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Title: Shut Up And Make Some Noise
Fandom: Community
Relationship(s)/Character(s): Britta/Jeff
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 560
Content Notes: sex, apocalypse au
Summary: Everyone else is dead and everything is meaningless, so what does it matter who makes what noise and when?

The sex doesn't mean anything, Britta reminds him. She says it so often that the statement is just as meaningless as the sex.

In the beginning of this fucked up war, they would lie in the dark at night, listening to the noise filtering down through the soil and air vents and through the thick ceiling of the bunker. Jeff slept sitting on the floor, back resting against the metal frame of the bed, because despite what anyone might have said before, he was somewhat of a gentleman.

No one said otherwise now, because everyone he knew was dead. Well, except Britta, and she was too busy telling him the sex didn't mean anything to pass judgement on his chivalry.

"Can you shut the hell up?" he asks her one night, pulling his face from between her thighs to glare up at her in a way he hoped was meaningful. "You're throwing me off here."

They've had a really shitty day. Shittier than most in this post-apocalyptic suckfest. Another explosion on the surface had knocked out the power down below for hours until they'd decided one of them was going to have to brave the mutants and go up there to fix it. It was quiet enough though, and there was a full clip in the gun, so they figured they could manage it.

The atmosphere topside was still largely un-liveable, what with the toxic gas air and acid rain, but Jeff only threw up for three hours when he came back down instead of the three days he spent wishing he were dead last time he had to go outside, so maybe things were looking up. Who knew.

Britta glares back at him, matching him ounce for ounce on the meaningful disdain and mimes zipping her lips and tossing the key. Jeff goes back to eating her out because it's one of the only welcome distractions they have left.

Distractions are important. Distractions from the tiny room they're stuck in and the knowledge that every single thing they once knew is crumbling to fucking dust two hundred and forty feet above their heads.

Plus the taste of her pussy helps erase the taste of vomit from the back of his throat. That's all the sex means, really: distractions.

But it turns out Britta's breathy muttering and occasional strings of curse words were drowning out the noises that drifted down from the surface. Those were the unwelcome kind of distraction.

"Hey," he says, pressing his fingers into her thighs to get her attention. Britta blinks her eyes open in the dim light.

Jeff flicks his tongue over her clit once more before he says, "make a little more noise, would you?"

She obviously hears the muffled screams too, but making Jeff's life difficult is really all that there is left now, so she questions him. "Why? You just told me not to say anything."

"Shut up and make some noise, okay?"

Britta is about to say something snappy back, he can just tell by the look on her face, when he pushes a finger inside her and twists. She cries out and comes wetly against his hand, and he chuckles humourlessly.

"Not fair, Winger, we said no hands."

"I thought if the sex was meaningless, then the rules were meaningless too."

They fall asleep, sweaty and more than a little antagonistic, but ultimately, distracted.

February 2017

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