Huh.

Sorry about typos, if those exist. I'm a little thoughtless right now.

Enjoy.

Jay sighs as he feels Tim's hips snap into him again and again. His tummy now brushes the covers, fingers curling into the bed sheets as they always did. Tim is bent over him and he can feel the weight and the warmth and the softness of the other's skin against his back. One of the darker haired man's hands cradles his hip, while the other just now starts to curl up towards his jaw and into his mouth.

Jay tries to feel Tim, tries to squeeze him in the best he can, tries to feel the burning pleasure in a more intense form than each push and the last. As a camera man, he feels as though it is his duty to capture such pleasure. It is his nature to record and replay moments like these in his head. Jay wants to keep doing this forever exactly because he knows he can't.

The hand at his hip slips down to tend to him further, a tight, warm circle of palm that nearly makes Jay bite off the other man's fingers. He doesn't though. He just emits a broken sort of sob and realizes with surprise that there are tears running down his cheeks. Alarmed, Tim slides a thumb over them and asks Jay if he's alright. Even though they both know he isn't and they both know why.

It was strange. Knowing.

Jay tries to talk but all he manages are words and phrases that hold no context. Tim still understands though. He understands and reacts and knows exactly what medicine to administer the weak man beneath him.

Jay lets himself be pushed deeper into the mattress, lets himself be fucked harder, lets the hand around him work faster. He tries to work his own hips, tries to illicit more groans from the man above him. And he cries. He feels it. They know that the Operator is coming.

"Fuck."

Tim grunts, long, grieving, his hips locking with Jay's one last time before he spills out inside of his camera man.

Jay's toes curl and he doesn't make a sound as he opens his mouth into the covers and loses himself all over Tim's hand. His body shakes for a while and dreads the moment Tim withdraws. So does Tim, but Tim knows they might as well be clothed for when it happens. So they part.

Tim leaves Jay feeling empty while they clean, but helps replace shed articles of clothing. Jay thought he was done crying but the feeling of those calloused palms on his chest and stomach and shoulder blades and pulling his shirt on and fixing his collar makes the tears threaten to fall all over again.

Tim whispers an apology because he knows in part that he's making things worse.

The buzzing is in their heads now. The white noise. They wonder why, now, that it is so much louder and so much more painful. Sitting on the end of the bed, shoulders glued together, they think about how much anger they feel. How much anger He feels.

So many months. So many months so many weeks so many days.

They think about all the days they could have been together.

It's dark outside.

They don't look at each other but they think about alternatives, about what their futures might have held in store.

The lights are off now. Were they always off?

They can barely feel themselves now but they still think about Seth and Sarah and Alex and Amy and Brian and the man that died and the doll in the house and the notes and the cinderblock and the lead pipes and the coughing and the pills and the darkness and the tunnel and The Ark.

Tim thinks about Masky.

Jay thinks about Alex.

Hoodie thinks about them all, as he stands behind his Operator in the doorway leading into the bedroom where Tim and Jay were presently sitting.

It's time.

Jay doesn't cry when he stops thinking of anything.

The Ark awaits.

Tim wasn't crying in the first place, but feels like he wants to as the noise seeps in and out of him.

Come greet the others, they'll be happy to see you.

Hoodie thinks he's thinking when he's not thinking at all.

When he thinks of the plan, of the tapes and of all the complications, of the misguided Alex and the girls he helped abduct, of himself and who he truly was, and of the shapeless, faceless form of his master, he really isn't thinking at all.

When he thinks of all the former proxies and of all the former failures who never reached The Ark, and when he looks down at his own hands and wonders why they are no longer there, he really isn't thinking at all.

In fact, Hoodie was never thinking of anything.

There was never anything on his mind.

Because everything is fine.