistic, pessimistic, conceded, arrogant, rude, and shallow with a nasty temper and a napolean complex.  Why any woman would want him was a mystery.  Why Queenie wanted him was far beyond his comprehension.  Buster couldn't believe what was happening.  He expected a slap in the face.  A door to close on his ego and a 'sorry you had your chance' but she melted into it.  Buster felt finger pulling at his dingy shirt.  Her jacket slipped away.  Tossed aside the logo that used to mean so much to both of them was nothing more than a voyeur to the moment.

Buster thought about all the moment that lead to this one.  Every late night at the club.  Every time she took stage and her eyes were on him.  Yeah, he eventually walked off with other women, but even though it was their cries echoing off his bedroom walls he was never in that room with anyone other than Queenie. 

In his head, In his mind it was all he had ever seen when the booze and the shyness overpowered his usually macho persona.  Those strangers in the night, his special visit friends were just a substitute for the one person he always assumed was out of his grasp.  Flirting aside he knew Queenie was into women.  He never thought this moment was reachable and now with fingers dancing along his thigh, he didn't believe this moment could have gone any other way. 

Buster melted into the moment too.  Hands moving across her shoulders.  Finger digging into the muscle of her back.  Somewhere not too far off moans and groans of dead bastards carried on the quiet night air.  Buster didn't even flinch. He kissed her again and the quiet passion between them was like watching skinomax with the volume muted. 

They didn't make a sound as they shuffled in the dark for position and control.  Buster balled up his Hawiaan shirt and tossed it in the corner. It landed haphazardly on top of Queenie's jacket.  The dead were outside searching for a meal like they always were.  Buster had felt dead inside for so long.... Searching for a connection.... He had finally found it.