ambersweet | Two Reactions - NC-17

This is my amnesty fic for

kink_bingo

Title: Two Reactions
Pairings/Characters: Graverobber/Amber
Rating: NC-17
Summary: There are two reactions to street Zydrate, after all, and I have the second one every single time, even when I'm using the gun on someone else.
Word Count: 620
Warnings: Drug use, implied noncon.

ETA: No, I didn't post a fic that involved fucking outside on the first of May on purpose. THE UNIVERSE MAKES THINGS HAPPEN LIKE THAT.

She walks like she owns the damned world. And if she doesn't outright, I suppose she's third in line to inherit it. The world is her oyster, and it entitles her to shove everyone out of her way - everyone who's weak enough to to let her.

Out here, that's pretty much everybody.

Everybody except me, at least. And some days, let me tell you, the only thing that keeps me from bashing her pretty little head into the wall is her limp-dicked escorts. They may be lacking what makes a man a man, but they're quite capable of keeping other men's hands off what they can't touch.

It's almost a game, or a dance - she pushes me around, I push her around, they push me around. Everyone's shoved into their place.

My place is on my knees before her. I don't want that to be true, but it is. Just another scalpel slut, I tell her, but she's the only one I kneel for.

She's the only one who'd ask me to.

I press the gun to the silken skin of her thigh and pull the trigger, breathing out as the Z slides into her system with a vivid blue spark. I am rock-hard and breathless in the same moment, the one that makes it all worth it - the graverobbing and the fear, running from GenCops and squatting in abandoned buildings and the smell of death that always clings to my clothes and hair no matter how often I wash them.

There are two common reactions to street Zydrate, and I love them both, in their own way. I love it when the girl collapses, eyes rolling back in her head, and she is soft and pliable and helpless, as if she's stolen properties from the corpse her Z was taken from. At the end of the night, I'll walk through my alley, crouching beside each unconscious Z'addict, stroking soft skin, exploring with fingers and mouth, cock in my hand. When Amber passes out, her bodyguards carry her home, and I don't get to so much as look at her still, pale frame. I can never quite see it in my head, either; she is so vividly animated at every other moment, I can't imagine her perfect stillness, shallow breathing the only thing suggesting life.

Tonight, she looks down at me and bats those long lashes and smiles, and I know that she won't be passing out. If Zydrate doesn't knock you out, it becomes an aphrodisiac. Behind us, around us, there are bodies piled, some still and unconscious, others writhing with desire and need, a nightly orgy that I bring about.

For Amber, though, there will be no street orgy. It is too common, too ugly for her. Her eyes are fixed on me, and she will be the center of my universe for the rest of the night. Sometimes she drags me behind the dumpster, other nights there is a squat nearby I bring her to. Once she took me back to her own room in the penthouse of the GeneCo building and tied me to the bed.

Tonight it seems it will be the dumpster, her desire too bright and sharp to wait. "Now, now," she keeps whispering, her words in tempo with the pulse in my throat, and I take her against the wall, moving clothes aside, her nails digging into the back of my neck.

There are two reactions to street Zydrate, after all, and I have the second one every single time, even when I'm using the gun on someone else.