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Grave Matters: A Repo! Roleplay (SevenxKawamura)

Years; it must have taken years to build these muscles - hours upon hundreds of hours of work and sweat and exhaustion, proper diet and healthy living. The torso could have been used for medical classes to display every individual muscle group on the human body - so it was strangely ironic that it should take mere seconds to slice through them.

"I don't get to use this very often," Repo said out loud, holding up a nasty-looking item - it looked vaguely like a pipe stripping tool, except it was serrated and had been obsessively polished; even in the darkness, it glimmered and Robert Kingsley could only retch violently at the sight of it, eventually becoming so loud with his gurgling and gasping that Repo simply swung the tool into the man's face until he stopped making noise. It took several hits.

He busied himself with cutting through the ribcage so he could pop the sternum off like the top of an open can; he dug into the insides with the pleasant knowledge that, for the first time in a while, he wasn't being watched.

And back at the Wallace home, Shilo crept quietly down the stairs; dressed in the long, frilly black veil of her night clothes, she clung to the banister as she went down one careful step at a time. Her dad had left only half an hour ago, but she had heard the door, and Dad never made a sound when he came in - her dark eyes shifted around the house as she got to floor level, and -

- yes, there it was, there was someone moving in the house; she had left her watch upstairs, and going back up the stairs seemed like a long journey now, with the knowledge someone was nearby. Her dad had always told her to call for him, that he would be there in an instant if someone broke in - but now that she was in the sitting room, she found her fingers securing around the handle of the black iron fire poker, and she pulled it out of it's stand like a samurai unsheathing a katana. Ducking behind a red velvet wing-chair, she peered around the fabric - there was a man in the house.

And he wasn't like anyone Dad would know - he looked more like one of the people she saw from her balcony, one of the ones who lingered in the back alleys. His hair had about twenty different colours in it, and it only reminded Shilo of the fact she'd left her wig upstairs in her room; it always made her feel like some kind of alien without it, when she saw the people on television.

She waited; she waited as Graverobber made his rounds on the room, and when his back was turned, she came out from behind him, clenched the fire poker hard, closed her eyes, and swung it at his back.
 
Graverobber was a very tactile man; that was one of the consequences with groping around graveyards much of oneâ??s adult life. Even with the gloves (best not to leave fingerprints, or Nathan would probably skin him alive, literally), he couldnâ??t help but examine things with his hands. This felt less like burglary than waiting for a friend to come down with the lights on as they were. Must be to give the illusion of people being in, though Graverobber doubted most were stupid enough or skilled enough to come up here for breaking in. Unlike the poorer, more urban neighborhoods, Wallaceâ??s suburban area actually had police.

He picked up the stethoscope that Nathan had left on a low table, turning it over in the light. So the man did leave things out of their proper places. Graverobber almost felt proud of him. The scavenger opened a drawer, curious, and dug through various bottles of little, round medications. Huh. So Nathan was either very sick or a druggie. He slipped a bottle into one of his pockets, humming very, very softly. Ray would be able to tell him what that was, if the man would speak to him again.

Old houses like these had creaks, and the little girl wasnâ??t as stealthy as her father. Without any sign that he had noticed her, Graverobber kept looking around, calmly, whistling one of Blind Magâ??s songs. It wasnâ??t that he was particularly fond of her sort of music, it was just that, as the voice of GeneCo, it was every where. And it pissed off Amber.

When she swung down, Graverobber struck, the knuckles on his gloves flashing as he caught the little girlâ??s wrist. â??Now what do we have here?â? he asked softly, pulling her to him to keep her from striking a second time.
 
Shilo had expected to hear the thump of the iron hitting body, but her arm was stopped halfway down, and her eyes snapped open wide; she found herself suddenly tugged forward, an easy thing for anyone to do given the size of her - even for a seventeen year old girl, Shilo was small and thin, she hadn't grown much in the past few years, but she knew it was because of the blood disease. It wouldn't let her grow, just like it wouldn't let her do anything else - like go outside, or live a normal life, or even have hair.

She let out a gasp as she was pulled, her bare feet slipping easily across the carpet, and she found herself pressed up against the much taller form of the Graverobber, and she could smell the city on his shirt - it was nothing like the scent of pine cleaner and bleach that she was so used to from the house, and it made her wrinkle her nose.

"Let go of me!" Shilo protested, and then brought one sharp little knee upwards, jamming it towards the closest bit of body, then bringing her foot down on his in an attempt to get loose.
 
She was a tiny, sickly thing, the top of her smooth head barely reaching his shoulders. So this was what Nathan was protecting. This must be the kid that Ray had said died way back with the mother. Well, she was alive, now, and squirming. Quick, too, like her dad. Graverobber suddenly felt the sting of a bony knee just above the groin, and promptly manhandled her so she was facing the other way.

â??Look, kid, Iâ??ll let you go if you promise not to swing that thing again.â? He dropped his head to whisper in her ear, close like he always was with Nathan. His hair contrasted strongly with her skinâ??s pallor. â??Now why donâ??t you just go back upstairs and forget I was here. Iâ??ll be gone in a few minutes.â? Almost kindly, he pushed her forward, away from him. After all, he had no interest in hurting Repoâ??s kid. This was just a job.

It was just bad luck for him that the stand near the fireplace, where the little girl had grabbed her poker from carelessly, toppled over in that moment. Graverobber jerked his head away from her to the sound, expecting a very, very angry Nathan.
 
Shilo couldn't break his grasp, but given how thin she was, she had a surprising amount of strength, and she fought Graverobber the way any angered teenager would, and she jerked her head away when his voice came close to her ear, recoiling from his touch. It lasted mere moments because she felt herself pushed forwards, away from him, and at once she was overcome with relief that he hadn't tried to kill her, and anger that he was there in the first place.

And that he thought she would somehow just let him stay in the house, that she would go to her room like a good little girl and stay quiet and scared while he did whatever he felt like. Her ears ringing with a bizarre sort of annoyance, she turned around to face Graverobber just as the fireplace stand fell over with a loud, metallic rattle - and that was when he made the mistake of taking his eyes off of her for an instant, and with the reflexes of a coiled snake, she swung the fire poker a second time.
 
This time, it connected soundly with his skull. For the second time that week, in the same house, Graverobber crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

It was lucky, at least, that he didnâ??t land on the side with the syringe and pocketed meds. Maybe he would appreciate that later, but now, now it was just bad luck for him that Repoâ??s kid had that same â??Iâ??m tougher than I lookâ?? thing going on. That, and iron to the head tended to help.

Repoâ??s second (and last) target that night was dead by the time he found him. The body hung listlessly in the shower, strung up by an old, orange extension cord. In the sink, an empty vial of Zydrate oozed its last few drops down the drain, winking up at the GeneCo employee. Someone had supplied a cheap, one-use applicator, and that lay on the stained porcelain beneath the swinging feet.
 
It was the second time in the last few weeks that Repo had encountered a suicide, and the second time in his entire career that he had seen it. For a long moment, he considered the dangling body in front of him, and once even pushed it to watch it swing a few times, the extension cord squeaking rhythmically against the metal bar it had been looped around, the body creating a moving shadow on the wall.

There was no other explanation; it was the information leak coming directly from GeneCo that was instigating this sort of response, people who had realized the hopelessenss of their situation, and rather than face the Repo Man, they chose to take their own lives so that, at the very least, they would have control over their deaths.

He looked down at the drain and discovered there was a slow whorl of human fluids, combined with the unmistakable hue of Zydrate, and something about the glowing liquid made him cock his head to the side, made him stare hard, and made something in his stomach twist.

And then his watch went off,

"Dad, someone is in the house."

And it was Nathan that was running back to the Wallace home, and he ripped off the GeneCo uniform, tossing it aside into the bushes on the front lawn, and he came in through the front door, his forehead covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and he found Shilo sitting cross-legged on a chair, and Graverobber laying unconscious on the couch, his hands tied haphazardly to the arm of the chair by way of a black extension cord.

There was an ice pack on his head.

"Hi Dad," Shilo said brightly, and Nathan could have fainted with relief.

He found the time to pull himself together, to clean himself up, and he stood astride the unconscious Graverobber, his arm around Shilo's thin shoulders, and they both looked down at him with their heads similarly cocked to the side.
 
Graverobber swam back into consciousness, guided by the terrible way his blood pounded in his head. It was loud and miserable everywhere, but especially at the back where the little girl had clobbered him. Jesus Christ, was it with the Wallaces and taking their anger out on the back of his skull?

Over the sound of own pulse, he could hear breathing, and not just his own. The thief tried to take a mental assessment of how many people he could hear, but it was useless. Counting wasnâ??t coming easily to him, not with the thump-thump-thump of his heart pumping blood through the huge bruise exploding into being beneath his hair. Distracting.

His arms were also aching, stretched over his head in some uncomfortable, awkward way that gave no thought to how his muscles might feel about their position. Remembering how bad of an idea it was to open his eyes quickly from before, Graverobber parted his eyes into a half squint, letting them adjust. There were formsâ?¦ faces. A little more, and he could see them, now, Nathan and his little girl, the latter with hair now.

Groaning, he closed his eyes again. So much for not getting caught by Repo.
 
They watched, both of them were silent as Graverobber began to stir, observing his laboured, jerky movements while consciousness seeped slowly into his concussed head. Shilo was still holding the fireplace poker in her little hands, her fingers alternately tensing on it as though she was prepared to hit Graverobber a second time, should he choose to breathe incorrectly. Nathan allowed her to keep it on her because of the very real concern that, had it been available for him to pick up, he would have finished the job.

But for now, his temper was carefully locked away; Repo was banging against the bolt with his shoulder, but was unable to get through, not while Shilo was there - she couldn't see that side of him. She could never meet Repo, he couldn't let her know - and Graverobber couldn't let her know either.

Reaching out, Nathan readjusted the ice pack on Graverobber's head, pushing it perhaps just a little harder than he needed to against the tender, bruised spot.

"Hello Marcus, I see you've met Shilo." Nathan said, and Shilo's mouth formed into a small 'o' and she lowered the firepoker, "Shilo, this is Marcus Fell."

"You know him?" Shilo asked.

"He's a patient of mine." Nathan said, and there was such a special emphasis on the word that Graverobber would know without needing to see Repo in his eyes, that he had done something very bad.
 
For a moment, he didnâ??t recognize his name. After all, he hadnâ??t used it in years and being referred to as â??Marcusâ?? while currently suffering from probably brain trauma confused him.

He cringed at the rough touch, stained eyes fluttering open again. â??Iâ??m sorry to catch you at home, Nate,â? Graverobber said, twisting slightly in an attempt to free his hands. No good. The kid might be sick, but she tied knots like a sailor. Because Repoâ??s kid would probably end up with an odd hobby like that, tying men to furniture. â??I left my coat last time. You were terribly distracting towards the end.â?

A smile crooked one side of his painted lips; Nathan was going to hurt him, maybe even kill him finally, and it was going to be Rottiâ??s doing. There was something very poetic and very unfair in that. The thief shifted, long hair catching under his shoulders uncomfortably as he propped his boots up on the arm of the sofa. â??Now that daddyâ??s home why donâ??t you untie me, little girl,â? he said sweetly, turning his eyes to Shiloh. He could see Nathan in her, especially with that deep frown that was forming.
 
Shilo's eyebrows rose when Graverobber addressed her, and there was something so terribly unamused about her expression that right then, she was the very picture of her father, all she was missing were the glasses. Her dark eyes shifted to Nathan only for a moment, and then back to Graverobber,

"Actually," Shilo said, and seventeen years of attitude managed to pour out of the single word, and she put her hands on her slim hips, "Now that he's home, I think he gets to decide when you get untied. Or maybe we'll just hand you over to the cops - they're always in the neighbourhood around here."

She was about two seconds away from snapping her fingers and giving him the 'no you didn't' hand,

"And I hear they like guys with long hair in jail." she added as an after-thought, though in truth, she wasn't sure - she only knew what she'd heard on the television and the radio.

Nathan's expression was stuck somewhere between shock and bizarre pride, and he stared at his daughter for a long moment before kissing her on the top of the head and turning his attention back to the bound Graverobber,

"I think you and I need to have a talk." he said, "Shi, would you mind giving me a little time to talk with Marcus?"

She hesitated for a moment, as though unsure of whether she should leave her helpless father alone with this crazed burglar, but she finally nodded, and quietly handed Nathan the firepoker - just in case - and dissappeared up the stairs.
 
Ugh. Teenagers. There was something so obnoxious about the lot of them. Shi might look like her father, but that attitude was the exact same one he saw in You. Get them past puberty and they started talking back to their elders.

Though, really, if he wanted to be fair, he had broken into her house.

Graverobber snorted at the long hair comment, knowing he probably wasnâ??t going to make it to jail if Nathan had his way with him. Not Repo, but the loving father, would tear out his spine through his nostrils. After hosing him down with anti-septic, probably, in his thick leather gloves to keep any of his grime from getting on the murderous neat freak.

Heâ??d probably keep his glasses on, too, the jerk.

The little girl, Shi, wavered at her fatherâ??s side for a moment protectively before hading him the poker and leaving. Graverobber chuckled again watching the exchange. He had seen You give Ray that same â??I donâ??t think you can take care of yourself, old manâ?? look. Once she was gone, Graverobber turned his head to Nathan, limbs tense even though he attempted a lounging position. He hated being tied down, made him really feel the start of fear. â??I did forget my coat,â? he said pleasantly, fingers running along the cord he could touch as he examined his bonds with touch.
 
Nathan watched Shilo ascend the stairs, waited, listened until he heard her door close, and then he turned his eyes to Graverobber; he stood there, looming over the other man for several long moments. His eyes were tired, half-lidded, and almost bored-looking,

"Yes, you did." Nathan agreed, and then said nothing more; he crossed the room and sat down in the red velvet wing chair, leaning back into it, removing his glasses, and rubbing at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. His neck was aching with knots of stress and tension, but he could bet he was in nowhere near as much pain as Graverobber was, so at the very least, that part was reassuring. He dropped his hand away from his face and leaned his head back against the chair, his eyes closed to the light overhead, and he stayed silent.
 
Bored. Here Graverobber was, after having entered Repoâ??s house uninvited and getting bashed in the head by his kid, and the bastard was bored. Graverobber simmered quietly, still attempting to pluck at his restraints. It was futile: the kid had done a fantastic job of twisting his hands in a way that he had no useful way of moving them.

He wanted out.

It wasnâ??t fear that made him struggle, not exactly. There was something he didnâ??t like about being limited like this; he never did. Permanent addresses, permanent women, it was the same thing, only this was much, much more literal. â??Planning on letting me go soon, Nathan?â? he asked mockingly. â??Never took you for a bondage sort of man.â?
 
Nathan remained quiet even for several minutes after Graverobber asked his question, not even opening his eyes to look at the other man, so still that he appeared dead for an instant - then he opened his eyes, picked up his glasses again, removed a small cloth from his pocket, and carefully polished the lenses, inspecting them under the light for any miniscule specks of dust. He put them back on, and spoke as he put the cloth away,

"I'm sitting in this chair right now," Nathan said slowly, "Because I don't trust myself to stand within arm's reach. Right now, I would like to kill you, and I know you understand why. So I'm going to stay right here until I believe I'm capable of coming near you and not doing something that would finally, finally get you out of my life."

His eyes shone with anger, and there was a seething rage below the surface of the mild-mannered father, and it wasn't Repo's,

"My child." he said, and his hands were clenching onto the arms of the chair, "You came here when my child was alone. If you did anything - if you touched her -"
 
Graverobber watched this ritual, recognizing the soft tremors in his hands as Nathan cleaned his glasses with a cloth that was just as grey as the rest of him. Repo as violent and deranged, but Nathan was frightening in a different way. A focused way, where Repo simply attacked anything and everything he was allowed to with a terrible sort of glee.

â??I didnâ??t know you left your kid here when you were gone,â? he said truthfully, closing his eyes and resting his head against the hard arm of the couch. He spoke carefully, choosing every word before he said it. â??When she swung that poker at me, I grabbed her wrist. Thatâ??s all. Iâ??m not interested in children.â? Certainly not the ones with insane daddies, he thought but certainly didnâ??t say.

He waited, calmly, for Nathan to respond to that, doing his best not to fidget. The longer he was trussed up like this, the more uncomfortable he got. Especially since Nathan had the air of a judge, jury, and executioner about him, Graverobber felt he was standing trial at one of those makeshift courts he had seen spring up on the streets.
 
Nathan's shoulders relaxed visibly; he had no reason to believe Graverobber, but his story matched Shilo's, so at the very least, there was some relief in the knowledge nothing had been done to her. He stayed in the chair, however, indicating that he still wasn't trusting himself, his anger still balancing precariously on the edge, threatening to topple over and make him end the situation right then and there, when it would be so easy to do so. Graverobber was tied up, knots that had been done by Shilo - it would even be poetic, and the threat would be gone, he wouldn't even need to make it messy, he was sure he could just break the other man's neck instead of cutting into him.

Repo's hunger flashed for an instant, but Nathan held steady, his tone one of a structured, strict sort of calm,

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, "You didn't just come for your jacket. What was it this time?"

He felt like Graverobber was trying to torture him.

"I don't even know - why I didn't kill you all the other times I had the chance to. I don't even know why I'm not doing it now." he said, and it was clear that he was now weighing the pros and cons with the careful, considered mind of Nathan Wallace and not the instinctive, Id-driven Repo.
 
Graverobber kept quiet, ignoring that first question. Heâ??d rather have something to barter with later if he needed it, though Nathan could just wring the information from him later if he really wanted it.

His voice was low when he answered the second, rhetorical speech, the same intimate rumble from before. â??Iâ??m not sue why you havenâ??t killed me, either,â? the thief admitted, wiggling somewhat in another futile attempt to get comfortable. He flexed his fingers, trying to keep the blood flowing through his digits correctly.

A snort as he bounced one foot on the other, annoyed. â??Perhaps youâ??re just lonely and Iâ??m the only thing thatâ??s put up with you. Or that Repo hasnâ??t ripped apart.â? That made him smile again, the thought that his broken, insane man was lonely and thatâ??s why he brutally murdered people. â??Iâ??d hate to think that the kid and I are the only people you talk to,â? he added, chuckling and glancing to the coiled spring Nathan had become.
 
Nathan watched Graverobber; he watched the other man tug irritably on the extension cord around his wrist, watched his rainbow coloured hair shift and twist with his movements, watched the way his lips moved when he spoke, emphasized by the black lipstick. He thought about the past few weeks, and how persistant the other man had been - unbidden, he thought about the time in the alleyway, their bodies pressed together, the feeling of their shared heat, and the taste of the other man's skin. It sent a shudder through him that he wished he could have suppressed.

A noise escaped Nathan, but it was a harsh sound - it might have been a laugh, but it was such a strange, animalistic sound that it was difficult to tell.

He didn't speak, but he rose to his feet then, and the lenses of his glasses flashed under the light as he slowly rounded on Graverobber, his head cocked to the side as he observed him, bound to the couch. All of the other times, Graverobber had instigated the touch, he had been the one to brush against him, to push him against the staircase, to -

- kiss him.

And that, perhaps, was the moment that had stuck with Nathan the most, when Graverobber, soaking wet, had grabbed hold of his hair and pulled him into a hard, harsh kiss, the first in seventeen years, and the feeling had been so human that he had been unable to shake the memory of it.

"It would be so easy," Nathan said softly, grabbing hold of Graverobber's jaw, wrenching his head up, looking over the other man's face, "To kill you right now."
 
Unlike Nathan, for once, Graverobber was not thinking a thing about sex. Oh, ropes or handcuffs were great when it was the other person, but him? Not his favourite. Not at all. Not being able to escape his sexual partner was not a turn on for the thief, though he understood some people enjoyed that. Some people also enjoyed getting surgeries until their faces fell, off, too. Besides, Nathan had made very clear that he was not interested at the moment, had reacted violently more than once to insinuations that he might be interested.

Something had changed.

Nathanâ??s fingers hurt, digging into the corner of his jaw like that; there would be bruises tomorrow or maybe even later tonight. But he saw something in the manâ??s eyes, something hungry, something that promised at a way out. And not in a GeneCo issued body bag. As he had done before, when Nathan showed that fear of touch, he leaped, reaching for that one lever.

â??You could,â? he agreed lowly, a lazy smirk on his stained lips. He watched the older man like a hawk, though. Or, rather, like a fox, slyly biding his time until he could escape, perhaps with even more than he came in with. â??But certainly you can think of much more creative things, Nathan.â?
 
More and more, Nathan realized how painfully long it had been since he had allowed himself contact with another human being in a way that wasn't platonic or - work-related. Graverobber, though crass, had been the first time he had allowed it to happen in nearly two decades - though, it was ultimately Repo's doing, rather than Nathan's. Before, the thought of even touching someone else had left Nathan with an overwhelming guilt, after what he had done -

- did he deserve it? He had told himself he just wasn't allowed, he couldn't touch someone else, wasn't allowed to enjoy it because he was a monster, and monsters weren't supposed to enjoy other people. He had condemned himself, a self-exile from all of the touch and sensation and feelings of not being alone, because it felt like he was somehow betraying his long-dead wife, and for the first few years, the idea had never even crossed his mind, he had been too busy caring for Shilo to think about anything else. But as time went on, the thought had occasionally entered his head, and he'd hated himself for it every time he thought about love or sex or touch or just not sleeping alone in a bed at night. He'd managed to push those thoughts away for so many years, to the point where sex and touch had become strange, foreign things to him, and Graverobber's touches and teasing had woken up things in him that he thought he had buried.

But no, there it was, instinct rising inside of him, awoken in a way that was painful to think about, and Graverobber was laying there with that idiotic, lazy smile, and Nathan knew he was being used, knew that his sadness and loneliness and his fear of touch had merely been a source of amusement, a curiosity for Graverobber over the past few weeks. He had been an experiment for the other man, and the scavenger had ensured he dug his fingers into every open wound Nathan had - so right then, Nathan was taken by a thought that came to him in Repo's hissing tone.

So what if he used Graverobber a little too?

The kiss wasn't gentle; it was hard and wanton, enough pressure that it was sure to bruise the other man's lips.
 
Graverobber knew he had Nathan before the even Nathan did. He could see it in the eyes, the way they turned inward as if searching, listening to some little voice inside.

Maybe several.

It was sick, but he enjoyed probing all those little festering wounds in the manâ??s soul. Heâ??d seen them a hundred times before, but the sheer depth and age of Nathanâ??s made them almost novel again. Unlike the Largo patron, Graverobber had no desire to cause more of them: he simply wanted to touch them, like he wanted to touch everything else, to examine them, to judge them.

And maybe he also wanted sex with such a long-term celibate widower. He found it thrilling, like making a priest break his vows. Not that he had met many priests heâ??d like to fuck: the few good ones heâ??d seen were ancient wrecks that came around Rayâ??s for hushed conversations and last rights. Nathan, however, was in good shape; physically, at least, Graverobber had been poking around the man often enough now that he was quite sure he couldnâ??t say the same for his mental health.

If he could change one thing, though, it would be to get rid of that damned cord. Graverobber bit Nathanâ??s bottom lip with enough force to break skin, then growled, â??Untie me.â?
 
The kiss was forceful, but it was clear enough that Nathan was nowhere near as aggressive as he could have been, some aspect of him still holding back, still telling him to maintain some semblance of control over himself - and he did a decent job of it, up until the point he felt teeth, and Graverobber bit his bottom lip. Nathan let out a small gasp, though it was unclear what sensation he was feeling right then, because then blood was flowing between their mouths, hot and with the lingering metallic tasted, and it stirred the side of him that he'd been holding down. The very tip of his tongue ran along Graverobber's lower lip, collecting some of his own blood, and then his mouth moved down the other man's chin, then his throat.

Nathan's voice came out low and gravelly, and it was difficult to tell if it was really Nathan anymore,

"No." he replied simply, and bit down on the spot above Graverobber's pulse.
 
So it was teeth that did it to Nathan. Or maybe (more disturbingly and perhaps more probably), blood. Graverobber sucked on his own bruised lips, tasting blood. Nathanâ??s. Nathan hadn't kissed him hard enough to do more than bruise (not yet). He closed his eyes as the man kissed down his throat. No, not kissed, not quite. More like that giant beast nuzzling him, and Graverobber barred his skin easily, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

It was an extremely vulnerable position.

If his hands werenâ??t tied, he told himself, and if Repo werenâ??t so close to gutting him (or, heaven forbid, ripping his throat out), he wouldnâ??t engage in such obviously submissive body language. The thief sucked in a deep breath, arching his body up as pain mixed with pleasure. â??Then donâ??t be so soft,â? he spat out, bringing one elbow down in an attempt to strike whatever part of that grey-haired head was close enough. If Nathan wasnâ??t leaning over him like that, he might have tried to kick him.
 
Nathan had been concentrating on the movements of the other man, the way his chest rose and fell, the way his throat muscles shifted when he breathed or swallowed or flinched - he listened to the breath moving in and out, and felt the shudders running through Graverobber. He had been so focused that he almost missed it when Graverobber tried to hit him, but one hand shot up and grabbed hold of the man's elbow and he wrenched it up and over, to the point where it became a silent threat to tear the shoulder out of the joint.

His other hand crept into Graverobber's hair, and his fingers found the freshly bruised, swollen part of the man's head where the firepoker had hit him, and he wrenched hard on the roots of the hair in that spot, forcing the other man to tilt his head back further, and he bit down on the soft underside of Graverobber's jaw, enough that the skin made a disturbing noise as blood vessels broke beneath. For an instant, he wondered how much force it would take to tear the skin right off the bone with his bare teeth, how much pressure it would take to get to a major artery, what sound it would make when he bit down on it.

He swept the thoughts away and he raked his fingers down Graverobber's side, over his ribs and down to his hip, his hand stopping and grasping at the hipbone.
 
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