Growing up

He'd been helping her out as much as he could for a few months now. Little things, extra food, a blanket found in a dumpster. Sure he could have used it, but hell, the kid refused to go into the house. At all. Ever.
He'd asked why, and all he'd gotten was, "the Ghosts are watching me."
Which, yeah, okay, he could see that. The kid had been through a lot. Still, forsaking a perfectly good house for a freezing tomb? And an empty one, at that... he had no idea what had been done with the woman's body after he'd moved Marni into the chair for Shilo at the Opera house...
but it sure as shit wasn't back here.
So she was more alone than ever, and he was just there occasionally. And he really came to expect that hungry look in her face, the look like she'd spent all his time away expecting him to come back.
He wondered what she'd do if he just stayed away... wondered if she'd come looking for him, or just wait there forever. He developed an almost romantic notion of her as his own personal Rapunzel. Except with less hair. She'd discarded the wigs for the most part, and her hair just brushed the top of her ears. It had grown in with natural curls, not unlike what he'd seen of her mother's hair... a soft brownish red.
But it didn't detract from her loveliness. She was becoming healthier, the paleness was still there, but without the medication, she had some color in her cheeks, a little more brightness in her eyes. She hadn't applied the darkness around her eyes for a while, and it made them look bigger, more pure and doll like.
If she knew how often he compared her to a doll, she'd likely throw things at him. Or yell. Or do something other than sit there giving him puppy dog eyes and thanking him in that far too soft, far too shy voice of hers.
He really didn't know why he bothered. it wasn't like she was putting out or anything.
Hell, he figured she might pass out if he asked. Or joked. Or even made any overt movements.
So he avoided it.
And this lasted for a short while, until one day she became bold enough to come out to visit him at work.
it had to be... maybe six months into their relationship... She came round the corner while he was buttoning himself back into his pants, his latest conquest, a girl probably not over 24, her hair a soft purple, and her bangs a nice fuchsia, sinking down onto the pavement, her lips still twitching upwards from her freshly administered Z.
Soft gasp, and he turned, expecting another junkie, a random passerby, anything but her.
But there she was, same sad eyes, same soft hair, different in the light of the filtered out sun.
And his Junkies were watching with semi-interest. So what could he do, but make his usual offer.
"Fist hit's free, kid." He beckoned her forward with a flourish.
He should have given her some signal, should have shook his head no. But she came in, accepting, because her protector, her knight in shining armor was giving her something. Something new. He didn't even go for the up her skirt, inner thigh trick. Not with her. He tilted her head to the side, running his fingers across her neck as though to brush away hair that wasn't there. And then he gave her rapture, fighting down a surge of guilt at the joy on her face.
And then he had to continue the charade. He pushed her away.
"Run home, kid, and bring cash next time." He knew it was softened; usually he leered after them, trying to impress upon them just whom they were dealing with. But there was no way for her to know, and his conscience panged again as her eyes filled with tears and she spun ‘round and ran off, hands to her face. And now... the worrying began, where she would go, what she would do... If she’d be there when he finished, if she’d find some new hidey hole, and who might find her first.
As soon as he was sold out, he caught a truck out to their graveyard, out to her tomb. He pushed the door open, not bothering to knock. He hadn't given her much of a hit, and that was hours ago... it should be worn off by now. So he was surprised to find the tomb empty and the door that led to the house hanging wide open.
He hoped to god someone hadn't followed her in, and he closed the tomb up behind him before heading for the opening with purpose in his stride.
The house was much as he remembered, but he had less stress this time, less fear. There was no madman inside, armed with a scalpel and waiting to kill him for theft. He wondered what he'd be stealing this time, and stifled the mental image of himself carrying another body out of this house, this one tiny, and soft, and far too young.
He found her in the bathroom attached to her old room-- a room he'd never been in before. It disgusted him. It tried too hard to be juvenile and feminine, tried too hard to hide the harsh edges of the medical screens, the wires and cords tangled in with the drapery. And in the bathroom, the theme continued, ruffles and lace on the toilet tank, ribbons tied around bottles of lotion, scattered in amongst syringes and bottles of medication. Even the porcelain of the tub was a light pink, and the soap on the shelf was heart shaped, and probably far too fragrant. The towel was on the floor, where a bottle of some sort of spray was leaking orange out of the top, and she was standing by the sink, scrubbing at her index finger, which now matched the orange drips on the can-- and the main part of her hair.
"Whatcha doin', Kid?" She turned to him, and he saw the smear of darkness above and below her eyes, the lips painted an unnatural shade of green.
"You look awful." He didn't mean to be cruel, but it was a first reaction. She stared at him for a moment, eyes wide, lips quivering, then she burst into tears.
"I don't know how to do it right!" She explained, and he sighed, and picked up a washcloth, pink with lace, but already wet, and stained from failed makeup experiments. He caught her chin in his hand and wiped at her face, her lips, with the rag.
"Do what right?" he coaxed, keeping his voice low and soothing.
She spoke, lips fighting against the touch of the cloth, so he had to stop to understand her.
"I thought if I made myself pretty... maybe you'd love me, too."
The cloth dropped back to the counter and she turned her face away, like she was trying to hide from him. He turned her back towards him gently, hands on her shoulders. He forced her to look up, lifting her face to him, but her eyes kept sliding away, refusing to meet his, avoiding the confrontation. So he did the only thing that made any sense at the moment, and kissed her, the awful green sliding against his own bruised black-purple. Her eyes widened hugely. And he broke away before she recovered enough to respond-- or shove him away. He didn't know which he'd prefer at this point... lord knew he'd tainted her innocence enough today with his drug.
"Now what did you mean, love you too?" Did that mean she loved him? What the hell was he supposed to say to that?
But her next words burst that bubble.
"Like the girl in the alley. She was beautiful, and so you loved her." Shilo's hand came up to gesture at her hair, and she opened her mouth, as though to comment on it, then decided against it.
"Shilo, honey, that wasn't beauty and that wasn't love." If he had ever thought he'd had a heart, now he'd be sure it was breaking.
"Come here." He pulled her to him, ignoring the stickiness that was the still-wet orange spray that was now pressed against his face.
"You have more beauty naturally than what a thousand surgeries on her could do. And as for love... well. I think... I think you may still be too young to understand that one." Secretly, he thought the same applied to him. Too young to understand... or maybe it just didn't exist any more. He was afraid that might be the real truth, but he couldn't even voice it.
How horrible was that thought? Maybe he didn't care about her at all, like he kept trying to tell himself. Maybe the only reason he hung out with her was because she was the only person alive that he had seen love.
But then, everyone had seen her love, whether they recognized it or not. It was played again and again on screens all throughout the city, her father's last moments, and her heartbreak.
He hoped, secretly, that that wasn't it. He hoped he was capable of caring for her as a person, and not as an ideal even while he lied to himself, and said that she was just a hot, naive little girl that he had impure intentions towards. He wasn't sure what was the most true. Some combination, perhaps.
Then he shook himself back to the present, and held her at arm's length, picking up the cloth again to gently wipe the streaky tears off her cheeks. Then he looked twice at the cloth he held, surprised. It had been months...
"the water still works here?" She nodded.
"Amber decided she'd cover most of my utilities and stuff, as long as I didn't sue her for ownership of GeneCo. I don't want it, anyway."
He thought Amber had gotten the better end of this bargain, especially with the ki-- Shilo sleeping in a tomb.
"Well look, why don't you have a shower, get the goo out of your hair--" he patted her on the head, and then rubbed his orange fingers together with over exaggerated distaste.
"And I'll see if the generosity of GeneCo extends to your pantry." She nodded, still looking woeful, and far too much like a child caught playing in mummy's cosmetics. He left, closing her bathroom door behind him, and stood in her room for a moment, thinking quietly.
Here he thought he'd been seeing real love, and then this room seemed to show that to be a lie. Lock on the outside of the door, all this equipment... he could only imagine the horror stories of what had happened in this room. No wonder the kid didn't want to come back here.
And yet she had, a small part of his mind reminded him.
She did, for you.
He snarled at it to shut up and strode out of the room, suddenly uncomfortable in the living lie of the space.
Down the stairs, he wondered at himself when he passed the china cabinet without even considering stealing anything on first thought. That was bad; he was getting soft. Into the kitchen, brief stop to scan over the note on the table. He snorted to himself. Subtlety was not Amber's strong point. He left the letter where it lay, and opened the cupboards.
Whether stocked by GeneCo or stocked by her father, there was food there, and he decided canned was safer, just in case the electricity had gone out.
So he had dumped the cans of ravioli into a pot, and was stirring them when Shilo reappeared.
She'd been scrubbed clean, all trace of orange, green, or black removed from her features. Her lips and hair still bore a faint wet sheen, and they were returned to their natural colors, shiny wet mahogany and sweet baby pink, respectively.
He wasn't sure what he wanted more at that moment, but when he realized what she was wearing, he blanched.
It looked like a hospital gown, a long T shirt or a short dress.
She grew uncomfortable under his stare, and moved to pull a cup off the shelf, filling it with water, and then sighing at sitting it on the counter. She stared at the glass for a moment, then asked quietly, "Why?"
He sighed too, and moved to lean against the counter, facing her.
"Why what?"
"Why... why everything!" She turned to him, not sure whether to yell or to cry, her voice warbling, and soft.
"Why did you kiss me, why am I too young, why... why don't you..." She had to stop there, and he drew in a breath.
The first question he ignored, because he wasn't sure how to answer it. The second, he answered with a question of his own.
"How old are you, kid?"
"Eighteen. I'm actually an adult now."
He clucked and shook his head, even though his heart skipped a beat. 18? He'd put her at sixteen tops. That made this... less bad maybe. By a little.
"And what do you know about love?" His voice had taken on a slightly bitter edge, and he wished it wasn't so.
She fidgeted with the hem of her dress.
"Wellll..." she stalled, then took a deep breath and plowed forward.
"When two people love each other very much, they start developing a certain chemistry. Though this is traditionally a celebration of reproduction shared between a holder of the X chromosome and a holder of the Y chromosome, there is also love found between two members of the same sex. For any of the above groups, love is available as both an emotional and physical manifestation..." She spoke quickly, all in a single breath, but she trailed off at the look on his face.
He was tapping his fingers on the counter, agitated.
"Well at least he taught you tolerance, I suppose. But is that all you know of love? Text book terms and daddy's teachings?" He shook his head. "You need to experience it for yourself. And until you have... you'll be too young."
"And how am I supposed to do that if you won't show me?!" She shouted, and a flush flew to her face, and she tried to pick up the glass, but it slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor. She stared at the fragments for a moment, then looked up at him like she expected to be chastised. He just reached behind him and turned off the stove.
She averted her gaze, and then dropped to her knees, to begin cleaning up the pieces. He rolled his eyes and pulled his coat off, using it to sweep the glass under the nearest counter.
Shilo looked at him, huge eyes full of sadness as he reached down and plucked the broken glass from her fingers, tossing it up on the counter. He took her hands in his, and knelt before her, ignoring the creak of his knees.
He lifted her hands to his mouth and kissed her fingertips gently, tongue flicking out for a moment on each one, eyes locked on hers, unblinking.
She drew in breath sharply.
"What are you doing?" She asked, and he broke his stare for a moment and ran his fingers across hers.
"I'm showing you, sort of." He shrugged. "Do you not want me to?" She shook her head.
"Don't stop." It came out a whisper, and he had to fight to keep a triumphant grin off of his face.
He pulled their hands down between them, resting her hands with his wrapped around them on her knees, bare and still a little damp. He leaned in, but this time stopped, making her close the distance for the kiss.
She leaned in, hesitantly and haltingly, but finally her lips ended up against his.
He pressed lips more firmly against hers, and she, unsure what to do, echoed him. He let her get comfortable with soft movements, and then licked along her bottom lip, asking permission to go further. She didn't know that though... so he took that same bottom lip, the one that gleamed just so when she wet it with her tongue, and pulled it into his mouth with his teeth, oh so gently, and began sucking on it. Her eyes popped open, and he felt like he'd been caught watching something private, but the expressions she made, the flutter of her eyelids... it all told him stories. He let her lip slide out, and followed it with his tongue, running it along her teeth. She sighed and leaned into him, and he took that as an okay. He probed gently with his tongue, finding the scars on the inside of her cheeks, where the teeth had been rubbed forcefully against the skin. He had the same scars, from his childhood, from being slapped around. He followed the smoothness of the roof of her mouth, and smiled when her own tongue came to life and began toying with his. Her eyes looked scared, and he let go of her hands with one of his to smooth her hair, then run the damp hand down her temple, bringing it to rest on her jaw, and using it to direct her in how to turn her head while he turned his, deepening the kiss.
When he pulled away, he felt... peaceful. Quiet. Her breathing was shallow, but she looked okay, he supposed. Still far too much like a patient as some sort of clinic.
She noticed his stare again.
"What is it?" she asked, suddenly worried she'd done something wrong.
"You look like you're wearing a hospital gown. The kind they put on sick people." Her eyes widened and she cursed a little under her breath. He hadn't known she knew those words, mild as they may be.
"I hate that! All I have is these and really complicated clothing that makes me look like... like..."
"A doll? Well look, your dad must have some of his clothes left over. Go change into one of his shirts or something." He shrugged. She stood, and he looked up at her, watched her turn and walk out, watched her touch her lips when she thought she was out of eyesight.
He climbed to his feet, aching, but happier, maybe just a little, for what had just happened. His Shilo.
And where that thought came from, completely unbidden, he didn't know. He turned the heat back on under the ravioli, just to make sure it was warm, so that when she came back down, they could eat.
Without her here, distracting him, he could feel his stomach reaching deperately for his spine. He searched the shelves until he found bowls and wiped them free of dust under the tap, then shovelled out the ravioli into two equal portions, and set them on the table, moving the letter to the other end.
He took the seat with his back to the windows, but his face to the door, so he would know when she came back, and waited patiently.
It was worth it.
She hadn't buttoned the shirt properly, so it was off one button at the bottom, and she hadn't buttoned all the way up. It was a light grey, and soft looking.
He had a sudden urge to rub his cheek over it. Or at least his fingertips. He resisted, though, and beckoned at her bowl, which he'd covered with a small plate.
"Didn't want it to get cold." He explained, nodding as she removed the dish and unleashed the steam into her face.
"Thank you." Her voice had gone back to shy and quiet as she took her seat across from him. Her eyes stayed fixed on her food, and she refused to look at him, even when he intentionally scraped the bowl with his silverware.
This was ridiculous.
"You okay Shilo?"
"I'm fine." came the reply, mumbled into the soggy pasta.
"Then look at me." He forced his voice to be patient.
She looked up at him, and he sighed, a little relieved, though he wasn't sure why.
"Are you-- were you just showing me kissing because I asked, or...?" she let her sentence trail off, and he fought to swallow the ravioli that had suddenly turned to grave dirt in his mouth.
"I'm doing it because I enjoy it. I'm doing it because... because I want you to enjoy it too. I want you to know about these things." His mind finished the statement '...before you leave me.'
And he had to wonder who was dependant on whom here. But he shook off that funk.
"Would you... are you going to show me more?" He took a deep breath and covered his heart leping into his throat with a grin.
"Only if you want me to, Shilo. What did you have in mind?"
"The physical manifestation part?" She offered weakly, smiling a bit, knowing now how he objected to that phrasing.
"You mean actual sex? Shilo, that's..." What? Something special? He could hardly say that; he'd just fucked a complete stranger for a hit today, not to mention all the others he'd had before her, and all those he'd have in the future. But this was different, he knew Shilo, and she was... she shouldn't... He needed to finish that sentence.
"That's something you should prepare for." Her brow furrowed.
"How long does it take you to prepare? Like... until tomorrow?"
He swallowed. "That's not what I meant Shi. I've done this before... you're supposed to be sure you're ready for it. It hurts the first time."
"So you mean I need time to think." Her voice was flat, incredulous. Shit.
"I have had seventeen years doing little else besides thinking. I'm done thinking. I want to experience, and learn, and know, and grow. I want to feel."
Her voice shook a little, he wasn't sure what emotion she was fighting back, but he could hear it.
"If you really want it that badly, I'll show you." His mouth was working independently of his brain now, which was... odd. Probably safer though, since his brain was insisting on flashing through all the tantalizing glimpses he'd seen of her, too short skirts, tight shirts... wait what had he said?
So much for safer. But he could put it off.
"At least, I will need until tomorrow. Tomorrow we'll talk about it."
She agreed, and dinner was finished in relative silence.
He was too absorbed in thoughts of guilt-- he shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't even be considering it.
And she was wondering if she really was as ready as she thought she was. She spent the rest of the meal staring at her food, too starved to have lost her appetite, but too hungry to eat.
Between the two of them, and their preoccupied states, they completely failed to notice the shape watching them from the windows behind his back.
She offered to let him stay here, offered him her father’s room, the couch, even her own bed, but he declined. It would be… too akward, considering.
So he left, but he didn’t make it far. He decided to take up her old sleeping space, her nest in Marni Wallace’s tomb. It was warm and soft and better than his normal alley haunt.
He sat there, awake, worrying.
Maybe he simply shouldn’t come back tomorrow. Maybe he should just leave, go back to his usual haunts. But no, she would find him there. What would his street persona do?
The answer wasn’t hard to find: He’d take what she offered gleefully, fuck her for the joy it would bring him, ruining something that pure and pretty.
But he’d opened up to her, let her see little glimpses of the man under the paint, and treating her that way would feel like some sort of betrayal. Besides, he didn’t want to ruin her, he wanted to help make sure she wasn’t ruined. Better that he show her, make sure it was good for her. Because she wouldn’t be content to hide forever. Eventually she would leave and go out into the world and get hurt. So better she have the memories of this…
But he didn’t deserve her. He doubted he even knew how to be gentle any more. He didn’t know that he would last for more than a few minutes… the junkies, whores, and Amber had ruined his control, his patience… but she trusted him. Couldn’t he do this, for her?
Somewhere on the path of talking himself into it, for her sake, he fell asleep. And he only woke up a few hours later when his blankets shifted and a small body pressed up against his.
“Shilo?” He muttered, confused. She just curled up to his chest and cried. He sighed into her hair and held her until her tears stopped. He didn’t bother telling her everything would be okay… he had no proof of it, and he wouldn’t lie to her. He just waited for her to speak.
She was silent for so long, he started to doze back off, but then, her voice was soft.
“I’m scared.” She told him, long delicate fingers stroking his shirt.
“Of what? Of me?” Sleep confusion had him still, or he wouldn’t have said that. His own dreams had been plagued with the little girl currently pressing against him, the one that was currently a hair’s breadth from triggering that most gallant of reflexes. He’d been dreaming himself as her own personal boogey man, the wolf lurking in the shadows formed in the face of her light.
“I had a nightmare, where you were teaching me, and then you… you turned into…” She trailed off, and he was almost afraid to ask, but he did any way, pressing gently for the end of that sentence.
“Turned into…?”
She buried her face in his shirt and from there, muttered, “My dad.”
He stiffened, and spoke. “Did your dad touch you the way I plan to?” They were both doing a wonderful job of skirting around the subject.
“No!” she sounded scandalized, and then relieved when she repeated, “No.”
He relaxed. Of course. The last man she had trusted had hurt her, cut her quite deep. And here she was, offering to him an even more intimate part of her than her father had seen, vulnerable after her dad’s betrayal.
No wonder the poor thing couldn’t sleep.
“I’m not going to be like your father, Shilo. I am not hiding anything from you, and I would never try and break your heart that way. I think once in your life is enough, don’t you?” He knew, though, that it wouldn’t be the last time for her. But he’d be damned if he was gonna be her next broken heart.
“I know.” It came from the darkness, still soft, but sure.
And then she shifted, leg sliding between his, but gently, just enough to tease, and this time it was her fingers, following the curve of his jaw line to his chin, and then up to his lips, only to move out of the way when her lips found his. Her tongue entered his mouth, and he realized she was doing what he’d done to her earlier, but slowly, unsure, testing the water. He hummed into her mouth, approving, encouraging. Even that startled her. She pulled away, and he suddenly wished for light, wishing he could see how she must look now, flushed and panting softly.
“Shilo…” he was almost hesitant to say anything, afraid to scare her more.
“Yeah?”
“If you want to do this right now… we should go back into the house. You really should have a bed, this time at least.”
“You sure? We can’t just… it’s too old in there. Brings back all these memories of helplessness.”
She shrugged and he felt it everywhere, especially where it counted. He shivered.
“Whatever you want, I guess. This is your thing. But… would you rather it be dark, or do you want some light?”
The silence stretched for a minute while she considered, then she moved, and he felt the cold in the absence of her warmth. Footsteps, and a soft scuttling noise as she picked up a bag or something, and disturbed whatever rodent had been nesting in or around it. He had to smile a little at the silence that followed; nearly any of his customers would have squeaked and backed away, probably tripping over themselves in the process. A moment later, there was a scratch, and a whoosh, the momentary flare and smell of sulfur and then light; a torch.
She returned to him, sitting down, eyes downcast, feet tucked under her, hands twitching as she fiddled with her fingers in her lap.
He sat up from his sprawled out position, and pulled off his shirt, not bothering with the buttons. He tossed it off of the bed area, smoothing out his coat, which was thrown over the top as an added layer of warmth. Now he tossed the coat aside as well, unwilling to get it messy, the way it might.
Then he put his bare back against the wall, sitting up straighter as the grounding cold of the stone hit his feverish skin. Good. It would help him concentrate.
He opened his arms to her in clear invitation, and she moved slowly, crawling to him, rather than standing all the way up. She seemed unsure where to settle herself, so he took hold of her shoulders and pulled her up into another kiss, her hands coming up to rest on his chest, and his hands drifting down to her hips, pulling her in, settling her on his lap. He pulled away and her eyes widened as she felt his semi hardness.
“Is that--?” She didn’t seem to know how to finish the sentence. He nodded, picking her hand up in his, and guiding it to his crotch, still on the outside of his pants.
“Penis. Cock. Dick. Prick. Trouser snake. Manhood, all those silly names. Yeah. Don’t be afraid.” He wouldn’t have said that if she didn’t look it.
“I… is it… ready to go in already?” Her voice was showing her nervousness, and he found it both temper trying and adorable. How did that work?
“No, it’s not, it has to get harder first. But that will happen. Come here.”
He didn’t want her first lesson to be how to give a fucking blowjob. Let her learn that sex could feel good for her, before she learned to make it feel good for someone else.
This time, when he kissed her, he let his hands roam. Down the sides of her face, down her neck, fingers tracing her collarbone, across her shoulders, down her arms, and to her breasts. She shivered, and her nipples stiffened, and he smiled into the kiss, tongue still showing her what he intended to do, lower, later.
He squeezed one nipple gently, then the other, hands spreading out to cup her, and lowered his lips to her jaw as his hands began working the buttons on her father’s shirt.
As more of her became exposed, she stiffened. He paused, sitting up straight to look her in the eye.
“If you want me to stop, all you have to do is say so.” That was a ridiculous offer, one he hadn’t made in years. One he hadn’t had to. When was the last time he’d fucked someone he actually cared about? He couldn’t remember.
“It’s… okay. I don’t… it’s not bad. What should-- is there something I should do?”
“Just, let your hands roam. Touch, feel… if you don’t know, ask. It’s supposed to be a learning experience.”
Balls. He was shit at explaining this. But how the hell do you tell a kid like this about foreplay?
He kissed her on the chin, just below her bottom lip. “It’s ok. It’s not a science. Try what you like.”
She closed her eyes, taking a deep, calming breath, and her hands came up, one hand stroking his hair, tangling her fingers into the snarled strands at about shoulder level.
Her other hand touched his jaw, tracing it down to his chin, fingertips brushing across his lips. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, asking him silently if this was okay, or if she was doing something wrong. He smiled, his lips stretching out under her fingers, and he reached up to catch her hand in his own, guiding it across, so he could kiss each of her fingers in turn, echoing what he’d done earlier, but slower, more quiet and intense.
She was blushing again, and her mouth was open just ever so slightly, her tongue, pink and small, darting out, leaving a soft sheen of moisture behind.
She rotated her hand, catching his, and bringing it to her lips, pressing a kiss to the center of her palm, and then pressing his hand flat against the side of her face, her hair falling down to partially obscure both hands.
He stroked the skin of her cheek, and tangled his fingers in the hair beside her ear, using it to pull her gently closer, kissing her again.
He drew tiny curling lines down her sternum, traced a single finger down the line where the shirt had been buttoned, between her breasts, and then he found where he’d left off unbuttoning.
He slid his hand in, under the shirt, fingers following the curve, thumb brushing the nipple. She gasped and bit his lower lip in surprise. Not hard enough for it to hurt, but she pulled away, anyway.
“I’m sorry!”
He chuckled.
“Hey, biting isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”
“huh?” He took hold of her chin with his free hand, still petting her under the shirt with the other, and tilted her head away from him. She closed her eyes and winced, obviously expecting pain, but he kissed a trail down to his intended spot, then opened his mouth and licked there once, a single broad stroke with the flat of his tongue, before he bit, just gently, applying a little suction… not enough to leave marks tomorrow, but enough that she would feel it.
And she did. He could tell by the hitch in her breathing. He released her and blew gently on the wet spot on her neck, making the small hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She shivered and took a deep breath.
“Is that okay?” He asked her, and she nodded in mute enthusiasm. He smirked. “So biting: not always bad. Just be careful with it.”
He kissed her neck once more, and then lowered his head, retaining eye contact for as long as possible, before he had to look down, nudging her shirt aside and pressing his lips to her unattended breast, sucking the nipple into his mouth, rolling it gently between his teeth and tongue. She didn’t seem to know what to make of it, but she must have come to the conclusion that she liked it, because the hand in his hair pressed him closer. Her other hand had moved up, trying to keep her hair off of her face, which was becoming too warm.
She squirmed on his lap, and he stopped, looking up at her.
“Getting uncomfortable?” She made a small noise of discontent.
“I don’t want you to stop… it’s just, can we change? I can’t… I want to be able to touch you too.”
He knew moving would be interesting; he had only gotten harder. But he nodded his permission.
She hesitated.
“How..?” She gestured around them.
He took hold of her shoulders and leaned forward, then flung them sideways, rolling so they were on the bedding.
The move startled her, and she’d moved off of him before she realized what had happened, and calmed down.
“What do I..?” She looked so damn helpless he couldn’t help but laugh.
“Someday, we’re gonna teach you to use full sentences. Come here.”
He scooted up some, so that his upper back was propped up against the pile of blankets and clothing. She knelt beside him and he kissed her again, trying to get her to relax again, trying to convince her this was okay. She responded, and he ran a hand down her side, fingers lingering on the curve of her ass, before he placed a firm hand on her upper thigh, moving it around to the inside there, fingers brushing soft curls that spread to the edges of her underwear. But best no to think about that; they weren’t there just yet. He lifted that thigh, guided it towards him, and she, catching on, moved, straddling him, her heat hitting the hardness in his pants. He stifled a soft groan, but she heard it.
“Did I hurt you?” She looked between his legs and then back up to his face, looking almost guilty.
“Not exactly, Shi.” Struck by sudden inspiration, he nudged her. “Roll over.”
She moved to do so and he sat up a little more, propping his back up right as her back hit his chest. He spread his legs some, so that she was directly on the blanketing, and not on his thighs.
She settled in before she realized…
“You know, I still can’t touch you.”
He chuckled. “But I can touch you.” he ran his fingers across her stomach, down to her open legs, gently stroking her thigh. The muscles there tensed, and she started to close her legs, then seemed to realize that would trap his hand between them, and let them fall further open. He brought his other hand back to her chest, then had another stroke of brilliance, and put his fingers to her lips, still stroking her leg, feeling the muscles tensing to the point of shaking.
“Wet my fingers?” It was a request, but an odd one, he supposed.
She hesitated, then licked them. He rolled his eyes, and pressed them into her mouth. He realized he could be doing much, much worse things to her, when the next word out of his mouth was, “Suck.”
That in mind, he was doing okay… and her legs were shaking. He ran a finger up her cunt through the underwear, feeling her wetness already.
Suction started on the fingers in her mouth, and he closed his eyes, trying to imagine that on his cock, which he was trying to ignore, but which was screaming for attention.
With that single stroke, though, she nearly bit him. He pulled the fingers out; they were wet enough, and besides, he wanted to hear her, since he couldn’t see her. One of her hands had moved its way down to his wrist, and the other was struggling feebly with the last two buttons of her father’s shirt.
Another swipe upwards, carefully adding pressure just on her clit, just for a moment, and then up, to rest on her hip while he gave himself a half a moment’s satisfaction, and ground his hips into her. He stilled again, and dipped his fingers into the waistband of the soft cotton panties.
The other hand was applying her saliva to her nipple, rubbing tiny circles into her skin, making her twitch and make soft noises in the back of her throat.
His fingers slid lower between her legs, and he encountered his first touch of skin on skin wetness. It was his turn to shiver.
But he controlled himself, and spread the moisture deftly, gently, humming in her ear as he did so.
She tilted her head back, resting it on his shoulder, then turned towards him, kissed his neck, and pushed herself upwards a bit, twisting against him, so she could nip at his throat. He sucked air in between his teeth, and it was her turn to smirk, until he pressed a finger inside of her, and she gasped, and he grinned, and licked the outer shell of her ear.
“Ok so far, Shilo?” Quite honestly he was surprised at himself; not only was he not taking her forcefully like a caveman, but he was still capable of speech. Whatever chemical was currently in action in his body, he needed to figure out how to bottle and sell THAT. He’d make a killing.
She made a highly encouraging mewling noise, which turned to a yelp when he pushed another finger into her. She pressed backwards, and against him, and god he felt that. She slid back to the ground, rubbing against him along the way
He moaned, but bit it off, and she turned to look at him curiously, brushing against his erection again as she turned, and he bit the inside of his cheek.
She noticed, and smirked at him, reflection of the fire on the torch dancing across her face, in her eyes.
She ground back against him, and he groaned softly, trying to encourage her. She rocked her hips back against him, then forward into his hand, and then back again.
Good lord how was he supposed to keep this up?
“Shilo--” He choked out, and she stilled, concerned.
“Did I hurt you?” Her voice was wavering, probably because his fingers hadn’t stopped.
“No Shi… I need… do you think you’re ready for more?”
He just had to make her not touch him for this, or it wouldn’t work… he wouldn’t last.
She nodded, making a small pout as he pulled his hands away and pushed her up, so he could move to in front of her, laying her back against the pillows.
Then he kissed down to her underwear, before hooking his fingers in the band and sliding them gently down her legs, removing them and getting a good look at her.
He kissed from her belly button to lower, lifting her legs at the knee and bending them up and out of his way. Then he kissed her cunt, juices tinting his lips. He licked them, well aware of her eyes on his, and licked once, a swift stroke upwards, and he used the motion to keep going, crawling over her til he reached her head, and offered her a taste of herself in his kiss. She was slow at first, unsure of the idea of tasting herself, but she licked his lips, tracing his own tongue’s movement, and then sucking on his tongue, collecting as much of it as she could.
He laughed into her mouth and pulled away, moving back down to lick her again, poking his tongue into her, slowly at first, and then, once he was in as far as he could get, he pulled back and pressed into her again.
“Oh wow.” It was soft and breathy, and her hips came up to meet him. He pressed her groin down, holding her there with one hand, thumb of said hand agitating her clit while he fucked her with his mouth. His other hand was wrapped around her thigh, pulling her leg up and out of the way of his movements. She moved her fingers through his hair, eyes squeezed shut, other hand rubbing her tit. He saw this when he looked up at her, her hips still rocking under his hand. He pulled his tongue out of her, and licked his lips again, feeling the stickiness on his chin and not really caring.
“Keep your eyes open Shilo. I like it better that way.” A command, but gentle. She opened her eyes up, pupils dilated and her facing away from the light, so all of it was dark.
“Is there anything else I can do… to make you like it better?” She felt guilty, here she was undressed, squirming happily… and he was… not.
He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. A million options floated through his mind. She should know how to please her partner, he supposed. He nodded, more to himself than to her.
She sat up, taking hold of his shirt and pulling him up to her, but not taking his lips, instead licking around his mouth, cleaning up her own juices. He had to put a hand to the floor to steady himself, lest he fall onto her.
“Do you like the taste, Shi?” Too low, too throaty, this should not be affecting him this much. He struggled to clear his mind, to think sensibly.
Her mumbled, “Mmhm,” didn’t help. He could only imagine the sound going much, much lower than his face.
“Would you like to taste something a little different?” She pulled back from his face and looked him in the eyes, then looked down, to where the shadows gathered in his lap. She nodded mutely. He pushed himself up, onto his knees, and reached down to undo his belt for her. She watched him for a second, and then began rubbing his chest. She was excited, but not trembling or shaking or any of those stereotypical virginal things that he’d expected. That was good, wasn’t it?
He stopped with his zipper undone, but short of pulling himself out. And once he stopped moving toward undressing himself, she pressed a kiss to his chest, right above his heart. So cute.
Heart breakingly cute, really. He ran his hand down her hair, dry now, and soft. She kissed his skin again, and then up, on his lips.
Her hands moved down then, her eyes still watching his, and her fingers reaching into his pants. She glanced down when she encountered no underwear, obviously surprised, and he thought he might always remember the look on her face the first time her fingers touched his dick.
She pulled him out of his pants, the teeth of his zipper scratching him softly, and she ran a fingertip down his length, curious, and gentle, and thoroughly unsure.
“How do I…?”
“There’s that sentence structure again.” He joked weakly, trying to figure out why he was nervous. After all, he’d done this, oh so many times before. He stood, and stepped backwards, til he was against a wall, and watched her, feeling utterly lecherous, as she crawled towards him again, then rose to her knees, and wrapped her hands around him gently.
He reached down and showed her how to grip, how hard, and how to move. She tried a few times, experimentally, then grinned up at him.
“Taste, you said?” she stuck her tongue out and lowered her head, licking the head far too softly, and again, then once more, this time flicking her tongue up at the end.
Watching her, feeling her… if he wasn’t hard before, he was now.
Her fingers ghosted backwards, toward the base of him, one hand holding his cock to her mouth while the other slid between her own thighs. And that mouth… and now he was inside her, warm and wet, and oh, teeth, but not bad, just… oh god.
It wasn’t the experienced blowjob of a whore, or even the practiced one of a junkie. It was akward, and fumbling, and experimental, and still, somehow, through all that, it was ridiculously hot.
He stopped her, pulling her up and kissing her, tasting her and him and both of them.
“You ready for the big part?” He asked, and she nodded, removing her fingers from her cunt. He caught that wrist and held the hand up between their faces, licked the fingers clean, smiling when she joined him, their tongues twisting around her hand, and eventually ending in a kiss as well.
He took her up, carried her over to the bedding, not breaking off the kiss until he lay her out.
She smiled up at him, aroused, hungry, waiting, and trusting.
That sight could have broken his heart, and he’d have died from it happily, had not his cock broken that perfection by reminding him of its need.
Stupid blood flow.
He aligned himself for her, and pressed in slowly, waiting when he felt the barrier, and then pressing through.
She gasped, probably from the pain. He stilled, panting with the exertion of moving so… damned… slow.
“You okay Shilo?”
“Please, move.” She pushed her hips up, into his, and smiled at him. He needed no further invitation, slowly working in and out of her, then moving faster. The friction between them was so… pressing, and she was so wet… they stopped talking for a bit, but she clung to his arms so hard, there might be tiny half moons permanently pressed into his skin, he thought. She moaned and cried out softly as he sped up, his thrusts becoming more pointed, his hips rocking as she circled hers under him, trying to find something she had no words for.
They were sweating, he was swearing, and they were so close… and so warm.
Shilo froze, then trembled, her muscles moving on their own, squeezing him. It took him another few strokes to reach that level, and he emptied himself inside of her, biting his lip when he realized there had been no protection for her. But she made a tiny humming noise, and smiled at him, and pulled him down for a kiss, and he forgot about it in the warmth of his afterglow, the warmth of Shilo.

They never noticed the GeneCop watching them from the door way, never noticed when he left, and were completely unaware of him making his report to Amber in her office of the GeneCo tower.
She just smiled after he left and said, “Well it’s about damn time.”
She hit a button on her desk’s communicator, and gave her secretary instructions for the night, then turned the office lights out, and closed the door.

A/N: Holy shit that counts as smutty fluff, right? I don't do that shit. Except for my meimei's brithday. Happy B'day Shiro