In Sanity

Disclaimer: I still don't own Repo! and I never will. Again with the "nothing alluded to in this fic is mine". Also, there will be a couple of marked footnotes, for those who care to know a bit more about Shilo's bugs. Said footnotes will be indicated with asterisks (*).

A Brief Author's Note: No, the title is not a typo. I'm very purposely not explaining it - the meaning is up to the reader.

To say that everything had been completely insane before the whole Genetic Opera fiasco, what with Blind Mag popping her eyes, the Repo Man being unmasked and then shot in front of everyone, and Rotti Largo kicking it on-stage, would have been the understatement of all time. Saying things were more insane than ever, while more accurate, would still be the understatement of the century. Trying to say that everything had gone back to "normal" afterwards was a bad joke. And with Luigi and Pavi Largo, plus Amber Sweet, in charge of GeneCo, that had been exactly what happened - after a few scripted public apologies and a charity ball hosted by Amber, they had tried to gather up all the pieces and sweep them all under a giant rug. And the result looked something like trying to throw a tea towel over an elephant and call it hidden. To everyone who looked around, whether they really had their head on straight or not, it was quite obvious that the shit had hit the proverbial fan.

Drunks, prostitutes, and addicts of all kinds swarmed any street that served less than the designer-exclusive set, getting their fixes, continuing to have their surgeries, and sleeping or passing out wherever they found space. Decent middle-class folk generally didn't leave their houses after six at night out of fear of "those people". Every so often, there would be a public service announcement about the GenCops getting some new power or other over the graverobbers, whom people were still warned would do anything to get at a Zydrate-filled corpse. Anyone who did not know a graverobber personally had wound up under the impression that they were more likely to be murdered in their sleep by them than to die in a drunken car crash or shit like that. And due to the nature of their profession, generally graverobbers made it their business not to know anyone on a personal level, so the myth had been growing steadily. About once a month, usually on a Sunday, the papers would put out pictures of bullet-riddled bodies - alleged graverobbers found in the cemeteries.

"Bah," groused a pale man sitting on an overturned mailbox, reading by the one working street light on his block. "That girl was no more a graverobber than I am a Catholic priest."

The picture on the front of the paper this particular Sunday was a gory color spread of a young woman who couldn't have been more than twenty, her bleached-blonde-and-baby-pink dreadlocks soaked through with blood. Half her skull had been blown away and her face rendered nearly unrecognizable, but he knew who she was - he had stopped selling to her after an unpleasant confrontation with someone claiming to be her brother. The man with the multicolored, partially-dreaded hair gingerly touched his jaw - while the bruise was long gone, he wouldn't be forgetting that sonuvabitch for a while. Snapping the newspaper, he studied the picture of his ex-client more closely. A young man only slightly older than her lay beside her, having obviously tried to protect her when they were set upon by the GenCops. Things like this happened all the time; Zydrate dealers had become more particular about their customers with squealers on the rise, who went after the reward money. As a result, half-addled Z-brains wandered out into the cemeteries, trying to get their own fixes - a small number made it, but most wound up dead.

He briefly felt sorry for the unfortunate couple, having been probably blasted out of their minds on something else and just being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but couldn't really think about it for long. Remorse never helped anybody, particularly in this kind of life - addicts squeaked by a day at a time, and when they died, no one cared. Murder, whether it had to do with Repo Men, GenCops, or just thugs in the street, couldn't exactly be described as some sort of new development. Snorting angrily, he got up off the mailbox and crumpled the newspaper in his hand, deciding this wasn't news by any stretch of the imagination - news, by definition, should be generally useful information. Leaving the wadded-up paper where it fell from his hand, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and decided now would be the best time for him to get some sleep. One of his usual dumpsters wasn't three blocks away, so he turned in that direction and off he went.

His walk took longer that it reasonably should have, with his being accosted by three bleary-eyed Z-brains - two girls and what was probably a guy, with the guy (?) almost getting violent over payment issues - and a drunk getting him confused for someone else. How in hell could you mistake him of all people for someone else!? He finally had just walked off in extreme exasperation, leaving said drunk gabbling animatedly with what was probably the corner of the brick wall he'd just been leaning on. Before he got five steps away, it started to rain - pouring buckets, cats and dogs, the bottom fell out, all that. Growling irritably, he located the dumpster he decided to claim as 'his' tonight and shoved the lid open with more force than he normally would have. In what he hoped was his last major physical exertion for today, he vaulted in before the lid banged off the wall behind it and slammed back down. He managed to find a comfortable position on an old couch cushion and settled in, propped up against the side with his hands folded over his stomach. Damning the day that had just ended, he shut his eyes and tried to let sleep take him. He found himself at least grateful that the noise of the rain on top of the dumpster drowned out whatever might have been happening outside.

Not an hour and a half later, he found himself jolted awake by a most unpleasant sensation. Was he wrong, or was the world... rising? He didn't know, but whatever it was, he hated it. Then he realized that the world wasn't moving, just his dumpster - apparently with all the rain, a more frightful smell than usual had caused people to call up and complain, so they had sent out a garbage fleet to dispose of any collected mess. Thankfully, this particular truck didn't seem to have the best hydraulic system, so the dumpster got stuck halfway. It wasn't much, but he found it to be enough that he could kick the lid open and scramble out onto the side that normally faced the wall. He had been about to jump down on his own when the damned thing started moving again and he instead crashed to the ground in an ungraceful heap. Not many things could ruffle the Graverobber, but a fall resulting in a relatively high-velocity collision with unmoving asphalt did tend to put a damper on the moment at least.

A string of curses that could have put a seasoned sailor to shame tumbled out in a continuous growl as he picked himself up and cracked his neck, making a noise that would have been obtrusive were there anyone around to hear it. Rain still poured from the sky, hard enough that it saturated his hair immediately and almost soaked through his coat. He decided migrating a bit might help him find a place to sleep - decent or not, so long as it was relatively dry he didn't give a damn. Garbage trucks generally didn't move all that fast and this one hadn't got more than twenty yards away before it found another dumpster, so he sidled up behind it and, once the lever came down, made himself comfortable. The mechanical bits re-situated themselves and the disposal vehicle lurched off, hopefully heading somewhere that he could find a bit of cover. Propping his elbow on part of an old table, he leaned his head on his hand and decided to snooze until the thing stopped again.

He had no idea how much time had passed since he had his little nod, but when the truck camed to a harder stop than usual and he jerked awake, he found himself in the last place he would have expected - the "old money" section. Real, old-fashioned cemeteries rose on both sides of the street and, casting a glance around, he figured that even with the crackdown, they wouldn't be well-patrolled on a rainy Sunday night. Yep, that place over there looked like as good a place as any to try and sleep. He grunted a bit at moving - there had been one of the broken table's legs jamming into his back for at least part of the way - and finally just clambered down out of the truck, not really caring all that much about how he landed. To his surprise, not that he'd admit it in a million years, he made a halfway decent landing and, getting the pins and needles out of his right shin, started off. The gate of one of the cemeteries had been left open and he took this as an invitation to walk right in. It wasn't like anyone in there could rat on him, he thought sarcastically, ambling up the hill.

Standing proudly to greet visitors were the usual gargoyles, angels, obelisks, and ornate flower vases; mausoleums set on man-made hillocks watched over their smaller marble cousins. As he looked around, he wondered if anyone around here might provide him with a little extra Zydrate - if he was going to be out here, he figured he may as well get something more than sleep out of the deal. Then he looked at the dates on the tombstones - these people had been dead since long before the epidemic, so there was zero chance of there being Zydrate in any of them. As he hiked along the main path, a badly-maintained jumble of bricks and cobblestones, the dates started getting more and more recent. The first had been from as far back as the 1850s, but these were starting to display dates within the 20th century. Cripes! he thought. Were these people all Catholic!? Names like Farrell, Gallagher, and Sullivan decorated the most ornate headstones, with things like "Beloved Father" and "Dearest Mother" emblazoned on them, watching over clusters of family members. An abundance of tiny lambs and baby angels indicated the graves of numerous children around some of the oldest stones in this section. The photograph of one little girl - Alanna Colleen Gallagher - stared eerily back at him from her headstone; the photograph was obviously post-mortem.

"All right, now that's just slightly morbid," he said out loud to the tombstone, walking away from it faster than normal. "People are weird."

A tombstone a good few rows back caught his eye - the Wallace family. A faded black-and-white photo of Timothy Aidan Wallace, the stern-looking patriarch with thick glasses, glared down at anyone who happened to look his way. Just a short ways away stood a great black house - well someone certainly had macabre tastes, to be living with a cemetery as their back yard. More recent graves led the way towards the house, more Wallaces and their spouses and children. The Graverobber headed that way, in case the back door had enough of an overhang to provide some shelter from the rain - it might be open-air, but at least it wouldn't smell so bad. As he got closer, wiping rain off his face, he almost breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the back steps were indeed covered by a sizable eave. However, said steps seemed to be occupied already - a tiny, pale creature in a black overcoat lay curled-up and fairly miserable-looking on the smooth concrete. Curiosity getting the better of him, he stepped over to get a closer look, then, when he realized who he had found, drew back in surprise.

"Kid?" he asked, wondering if she was all right. "Hey, kid! You awake?"

The skinny girl wrinkled her nose and hid her face in her knees - if she was, indeed, awake, she certainly didn't seem to want to be that way.

"Hey, mind letting me get out of the rain?" he asked, not waiting for an answer as he stepped under the eave of the roof and sat next to her.

Silence passed over the both of them for a few minutes before the girl looked up and startled.

"What are you doing here!?" she demanded, looking around as if she expected more people to start randomly appearing.

Graverobber raised an eyebrow at her, looking from her to the shut door - he had a good idea of what had happened, but figured he'd ask anyway.

"I could ask you the same thing," he returned, fixing her with a rather patronizing gaze. He pretended to consider something for a moment. "Oh, what's the line? Right... What's a girl like you doin' in a place like this?"

Shilo blinked at him, annoyed.

"Sleeping until you woke me up," she deadpanned - he had never heard her make an attempt at humor before. "I shut myself out of the house."

Well that much was obvious, he thought.

"How did you manage that?" he inquired, tilting his head at her.

She shrugged and looked up at the doorknob, glaring at it as if that would make it open by magic.

"I was visiting my mother... and dad," she told him, her voice thinning out a bit when she mentioned her father - yes, he supposed that would have to be hard on her to remember, even... it had to be six months later. "Stepped outside to get some air and shut the door behind me without thinking."

The Graverobber nodded. That sort of thing could happen to anyone - well, the shutting themselves out of the house bit, considering not many people had the experiences this girl did. Wasn't this a bit like how they had first met? He looked her over, still sitting there with her knees drawn up to her chest as tightly as she could pull them - she seemed to be all knees and elbows, quite sharp and pointy. Had she always looked so very frail, like anything more than a gust of wind might break her? When he had first seen her, especially with the way she had herself positioned, he thought she was wearing black tights - not the case; she had sheathed her legs in black thigh-highs of a thicker knit than regular stockings and hiked them up so they looked like tights under a dress. He approved. After a moment, she noticed him staring at her and stuck her tongue out at him, just to see what he would do about it - she had always been amazed by how easily he laughed, considering how intense he acted. She pulled her coat closer around her as the wind kicked up, bringing cold rain under the eave of the roof. Startling the girl, the Graverobber stood up and whirled around to face the door.

"You know, I think I may have a way to fix this," he announced, eyeing the doorknob. "Does this place have an alarm?"

Shilo shook her head 'no' and informed him, "I disabled it awhile back, but the locks are kinda funny."

"So long as it doesn't have an alarm," he told her, backing up a step and sizing up the solid-looking slab of wood. "You might want to move."

The dark-haired girl looked up at him quizzically, unmoving, as she asked "Why?"

"Is it really that hard to figure out?" he gestured at the doorknob, then at one booted foot.

Shilo scrambled to get out of the way, but stay under the eave of the roof - with one swift motion, the Graverobber kicked the lock, shattering the unit, doorknob and all. Smiling in satisfaction, he strode up to the door and took hold of the remains of the knob; then he frowned as the tarnished brass knob came off in his hand. Obviously, that wasn't supposed to happen, Shilo thought, raising an eyebrow at the sight of the city's most sought-after Zydrate dealer cursing under his breath as he fiddled with the broken door parts. He took the glove off his right hand and tried again, sticking his fingers into the hole where the doorknob had been installed, apparently trying to find something. Frowning in consternation, he turned to Shilo, contemplating something quickly. He told her "come here" and she approached with caution, unsure what he was about to try.

"Your hands are smaller," he told her by way of explanation. "You need to find the latch that opens the door. I broke the lock, but unfortunately the knob doesn't seem to be in much better shape."

She ignored the fact that he seemed completely dismissive of having broken the doorknob himself and slowly walked up to the door, not having a clue what she was supposed to be looking for. Pausing for a moment to examine her hand, she bent down, apparently completely unaware that, because she didn't bend her knees with this action, her panties were on display for anyone who looked to see. Graverobber, of course, just had to look - he was a man after all and, let's face it, she had been growing into quite an attractive young woman. At that moment, he was quite grateful to whoever had invented those ridiculous knit thigh-highs. A grin slid over his face and he contemplated the use of a well-placed hand but decided against it. Shilo stuck her fingers in the hole where the doorknob had been and squeaked when something pinched her - the thing had a moving bit, so she poked it again and heard something click. She pushed on the door and it gave a little bit, but caught on something; the latch had to have given way, but the door seemed to just be stuck.

"Could you try again?" she asked the Graverobber, backing away and gesturing at the door, where a sliver of the frame was visible.

He nodded and, after making sure she was good and out of the way, gave the door another sharp kick. This time it gave way and he had to hop a bit, looking quite silly, to regain his balance.

"You want to come in or something?" Shilo asked, after giggling a bit. "Be out of the rain for a while?"

If the Graverobber was surprised by this invitation, he certainly didn't indicate it, just gave her a bit of a bow and extended his arm in a gesture that said quite plainly "After you". She smiled and bounced through the door, suddenly a lot more animated, even while being as respectful as possble of her mother and father's graves. Privately, the Graverobber had it in his head that her parents would probably most appreciate seeing their daughter happy and sort of awkwardly sidled through the indoor plot. Shilo guided him up a rather craggy old staircase, narrow and winding stone steps with wrought-iron handrails that led god-only-knew where. She hummed under her breath, a tune he recognized as one of Blind Mag's, as she took the stairs two at a time - it seemed she just brimmed with energy now! Now the Graverobber understood how the girl had been able to somewhat keep up with him in the cemetery and in the streets; "blood disease" or no, she had to develop some sort of endurance just from living in this house... After another staircase, this one a dark hardwood, they came up in a back hallway, lit with Gothic sconces.

"Nice place, kid," remarked the Graverobber.

Shilo blushed and mumbled something that sounded like a "thanks", all of a sudden girlishly shy. He tilted his head and raised and eyebrow at her, smiling quite amiably - he couldn't help finding it endearing. She turned a quick corner and he followed her, through a door that led into a very comfortable-looking living room - okay, maybe it should've been called a parlor or some fancy shit like that. Graverobber watched as Shilo peeled off her coat, which looked much too big for her, and tossed it into a nearby armchair before flopping down on a nicely-upholstered couch, the kind with the wooden legs and wing-like back. He nodded appreciatively at what had been under the coat. A dark heather grey, almost black cable-knit dress with a mock-turtleneck collar hugged her developing curves and fell flatteringly to about eight inches above her knees.

Trying to make her half-frozen hands work right, she muttered "crap" under her breath as she couldn't quite get her fingers around the zipper on one of her nearly-knee-high black boots. A couple more fumbling tries only hurt her hands, getting that awful burning sensation as warmth returned and circulation began to straighten itself out. She rolled her eyes and decided to take them off later as she looked up at the Zydrate dealer she had invited into her living room - her brain nearly blew a fuse. Of course, she'd had fantasies - seventeen, after all, had been a veritable Age of Discovery for her, one of said discoveries being the world of sensuality and the men who came with it. But now that she had him here, she had no idea what to do with him. A blush spread over her cheeks and she ducked her head as she thought of what her dad would say to this situation...

"Do you want some dinner or something?" she asked, twisting her hands awkwardly and trying to pretend that it was only for the purpose of warming them up.

His eyebrows raised slightly.

"Sure, why not?" he replied, glancing at the hologram of Shilo's mother above the fireplace - it was almost as creepy as the post-mortem photograph of the little girl from the cemetery, but at least it had been done while the woman had been alive. Disguising his unease, he grinned at her and playfully inquired "Can you manage without catching something on fire?"

Shilo's answering glare didn't reach her eyes as she got up off the couch and flounced out of the room in a mock-huff; Graverobber followed at a slightly slower pace, figuring she had probably headed for the kitchen. Sure enough, he wound up in the nicest kitchen he had ever seen - well that just fit, considering he guessed this house, strange as it was, might be nicer than any building he'd ever actually been inside. For as cold and, well, dead as the rest of the house seemed, the kitchen, by contrast, positively shimmered with warmth and life. A clattering noise, a thump, and a yell of "Dammit!" announced that Shilo had opened the pantry door and a box of pasta had fallen on her head. The box, while quite a few of the dry noodles inside looked broken, remained undamaged for the most part as it spun across the floor to its stopping place beside the Graverobber's boots. The label said 'vermicelli' - the spaghetti, of course, though the Graverobber would not have been at all surprised to find the worm in this house. Raising one eyebrow, he bent down and picked it up, only to wind up face-to-face with Shilo halfway through standing up - she had come to retrieve said box. He grinned widely at her and she blushed brilliantly red, giving him another mumbled "thank you" as she took the box from his hand.

Locating a chair, Graverobber crossed the kitchen and took a seat, straddling the cushion and leaning on the chair back, watching Shilo skitter around the kitchen, her cheeks still flushed as she felt his eyes on her. After flicking the stove on, she studied the pasta box as she bent down, once more without bending her knees, to yank the largest pot out from the cabinet underneath. Another smirk curved the Graverobber's lips - yes, those were indeed kitty panties - and he rested his chin on the back of one hand as he continued to watch. Shilo lifted the large pot easily, much more easily than he would have figured, her spidery hands clenched around the side handles. With a small "oof!", she set the large pot in the sink and turned the water on, tapping her booted foot on the hardwood floor as she waited for it to fill to the proper level. Eyeballing it after a little while, she shut the water off and, with a bit more difficulty, hefted the pot out of the sink and set it on the counter. After looking around the sink area for a couple seconds, a frown darkened her features a bit - she stalked along the kitchen counter, obviously searching for something.

"Have you seen the salt shaker?" she asked, as if the Graverobber would know.

He cast a glance about, not moving from the chair he had claimed, and saw nothing that resembled a salt shaker - or pepper, for that matter.

"What's it look like?" he inquired, scanning each working surface of the kitchen in turn.

The pale teenager's cheeks flushed bright red as she mumbled something he didn't catch.

"Come again?" he prompted, holding a hand to his ear as if he had suddenly gone deaf.

"A sheep!" she practically squeaked, embarrassed by her late father's odd taste in kitchen accessories. "The black one has salt in it and the white one's the pepper."

The Graverobber gave her a strange look, unintentionally making her feel two inches tall.

"Because, of course, nothing around here could make sense," he commented dryly, looking for the ridiculous table decor.

Shilo shot him the dirtiest look she could muster and he held up a hand to tell her without words that he meant no offense.

"Oh! That's it over there," she changed the subject, pointing at the farthest corner of the kitchen table. "Could you hand me the black one?"

Automatically, the Graverobber reached across the table and... paused for a second - really... sheep?

"Here," he said as he handed her the small, black porcelain sheep, eyeing it as if he expected it to bite him.

Shilo blushed deeper and mumbled something to the effect of "My dad had really weird taste" as she took the salt shaker from him and headed back over to the sink to season the water. She wasn't about to admit that she had never actually made spaghetti in her life - everything she had eaten recently had come out of boxes in her freezer. After taking hold of the sides of the pot again, she tensed her shoulders and lifted it not-quite-easily, concentrating hard on not screwing this up as she crossed the kitchen. Though she damn sure didn't consider herself weak by any means, a heavy pot with probably too much water in it for spaghetti proved to be more weight than she could say she was used to. The Graverobber couldn't help smiling as he watched her nearly breathe a sigh of relief at setting the heavy thing on the stove. Determination hid the hint of uncertainty from her features - if he hadn't been so well-versed in the reading of people, he might not have even noticed it.

A sly idea crossed his mind and, keeping his movements slow and controlled so he stayed completely silent, got up from his chair and crossed the kitchen to stand just far away enough that she wouldn't know he was right behind her unless she turned around. Quite the impatient little thing, Shilo tapped her foot as steam just began to rise off the water; she cooked the way her dad did - on "high", no matter what. A single, tiny bubble of air collected on the bottom of the pot and popped up to the surface, as if just to get on her nerves by taking its time. Annoyed with how long it took, she emptied the pasta box into the water and decided just to let it go from there. Not really looking at anything in particular, she turned around, intending to go try and strike up a conversation with the Zydrate dealer. Only problem was...

"Oh!" she gasped, startled, as she walked straight into the man. "What the hell!? What are you doing---"

Whatever she had been about to follow "doing" with died on her lips as she looked up at him and saw his expression - almost inscrutable, but given away by something primal gleaming in the back of his gaze. Her breath caught in her throat and it took her a couple of seconds to remember how to breathe in the first place. Those deep brown eyes widened nearly to the size of saucers and a slow grin spread over his lips - the dark-painted curve shook her to her very core, stirring feelings she had only the barest grip of understanding on. She knew what a crush was and had figured out a while back that she had a rather major one on him, but had never managed to get a handle on the physicality of it. The fluttery feeling she got in her stomach when his image floated into her mind before she went to sleep was one thing... Right now, her heartbeat seemed to be up in her eardrums and the rest of her organs had gone AWOL, replaced by an intense, hollow burn. She found herself very, incredibly, acutely aware of the nerve endings in her lips as he lifted a hand to her face, his un-gloved palm curving quite comfortably against her cheek.

"This is nuts," she whispered, blinking slowly as she tried to figure out if that was really her breathy, almost frightened voice echoing in her ears. "Completely insane..."

Graverobber smiled in return, his eyes dancing with mischief, playfulness, and an unmistakable spark of want - he had only intended to mess with her mind a bit, but somehow, he liked where this seemed to be going.

"What is?" he asked, the pad of his thumb tracing the high contour of her cheekbone.

The teenager's wide eyes flitted around the room, as if looking for a way to escape.

"This!" she hissed, her voice nearly inaudible. The she spoke up. "I don't know what it is... Just... when I'm around you, I get these feelings---"

Her voice trailed off as she watched an exasperating smile curve his lips - how the hell could he keep her guessing so easily when she tried so hard to figure him out!?

"I have a little glass vial for that," he growled, not a bit of seriousness coloring the dark words.

She raised a hand to smack him out of vexation, but somehow the spark of irritation went away when he caught her wrist with his free hand and his lips descended on hers. Her eyes widened for a moment, then closed when the hand that had been on her cheek drifted down, fingers brushing her ear teasingly, to wrap gently around the back of her neck. That warm touch guided her to tilt her head up, granting him easier access - it vaguely occurred to both of them, seconds apart, that this was her first kiss. The Graverobber brought his other hand down, hers coming with it, then let go and wrapped that arm around her lower back, pressing her more intimately against him than she was probably ready for - she didn't seem to mind, only gasped a tiny bit. His tongue trailed so softly, so slowly over her lips that she let out a small sound that didn't quite pass for a moan. The hand she had been about to hit him with crept shyly up his back, trembling slightly, to rest between his shoulder blades.

At that, his hand pressed in on the small of her back, causing her to rise up on her tiptoes to feel his lips more intensely on her own, whimpering as he pulled back, playfully keeping that contact from her. With their lips barely touching, he laughed quietly, his eyes opening the slightest fraction to watch how she reacted - her eyes crinkled a bit 'round the corners as she tried to restrain herself from doing something she might not have been aware of desiring. Her small, thin body trembled under his hands and her lips remained parted, wanting to be pressed against his once more. Well hell, who was he to deny her, considering he started this shit? Closing his eyes again, he caught her lower lip and sucked tenderly, bringing forth the first loud, honest-to-god moan he could say he'd heard out of her - a deep, staccato sound from her throat. At the soft vibrations against his lips, he nearly lost it - there was something predatorily invigorating about making this pretty little virgin produce such a sexual sound. As much as his lower body cried out for him to have her stripped down and pinned under him right now, he decided to see how far she would let him go with just a kiss.

With his hands still holding her exactly where she was, he slid his tongue against hers, quickly at first just to show her how it felt before retreating and wondering for a moment how she might respond to that. Sure enough, starting out a bit shy, she flicked her tongue over his lower lip, enjoying his light gasp and doing it again to get the same reaction. He smiled as she pressed that skinny hand of hers on his back and used the leverage to push up just enough that she caught his lip with her teeth and bit down, unintentionally almost hard enough to hurt. A tad surprised, Graverobber let out a soft growl and his hand slid from the small of her back to rest on her behind. She squeaked, startled, but made no move to stop him or make him move his hand - after a few seconds, she actually arched back, moaning softly. Smiling with a small burst of masculine pride, he carefully rocked his hips forward, making sure not to press too much against her there yet. Shilo groaned at the first fleeting contact her body ever experienced with a man's burgeoning arousal, feeling herself heat up inside as her knees went weak under her.

Getting himself fully back under control, the Graverobber lifted his lips from Shilo's, smiling enigmatically as he watched her panting through those kiss-swollen lips, stained slightly darker by his own lipstick. Very slowly, almost reluctantly, he loosened his grip on her and held her off him a bit, not taking his hand off her derriere as she sank down off her tiptoes. The kiss at its most heated point had become a bit... wet... and, unaware that it wasn't the most graceful or ladylike thing to do, the teenager raised one thin hand and wiped her mouth on the back of it. Now, that probably would have at least partially offended him had it been anyone else, but Shilo's honest inexperience caused the action to be stirring in an odd way. She blinked up at him, her smile as shy as could be while remaining totally engaging - her pale cheeks blushed bright red and she caught her lower lip between her teeth for a moment. After a few moments of apparent consideration, she rose back up and kissed his cheek quickly before retreating and studying her boots. Chortling under his breath, he slid his hand under her chin and tilted her face up to his.

"Come on, kid, you don't have to be shy around me," he coaxed, stroking her soft skin with the backs of his fingers and smiling at the quick catch in her breath as she tilted her head back. It pleased and slightly amazed him how willing she became to expose the vulnerability of her pale little throat to a man whom she knew very well could be quite capable of violence. His voice dropped down into his chest as he purred deeply, "So you like that, huh?"

A soft, keening whimper escaped her lips and the Graverobber inwardly marveled at just how touch-sensitive she was, so positively responsive even to the lightest touch of his fingers on an area that made most people draw back in defense. Her eyes fluttered as he trailed his fingers ever-so-lightly along the gentle line of her jaw and her breath hitched again when he caressed the sensitive spot behind her ear. Slowly, he let his hand slide forward, stopping back under her chin and holding her a bit more firmly in place. A spark of caution lit in Shilo's dark eyes, but something in her told her to trust him and she closed her eyes as he bent his head down and his lips approached hers. The heat of his lips radiated out to her own and she tilted her head up to kiss him again, but he pulled back, at first denying her that contact. She whimpered and tried again, only to be held back once more as he teased her mercilessly, his lips so close to hers for so many moments without touching. She might have whispered "please" or it might have just been in her head - she couldn't tell - but either way, it didn't matter as his tongue snaked out to trail over her lower lip and she moaned out loud.

Until now, her touches had been soft and quick, almost as if she were afraid he might react badly to her attempts, but for a moment, she shut her nerves away and slid a hand up to tangle in the back of his long hair, pulling him closer. His grip tightened on her backside and she giggled into the kiss, causing quite an enthralling sensation for them both. Showing the boldness he knew perfectly well she had in her, her tongue glided over his lips, clumsily due to her lack of practice, and he moaned softly to urge her on. That's more like it, he thought - while he found the apprehensive girlishness charming, he wouldn't mind seeing a bit of her sassy attitude either. As her tongue slipped almost-cautiously into his mouth, he caught it between his lips and sucked gently, causing her body to tense up for a moment as she groaned deeply, enjoying the new tingle this sent down her spine. Growling playfully, the Graverobber fluttered his tongue against Shilo's, delighting in the vibrations of the half-moan/half-cry she let out against his lips. He released her tongue, then pulled back from her lips to kiss his way along her jaw line and up to her ear.

"Call me crazy, but I think you liked that," he breathed into her ear, not losing the chest-resonating timbre of his voice.