Author's note: This may be the oddest pairing I've ever written. How about my lovely audience show their appreciation with Zydrate and reviews?
The rain was a blessing in that it was harder for the cops to see him with it pelting down like this, harder for them to catch him. On the other hand, the corpses stank to high heaven when damp, and Graverobber smelled wet dog everywhere, including himself. It was almost enough to make the man experienced with olfactory affronts gag on the rotten air. He apologized to the cadavers for making it worse. The cloying flowers didn't help, either, and he cursed the mourners for continuing with their funerals in this abysmal weather.
There wasn't anything he could do about it except leave the graveyard and venture into the mausoleums, search for loot there. Pulling his coat over his head, he ducked into the first open one, and soon as he stepped in he noticed a drastic difference in the air quality. He stood for long moments in the dark, taking deep breaths of the muggy but clean oxygen through his nose. His clothes were soaked through, and Graverobber shook a little, held up his hands and exhaled, rubbed them together. Lord, it was cold.
No bodies, just a gravestone: Marni Wallace, whoever that was. He patted it. "Rest in peace, stranger. Have fun with the maggots."
A light caught his attention, like fireflies in the night. No, not fireflies… torches, guiding visitors through the rocky tunnel. Dutifully, Graverobber followed the dark, snaking intestines of the empty tomb and found the barrier opened up into a dark empty home. That was just odd. What kind of family had a tomb attached to their home? A severely dysfunctional one, he decided. That had to be it. Another idea occurred to him: there wasn't a soul living there. Abandoned homes weren't uncommon, what with the diseases carried in the breeze and the lethal repossessions. Whole families would be carried off by the human trash collectors. This was one such family, it seemed, and no one cared enough to place them beside Marni Wallace. Likely they'd ended up cremated and stuffed into a wall somewhere. Poor bastards.
Not that it was his problem. He shrugged off the momentary guilt and decided to explore the place. Nothing of interest downstairs, other than canned goods in the kitchen; Graverobber opened a can of soup and ate without cooking it. It wasn't the worst food he'd had of late, and the nourishment put a bounce of energy in his step. Low blood sugar was a bitch. The next step, of course, was to stroll up the stairs.
A vacant bedroom, with clothes in the bureau that were too big and effeminate for his tastes. For fuck's sake, what kind of man wore shirts with flowers on them? He chuckled, jumping to the answer soon as the question was posed. He threw himself back on the bed and found he actually wasn't tired enough to take a catnap. Such a pity, as he wouldn't find a bed to sleep in for a while, aside from the filthy, stained mattresses found in cheap motels, where zaddict whores drew him in for a timed hour of reckless payment.
Next, he tried another door, found it locked. He jiggled the handle before giving up.
The succeeding hallway was disturbing and beautiful at once. On the floor was a rug, and on the walls were holograms of a lovely, smiling woman, her arms frozen, her torso frozen, her smile frozen. All in place, from different angles, she looked at no one with eerie cheer. Graverobber wasn't disturbed by much, and here he was with goosebumps. At the end was a glass window, and within was a woman in a chair, the woman in the disturbing stilled pictures. He felt he'd intruded on something private, and nearly turned about and left. Except, hey, it was a dead body, and who was he to leave those alone? It was part of the job to interrupt the dead's rest. Each step echoing, reverberating faintly in the hall, he approached the window and without hesitation punched through the glass and hopped in.
The woman wore an elegant black dress and a ridiculous, oversized, black veil that he removed. Underneath was a beautiful woman, blah blah blah. It wasn't uncommon. Only… bending closer, he was astonished to find that she was unperfected by cosmetics. That was a natural beauty. Funny. He reached and retrieved his extractor.
"Pleasure to meet you, miss," he chuckled, shoving the needle up her right nostril and depressing the gun, drawing out the neon blue juice. It never ceased to put him in an awed state at the process of removing Zydrate from the dead. Closest thing to a miracle on this damned and overpopulated island; overpopulated in spite of it all. He placed the vial on his holster and patted it, thinking of the coin it would fetch on the sub-market.
Could this be Marni? Did it matter?
An anguished cry interrupted him. "Marni! Oh, God, Marni!"
So that was Marni. There wasn't much time for Graverobber to reflect on that before a strong hand reached in and pulled him out of the window and slam him against the wall, shooting sharp pain up his spine. Graverobber cringed. A middle-aged fella in a grey, buttoned coat and glasses had him by the throat. He choked and struggled, grabbing for the arm and failing, growing weaker with the pressure on his windpipe.
"You son of a bitch," the man spat. "One of those filthy robbers of the night. How dare you put your hands on my wife."
Not so abandoned a home, it seemed. And here he was, perhaps about to be murdered. What a humiliating way to die, not even shot in a chase. That was what he'd predicted would happen, or that he'd end up holed up with the police pounding on his door, forced to put a bullet in his own head. Not like this.
Graverobber opened his mouth to talk and his throat made a strangled sound. The grip on his throat lessened somewhat.
"Talk," the man ordered him. "Why my wife?"
"Why—why so protective?" Graverobber asked weakly, and knew at once by the cold eyes it was a mistake. "She won't miss it."
"Lowly bastard, I ought to kill you," came the response, and the slice of a knife being withdrawn.
"Whoa, whoa, there's no need to get murderous!" protested Graverobber. "I'm sorry!"
"Sorry doesn't cut it. Now I'll cut you," said the stranger, bringing the blade up to Graverobber's throat. He swallowed.
"Come on, man. It's just a job. Haven't you ever had one of those jobs? It's all about paying the bills!" he rattled off quickly.
Something changed, then, a slackening in the arm that held the cold scalpel. And it dropped. Graverobber put a hand to where it had a moment ago pressed his pulse. That had been much too close a call, and a good lesson: always be cautious and never assume that a jealous husband won't interrupt a standard procedure.
The man, too, was catching his breath. Finally, finally, the crazy fuck put the weapon away. Come to think of it, the crazy fuck was attractive.
Graverobber didn't mind being attracted to men. It didn't make him homosexual, it just… it just was a fact about him and society, where most men were handsome, even if it was artificial. Same as his deceased wife, however, this man looked unaltered. What was with these people? Even Graverobber used dye and make-up to improve on his appearance. This man was tall and, frankly, dressed a little goofy.
He decided to try his luck, just for kicks.
"Your knife's impressive," he said. "What's your name, stranger?"
The stranger shot him a baffled look and shook his head, as if to shake off the flirtatious delivery of the seemingly innocuous words. He went to the window where Marni sat, Zydrateless, and took her hand. It was more intimate than were he to cradle the corpse in his arms. "Marni… I am so sorry," he murmured.
Graverobber tapped his foot impatiently and made a sound. The stranger left the corpse alone and left the window to gaze at the flickering, faltering holograms. "They're… they're recharging," he said, and promptly blinked back tears and put his arm to the wall, followed by his head. Alarmed, Graverobber went to him and rested a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey. She didn't mind, I promise," he said gently, and the man turned to him.
There was a beat, a quiet, restless moment, and Graverobber felt the pity and attraction and lust and the realization that here was a man who was not disgusted by corpses, who got up close and personal with them, who adored the macabre, and he violently kissed the man, the first time he'd ever done so. He didn't let go, and finally felt hands weaving through his hair, and when he peeked, he saw the stranger's eyes were closed.
Graverobber stepped back. "Sorry," he said, not meaning it in the least. The man looked stunned, like he'd stuck his finger in an outlet and received a good warning shock. Nothing happened. Seemed it was up to Graverobber to push things along; judging by the outcome of the kiss, the man would go with it. "Well, let's start with introductions. I, of course, am Graverobber. And you are…?"
"Nathan. Nathan Wallace," said the stranger—Nathan.
And they came together again, a clashing tumult of tongues, wandering hands, and squeezed parts, and they stumbled backwards, hitting walls. They broke apart, panting, long enough for Nathan to drag Graverobber into his bedroom, and that turned out to be the room previously explored, where he was pushed onto the comfortable, lush bed, with Nathan on top of him. It was enough to make him grunt. As payback, his hand meandered down Nathan's spine and grabbed his ass.
"There, now, isn't that better than hanging around with your dead wife?" he teased.
Fires leaped into Nathan's eyes, and Graverobber genuinely worried he was about to be choked or otherwise made uncomfortable or rather dead. Instead, the man stalked to his bedroom door, locked it, and placed the key in his pocket. Graverobber knew he could knock him out, steal the key, and escape, but he was curious where Nathan was going with this. He went to a closet that Graverobber hadn't noticed before and retrieved a long white nightgown. He tossed it at the befuddled Graverobber. Catching it, he wasn't prepared for the edict, delivered by the man bristling with suppressed rage. In a growling voice, Nathan ordered him to put it on, or else.
"This get you off?" he demanded to know. "Huh?"
"Put it on, motherfucker," Nathan insisted in that unfamiliar, harsh new tone. "Now."
"Don't get your panties in a bunch." Down went his coat, onto the floor, followed by his shirt, his pants, all the while feeling Nathan's eyes on him. The nightgown was cool in his hands. How, he wondered, was this garment going to fit him? It wouldn't hurt to try, he supposed, even if it was futile.
Surprisingly, it fit, if only just, if he left the zip on the back undone. Nathan's gaze raked over him, and he unbuckled his belt, stripped off his shirt.
"Okay, gorgeous, you're going to make it up to me for what you did to Marni," he hissed.
"Yeah? How so?"
He pulled down his pants and stomped to Graverobber, grabbed a handful of his hair. "Suck my dick!" Graverobber tried to shake the grip on him, and the hand tightened painfully, yanked. "Do it!" What else could he do but comply? He bent his head and took the erect anatomy into his mouth. Nathan groaned, curling his fingers painfully. "Come on, you can do better than that."
"I'm trying," Graverobber stopped to say, lacking experience in this department. Christ, he'd never even kissed a man before, and here he was, his head in one's lap, eye to eye with a genuine, unsurgically modified dick. He looked up at the man with the strangely wild, gleeful grin. "Look, I know blowjobs are the best thing after sliced bread, but what's your problem?"
And the smile faded, replaced with horror and guilt. "Oh, God. Graverobber, I am so sorry!" His hand left the back of Graverobber's head. Remorseful dark eyes met his inquisitive blue ones. "I am so sorry."
"You know what… I am sick of hearing you say that word," Graverobber snapped, getting up and shoving Nathan onto the bed, pouncing on him and biting his neck. "You crazy old fuck. I may be wearing a dress, but right now, you're my bitch." He squeezed Nathan's crotch. "Got that?"
Nathan mutely nodded.
"Get on your stomach, on your knees," he ordered, face buried in the man's neck. "I'll give you to the count of now." He retreated long enough for Nathan to acquiesce to the demand, turning over and placing his hand on the pillows, his knees on the blankets. Graverobber ran a hand down from his neck, his back, and, frankly, was at a loss for what to do next. He'd never fucked a man, and his straining erection was proof that he wanted to. Badly. "You got any lube?" he asked, sitting back on his knees and feeling both foolish and fabulous in the dress. He knew the lube would be necessary; it was when he fucked women, so it stood to reason…
"Drawer." Nathan nodded to the side. "I keep it there for, ah…"
Graverobber opened the drawer and grinned at the toy accompanying the lube. "Nathan, Nathan, Nathan. You'll have to show me how to use that on you next time." Graverobber removed the nightgown and then his ratty underwear, slicked himself up. Getting back on the bed, he placed one hand on Nathan's back for support and the other between his cheeks, and he grumbled for Nathan to open his legs a little wider. The man complied, as Graverobber knew he would. He guided himself in, carefully, paying attention to Nathan's uncomfortable grunts. "Am I hurting you?"
"Obviously," Nathan grunted. "Give me… give me a minute."
"I ain't got a minute." Graverobber reached around Nathan's soft stomach to take the man's member in hand, gave it a good, long stroke. After that, he neither heard nor harbored any complaints, not when his hips were gently, experimentally moving, then a bit harder, not when Nathan's pleasure was— quite literally — in hand. Graverobber leaned forward to nip Nathan's neck, and lick down his back. He breathed out, and his motions ceased for as long as it took for Nathan to groan in protest. There was a soft, muffled sound like crying, and a whisper of "Marni" that caused Graverobber to roll his eyes.
Graverobber was kind enough not to ignore him, and finally Nathan stickily coated his hand, and not long after, Gaverobber eased himself out of the first man he'd ever fucked. Nathan collapsed on his belly. Graverobber wiped his hand on the sheets and settled on his back, confused and in a strange post-coital delirium.
They didn't speak, not about Nathan's outbursts, not about Graverobber's sudden dominance. Something about being shoved around made Graverobber get rough himself. Not many people knew that. Amber Sweet was one of the few, a piece of knowledge she often used to his disadvantage and her personal, Zydrate-related gain. When the silence threatened to grow awkward, Graverobber turned Nathan on his side and brought him close, cuddled him, back to his stomach, and stroked the soft, unmuscular skin there. "You all right?" he murmured in Nathan's ear.
"I… I miss my wife. I've never been unfaithful to her," he said, and suddenly was in tears, softly weeping. "Never."
He consoled, "Hey. Hey, it's fine. It'll be fine, Nathan Wallace." The sorrow infected Graverobber. He felt barer than ever, even though he was naked. "It'll be fine."
"It'll never be fine. Marni's dead. There's no life without her."
"No? Then I'm glad I don't have a wife." Rubbing Nathan's belly like it was a good charm, he reflected, "I'm glad I don't have anything to lose."
"Let me be. You don't have to leave… But let me grieve." And when the man moved away from him to sob to himself, Graverobber settled on his back, hands behind his head, he felt something a little like grief.