Last Respects [Graverobber/Blind Mag, post-movie]
Title: Last Respects
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Graverobber/Blind Mag
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 977
Summary: Graverobber pays his last respects to an opera star in his own way.
Warnings: Mag. Post-movie. That means necrophilia!
I didn't know her in life. Well, that's not strictly true. Everyone knew Blind Mag. It's just that I never met her in person. And now, well, now I'd never get the chance.
Of course I knew about what happened at the Genetic Opera that night. Word travels fast in the streets, and more than that, the GeneCo News had it in full color over the announcement screens every night afterward for a week.
Now, I wasn't *invited* to her funeral, but it was a public affair, Mag being famous and all. And with that many people, it wasn't hard to blend in. I waited until most of the mourners had left to pay my respects to her.
And after they all had left, I'd pay my respects in another way.
---------------------
The last of the mourners, Genecops, and fans had gone, but I waited another fifteen minutes or so before making my next move. I held my breath momentarily. I had to make absolutely sure I wouldn't be seen. The thought of being caught in the act on an ordinary night made me both nervous and excited, but I couldn't risk being seen with Mag. I didn't need "desecrating corpses" to appear on my wanted posters next to "Zydrate peddling" and "grave robbing". I mean, I had a reputation for it anyway, but I'd never actually been *caught*, so...
Blind Mag was interred in an ornately carved stone sarcophagus. I ran my hands over the birds and rose vines surrounding her coffin-plate, admiring the artist's handiwork, before I dragged the heavy lid onto the ground with a grunt.
She was beautiful.
Her eyes were mercifully closed, due to the circumstances of her death, and the blood that had run down her face had long been wiped away. I could see a few tiny stitches holding her eyes shut, and I half-wondered what they'd put inside to make her eye sockets appear full. It certainly wasn't her eyes. Those were destroyed by Mag herself, of course, and anyway, they belonged to GeneCo.
Mag's mouth was as intricately made up as it had been when she was performing, nearly the same shade of deep purple as her burial gown. Her lips were parted, if just barely, and I licked my own lips in response.
The dress she'd been draped in was made of thick velvet and satin; fit for an opera star, but far too heavy and complicated for the quick maneuvering I was going to need to do. I mused on this for a few seconds, wanting to do the deed while still somehow maintaining a level of respect that I generally saved for the living. Leaning into her, I nuzzled her neck, inhaling her scent.
Mmm, embalming fluid. My favorite perfume.
I placed a hand on one of her breasts, stroking it softly through the velvet. I closed my eyes in pleasure, leaving kisses down her neck and chest, as far down as the fabric of her gown would allow. The feel of her cool flesh against my mouth was driving me quite mad, and my cock twitched with every little kiss, every touch of Mag's skin.
Trailing my hand down her curves as I did so, I reached down and pulled the long, bulky skirt of her dress up around her waist, chuckling at the stockings they'd put her in. And stockings meant garters, which I unfastened deftly, thankful they weren't more complicated.
Kneeling uncomfortably in the small space between her legs, I placed my hands on her hips. I glanced up at Mag's face, as if I'd find an answer in those closed, dead eyes. For me, the look on her face, which might have meant pleasure in someone living, was answer enough. Slipping my fingers under the band, I pulled down her black, lacy panties as far as I could. Scooting to the back of Mag's sarcophagus, I knelt down and laid a kiss upon her nether lips.
Taking a quick glance around me once more, I unbuckled my pants, unzipped my fly, and took out my erection, holding it before Blind Mag's corpse as if it were a tribute. I spit into my hand and stroked myself a few times, half-smiling at Mag's face apologetically. Dead girls weren't the easiest to enter without at least a little lubrication (to say nothing of the men) but since her body was so newly dead, I figured it wouldn't be quite as much of an issue. Leaning down onto my left hand, still holding my cock with my right, I confirmed my suspicions and guided myself into Mag with much less effort than usual. She was still so soft, so inviting, I could almost believe she was just sleeping. She was cool inside, just like any other corpse, and despite what in theory should have happened to my stiff dick, I grew harder within her. Thrusting steadily and deeply, I leaned down and kissed Mag on the lips, smearing her lipstick with my own. I moaned as loudly as I dared, tracking lipstick kisses down her throat, my back arching as I plunged myself deeper, harder, faster into her, until finally, crying out her name perhaps a bit too emphatically, I spent myself in her.
Uncomfortable though it was, I rested my head against her chest for a few moments, as if I were expecting her to have a heartbeat again somehow. I took a deep breath, refastened my pants and stepped out of the sarcophagus, pulling Mag's skirt back down and smoothing it out. I considered her form for a few more moments.
"Goodnight, Mag," I whispered, and then with a heave I replaced the cover of her final resting place.
With a deep breath and a grim smile, I wandered back out of the graveyard, whistling a Blind Mag song all the while.
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Graverobber/Blind Mag
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 977
Summary: Graverobber pays his last respects to an opera star in his own way.
Warnings: Mag. Post-movie. That means necrophilia!
I didn't know her in life. Well, that's not strictly true. Everyone knew Blind Mag. It's just that I never met her in person. And now, well, now I'd never get the chance.
Of course I knew about what happened at the Genetic Opera that night. Word travels fast in the streets, and more than that, the GeneCo News had it in full color over the announcement screens every night afterward for a week.
Now, I wasn't *invited* to her funeral, but it was a public affair, Mag being famous and all. And with that many people, it wasn't hard to blend in. I waited until most of the mourners had left to pay my respects to her.
And after they all had left, I'd pay my respects in another way.
---------------------
The last of the mourners, Genecops, and fans had gone, but I waited another fifteen minutes or so before making my next move. I held my breath momentarily. I had to make absolutely sure I wouldn't be seen. The thought of being caught in the act on an ordinary night made me both nervous and excited, but I couldn't risk being seen with Mag. I didn't need "desecrating corpses" to appear on my wanted posters next to "Zydrate peddling" and "grave robbing". I mean, I had a reputation for it anyway, but I'd never actually been *caught*, so...
Blind Mag was interred in an ornately carved stone sarcophagus. I ran my hands over the birds and rose vines surrounding her coffin-plate, admiring the artist's handiwork, before I dragged the heavy lid onto the ground with a grunt.
She was beautiful.
Her eyes were mercifully closed, due to the circumstances of her death, and the blood that had run down her face had long been wiped away. I could see a few tiny stitches holding her eyes shut, and I half-wondered what they'd put inside to make her eye sockets appear full. It certainly wasn't her eyes. Those were destroyed by Mag herself, of course, and anyway, they belonged to GeneCo.
Mag's mouth was as intricately made up as it had been when she was performing, nearly the same shade of deep purple as her burial gown. Her lips were parted, if just barely, and I licked my own lips in response.
The dress she'd been draped in was made of thick velvet and satin; fit for an opera star, but far too heavy and complicated for the quick maneuvering I was going to need to do. I mused on this for a few seconds, wanting to do the deed while still somehow maintaining a level of respect that I generally saved for the living. Leaning into her, I nuzzled her neck, inhaling her scent.
Mmm, embalming fluid. My favorite perfume.
I placed a hand on one of her breasts, stroking it softly through the velvet. I closed my eyes in pleasure, leaving kisses down her neck and chest, as far down as the fabric of her gown would allow. The feel of her cool flesh against my mouth was driving me quite mad, and my cock twitched with every little kiss, every touch of Mag's skin.
Trailing my hand down her curves as I did so, I reached down and pulled the long, bulky skirt of her dress up around her waist, chuckling at the stockings they'd put her in. And stockings meant garters, which I unfastened deftly, thankful they weren't more complicated.
Kneeling uncomfortably in the small space between her legs, I placed my hands on her hips. I glanced up at Mag's face, as if I'd find an answer in those closed, dead eyes. For me, the look on her face, which might have meant pleasure in someone living, was answer enough. Slipping my fingers under the band, I pulled down her black, lacy panties as far as I could. Scooting to the back of Mag's sarcophagus, I knelt down and laid a kiss upon her nether lips.
Taking a quick glance around me once more, I unbuckled my pants, unzipped my fly, and took out my erection, holding it before Blind Mag's corpse as if it were a tribute. I spit into my hand and stroked myself a few times, half-smiling at Mag's face apologetically. Dead girls weren't the easiest to enter without at least a little lubrication (to say nothing of the men) but since her body was so newly dead, I figured it wouldn't be quite as much of an issue. Leaning down onto my left hand, still holding my cock with my right, I confirmed my suspicions and guided myself into Mag with much less effort than usual. She was still so soft, so inviting, I could almost believe she was just sleeping. She was cool inside, just like any other corpse, and despite what in theory should have happened to my stiff dick, I grew harder within her. Thrusting steadily and deeply, I leaned down and kissed Mag on the lips, smearing her lipstick with my own. I moaned as loudly as I dared, tracking lipstick kisses down her throat, my back arching as I plunged myself deeper, harder, faster into her, until finally, crying out her name perhaps a bit too emphatically, I spent myself in her.
Uncomfortable though it was, I rested my head against her chest for a few moments, as if I were expecting her to have a heartbeat again somehow. I took a deep breath, refastened my pants and stepped out of the sarcophagus, pulling Mag's skirt back down and smoothing it out. I considered her form for a few more moments.
"Goodnight, Mag," I whispered, and then with a heave I replaced the cover of her final resting place.
With a deep breath and a grim smile, I wandered back out of the graveyard, whistling a Blind Mag song all the while.