Left 4 Dead Kink Meme Prompt. I recommend you guys head on over there. There's plenty of prompts that have yet to be filled, and a lot of them are really interesting. Not to mention that, if I see your prompt there and find it interesting, I'll probably fill it for you ;)

Disclaimer: Left 4 Dead is Valve's, not mine.

Warnings: Mild yaoi. Swearing. Violence.

He hadn't meant to drop his gun. Nor had he meant to drop the last two pills he'd had on hand. The gun had slipped, its surface caked and slippery with the frigid blood of infected. The pills had been halfway to his mouth when a howl from overhead had startled him, and before he'd had time to react properly, they were already on the ground, soaking in the blood that had pooled there.

His first thought had been, 'Well shit.' closely followed by, 'Fuck!' when the howl from earlier morphed into a screech.

The others were already well ahead of him, and he knew if he yelled the bitch would be on him in an instant. So, as quietly as he could, Francis sidled into a half-open door, grabbing an infected man dressed in fatigues and throwing it back outside as he did so.

Confused, it let out a sound halfway between a groan and a whimper and tried to pick itself back up, eager to lash out at him. Sneering, Francis ended its life with a swift kick to the head, using the last of the energy in his good leg, to help him. The Infected fell with a sigh, hitting the floor hard.

When he concluded that it was, indeed, dead, Francis closed the door and swore when he found no lock. He reached into his pocket for an extra flashlight instead, checking the room for traces of any other infected nuisances that may or may not have chosen to make their presences known. When he found nothing but a pile of boxes and some broken glass, he limped over to the cardboard and plopped onto one, leaning into another as he let the bones in his body settle. He hurt all over, and a raging headache made him more irritable than usual. Hopefully, the others would notice his absence quickly and come back for him. And hell, if Louis didn't have any pills, no one would.

But damn, did his head ache...

No sooner had he finally relaxed a sound outside the door had him on instant alert, his skin tightening in fear for the briefest of seconds before he remembered that damnitall he was Francis! He wasn't afraid of anything or anyone, and certainly not of whatever happened to be snuffling on the other side of the door.

Desire had him wanting to call out to whatever was there, but instinct told him to keep his damn mouth shut, which he did. Instinct was all one had left in a world overrun by infected, after all.
So he watched and waited, flicking his flashlight off in case the... whatever it was... happened to peek in on him somehow.

The sound of silence filled the room, so quiet and eerie save for the scratching at the door that Francis could hear the blood pounding in his ears. He itched to have a gun in his hand, anything to keep what he now knew could only be an Infected of some sort at bay. Any second now it would come crashing through the door, ripping and tearing at everything in its path.

To his utmost dismay, a screech shattered the quiet, and Francis' heart sank all the way to his toes.

A Hunter. There was no way he'd be walking away from this one alive.

The sound of wood splintering and cracking assailed his ears, and he let his head fall back, sending out a silent prayer to Zoey and the others, praying they'd come back and, at the very least, find his body.

While he had already resigned himself to death, Francis would always have his pride. He settled himself into a position of nonchalance, settling his arms up on a couple of boxes at his side and leaning back, stretching his legs out before him. He felt like a king on a throne.

But with boxes. Regardless.

Through the door he could see the glow of two red eyes, staring back at him hungrily. Francis sneered, "Come on in, Wussy! I'm not stoppin' 'ya!"
It was with that that the Infected crashed through the door, panting and growling as it shook its head to rid itself of the debris from the door. It had nearly exploded under the attack of the Hunter, and the room suddenly smelled of old wood and dust. The Hunter blinked at him, scenting the air, tasting for weakness. Blood and pain overwhelmed its senses, and the Hunter cocked its head.

What was it doing? He should have been dead by now, they always went in for the quick kill.

But... he wasn't.

For some reason, that only served to make Francis angry. Why was the little bastard drawing it out? Why didn't it just end this already? He could tell it wanted to, needed to. It was instinct. It was nature. It was the most primal need of a beast at its finest.

Yet...

Ever so slowly, it crawled over to him, turning its head this way and that as it observed him. Francis smirked, beckoning it forward, urging it to finish him. He would die a painful, bloody death. But at least he'd finally escape this never ending hell.

Because, with a broken leg and head swimming in a painful daze, there wasn't really much he could do.

Unless he could get his hands around its neck and wring it to death...

The Hunter growled, but somehow, it was different. It was more of... hell, he could only really relate to one other thing. It was fucking purring at him.
Without warning, the Hunter pounced, and while instinct willed Francis to turn his head away, to close his eyes and pray, he faced the infected head on, the smirk on his face growing.

He let out a grunt as it collided with his body, sending both of them tumbling back into the boxes that gave way beneath their combined weight. Pain blossomed in his leg and his head where it had hit the floor, and yet... no where else. There was no blood, no flashing claws or bloodied teeth. No howls and roars and screams. The Hunter simply lay atop him, its cold body sapping the warmth right out of him. It felt almost nice, due to the fact that he suspected he'd grown feverish, but then he remembered that the thing atop him was a Hunter, and he pushed it away.

Or, tried to at least.

It had latched onto him, arms wrapping around one of his own, pulling it to its chest. A deep rumbling from within its chest made it known that the Hunter quite enjoyed their current predicament, and like a cat it... of all things... it nuzzled into his neck.

A cold nose met his collarbone, sending goosebumps down the skin there and a shiver up Francis' spine. He willed the infected away, and while his fingers were only inches from its throat, he couldn't loosen its grip enough to wrap them around its thin neck. His other arm was pinned somewhat, giving it only enough leeway to claw at the Hunters back.

So, as the boxes and the dirt and their bodies settled, Francis found he had little choice but to just lay there and, well, lay there. The Hunter seemed in no hurry, nor did it appear to have any desire to tear him to shreds. Francis could only hope it would continue thinking that way until the others came back for him. But God forbid they find him in such a position... being coddled up by a Hunter.
Suddenly though, he didn't want it there at all.

For some reason, it had decided that, hell, his neck looked quite nice, and to emphasize that thought, it had begun licking, sucking and nibbling its way up that tense column of flesh, reaching up to bite tenderly at the bottom of his chin. Its hipbones rubbed across Francis' stomach as it reached up for more, and for the slightest moment its thigh rubbed across the front of his baggy jeans. Startled, Francis turned his head away.

"Cut that out, you hoodie wearing puss!" He swore, bucking underneath it in hopes of throwing the Infected off. But all that did was irritate it, and with a growl, the Hunter snapped at him, leaving a bite on his jawline.

So, being the sane man he was, Francis quieted down. He was frustrated as hell sure, but those dagger-like teeth were incredibly close to his throat. And that was something he didn't want ripped open anytime soon. If all the Hunter wanted to do was chew on him a bit, he'd let it. But if it spilled one drop of his blood... A shudder of fear threatened to claim him, but he beat it back into place, reminding himself that he was tough as nails, and would never be done in by something so similar to a fucking cat of all things.

A particularly languid lick up the length of his neck sent a shiver of an entirely different kind up his spine, and, possibly, other places as well.

Francis sighed.

That hadn't been half bad.

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