Graverobber doubted if she had done a day's work in her entire life. Her hands were soft, smooth, flawless as they traced maddening patterns over his throat and chest, her sharp nails digging into his flesh like tiny hooks. He leaned his head back against the wall, watching through half closed eyes as she worked on unravelling him, his coat and shirt dropping unheeded to the grimy concrete, a sharp tug on the scarf at his neck pulling him forward to allow her to push them over his shoulders. He wondered vaguely if her hands were even the ones she was born with, if those talented lips and tongue working on his neck and collarbone were hers originally. It didn't matter, he supposed, groaning softly as she brushed a delicate finger over his groin, moving to undo his belt. All the same now, whether she paid for them or not.
He was surprised at her silence; usually she was all talk, full of sarcasm and that teasing, seductive tone that he knew was all hers; it hadn't changed since the first night he'd met her. Tonight though she was quiet, had pressed herself against Graverobber with barely a murmur, giving him nothing to protest against as she had kissed him possessively, desperately. He was a little disconcerted, it had to be said. A quiet Amber was unusual enough to be wary of, but a desperate Amber was something positively obscene.
His belt joined the other clothes on the ground, her hand sliding under the waist of his jeans, wrapping around his cock like it had so many times before. He expected a quick handjob, a blowjob if he was lucky- Tuesdays were a rush for her usually as she had a Zydrate Support Network meeting to attend afterwards, as an example to the junkies. The irony was not lost on Graverobber.
What he didn't expect was for her to step back, drop her tiny skirt to the ground and then turn away and push herself back against him, rolling her hips against his and breathing in his ear,
Please wasn't supposed to be a word in her vocabulary. She wasn't supposed to use it, and definitely not in such a fucking broken, needy voice. It went straight to his cock, making him shudder and drop his hands to her hips, pulling her against him. Desperately he tried to regain some control, turning them and pressing her against the wall. Her arms went instinctively around his neck, digging her nails into his back, head tilted back to expose her pale throat to him. He ran his tongue over the soft skin, reminded of his earlier thoughts even as he unzipped his jeans and pushed them down before dragging his hands over her thighs, lifting her. Her legs wrapped around his waist, the buckles of her thigh high boots digging into his skin, and he braced one hand against the wall and thrust up into her roughly, just how she always begged for it.
He looked up, frowning. "Hm?"
If he didn't know better, he would think she wanted to say "make love to me". But they didn't make love, because they weren't even on friendship terms, never mind a relationship. Making love was as alien to him as fucking a corpse would be to her. Making love happened in beds, or by fires, not in a filthy, dark alley with your drug dealer. He wondered if she'd ever been made love to, wondered how many of her conquests hadn't been quick fucks in dark rooms.
He waited impatiently for her to finish. "...What."
"Pretend you care?" She closed her eyes, turned her head from him.
He frowned at her, confused and irritated at the request. Pretend he cared? This wasn't supposed to get complicated, was just supposed to stay business. Since when did he start being the escape from meaningless sex too? He growled, swore under his breath and considered just saying no and walking away. He considered it for a good ten seconds before he actually bothered to look at her face, saw the hurt and the expectation of rejection hiding just under the surface, and all the tension left his body. He lowered his head in defeat, felt her relax with him as he shifted his weight, thrusting up into her again with more gentleness he believed he possessed and setting an easy rhythm. He lifted his head to her neck, trailed almost chaste kisses over the skin before giving in and biting softly at her collarbone, the low, breathless moan that escaped her lips the reward for his daring. He nipped gently up her throat and across her jaw, soothing with kisses as he went until he could finally kiss her properly, forcing himself to explore her mouth, his tongue moving languidly with hers in a dance rather than the usual battle for dominance. Her hands wound into his hair, tugging at it gently and making him groan softly. She answered with a small gasp and an almost whine, sending shivers right down his spine as he increased the pace a little, revelling in the way her hands tightened in his hair and her legs trembled around his hips.
He found himself trying to drag those noises from her, using anything, everything he'd ever learned or seen, every kiss, every thrust designed to get her to make those fucking beautiful moans for him. In return for his efforts, she unravelled in his arms, her breath hitching as she climaxed, gaze locked with his, pulling him over the edge with her in a powerful orgasm that left him almost dizzy.
It seemed like forever before they pushed away from the wall, Amber pulling her skirt on as though she owned any modesty and Graverobber trying desperately to not make eye contact with her.
He loaded his zydrate gun wearily and beckoned for her to come over.
She did, pressing herself against him without any real sensuality, resting her head on his shoulder. He raised the gun, moved her hair out of the way, but paused as her hand came to rest on the gun, pushing it down. He raised an eyebrow as she turned to look at him, pressed a gentle, tender kiss to his lips, and then nodded.
He brushed his fingers over her neck and injected the drug, hand shaking a little.
"Thank you," she whispered, and he convinced himself if was for the hit and nothing more as she turned and stumbled away into the night.
She couldn't be thanking him for lying to her...
It's all he ever did.