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Grave Matters: A Repo! Roleplay (SevenxKawamura)

Graverobber pulled a face that should have told Nathan exactly what the scavenger thought of his landlord, but if it didn't, he said, "You saw Ray?" Good God, what did the two have to talk about? Sure, he was aware that Old Ray was a doctor, and yeah, he had sorta gone to the old man for information, but they weren't getting chummy, were they?

Oh, God, what if You and him started pestering about Nathan. He'd never hear the end of it.

And the grave robber was not one to settle down.

He wasn't. Not even if the doctor had a cute kid and the man was a good lay and he liked the way he tasted when they kissed. He wasn't one for something approaching a home and a family.

He simply wasn't.

But for a man that wanted nothing more than a decent fuck, he was being awfully kind. He'd never been the sort to let other's dictate his hygiene, either: he washed when he wanted to and no sooner (not that he didn't like showers, he just disliked being told what to do). Yet here he'd gone and showered when his body ached with the need to sleep, all because he wanted to please Nathan. He snorted softly, and when Nathan got under the sheets, a warm, naked body was waiting for him. Hands touched him not with the desire to tease and excite, but checking that the older man was still whole.

"You okay?" he asked again, deep voice fuzzy with the drug but he was still alert. There was no slurring in his short sentences.
 
Graverobber's body was still damp from the recent shower and rather than the smell of death and dirt, the scavenger smelled like soap - it was bizarre, but couple with the warmth of his skin through the material of Nathan's shirt, there was something comforting about it all. He felt the other man's hands on him, and for the first time since they'd met, the touch wasn't sexual - it wasn't platonic either, but it was different than what they usually exchanged. This felt close, intimate.

Nathan said nothing about it, because he feared that he would somehow break this strange spell, even if he wasn't sure if he liked it or not.

"I'm fine." Nathan said, "Go to sleep, Marcus."
 
As if satisfied by his check up, Graverobber grumbled lowly into Nathan's ear, pulled him close and settled his head right in the curve of the older man's nape. Beneath the smell of antiseptic and soap was the metallic tang of blood. His increasingly disjointed brain supplied 'all the perfumes of Arabia' and he had no idea where that was from, but it didn't matter because he was, for the first time in a very long while, safe and warm.

He was awake before Nathan, because he had been in bed for longer and he was used to dozing; the deep sleep had left him energized, fighting against the hang-over like symptoms of a fading Zydrate high. Graverobber murmured, pressing himself against the older man's back. Yesterday, he had been good with keeping his hands to himself. This morning, however, large hands ghosted down and under clothing, checking to see if the good doctor had morning wood to match his own.

The dealer couldn't be sweet all the time, after all.
 
It took time for Nathan to fall asleep that night; it wasn't just that he was bothered by what had happened, wasn't only bothered by the confession he'd spilled - and felt no catharsis from - though that certainly played a role in his restlessness. It was, strangely, also the feeling of another body against his own that made him unable to get to sleep because the feeling was still alien to him - breath against his throat, the surprisingly gentle sound of Graverobber's sleep; he had figured that, on top of everything else, the scavenger would snore, but he was quiet. It was one of the rare times that he was, so Nathan took it for the blessing it was and did his best to make his mind stop going in circles.

He felt asleep a long time after; he was completely still in his sleep save for the occasional twitch of his fingers and the side of his face buried against the pillow. He was sure that he had been dreaming, but for the life of him couldn't remember what it was about because the press of a body behind him, and then the sensation of a large, rough palm sliding beneath his shirt and another down between his legs was cause for him to jerk out of his sleep, starting his day with a throaty moan.

Groggy from sleep and buzzing with a low pleasure, his hand moved around, seeking contact, and he found Graverobber's hip - Graverobber's distinctly bare hip - and then he felt what was pressing against his lower back.
"I thought I was an early riser," Nathan mumbled out, still half asleep.
 
Graverobber, apart from all his other flaws, did not snore. Snoring was a dangerous thing to someone that often spent his nights in a grave yard. The dead didn't bother him, after all, but sometimes the living did: some nights, he'd rather sleep next to a dead girl than a living one hanging on him, gnawing on his ear, pushing a hand down his shirt and whispering in a high, breathy voice, "Graverobber, just a little hit." Snoring then would get him killed. GENcops didn't care if you were actually robbing graves at the moment; for some reason, sleeping in them could get you shot on the spot, too, if you were known to go around harvesting Z.

Entirely unfair, but he didn't snore and rarely slept hard enough anyways. That night, he had slept hard, had even woken up with his eyes stuck shut and had to blink a few times while he pressed a kiss to the back of Nathan's neck.

"Cute, Doc. I'm glad I'm not fucking you for your humor," he rumbled, teasing. So maybe he had a little sweetness left, while they were still in this warm, dark haven. Graverobber didn't want to leave, yet, to go back out on stage. He mouthed along the line of Nathan's spine, feeling that first bump of his back and clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Did you even eat anything yesterday? Outside of the spunk and brandy." Graverobber pinched a nipple in admonishment, feeling he might know that answer already.
 
"Really - I'd thought it was my propensity for stand-up comedy that got you fucking me," Nathan replied, and the curse still felt strange coming from his mouth; it still wasn't a common thing for the doctor, he had always balked at the idea of being too lewd - language was, after all, the very key to communication and he wasn't fond of the idea of reducing it to a few obscenities.

He felt the mouth along his spine, and his eyes fell closed as he enjoyed the sensation - though they snapped open again almost immediately when Graverobber's fingers pinched at him, and it sent a small jolt through him. It wasn't a spot Nathan had ever considered particularly sensitive, but it seemed that the scavenger knew exactly how to get a strong response.

He couldn't remember if he'd eaten anything. He might have; food hadn't been a concern of his.

"I'm sure I did." he rasped.

Food wasn't a concern of his right then, either.

He ran a hand down Graverobber's hip, down to his leg, long fingers digging into the thigh muscles, almost massaging; he was oddly fond of Graverobber's legs, there was a thick collection of muscles, evidence of the amount of legwork that the man did, and Nathan found himself enjoying the feeling of them beneath his hand.
 
Graverobber chuckled. Straight men, he had noticed (and he got sick pleasure from bedding a heterosexual man desperate enough to fuck a dealer for his fix, usually because they didn't have that damned simpering lisp of the flaming), always seemed to forget their nipples, seemed to think it was only women with their soft curves and obvious breasts that enjoyed the stimulation. Even the doctor had fallen into the same trap, though he imagined medical school had glossed over erogenous zones.

Shame. But he had a feeling his doctor was clever enough to pic up whatever he needed to know about the male body.

"Nathan. Such language," he mocked, catching an earlobe in his mouth to worry. There was a warm hand massaging his thigh, chasing away aches from a morning after just a little too much Z and running and crouching, and Graverobber shivered, pressing his erection against Nathan's back. "Know any more dirty words you've not been telling me? Any more 'please, fuck me, Marcus' or 'make the bed hit the wall's?" His hips were rocking now, just slightly, but the younger man had the benefit of a rather fantastic level of self-control. After all, he spent most of his days with bodies writhing against him and Graverobber in general loved his money more than his fucks. If he hadn't developed control enough to be picky, he'd be as poor as some of his more desperate clientele and that idea just didn't sit well with the dealer.

The pale fingers that had been pinching Nathan ghosted up to his throat, putting just the slightest pressure there to force him back against his mouth. It was a move he was used to using on more malleable whores (Sweet herself was rather fond of it), since many of them couldn't remove his organs with things as blunt as his own shoe.
 
Nathan felt the other man rocking up against him and the touches and the closeness were causing a stir inside of the doctor, making him grow hard; suddenly, all of the exhaustion from the night and the day prior had dissappeared - though the anger lingered somewhere inside of him, he found himself thinking only about Graverobber right then.

"Those were - in the heat of the moment, I can't be held responsible for that," Nathan said, and he pushed himself back against the other man, putting a little pressure to cause friction on Graverobber's erection, "You just bring out the worst in me."

And he felt the fingers at his throat; it was a gentle enough motion, but he still felt a cool in his spine that indicated his darker half was displeased, and it stirred a small noise from Nathan, his fingers digging harder into the man's thigh, dragging upwards slowly before his hand moved back between their bodies and he roughly grasped Graverobber's length.
 
The scavenger hissed into Nathan's ear, fingers curling around that slender throat. The bruises under his palm were hot, warmer than the rest of the lined skin, and he was stupid for this little fight of dominance.

"W-why do I need to go see Old Ray?" he asked softly, trying to keep a conversation up even with that tight grip on his cock. He wanted to hear Nathan's voice, especially as he was putting pressure on his throat. He might, also, want to stir enough of the monster in the gentle man to get a good fight.

Maybe he wanted to be on his back this morning.

"If this is about a check up, I'd rather you'd do it," Graverobber managed, resting one of his legs on Nathan's so he could spread his further. "Maybe we should hurry with that. I'm looking forward to fucking you without a rubber."
 
"He just needs to see you," Nathan said, and he stroked the scavenger firmly a few times; he felt the other man's body twitching in response, privately hoping to distract the man from the topic - he didn't want to explain it to Graverobber, didn't want to tell the man he was going to be heading to Bankole's for a life-threatening surgery. He wanted to keep Graverobber from knowing until the very moment he went in, because it was just easier that way - even with all of the advances in medical technology and organs, there was always a risk.

There was always the risk that Graverobber wouldn't survive it.

But he wouldn't survive without it, either.

Nathan shuddered hard; he wasn't sure if it because of what the man had said or because of his own thoughts, but the increasing pressure on his throat was causing that cool in his spine to grow, and before he could stop himself, he had torn Graverobber's hand away from his neck, twisted himself around in the man's arms, and sunk his teeth into Graverobber's neck like the world's most mild-mannered vampire.
 
Graverobber, though he didn't know it, was going to be operated on in a hospital that didn't have access to all the best. It was the problem with a non-GeneCo hospital; sure, you wouldn't get your organs removed for missing a payment, and yes, the costs were better, but the equipment wasn't top notch, the staff was over worked, and, while Ray and his were careful, the risks were much, much higher.

Especially for someone that was going down for a major surgery, who used Zydrate enough that the main form of anesthesia might or might not work much for him. The only thing Graverobber had going for him was the fact he was cockroach-like in his ability to survive.

Nathan's fear, for some reason, was almost palatable. He didn't understand what Old Ray had told him; perhaps the man had found something out that the doctor didn't want anyone else to know. In any case, he wanted to help chase that fear away. He also wanted that rough treatment, the teeth at his neck that made him gasp and whimper and squirm. "Fuck, Nathan," he breathed, hands coming down to grope the man's ass, grinding against him. "Harder. I won't break."
 
Nathan didn't want to think about the impending surgery; he knew his worry was ridiculous, that he shouldn't feel so much concern for the scavenger - he didn't even know what to label this strange relationship as, after all - but he was feeling a well of despair at the thought of the other man going beneath the knife. Suddenly, it was imperative to distract himself as well, to hear Graverobber's groans and feel him twitch. He felt Graverobber's hands grab him, felt their hips connect, and even through the material of his trousers it sent shocks through the doctor's body.

One of his hands reached up to wind into Graverobber's hair - he found that the thick ropes felt less gritty than usual, that the musty smell was nearly gone, and he attributed it to the shower that the man had taken the night before. He used Graverobber's hair, wrenched the man's head to the side and began to worry the skin between his teeth, laving his tongue against the spot once he had bruised it, his hand continuing it's rough and uneven stroking at the same time.

He heard Graverobber's groan for him to be rougher with him, but the cool in his spine reminded him that drawing blood would be a poor choice, even moreso now that some part of his mind was informing him of how good the scavenger's blood tasted. It was a thought that disturbed the doctor, so he busied himself at the man's adam's able, teeth and tongue working at the dip just below it, then up to the soft spot beneath the man's jaw. He wrenched hard on Graverobber's hair to force his head back further into a more uncomfortable position, enough to give Nathan a decent advantage over the other man right then.
 
Graverobber wanted that advantage. It reminded him, vaguely, of before in the alleyway, the first time the doctor had touched him in a way that wasn't deadly... but that had been the monster, hadn't it? He shuddered, breathing going ragged as he squirmed and bucked.

"Fuck," he growled, digging his stubby nails into the older man's ass, feeling the wiry muscles there. He wanted more. Not violence, not quite. Something a little darker that wouldn't draw out the night surgeon. It was masochistic and needy and he was entirely unsure of why he wanted it, but he reached up and slammed the heel of his hand into the other man's temple. It was a pulled punch, but it would hurt.

"Fucking force me, Nathan," Graverobber bit out, and he might have felt something like embarrassment (he was fighting a man to lose, to actually bottom in a way that had nothing to do with penetration and everything to do with control and he wanted it), but he was hard in Nathan's hand and the old man wanted distraction. So did he. He wanted to chase away the fear he'd felt last night when the early morning hours had come and Nathan hadn't been there, wanted to chase away the desire to be gentle or to even help the doctor.
 
He heard the rasped curse, felt the other man trembling - and then came the hit, it was a hard shot to the temple, enough that it briefly dazed Nathan before he shook it off, a sudden well of irritation rising in his chest, and the cold had crept further up his vertebrae, rising to his neck now and settling around his shoulders, wrapping around like the beginnings of a noose. Repo was getting closer, he was tasting the air, flicking his tongue out at it - there was violence, there was pain, there was the anger, and Repo wanted in on it.

But then there was a strange sort of desperation in Graverobber's voice, a need that Nathan couldn't help but recognize because he'd felt it himself; they were both fighting something that they didn't even want to acknowledge, and without even needing to hear it, he knew what it was that Graverobber was trying to distance himself from. He knew because he'd been failing to distance himself from it as well, as evidenced by the very fact he had done something terribly stupid, something risky and horrifying in order to ensure that, two years down the road, Graverobber wouldn't die from non-functional lungs.

The bizarre strength made an appearance, the one that Graverobber had felt before in the alleyway, and again in the graveyard when he'd nearly had his life choked out of him; Nathan's fingers went around Graverobber's throat and he was shoving the man onto his back even as he pushed away the icy fingers of Repo, refused to let the monster be the one to do this, only allowed the darkness a small say in it - just enough to drive him to give the man what he was after. If Graverobber wanted this, he would give it to him - but he wouldn't allow Repo to be the one to make it happen, he didn't want Repo to touch Graverobber.

The long fingers clamped down, half-closed the scavenger's windpipe while he bit down on the man's collarbone, his hand tugging roughly on Graverobber's length once more before moving away, trailing down his thigh then digging his fingers into the muscle of the man's rear.

He wasn't certain Graverobber knew what he was asking for.
 
Graverobber had no idea what he wanted.

His brain was addled, thoughts jumbling in his mind in a way he'd never felt before: when he reached out for them to try and put them in some sort of order, the bare minimum (which, as a user of Z and other drugs, was pretty damned low), they scattered from him like so many hyper active children.

He tried again: he was on his back, warm, strong fingers crushing his throat and it felt so good his hips were still bucking even after the hand on his dick vanished. Nathan was still dressed and the cloth felt just as good, maybe even better than the mouth on his collarbone. The teeth hurt, immediately discoloring an area that was mostly skin and bone, but the dealer was of such a depraved sort that the pain immediately went to his groin. Best of all was that hand, though, and he wheezed, letting his head drop back to give Nathan better access.

The other man could kill him right now, finish the job from weeks ago and no one would ever know. Bone-white hands reached down, grasping, pulling up that greying head as if he were going to give a fight, but instead he started pressing gentle, shaking kisses to his cheeks, his forehead, his jaw. Graverobber had fucked himself: here he'd been trying to run away from that feeling and yet he'd put himself in the most vulnerable position he could think of. Nathan could just squeeze a little harder and he'd crush his windpipe, end his useless life, and that wold be that, but he couldn't even bring himself to feel afraid.

Graverobber groaned. He trusted Nathan. Oh, God, he trusted him. Not 'trusted him when they both had their hands at the other's throat and were at an impasse' but trusted him. "Please," he wheezed, wriggling under the doctor, hands cupping his face. "Oh, God, please. Hurt me." He didn't want to trust him. He wanted to be sensibly afraid, wary, and loathing of this monster. Hell, he wanted Nathan to bleed what trust he'd developed out of him, just to make it go away. "If you get soft on me again," he threatened weakly, unable to even finish.
 
Graverobber was bigger than he was - overall, his frame was simply built larger, but somehow the scavenger's throat felt almost brittle beneath his hand, it felt as though he could crush the windpipe without any real effort; but that was how it was with most of them, every one of them was a human being until they were in his hands, and then they were just patients, then they were - they were - oh god.

Graverobber wasn't a patient, he knew that. He didn't want to hurt this man but Repo did, and for some reason, Graverobber was encouraging it, he wanted this.

But then there were those kisses, pressed against his jaw, his forehead; they were shaking and soft, and suddenly Nathan wasn't sure he could keep crushing the breath out of him like that - Graverobber made a thin threat, rasping for him not to be gentle, but he found himself leaning in and brushing their lips together.
 
Graverobber shuddered miserably. They'd gone too far, both of them; he should have just kept his hands away from the doctor's throat. The dealer had no idea what he wanted from all this. It was new and dangerous and, worst of all, frightening. Some part of him, beneath the self-destructive urges people like him and Nathan had, wanted the other man to let up, to be gentle, kind and so-very Nathan.

Romantic might have been the word, but he wasn't quite sure he knew what that meant outside of flowers and over-priced sweets.

Nathan must have because he ignored the feeble posturing and that almost-kiss sent Graverobber shivering again, frame tense in an aborted 'fight or flight' urge. His brain (the part that wasn't lightheaded from not enough air) was screaming at him to stop this, that he was bigger and more desperate and that knife was closer for him: he didn't have to play this game, hell, he could probably even hurt his doctor. Instead, he relaxed, calloused fingers rubbing careful circles into Nathan's cheeks, his temples. Lowly, in a voice so quiet he wasn't even sure he'd spoken, he said, "I trust you, Doc."
 
He felt Graverobber shudder under him, felt the man suddenly go from tensed to relaxed when their lips brushed together, and Nathan felt Repo's frustration as he shoved the monster back yet again, refused to give him an inch - not with Graverobber. Repo got all of the ones out on the streets, nearly every night he got his pound of flesh, body after body, death after death, gallons of blood spilled by the darker side of himself - Repo got to have them.

Just let me have this one.

Nathan moved in, tenative, brushed their lips together again, pulled Graverobber's bottom lip between his teeth and worried at the skin; his hands shifted, one slid up the man's chest and mapped him out, his fingers found the scars from surgery years ago and they traced the deep, old wounds.

"You shouldn't." Nathan said, trying to ignore the strange way his pulse picked up from those words, and he placed a kiss against Graverobber's mouth, adding, "It's a bad idea."
 
The good doctor was a little more cautious now but still so very gentle. Graverobber sighed against his mouth, just the barest amount of noise escaping as a whimper. God, he was in deep. The scavenger currently shaking under Nathan was perhaps not the most well-educated man in the world, but he liked to think he was intelligent and sensible; sensible enough, for example, not to trust others, to back into corners and, above all, start empathizing with people he met. He'd done all three with Nathan, had done them willingly and with no visible profit at the end.

"I know it is," he rumbled, one thumb smoothing a faded eyebrow. He had the sudden feeling, even knowing that the older man was strong enough (and dangerous enough) to seriously hurt him, that Nathan was delicate, that unlike Graverobber with his large body and dark features, the doctor was actually something you wouldn't send chasing after debtors. No, he should be found in a library or a lab, working away quietly. Large, strong hands put the lightest pressure on his face, pushing him down gently to kiss that faint scar while the doctor touched his own.

Usually, he was a bit self conscious about them. No, that wasn't correct; he wasn't self conscious, he just didn't like advertising he had surgery. And though he was not at all bothered by nudity, he wasn't used to touching when completely naked, as stripping in an alley was a good way of getting mugged. "At least I like you, Doc," he admitted, lips following the line down to his eyebrows then down the bump of his nose. "So what has you spooked?"
 
Back seventeen years ago, Nathan Wallace would have been pleased to be working in the dead silence of a laboratory or research facility, carefully measuring and neatly categorizing and cleaning - focusing intently on the task of his work, no distractions, nothing but clean white and cool metal.

But these years had ruined him - long gone were those days because now the white and the metal stirred that nasty thing inside of him that made him think of blood and death, and even the memories of his previous life as an honest-to-god surgeon were destroyed, because he wasn't sure he could trust himself to pick up a scalpel without using it for something horrible. He had lost that part of himself somehow, or it was being overriden by Repo, he wasn't sure anymore, but he also didn't believe he would ever be a true doctor again - there were days he hoped Rotti's inevitable death would change things, but then, there were always his children.

And he wasn't certain they would let him go either.

Nathan shook his head, mute for a moment while Graverobber kissed down over his forehead,

"Nothing," he replied, refocusing; his hands shifted, moved to slip underneath Graverobber, his fingers sliding up the man's back and digging into the muscle there, massaging it while he moved his head to kiss at the red marks he had left on the scavenger's throat with his hands.
 
"You're lying to me," the grave robber said, arching his back up to give Nathan easier access. Oh, God, this massaging thing felt good. It hurt in a very vague sort of way, the muscles burned as those deft fingers tunneled into aches he didn't even knew he had and left only a sort of heat behind. His mind was returning to him from wherever it had fled during the choking, since the inability to breath sparked a primal fear in him. He should be afraid, but Nathan had smoothed out the violence.

Somewhere, he knew he would.

Graverobber shivered, both from the kind mouth at his neck and the knowledge that he was safe. He didn't like this, this feeling safe, not when the man he associated this feeling with was ... well, Nathan. And it was the worst this feeling of security had ever been (that he could remember, at least); he generally felt safe in the graves and surrounded by people that needed him and, though he was loath to admit it, his own routines. Graverobber, for all his need to be excited, was a creature of habit: changes tended to shake him up.

Like suddenly developing feelings.

"I might not be the most experienced of men in this field, but I do think that people who are sleeping with each other like we are try to share things." There was just a shade of disgust in that word, but more amusement than anything else. They had, after all, actually slept together, not just fucked and left. It was an interesting precedent for the Graverobber.
 
Nathan felt the other man arch up beneath him and he knew he had found a sweet spot,

"I'm not lying," Nathan lied - but pleasantly.

He shifted to the side and put his hands on Graverobber's shoulders, urging the man to turn over and lay face down against the bed to allow him better access to the man's back - he remembered when this had been done to him before, but he had no intention of tying Graverobber to the bed.

If only because they didn't have all day, and he wanted to take his time with Graverobber during his next chance to tie him down - he assured himself there would be a next time, that the surgery was routine at this point even though twenty years ago it hadn't been fathomed. Graverobber would survive it, he would heal well, and he would be stronger for it for the rest of his long, long life.

"I think I've shared quite enough about myself," Nathan added mildly, "You know more about me than I do about you. Seems rather unfair."
 
Graverobber groaned, but dropped the subject. Instead, he focused on the doctor's sweet voice, not the lie he was telling, and the warmth from his hands. The agent might be nutty as a Snicker's Bar in some ways, but in others he had more control over his senses than any other man Graverobber had ever met. It was an interest contrast to know that those intelligent, clean hands were sometimes employed by a different entity.

Not interesting good, but interesting. The dealer, who had been attracted first by the monster, was starting to dislike very intensely the other side of Nathan, the one that made his doctor upset, had probably put on the majority of those lines on his face.

Moaning softly, Graverobber docilely obeyed, turning over. He did pause a moment to stretch, leonine and showing off his muscles. He was a little bulkier than the older man, not quite as streamlined and certainly messier. There were little pricks of old scars from rough Z application, more white tissue from fights long forgotten, when he hadn't been at the top of the pile. It wasn't a body he was planning on using all that long, afterwards, not when people like him had life expectancies half his age. Best to get the most use out of it while he could, especially with the thought of his lungs' approaching expiration date.

He plopped down lazily, that same nasty trust making it so he wasn't afraid of what Nathan would do to him with his back turned. "What else could you want to know?" he asked, voice low as he settled. Graverobber had an amazing skill that most people would kill for: he could easily take life threatening worries and box them up so he wouldn't even have to worry about them. It was a necessary skill for someone like him, or else he might turn into a whimpering idiot as he thought about how close he was to death at all moments.

He'd much rather think about how close he was to getting a rather nice hand job, either from himself or the good doctor.
 
Nathan's eyes shifted over the scavenger's back, taking in the arches and lines of muscle, looking over the white flecks of scarring that marred his pale skin - both of them were pathetically pasty, both living lives that kept them out of sunlight, Graverobber because his customers mostly came out at night and Nathan - well, essentially for the same reason. Repo Men didn't go out during the day because that was the time when the normal, law-abiding citizens were roaming the streets in mass numbers - people who would be more afraid, people who would balk at the sight of a slaughter, people who might very well step in while those at night tended to step back and either run away or stick around to watch. That, and those who were in debt with GeneCo tended to somehow feel safer at night, as though going out in daylight would be dangerous for them - though it was very much the opposite.

Carefully, Nathan straddled Graverobber's hips and he started up at the man's shoulders, his long, deft fingers digging into the muscle there, working at the knots near the neck and moving outwards, slow and calculated motions, alternating between digging into the hard muscles and smoothing out the pain with light touches afterwards. Inch by inch, he worked his hands down the other man's back, moving to his shoulderblades and working at the cords of muscle that were just beneath, knowing it was a spot of particular tension for him and thus questing to rid Graverobber of any stress he might harbour there.

"History," Nathan said, and he leaned in and moved his mouth across Graverobber's shoulders, kissing and nipping at the skin, "Your history."
 
Graverobber propped his head up on his folded fore arms, a slack hand reaching up to brush some of his hair away but that was it. His neck hurt, his body ached from Z (too much, but you could never tell with the older stuff until you'd taken it) and he was, all in all, too pleasantly warm to move.

Even the doctor's weight on his hips was pleasant, an adjective he wasn't all that used to using. Very few things in his life, after all, were pleasant. Enjoyable, yes, sybaritic, perhaps, but not pleasant. Pleasant, apparently, was having a too-thin, too-worried man massaging your back while you attempted to coax him to speak, because his vocal cords were in such disuse the slight rasp made your heart beat just a little faster.

Huh. Who would have known?

The fingers wrung out a gasp from the rainbow-haired tramp, then a soft moan as shifted. Unlike Nathan, who was old and given to going decades without sex, Graverobber was over sexed and (at the moment) under fucked. The feel of Nathan's trousers on his back (so the old man hadn't had time to change into his hideously matching pajamas) and sheets under his hips was undoing him, keeping him tense even as those hands made his body say 'you know, I think I'm okay with not moving ever again'. "I don't have much of one," he managed, voice low as he squirmed. "I've been ... recycling for more than ten years, and before that I was too young to do much else."
 
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