Here there be dragons...
Title: 21st Century Cure
Chapter: 3
Genre: Fanfiction, Repo! The Genetic Opera
Rating: Gods only knows- Absolutely NC-17, we'll see how much worse. This chapter- GR/Amber smut, Shilo all bruised and battered emotionally, and some pretty graphic drug use. Leather, whips, cigarettes, alcohol. Graverobber is not a nice guy in this one, at all. REALLY graphic sex- if you're squeamish or shy this is not your chapter. Humiliation/exhibitionism, borderline rape, serious sadism, drugged sex, blood play, DP, anal, forced oral... uhm. It's just really smutty.
Summary: Would you change who you are if you could?
Disclaimer: I own nothing except a brain that is hardwired for tragedy, trauma and incredible filth. For legal purposes- assume Shilo turned 18 last week. As always, let's just blame James.
This chapter I’m going to dedicate to catmeowmie . For her birthday. And all the Alice Cooper references are for her too- they worked really well in this section. If someone can guess which song the references come from, I’ll add a requested kink or meme into the storyline. :D
A/N: These stories are not coming out in order. This one was supposed to take place just before the opera- you know when Amber is talking about going to get cut for the show? Yeah, right in there. Now it's twisted, and so I'm going to set this right after the opera. Right at the very last little clip, where GR is talking about tiny pine boxes, and Amber slides past almost off-screen, after the fix that only he can give her. I promise that once I get all of them out, I will go back through, edit and reorder them properly, but right now, the order they get written in is the order I post in.
I haven't seen her in weeks, maybe a month. I don't care. Can't afford to. She's a sweet kid, was a good fuck. That's all it was, and I can find the second half of that anywhere. Speaking of good fucks- look what the cat dragged in. Amber fucking Sweet, and I can tell she's ready for another hit. Her car is idling at the end of the alley, and her eyes have that desperate, haunted glow I've seen so many times before. She'll do anything for what's in my pockets, and right now, anything is just what I need.
Sometimes, I almost love my job.
"Give it to me," Amber snapped, flinging a thick wad of money at him. He ignored the bills, letting them scatter around his feet, his sensual mouth quirked into a smirk. She hated it when he did that- it made her feel like the mouse who realizes too late that he's taken shelter in the cat's basket.
"I don't want your money." His voice was amused, his Arctic blue eyes sweeping over her.
"Nothing else is on offer," she retorted, folding her arms across her chest. She was head of Geneco now, not some pathetic wannabe star crawling through the filth looking for a fix. She wasn't the girl who he had fucked against a wall a few times, or had scraped her knees on the cement while she sucked his dick. She didn't need this anymore, really. She just wanted something to take the edge off, to give her a few hours of restful sleep. The only reason she came to him was because his Z was always pure, and always clean.
"I'll see you around, then." He actually turned his back on her, started to walk away. She scowled. No one turned their back on her, not now.
"Grave Robber!" He glanced at her over his shoulder, and she sighed. "What do you want?"
His lips twitched, curled into a smile that made her veins turn to ice.
"You."
*
She took him back to her place. One of her first acts as the new head of Geneco had been to move into an apartment of her own, a modest penthouse only three floors up from the street, in a nice neighborhood that catered to professionals. She thought it made her look more people-oriented, more normal. Less like the spoiled rich bitch everyone thought she was.
He wandered around the apartment, helping himself to a glass of Scotch, leaning against the floor to ceiling windows while she dismissed her bodyguards for the night, set the security codes, checked her messages and stripped out of her business suit. She came back from her bedroom to find him propped against the fireplace mantel, staring into the cold ashes and cradling his glass in his hands.
"Make yourself at home," she quipped. She was surprised that he hadn't already put her against a wall, gotten his rocks off, and left her achingly aroused and bruised, clutching nothing more than a glowing vial. That was the way it always went. She was even more surprised when he picked up a glass from the table beside him and handed it to her.
"What's this?" she asked suspiciously. He laughed, and the sound trembled down her spine.
"A drink. Try it, Amber. You'll like it."
She sipped it warily, tasting whisky and peaches and cranberry and something extra, something that sparked on her tongue. She shuddered and he laughed again, stepping forward and tracing a finger down the edge of her robe. She let him do it, her eyes on his as she took another sip. He'd laced it with Z. She knew it, didn't care.
"It's called a Royal Flush." He moved out of her line of sight, and his long fingers came down on her shoulders, gathering up her hair and moving it off her neck. His breath was warm on her skin, his lips leaving little tingles of pleasure in their wake as she spoke against her ear. "Appropriate, I thought."
"I didn't know you were a bartender." Her head was getting light, even as her body felt flushed and heavy.
"I've been a lot of things." His nimble fingers slid the sash of her robe free from the loops. He tested the silk in his hands, eying the wrought iron wall sconces across the room speculatively. "Finish your drink, Ms. Sweet. You're going to need it."
The menace in his tone made her react, made her knees quiver and her thighs clench tightly together. Obediently, she finished her drink and set the glass aside, turning to face him. He was standing in front of the windows again, hands behind his back as he studied the lights mounted on either side of them.
"Are these mounted into the concrete?" he asked suddenly, gesturing towards the elegant iron brackets. She shrugged, and he grinned wolfishly. "Better hope so."
She didn't have time to ask what he meant, because he turned on his heel and vanished down the hallway, into her bedroom. She waited, expecting him to call her. Instead, he returned, holding another length of silk in his hands. Another of her robe sashes. She raised an eyebrow, and he smirked.
"Strip." His eyes never left her face as she shrugged out of her robe, revealing the black lace bra and panties underneath. His eyes gleamed and he motioned her to stop. "Come here."
It was the drug that made her this pliant, she was sure. When he knotted the sashes around her wrists, she didn't even try to argue. She let him maneuver her as he pleased, stretching her arms up and out, tying the ends of the sashes to the light fixtures. Only when she realized that he had tied her so tightly that she was only inches away from the window did she realize what he was planning.
"No, Grave, please." She tugged futilely against the bonds, straining away from the windows.
"Say that again?" His hands were still cold when they came around to cup her breasts through the lace cups of her bra, tracing the delicate spider web pattern with his long index fingers. She watched their reflection in the glass, her pale skin and lush curves contrasting with the darkness of his clothes and hair.
“I said no.” Her voice trembled.
“Not that part…”
“Please?”
“Ahhhh…” his breath ran out in a long sigh, and his fingers closed over her nipples cruelly, arching her back and drawing a shriek from her throat. It hurt, even through the hazy screen of the drug and the alcohol. “I like it when you say please.”
“Please, don’t do this here. People can see…”
“That’s part of the fun, isn’t it?” His frigid hands kept moving, trailing over her breasts, tickling down her ribs. His fingers dug into her hips, leaving red splotches on her skin. Her body twitched, rubbing against his as he played her like a violin.
“You know what?” he whispered against her throat, his teeth grazing her skin. “I think I want something a little bit- extra, this time.” She sagged against the bonds, limp with pleasure and Zydrate, when he stepped away.
She heard the familiar hiss and slither of leather the moment before her own whip cracked against her ass, and she screamed for him. The Zydrate numbed the pain almost instantly, leaving a line of fiery numbness where the whip had kissed.
“Pretty.” The Graverobber contemplated the contrast of white skin, black lace, and red welt. “But not enough.” Not nearly enough to help him erase what he wanted to from his mind. The whip made a sound like rain as it slid back across the polished wooden floor.
*
Shilo hadn’t seen him in weeks. Not since the night he had snuck in her bedroom window and nearly gotten them caught.
She wandered around the city now, not exactly looking. If anyone had cared enough to ask, she would have told them she was just exploring the world. She’d been everywhere, it seemed- through a hundred graveyards, down busy avenues crowded with shoppers. She’d even walked all the way out to the ruined bridge that had once connected the city to the rest of the world, and seen the ocean swirling and splashing around the twisted wreckage of what used to be civilization.
Tonight she was window-watching. It fascinated her to see the things that people did. In the poverty stricken sections of town, children peered out with frightened eyes, pimps slapped whores, and tired workers sat at battered tables and bowed their head to pray over meager meals.
As the windows got richer, so did the variety. Cocktail parties in full swing, lovers lingering over a bottle of wine, families watching the latest popular movies. A beautiful woman pressed against the glass, her painted lips parted in a scream that could have been joy or pain, while a tall man with long, brightly-dyed hair sank his teeth into her shoulder…
Shilo froze; her breath caught in her throat, and sank back against the nearest wall. She knew that hair, those teeth. And she knew those breasts, barely restrained behind black lace, knew that sculptured face. She didn’t feel the tears running down her cheeks. She stared, transfixed like a bird watching a snake.
*
She tasted like plastic and money and blood. It was one of the things he’d always liked about her, one of the reasons he’d let her fuck him for Z, when he turned down a dozen other Zydrate whores a day. She was sobbing now, more in humiliation than pain, although he used the whip on her until her panties were shredded and the first thin lines of blood had appeared on her bruised back and ass. He loved it.
He didn’t talk to her now, just shoved his hand roughly into her pretty panties and fucked her with his fingers, pinching her clit when she tried to pull away, rubbing her g-spot when she pushed into his hand. She was wet- she was always wet when he got rough with her. His dick was hard, and he wanted to bury himself in her and pound her until he forgot everything but how good it felt to get his rocks off and walk away, and never think twice about how the girl felt the next day.
Amber hissed in protest when he ripped her panties off, moaned when he finally undid his pants and rammed into her. She swayed, and he was glad he’d had the forethought to tie her up. It was rough, and angry and just right for him. He felt the quick, hard flutter of her pussy as she started to come, and he went with it, pulling out just in time to cover her beautifully carved ass with jism. She shrieked as the semen stung the open cuts in her flesh.
Her skin gleamed with sweat, and her head fell forward. He chuckled, and slipped a knife from his pocket, unfolding the blade and cutting through the silk that bound her upright with nonchalance, whistling a Blind Mag song under his breath. She crumpled at his feet, and he looked down at her. She was red and white and bruised all over.
His cock was still hard, his balls still ached.
“Fuck.” He swore bitterly, and Amber’s bleary gaze finally lifted.
“You hurt me,” she said. Her voice sounded bewildered and lost, like a little girl who didn’t understand why Daddy just slapped her face. It just made him want more. Guilt flared in his stomach, and he shoved it away.
“I want to do it again,” he growled, grabbing her by the wrists. He half-carried, half-dragged her to the sofa a few feet away, throwing her facedown over the backrest. It probably was starting to hurt her now- he hadn’t dosed her drink with much. The thought made him harder.
The lack of lube wasn’t something he was particularly worried about between the blood and come on her skin there was enough slipperiness to keep him from peeling his dick like a banana when he fitted the head against her tightly puckered ass and pushed. She cried out and he grinned savagely. She started to struggle and he grabbed the back of her neck, forcing her back down, savoring the futile thrashing of her body underneath his, allowing his greater weight to hold her down and her own movements to work her further back onto him, until he was halfway inside, surrounded by obscene heat.
She subsided suddenly and just started to scream, one long, ragged sound after another. Her breathing was starting to hitch, and he thought she was probably dangerously close to hyperventilating. Fumbling, he found the Zydrate gun and checked the load. There was plenty of glow left to send Ms. Sweet back into complicity.
She froze when he pressed the cold metal against her inner thigh. He laughed, leaning over the nip at her spine.
“Is this what you want?” He rubbed the gun back and forth along her thigh, teasing her. She whimpered pitifully, arching her back, rubbing her ass against him like a cat in heat. He closed his eyes against the increase in pressure around his cock, and slapped her left cheek. She shrieked, and he laughed. He eased the gun higher, slid it through the sloppy wetness of her labia and nudged them open.
“Nonononono…” he ignored her protests, pushing the gun inside her.
“Now you really are a whore for the glow,” he told her, admiring the view. Her asshole stretched around his cock, already swollen and red from his rough penetration. His handprint stood out clearly, fiery crimson and hot to the touch. Her welted thighs quivered, and the splay of her lips around the barrel of the gun was almost elegant. “Damn, Amber. You look absolutely gorgeous like this.”
Her reply sounded like a sob, and he took mercy on her. He thrust hard, burying himself inside her even as his finger eased back on the trigger, and he felt her body jerk in exquisite agony. Direct tissue injection sites always hurt like a bitch, but the rush was stronger, the ride longer. She went blessedly limp, and he could feel the tug and release of her muscles as she climaxed around both of them- him and his gun. He luxuriated in it, his hand moving rhythmically as he worked her through another peak or two. It didn’t help him get off, but fuck, it felt good to have her body milking his cock the way it was.
*
Why can’t I look away? I should be disgusted, horrified. He’s a monster- his face looks like it’s been carved from stone, his eyes are so dead. I’m lucky.
I should go away. I don’t want to see any more. I don’t want to know any more. I know what he is now. I should run home and be glad that he never came back.
God, I wish I was her…
*
Amber choked and gagged as he held her head in his hands, forced her down on his dripping cock. She’d always given good head, and even higher than the moon, she knew enough to keep her teeth out of the way. He felt the flutter of her tongue against his shaft and almost purred in satisfaction.
She’d told him once, when she was spaced out and sprawled at his feet in the alley, that she’d learned at her father’s knee- literally. Rotti may have been a sick bastard, and a monster- but he appreciated how well the daughter had been taught. She lapped at him like a kitten, her eyes unfocused and still leaking tears, and he groaned, fisting his hand in her hair as she licked her own juices and taint from his skin.
His own gaze was staring to lose coherence around the edges, blurring the golden-lit room, melting Amber’s carefully created features into a pale blur. Her eyelashes flicked up, and he no longer saw her violet orbs- instead her eyes were as black as the pits of hell, wide and terrified and innocent.
For just a moment, she had Shilo’s eyes.
He pulled away even as he came, spattering Amber’s face with come, the thick, pearly liquid dripping down onto her heavy breasts. She blinked at him, and his face was her own again, slack and uncomprehending.
“Fuck.” He rubbed a hand over his face, absently scooping up Amber’s discarded robe to wipe himself off. He tucked himself back into his pants and zipped up. The room reeked of sex and blood and sweat, and suddenly he had to leave. He looked at the woman crumpled at his feet, and felt a mingled rush of revulsion and regret. Almost apologetically, he lifted her from the floor and laid her on her side on the couch, draping her carefully with the soiled silk. She didn’t speak, just rolled her pain-filled eyes to look up at him. She was white as a ghost where she wasn’t bruised or splotched with red.
He felt guilty enough to dose her up again before he left,
He didn’t notice the girl pressed back into the shadows when he passed. His hands were shoved down in his pockets, his eyes automatically scanning the streets, but he wasn’t really seeing anything. If he’d been on his game, he might have heard the broken little sound that followed his passage.
I haven’t seen her in weeks. Maybe a month.
So why can’t I forget yet?
*
Shilo made her way home slowly. It felt like there were broken pieces inside her chest, grinding against each other. Her mind was full of flashes of violence and blood, spliced with reels of memory. His hands cupping her breasts, his eyes rolled up to watch her face as his mouth danced over her flesh.
She shuddered. How could he be the man in her bed, and the man in Amber’s window? Her head throbbed and she felt her stomach turn. Every preservation instinct she had told her to run, and just keep running.
I’ve seen him for what he is, what he does. He’s a monster. He’d rip me to pieces, leave me broken and bleeding just like he did Amber.
I’ve never wanted anything so much.
Chapter: 3
Genre: Fanfiction, Repo! The Genetic Opera
Rating: Gods only knows- Absolutely NC-17, we'll see how much worse. This chapter- GR/Amber smut, Shilo all bruised and battered emotionally, and some pretty graphic drug use. Leather, whips, cigarettes, alcohol. Graverobber is not a nice guy in this one, at all. REALLY graphic sex- if you're squeamish or shy this is not your chapter. Humiliation/exhibitionism, borderline rape, serious sadism, drugged sex, blood play, DP, anal, forced oral... uhm. It's just really smutty.
Summary: Would you change who you are if you could?
Disclaimer: I own nothing except a brain that is hardwired for tragedy, trauma and incredible filth. For legal purposes- assume Shilo turned 18 last week. As always, let's just blame James.
This chapter I’m going to dedicate to catmeowmie . For her birthday. And all the Alice Cooper references are for her too- they worked really well in this section. If someone can guess which song the references come from, I’ll add a requested kink or meme into the storyline. :D
A/N: These stories are not coming out in order. This one was supposed to take place just before the opera- you know when Amber is talking about going to get cut for the show? Yeah, right in there. Now it's twisted, and so I'm going to set this right after the opera. Right at the very last little clip, where GR is talking about tiny pine boxes, and Amber slides past almost off-screen, after the fix that only he can give her. I promise that once I get all of them out, I will go back through, edit and reorder them properly, but right now, the order they get written in is the order I post in.
I haven't seen her in weeks, maybe a month. I don't care. Can't afford to. She's a sweet kid, was a good fuck. That's all it was, and I can find the second half of that anywhere. Speaking of good fucks- look what the cat dragged in. Amber fucking Sweet, and I can tell she's ready for another hit. Her car is idling at the end of the alley, and her eyes have that desperate, haunted glow I've seen so many times before. She'll do anything for what's in my pockets, and right now, anything is just what I need.
Sometimes, I almost love my job.
"Give it to me," Amber snapped, flinging a thick wad of money at him. He ignored the bills, letting them scatter around his feet, his sensual mouth quirked into a smirk. She hated it when he did that- it made her feel like the mouse who realizes too late that he's taken shelter in the cat's basket.
"I don't want your money." His voice was amused, his Arctic blue eyes sweeping over her.
"Nothing else is on offer," she retorted, folding her arms across her chest. She was head of Geneco now, not some pathetic wannabe star crawling through the filth looking for a fix. She wasn't the girl who he had fucked against a wall a few times, or had scraped her knees on the cement while she sucked his dick. She didn't need this anymore, really. She just wanted something to take the edge off, to give her a few hours of restful sleep. The only reason she came to him was because his Z was always pure, and always clean.
"I'll see you around, then." He actually turned his back on her, started to walk away. She scowled. No one turned their back on her, not now.
"Grave Robber!" He glanced at her over his shoulder, and she sighed. "What do you want?"
His lips twitched, curled into a smile that made her veins turn to ice.
"You."
*
She took him back to her place. One of her first acts as the new head of Geneco had been to move into an apartment of her own, a modest penthouse only three floors up from the street, in a nice neighborhood that catered to professionals. She thought it made her look more people-oriented, more normal. Less like the spoiled rich bitch everyone thought she was.
He wandered around the apartment, helping himself to a glass of Scotch, leaning against the floor to ceiling windows while she dismissed her bodyguards for the night, set the security codes, checked her messages and stripped out of her business suit. She came back from her bedroom to find him propped against the fireplace mantel, staring into the cold ashes and cradling his glass in his hands.
"Make yourself at home," she quipped. She was surprised that he hadn't already put her against a wall, gotten his rocks off, and left her achingly aroused and bruised, clutching nothing more than a glowing vial. That was the way it always went. She was even more surprised when he picked up a glass from the table beside him and handed it to her.
"What's this?" she asked suspiciously. He laughed, and the sound trembled down her spine.
"A drink. Try it, Amber. You'll like it."
She sipped it warily, tasting whisky and peaches and cranberry and something extra, something that sparked on her tongue. She shuddered and he laughed again, stepping forward and tracing a finger down the edge of her robe. She let him do it, her eyes on his as she took another sip. He'd laced it with Z. She knew it, didn't care.
"It's called a Royal Flush." He moved out of her line of sight, and his long fingers came down on her shoulders, gathering up her hair and moving it off her neck. His breath was warm on her skin, his lips leaving little tingles of pleasure in their wake as she spoke against her ear. "Appropriate, I thought."
"I didn't know you were a bartender." Her head was getting light, even as her body felt flushed and heavy.
"I've been a lot of things." His nimble fingers slid the sash of her robe free from the loops. He tested the silk in his hands, eying the wrought iron wall sconces across the room speculatively. "Finish your drink, Ms. Sweet. You're going to need it."
The menace in his tone made her react, made her knees quiver and her thighs clench tightly together. Obediently, she finished her drink and set the glass aside, turning to face him. He was standing in front of the windows again, hands behind his back as he studied the lights mounted on either side of them.
"Are these mounted into the concrete?" he asked suddenly, gesturing towards the elegant iron brackets. She shrugged, and he grinned wolfishly. "Better hope so."
She didn't have time to ask what he meant, because he turned on his heel and vanished down the hallway, into her bedroom. She waited, expecting him to call her. Instead, he returned, holding another length of silk in his hands. Another of her robe sashes. She raised an eyebrow, and he smirked.
"Strip." His eyes never left her face as she shrugged out of her robe, revealing the black lace bra and panties underneath. His eyes gleamed and he motioned her to stop. "Come here."
It was the drug that made her this pliant, she was sure. When he knotted the sashes around her wrists, she didn't even try to argue. She let him maneuver her as he pleased, stretching her arms up and out, tying the ends of the sashes to the light fixtures. Only when she realized that he had tied her so tightly that she was only inches away from the window did she realize what he was planning.
"No, Grave, please." She tugged futilely against the bonds, straining away from the windows.
"Say that again?" His hands were still cold when they came around to cup her breasts through the lace cups of her bra, tracing the delicate spider web pattern with his long index fingers. She watched their reflection in the glass, her pale skin and lush curves contrasting with the darkness of his clothes and hair.
“I said no.” Her voice trembled.
“Not that part…”
“Please?”
“Ahhhh…” his breath ran out in a long sigh, and his fingers closed over her nipples cruelly, arching her back and drawing a shriek from her throat. It hurt, even through the hazy screen of the drug and the alcohol. “I like it when you say please.”
“Please, don’t do this here. People can see…”
“That’s part of the fun, isn’t it?” His frigid hands kept moving, trailing over her breasts, tickling down her ribs. His fingers dug into her hips, leaving red splotches on her skin. Her body twitched, rubbing against his as he played her like a violin.
“You know what?” he whispered against her throat, his teeth grazing her skin. “I think I want something a little bit- extra, this time.” She sagged against the bonds, limp with pleasure and Zydrate, when he stepped away.
She heard the familiar hiss and slither of leather the moment before her own whip cracked against her ass, and she screamed for him. The Zydrate numbed the pain almost instantly, leaving a line of fiery numbness where the whip had kissed.
“Pretty.” The Graverobber contemplated the contrast of white skin, black lace, and red welt. “But not enough.” Not nearly enough to help him erase what he wanted to from his mind. The whip made a sound like rain as it slid back across the polished wooden floor.
*
Shilo hadn’t seen him in weeks. Not since the night he had snuck in her bedroom window and nearly gotten them caught.
She wandered around the city now, not exactly looking. If anyone had cared enough to ask, she would have told them she was just exploring the world. She’d been everywhere, it seemed- through a hundred graveyards, down busy avenues crowded with shoppers. She’d even walked all the way out to the ruined bridge that had once connected the city to the rest of the world, and seen the ocean swirling and splashing around the twisted wreckage of what used to be civilization.
Tonight she was window-watching. It fascinated her to see the things that people did. In the poverty stricken sections of town, children peered out with frightened eyes, pimps slapped whores, and tired workers sat at battered tables and bowed their head to pray over meager meals.
As the windows got richer, so did the variety. Cocktail parties in full swing, lovers lingering over a bottle of wine, families watching the latest popular movies. A beautiful woman pressed against the glass, her painted lips parted in a scream that could have been joy or pain, while a tall man with long, brightly-dyed hair sank his teeth into her shoulder…
Shilo froze; her breath caught in her throat, and sank back against the nearest wall. She knew that hair, those teeth. And she knew those breasts, barely restrained behind black lace, knew that sculptured face. She didn’t feel the tears running down her cheeks. She stared, transfixed like a bird watching a snake.
*
She tasted like plastic and money and blood. It was one of the things he’d always liked about her, one of the reasons he’d let her fuck him for Z, when he turned down a dozen other Zydrate whores a day. She was sobbing now, more in humiliation than pain, although he used the whip on her until her panties were shredded and the first thin lines of blood had appeared on her bruised back and ass. He loved it.
He didn’t talk to her now, just shoved his hand roughly into her pretty panties and fucked her with his fingers, pinching her clit when she tried to pull away, rubbing her g-spot when she pushed into his hand. She was wet- she was always wet when he got rough with her. His dick was hard, and he wanted to bury himself in her and pound her until he forgot everything but how good it felt to get his rocks off and walk away, and never think twice about how the girl felt the next day.
Amber hissed in protest when he ripped her panties off, moaned when he finally undid his pants and rammed into her. She swayed, and he was glad he’d had the forethought to tie her up. It was rough, and angry and just right for him. He felt the quick, hard flutter of her pussy as she started to come, and he went with it, pulling out just in time to cover her beautifully carved ass with jism. She shrieked as the semen stung the open cuts in her flesh.
Her skin gleamed with sweat, and her head fell forward. He chuckled, and slipped a knife from his pocket, unfolding the blade and cutting through the silk that bound her upright with nonchalance, whistling a Blind Mag song under his breath. She crumpled at his feet, and he looked down at her. She was red and white and bruised all over.
His cock was still hard, his balls still ached.
“Fuck.” He swore bitterly, and Amber’s bleary gaze finally lifted.
“You hurt me,” she said. Her voice sounded bewildered and lost, like a little girl who didn’t understand why Daddy just slapped her face. It just made him want more. Guilt flared in his stomach, and he shoved it away.
“I want to do it again,” he growled, grabbing her by the wrists. He half-carried, half-dragged her to the sofa a few feet away, throwing her facedown over the backrest. It probably was starting to hurt her now- he hadn’t dosed her drink with much. The thought made him harder.
The lack of lube wasn’t something he was particularly worried about between the blood and come on her skin there was enough slipperiness to keep him from peeling his dick like a banana when he fitted the head against her tightly puckered ass and pushed. She cried out and he grinned savagely. She started to struggle and he grabbed the back of her neck, forcing her back down, savoring the futile thrashing of her body underneath his, allowing his greater weight to hold her down and her own movements to work her further back onto him, until he was halfway inside, surrounded by obscene heat.
She subsided suddenly and just started to scream, one long, ragged sound after another. Her breathing was starting to hitch, and he thought she was probably dangerously close to hyperventilating. Fumbling, he found the Zydrate gun and checked the load. There was plenty of glow left to send Ms. Sweet back into complicity.
She froze when he pressed the cold metal against her inner thigh. He laughed, leaning over the nip at her spine.
“Is this what you want?” He rubbed the gun back and forth along her thigh, teasing her. She whimpered pitifully, arching her back, rubbing her ass against him like a cat in heat. He closed his eyes against the increase in pressure around his cock, and slapped her left cheek. She shrieked, and he laughed. He eased the gun higher, slid it through the sloppy wetness of her labia and nudged them open.
“Nonononono…” he ignored her protests, pushing the gun inside her.
“Now you really are a whore for the glow,” he told her, admiring the view. Her asshole stretched around his cock, already swollen and red from his rough penetration. His handprint stood out clearly, fiery crimson and hot to the touch. Her welted thighs quivered, and the splay of her lips around the barrel of the gun was almost elegant. “Damn, Amber. You look absolutely gorgeous like this.”
Her reply sounded like a sob, and he took mercy on her. He thrust hard, burying himself inside her even as his finger eased back on the trigger, and he felt her body jerk in exquisite agony. Direct tissue injection sites always hurt like a bitch, but the rush was stronger, the ride longer. She went blessedly limp, and he could feel the tug and release of her muscles as she climaxed around both of them- him and his gun. He luxuriated in it, his hand moving rhythmically as he worked her through another peak or two. It didn’t help him get off, but fuck, it felt good to have her body milking his cock the way it was.
*
Why can’t I look away? I should be disgusted, horrified. He’s a monster- his face looks like it’s been carved from stone, his eyes are so dead. I’m lucky.
I should go away. I don’t want to see any more. I don’t want to know any more. I know what he is now. I should run home and be glad that he never came back.
God, I wish I was her…
*
Amber choked and gagged as he held her head in his hands, forced her down on his dripping cock. She’d always given good head, and even higher than the moon, she knew enough to keep her teeth out of the way. He felt the flutter of her tongue against his shaft and almost purred in satisfaction.
She’d told him once, when she was spaced out and sprawled at his feet in the alley, that she’d learned at her father’s knee- literally. Rotti may have been a sick bastard, and a monster- but he appreciated how well the daughter had been taught. She lapped at him like a kitten, her eyes unfocused and still leaking tears, and he groaned, fisting his hand in her hair as she licked her own juices and taint from his skin.
His own gaze was staring to lose coherence around the edges, blurring the golden-lit room, melting Amber’s carefully created features into a pale blur. Her eyelashes flicked up, and he no longer saw her violet orbs- instead her eyes were as black as the pits of hell, wide and terrified and innocent.
For just a moment, she had Shilo’s eyes.
He pulled away even as he came, spattering Amber’s face with come, the thick, pearly liquid dripping down onto her heavy breasts. She blinked at him, and his face was her own again, slack and uncomprehending.
“Fuck.” He rubbed a hand over his face, absently scooping up Amber’s discarded robe to wipe himself off. He tucked himself back into his pants and zipped up. The room reeked of sex and blood and sweat, and suddenly he had to leave. He looked at the woman crumpled at his feet, and felt a mingled rush of revulsion and regret. Almost apologetically, he lifted her from the floor and laid her on her side on the couch, draping her carefully with the soiled silk. She didn’t speak, just rolled her pain-filled eyes to look up at him. She was white as a ghost where she wasn’t bruised or splotched with red.
He felt guilty enough to dose her up again before he left,
He didn’t notice the girl pressed back into the shadows when he passed. His hands were shoved down in his pockets, his eyes automatically scanning the streets, but he wasn’t really seeing anything. If he’d been on his game, he might have heard the broken little sound that followed his passage.
I haven’t seen her in weeks. Maybe a month.
So why can’t I forget yet?
*
Shilo made her way home slowly. It felt like there were broken pieces inside her chest, grinding against each other. Her mind was full of flashes of violence and blood, spliced with reels of memory. His hands cupping her breasts, his eyes rolled up to watch her face as his mouth danced over her flesh.
She shuddered. How could he be the man in her bed, and the man in Amber’s window? Her head throbbed and she felt her stomach turn. Every preservation instinct she had told her to run, and just keep running.
I’ve seen him for what he is, what he does. He’s a monster. He’d rip me to pieces, leave me broken and bleeding just like he did Amber.
I’ve never wanted anything so much.