Summary: He remembered, she didn't. Touches provoked reactions.

Disclaimer:

OHKAY PEOPLE! I don't own these characters; they're from the game Left 4 Dead, ohkay? But Fanfiction isn't letting me upload so I'm putting it up here.

Note: I may continue this… It depends on the ratings and reviews I get, I've fallen in love with this pairing okay guys and the majority of the stories out there end up with the Hunter dying *cries* I can't have that! My world is filled with butterflies and rainbows, not lovers being left alone! D:

Before the infection had spread they'd been best friends, lovers in a sense if you could call them that. Fuck buddies? No, definitely lovers because they'd been so gentle with each other that everyone knew they were an item. Her father didn't like it, his parents had never approved but who gave a crap, they'd been young and in love. Then the virus struck.

The Hunter's claws gripped around the hand rail, from underneath the dark hood he gazed out over the City, his City and his tongue lolled from his jaws when he caught the scent of human on the wind. He liked human, human was food. From beside him a Smoker stirred, long tongue dripping saliva every where. Pleasant.

The living undead weren't the most pleasant creatures, the Hunter knew. Take the Boomer for example with his hurling of vile bodily fluids as his main attack or the lumps and boils that grew on the skin of man an infected undead especially a Smoker, it seemed. The Hunter really seemed to be the only one that didn't have so many lumps and bumps and who didn't spew anywhere. He salivated, salivated badly but hey give the guy a break!

The smell of human still had his attention, pointed teeth bared in a feral smile that made the crusting blood on his lips flake away and fall down and he turned, skittered across the rooftop down towards a balcony and then skittered down that way. He got down three stories then jumped to the opposite, dropped down onto the remains of a burnt ouf car and stretched out with a snarl before turning and racing down the street, he knew more of his brothers would be following along behind him – they always did.

Many assumed Hunters were one and the same, no, this Hunter, this particular Hunter was the first Hunter. The main and fitting that discription he seemed to have some sort of hold on the others, part of the base of his neck was missing but his hood masked any wounds aside from the blood that now stained the front of the once deep blue hoodie. He came to a halt on a street corner where they low lighting of a street light flew down onto him and bathed him in the light. He sat back, legs pulled up in a way that couldn't possibly have been considered human and his clawed hands dragged down his hood and feverishly began to comb through his hair. Fleas still bothered the undead more than the survivors.

He had once been a nice looking boy, perhaps not nice enough that everyone else had gone out with but he'd still had his fair share. His eyes were now a dark black, bottomless and his hair had tints of brown running through it but under the street lamp looked predominantly black. Suited him fine, when he'd cared for his appearance anyway.

Their meeting was just by chance. He stopped his fevered scratching when he heard the softest of noises off to his left, in the shadow of a destroyed oil tanker and his head tilted with his lips smoothing back over his teeth as he slowly moved across and underneath the truck to peer out the other side. The light didn't reach there and in the light that came through the partially broken windows he could see the light reflecting off her cheeks. She'd starved, poor girl, her tears ran red down her cheek and it seemed she wore nothing but a pair of –by now – dirtied and dark grey knickers with a dark grey top to match on underneath. Probably bitten by a family member at home, he thought, only way to explain why she'd be in almost nothing. The thought made an uncomfortable ache begin to grow. There was something familiar about the crying infected which made him want to take a closer look so he enduldged himself and climbed from beneath the truck the moved over to her, sniffed at the Witch from behind. Her response was a loud wail, her head throw back. The Hunter jumped; moved away with tensed muscles and moved back only once she'd dropped her head back into her hands.

On her left hand she had a ring, a glistening ring that was by now crusted with blood on her taloned fingers but it stayed perfectly where it was and deep down in his subconcious, the Hunter knew who's ring that was. It hit him like a lightening bolt, like buckshot to the chest and he sat down abruptly, stared at her.

He used to know her, now it wasn't the concious thought that made him act but the subconcious. This girl, he knew this Witch. His clawed hand reached out and set against her shoulder, he did not flinch when the Witch lashed out at him this time because his mind was locked in the battle of a memory. It was breif, a second long flash and then it was gone again.

Hands brushed bare skin worshipping a pierced naval with his tongue while tasting the familiar salt that came with sweat, her breaths came in rough gasps, little body trembling under his.

"One day, one day little one, our children will reside there" He rumbled softly, the cross he wore falling to brush against her thigh and made her twitch.

"Our children" She breathed.

The Hunter knew this girl more intimately than his primal mind would allow him to comprehend, all he knew was that he'd once mated with this girl and the tightness in the front of his trousers made it clear that he wanted that to happen again. The Witch was glaring at him through her hand, her tears red hot and spilling down her cheeks, curled up and rocking somewhat back and forth.

He sat back slightly, out of the immediate striking range for the woman and his hand slid down his shirt while she watched him in case he tried to make a move on her and seemed to faulter in her crying when he pulled out a silver cross on a long thick piece of black rope. It was blooded and dull in the almost invisible moonlight but still she could see it.

Now it was her turn to be struck by a subconcious lash back - her human life, her and this strange Hunter who now stared at her dumbstruck from under his hood while the cross swung between them like a link.

Many thought it was always the loving memories that were shared the longest between a loving pair – they were wrong. Normally? It was the darker side, the more hateful side shone through like their arguments. Not now, now it was just a rough night during winter.

The bed sheets felt like nothing compared to the warmth on her back, breasts pressed into the materess whilst her long nails clutched at the bed sheets and to muffle her moans from reaching her parents he'd fashioned a make shift gag out of a discarded pillow case so now she could only moan and cry out and now only he could hear her. He'd sunk behind her on his knees, his large hands gripped her thin hips and thrust into her rhythmically, their union was far from sweet. She'd missed him, he'd been gone for weeks and now he'd suddenly come careering back into her life with slashed up arms and a wanted bounty on his head. Her boy was a killer, but he would never hurt her.

His head dropped back with the most rumbling of moans, hips pushing roughly forwards into her as he felt her roughly clench around him in her orgasm and her body froze, her nails scrabbling now upon the headboard and creating a noise until he grasped them and yanked them behind her back and continued his frantic thrusting. The coil of pleasure that had been building and building in the base of his stomach exploded, caught him off guard and below him the female felt him tense and then twitch within her, twitched instantly a third time, then a forth before falling still.

The Witch stared at the cross for a long moment; something flickered through the red eyes before she turned away and began to weep again. The Hunter stared at her in shock and he let go of the cross, it dangled from his neck above the dark blue hoodie and he crept quietly closer, long tongue extending to just brush against her cheek. The Witch sniffed, her red tears starting to slow before she shifted from her knees and lay down on her front, her arms folded in front of her with her head buried in them. She still wept, still wailed but it had taken on a different tone to when the Hunter had first found her.

She had her back turned to him, and the fact the infected could now see up under her shirt wasn't helping situations. He was a Hunter for crying out loud! He hunted! Be it women, be it food, or be it the one he'd been searching for. No, conciously he had not been searching for her, conciously he had no fucking clue but subconciously, deep down in them both they both knew each other.

The Hunter crawled over her truly before he realized what he was doing and when his weight sank down over the Witch her unneeded breath hitched at the pressure on her ribs but she didn't take her head out of her arms until he began to lick away the trail of blood at her neck from all her tears, so she turned and she looked at him as best she could as he licked. Gods knew the underlying tie to their relationship had been the small touches, now, as the infected they had no chance of children, no chance of the life they wanted or even to be able to speak each other's names again but they would have more encounters like this. Her Hunter would be able to get close to her.

The silver haired female suddenly pushed her hips back up against his and the Hunter above her stopped his licking and his lips pulled back from his teeth with an involuntary rumbling snarl; it was not something hostile but still something feral that triggered something in the Witch. She pushed her hips back again, more forcefully this time as if she were trying to get him to get off her and used whatever was left in her frail arms to push herself upright. Hunter seized her wrists roughly, pulled them behind her so she fell back to her position, her head resting against the cold pavement with cold breasts pressed to the concrete and the damp from the rain the night earlier. Hunter had control of this now, hips grinding back against hers as instinct dictated. He liked this, he liked the feel of this, to have a body underneath his own that didn't fight back or try to fill him with rounds and turn him into cheese.

After a few slow seconds the Witch gave a wail and the Hunter looked down at her, his dark eyes seeing her for the first time. It seemed she felt the same as he did so he wasted no time in tearing away whatever little she had left on and although it was not instinct to undress a person, it was still instinct to mate with them. That was what he was going to do, this girl had once been his and he would make her his again. His trousers, thankfully, were not held up by a belt or anything like that so when his clawed hands caught the edges he pulled them down easily and up sprung his erection, tall and proud.

It was wrong to call them dead, because they were still alive just… infected with virus, their hearts no longer beat but the virus beat for them. Subconcious memories still remained intact whereas the virus took over all concious ones.

The Hunter had her thin wrists pinned in a single large hand at the base of her back but he left them go and grasped hold of her hips and after a few teasing rubs of his lengths against the mound of her sex he found himself inside her. Her channel was soft, smooth like the warmest of velvets and contracted so suddenly around him that the infected could not deny the loud roar that broke its way through his throat, her wail joined his.

It was strange really, because although the Hunter knew the infected had heard their cries they did not rally around to see the "fight" as they normally would have done, although the humans in the area would most probably have taken up the majority of their attention.

She was slick, with blood or her own bodily fluids he didn't know but she was so tight to be in and after his first thrust he pulled out from her and shuffled back slightly, dragged her hips back just as he thrust forwards and penetrated again, mounted her in the way an animal may have down and kept a grasping hold of her hips whilst his body pressed to hers, chest to her shoulder blades with snarls and growls, saliva dripping down onto her skin as he picked up an instinctive set of movements, hips rocking back and forth with a need that could only be described as the need for flesh, the need for warmth and the need to feel something other than cold hostility.

Anything but guns.

The Witch could feel him, not just the body on top of hers but every movement he made inside her made her entire body shudder and jerk. Her tears had stopped and the only noise she made were soft noises and hitches of unwanted breath with the occasional wail and whine as he slowed his pace or he'd stopped hitting a special place within her. Could she still feel like this? Apparently so, could she still be mated? Yes. The chances of her becoming pregnant? No one had ever seen a mated pair so no one truly knew.

His hands gripped her hips tightly, pulled her back into each thrust and his teeth were bared against her back before his entire body arched over hers and pulled her right down to his base as he shuddered from head to toe. A seemingly familiar ache, the explosion that he KNEW would feel so sweet.

Perhaps making love would've been better, but that was not what this was, not this time, this time it left it down to just erotic mating. Regardless to whether the Witch was willing or not in the beginning she was wriggling slightly under his fractionally limp form and while she wriggled she only pressed herself and rubbed herself against his hips which forced him to arch into her in reaction. She wanted her release and he hadn't given her that.

When he moved to pull away she screamed at him, her frail arms gave her leverage he wasn't aware she had and the Hunter found himself on his back with a very annoyed looking Witch lying over him having turned with a tremendous speed as he'd fallen and without any warning she sank back onto him and leant forwards so her breasts – although still covered by a grey shirt – pressed to his chest, her sharp little teeth digging into his neck hard enough to draw blood as she continued her rough rhythm of grinding down against his body and the Hunter lay there, whined and growled out at the extra pleasure she was sending up his body which then circulated back down to his length.

The Witch shivered, her tiny body trembled and seized atop of his with her head thrown back, her mouth wide open and her eyes squeezed shut with a wailing climax and then collapsed against him. The Hunter didn't seem surprised when she covered her face and began to weep again, nuzzling into the cross that still remained resting against the dark blue hoodie.

Subconciously they remembered one another, but conciously they were mates. They were rough and they were violent, it was not love making it was sex but who was anyone else to dare and try to tell them different.