Revenge and Regret

Ok, I dont really like Gramber but I
want to see this. Graverobber and Amber. Somewhere
so dark she cant see what hes doing. I also want him
to scare her into becoming submissve. Like,
COMPLETELY.

Request filled:

She checked the piece of paper in her hand again, needlessly. He'd arranged this meeting, which was unusual in and of itself. Usually she was the one who called the shots, but he'd been adamant, adn her curiosity, along with the rest of her, was aroused.
She pushed open the door of the warehouse and followed the directions across the emptiness and to a trapdoor in the ground. She sat the paper down to haul at the archaic looking ring with both hands, jumping when she'd finally coaxed it open. out from the mouth poured loud, disjointed music, tinny and harsh, and a light wafting of propane fog from an old fashioned industrial strength fog machine. And riding that fog to the top of the hole came flashes of violet, green, and turquoise lights. Amber peered down, half entranced, half afraid. These places weren't supposed to exist. Her father had gotten rid of them years ago. It would be only too easy for thesales of illegal street Zydrate to be masked by the crowds. There--
That flash of blue revealed what she needed-- the ladder. She climbed down. It was much further then she'd thought, and even before she'd hit the floor, she could appreciatethe monstrosity of the size of the crowd. Perfect for the kind of transaction that she had in mind.
Heels hit the floor, head hoisted high. She'd escaped her uards tonight, and a good thing, too. They would have freaked out, being here. Damnable security drones.
She pushed her way to the bar, pulling the second part of the note out of her bra , unfolding it, and deftly catchig thr tiny silver key that fell out of its folds.
She pushed the note across the bar a the slut serving drinks, raised a carefully manicured brow, and flashed the key. The girl grinned and made a beckoning motion, and Amber followed her dow the length of the bar and to a set of stairs.
The girl handed the note back and pointed up, and Amber took it back and climbed upwards without so much as a nod at the girl. At the top of the stairs was a door, unlocked. She went through, startled by the stark contrast. The room below was dark and rich in color... this hallway was lit by dim lights, from bare bulbs, casting a grungy yellow shade of light ont the spotted burgundy carpet and steel grey walls.
She glanced again at the second note, clenched in a slightly sweaty palm.
Room 219.
The door was pale green, the numbers in faux brass. The one was crooked.
She blew out a tense breath and unlocked the door. Pitch black inside. She took a couple of steps in, feelng for the lights. The door shut behind her with a light snap that made her jump, even as it shut out the noise of the club.
She paused, hand frozen in midair.
"Don't be scared." His voice, deeper than she was used to, but still his. The tone asked her to do the exact opposite of what the words said. She shivered. His breath on her cheek, coming from behind, made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
"Amber. You made it." Mockery in his tone. Smugness.
She realized that the room was soundproofed, the deafening noises of the music gone, though she could feel the bass vibrating under her feet. Or was that her heart?
He was right next to her now.
She could feel the warm coming off of him in waves, could smell him masculine and earthy, his wild hair tickling her cheek. She held her breathing in check.
"What did you want, Graverobber?" Her usual sneer is in place, hiding her nervousness. Not well enough.
Cold, thin strip of steel to her throat.
Damn. She'd forgotten the knife.The one he kept strapped to his thigh, just below the vials of Z that she so craved. Only one there tonight, she noticed, as he moved, before his coat swung back forward to hide it.
And the knife, to her throat, causing her sarcastic tone to wobble as she asks him,
"What is this about?" Fuck.
Now he had to know he had the high ground.
"This is about me." He said, leaning into her, not touching her.
"Me. Upsidedown. For three hours. The body of a dead woman on the floor next to me. Sounding familiar?" His voice sounded civil, but it bore a gentle undertone of malice.
She shivered again. That was worse than shouting.
Of course she remembered. But how unfair! Her father had used her, just as surely as he'd used Graverobber. But who'd believe Amber Sweet was innocent. Not the man who'd corrupted her, certainly.
"Please, let me go. I'll make it up to you." Not hard; she owned the world now. What couldn't she do?
"Make it up to the little girl who harvested Zydrate from her dead mother, unknowing, and then watched all the family she knew die within the next hour." His voice, now a low growl, was on the other side of her.
The blade hadn't moved.
She dropped her arm, which had stayed frozen in that outstretched position, and let it fall back to her side.
"The Wallace kid?" Her eyes widened in the dark.
"I thought that drink serving wench looked familiar. What, are you her sugar daddy now?" The knife pressed harder. Tiny drops of blood... maybe sweat... there didn't seem to be the sting of broken skin...
"Not your concern." He snarled. "What IS your concern," he said, leaning in and speaking directly into her ear.
"Is what I'm gonna do to you for it. And when I'm done, what Shilo will do." He ran a warm tongue part way around the shell of her outer ear. "If I leave her anything to play with, that is." The last he purred, malicious and frightening. She tried to control the shaking, but failed, at the open hatred in his voice.
"Please... it was my father. I didn't--" The knife slipped further down, past her collar bone, to slice delicately at the hairline scars there from her latest surgical enhancement. His voice had dipped to dangerously low, icy tones.
"YOU lured me there. You told me to steal Marni's body from that house. And I will tell you what your father told me: You have no say in this matter. You will submit, or you will die." His voice had gone entirely too cheerful at the prospect of her death.
Amber knew she was bleeding now, could feel the tickling damp and spell the copper. It scared her.
This was no trained surGEN, no sanitized office. This was Graverobber with a knife used for desecrating tombs in a seedy room above an illegal nightclub.
She whimpered.
"Graverobber, can't we talk about this?" And idea struck her, and gave her a bit of courage. "Remember back when I used to buy Z from you?" This was firmer ground. The knife had come away.
She turned, reaching for him, and found his shoulder in the dark. She ran a bold hand up his neck, thumb brushing gntly across his lips.
"Maybe we can think of something." She offered in a practiced purr, suggestively pressing her chest to his. Under her finger, she felt him start smirking.
Shit.
"Oh," he purred back, pushing her hand away and grabbing the back of her neck.
"I plan on it."
She didn't bother trying to hide her nervousness now.
"What are you going to do?" Her voice was wavering and high pitched. He'd been rough before; she always found bruises the next day, A little makeup, a quick prayer of thanks for the Z, and she went on with life. Se had a feeling Z wouldn't be offered this time, though.
Even without her fingers on his lips, she could feel his smirk widening, could hear the soft wet sound as he licked his lips, and could imagine the feral, shit eating grin spreading across his features.
"I am gonna turn you around, put you on the bed, and fuck you until you understand the kind of pain I went through. I want you to know exactly how much it hurt me, knowing how I hurt her." Low, emotionless, slow, his words came, until those last few words, when the pain snuck back in.
Sure she was scared; who wouldn't be with that kind of threat? But she felt a stab of pain, the kind that had noting to do with knives or hands, when she realized what this was really about. She sucked in a sharp breath.
"You love her." She said softly, not even sure he could hear. It wasn't a question, just a statement.
Even in the dark, his aim was flawless. Her head jerked to the left from the force of his blow. Before she could make sense of the situation, she was spinning, falling, pinned on her back on the bed, and he was over her, warmth and weight and anger. She could see his face for a brief moment until his coat settled, blocking the light from the Z again. There was no way to hide the hate there, and that scared her as much as the reappearance of the knife did.
And then the light was gone behind its cloaking curtain of psuedo suede.
"I'msorrypleasedon'thurtmeI'lldowhateveryouwant!" Her plea came out fast, all in one breath. He paused, and then she heard a low chuckle out of the darkness.
"I think you're missing the point. Although..." He made a low humming sound as he thought.
"I think utter subservience from you... yes. Find your knees, Bitch."
He stood, and she climber slowly off the bed. Finding him with her hands, following his form down as she knelt, hands wrapping around his thighs as she situated herself before him.
She undid the belt on his pants, not bothering with the higher belt, then undid the button on his jeans.
When her fingers found his zipper, he grabbed her hair in preperation. Well, hell.
She hated this part. It made her feel cheap and dirty, and normally she wouldn't do it unless she was all hopped up on the glow. She opened her mouth and pulled him in, tightening the space around him. Her tongue ran a slow, torturous route from head to base, and he bucked his hips up impatiently. She pulled back, bit her lip, and then swallowed him. He thrust into her throat, making her gag.
Why? Her mind wailed. It wasn't her fault...
Three, four more thrusts. She thought she'd pass out from lack of air. When he finally pulled back out of her mouth, her scalp stung from his grip on her hair, and she dry heaved for a moment, falling to her hands and knees as he moved away. She managed only one deep, shaky breath when she felt his arms around her middle, lifting her roughly back up and onto the bed.
Even before he began, the headboard bounced lightly against the wall, faint skittering noises as the wood rubbed on the drywall as the bass changed in the song in the club below them.
His hand was on her throat again as he began to undress her, buttons scurrying across the room once he remembered he didn't have to be gentle, didn't have to care. The knife came out, and she felt the cold of it when he cut her underwear away.
Damn. The one time she'd come to him wearing any-- and then his fingers, not finding her very wet at all. And then something hard and cold... the hilt of the knife, thrust into her up to the cross bar, its thin wire wrapping giving it an odd texture. It would almost have been pleasureable, if not for the force behind it. She yelped a little when the roughness hit her clit. He slapped her again, leaving the knife in her.
"Shut the fuck up, or I'll use the other end."
So feral, he hardly sounded human. She bit her lip and he squeezed her throat, carefully cutting off her airsupply as he fucked her with his knife. Her head began to swim.
Need air...
And the knife into her began feeling more... more pleasurable, more painful, deeper... how was that possible?
Her mind was screaming for air, and her mouth gaped, trying to get some in...
Air...
He pressed the knife into her, hard, pulled it out, tossed it onto the bedside table, and replaced it with his cock. With his first deep, angry thrust, he gave her back her air, pulling her hands up and above her head while she gulped and filled her lungs. He thrust again and left her arms there to readjust her legs so she was stretched as far open as she would go, and he was resting more comfortably between her thighs.
Hr heart matched the beat of the music.
She hated this. He thrust, and she hated this. He lunged over her with his next thrust and caught the knife in his fingers. He ran the blade lightly across her stomach. She winced, and if either of them could see, they'd see gradually thickening ribbons of red growing on a glowing, pristine white background.
She winced, not because it hurt. Hell, it only stung a little. But because she'd have to see the infections from tonight. And there were his fingers again, checking for wetness. Still not enough. It was hard to be horny while being horrified.
"What's the matter, Amber. Can't turn you on if you're still... breathing?" Mocking, threatening. It scared her, reminded her of the stakes, as if she'd forgotten. She wondered if she should offer to make herself wet for him, but didn't get the chance.
"Ah well. Let's try this." He produced that single, glowing vial and uncapped it. He ran its butt end up her slit then up ended it over her clit, greedy eyes watching as it coated her folds.
Used this way, the light took on a different tone. Outside of the vial, as it spread, it changed but it still gave off that glow. She held absoloutely still, afraid to anger him more, afraid of the effects she was sure the drug would have. She hadn't had any in so long, and now it was in the wrong place... it needed to be inside of her blood stream, not coating her skin.
All she felt was a pleasant tingling coolness. She stopped straining to see if anything was wrong; it didn't Feel wrong, so it must be okay.
She looked up and saw his face, the light dimmer now, but his face still lit blue, and it still looked angry, but in this light, his eyes reflected demonically. It frightened her more than it should. Angry, and hungry, and hurt. It wasn't a good combination. She tried to bite back a snide remark, but being able to see him made her less afraid than imagining his faces, and besides, the Z was starting to affect her. As he slammed back into her cunt, she braced her hands on the headboard, feeling it vibrating under her palms as her lips moved.
"Aww, poor Graverobber. Is Shilo holding out on you?"
She smirked when he snarled, but the Z wasn't in her, just on her... it hadn't numbed her. So when his fist crashed into her cheekbone, she felt it. Hard. Her cry of pain inspired him, and he fisted twin handfuls of her hair, using it for leverage.
"Don't you dare, don't you DARE talk about Shilo." Some of his words were little better than grunts, but she understood. Better she let him do as he pleased, better she keep her mouth shut. Better she live. After this, well, the little girl couldn't be so bad.
His knife was there again, tracing sloping, angular curls down her neck, so she tried to hold still, despite his thrusts and the gentle sting of the blade.
She lay there, accepting, letting him have his way with her. Maybe if she didn't fight it, it would end sooner.
And this was a good plan, until he decided to flip her over.
"Graverobber, no!" she yelped. She'd tried to keep her voice steady, and in charge, but it came out as a squeak.
"Shut up miss Sweet." he growled, turning her name into an insult as he strained. He paused, considering, and ran gentle fingertips over her nipples.
She relaxed into his touch. She knew he'd come around eventually. It was all okay now--
She let out a soft scream that she quickly muffled when he pinched down hard and twisted.
"Sing for me," he whispered hoarsely, his voice made of huskiness and lust. She sobbed as he slammed into her, causing ripping, burning feelings to blossom all through her. No amount of after surgery soreness could feel like this, She gasped.
"Please, need Z..." He let out a slow, low chuckle.
"Work for it, bitch." Sh ewhimpered, then screamed again as he thrust back into her freshly torn flesh, angling to stretch it more.
"What do you want me to do for the Z? Do you even have any?" Amber gasped out between sobs.
Graverobber smirked and let her hear it in his voice.
"I already told you." He yanked on her nipple again to remind her how. She gasped, and he sighed theatrically as he slid out, then slammed back into her.
"No dear. Scream." He said calmly, repeating the manouver and running the point of the knife down her back, paralell to her spine. He slid the knife back into the sheath on his thigh and traced his latest slice with a finger, using her blood to sketch sticky, wet patterns on her back that he couldn't see, drawing curls on her lower back and digging fingernils dark with grave grime into the soft skin of her hips, pressing deeply into her.
She realized she'd done as he'd asked, a single, low, sustained note more like a wail than a true scream. It seemed to be enough for him, though, because on his next thrust in, as deep as he could go, he came. The salt and the heat stung inside her, and she felt an answering salty wetness rising in her eyes. She felt so... defiled. Used. And she hurt. It wasn't fair.
He stood, crossed the room, and turned on the lights. He looked so firm, so composed. Apart from some new blood on his shirt--new blood. Her blood. She looked down at herself, her clothes hanging in tatters, her torso criss crossed with interlacing streaks. She let out a soft moan of dismay and tried to wipe the Z out from between her legs with over hasty, shaking fingers. Her eyes raised as she lifted her head, and she saw he was watching her, a soft, icy smile curling at the edges of his mouth.
"Have I been hurt enough?" Amber whispered, looking away. She couldn't stand to see the expression on his face. She sat up, and her hands strayed up her chest, the red of her blood and the blue of the drug mixing on her fingertips.
"That's up to Shilo." He shrugged, uncaring. "If she thinks you deserve more, I'll give you more, or let her, or help her. Whatever." He shrugged again and tucked his hands into his pockets.
"She'll be up in half an hour. Don't bother running. And use the shower while you wait." He turned, left, and locked the door behind him. Amber rushed forward and tried the handle, hopeful, but there was no lock on the inside of the door. She slid down the door and pulled her knees up, resting her hands on then and her head on top as the tears fell.
She was trapped.
Waiting for her future to be decided by a teenaged girl.
Shit.
It wasn't fair.