Heyoo, lovelies. I'm here with a present for an irl friend of mine; she's a huge Graverobber/Shilo shipper, and wanted some smut. So here I am, being a good friend and writing the smut. Hope you all enjoy!

Name: Philia

Genre: Romance

Fandom: Repo! The Genetic Opera

Rating: M (for lots of smut)

Summary: "Sometimes I wonder why I need you at all."

Pairings: Graverobber/Shilo

Repo! The Genetic Opera belongs to Darren Smith and Terrance Zdunich.

Philia

Shilo didn't mind graveyards, but something about morgues made her feel a bit less at ease.

She shivered a bit - why did they keep these rooms so damn cold? - and stood by the empty coffins, rubbing her own arms for warmth. Dark room, dark caskets that smelled of fresh wood, and the stench of chemicals floating in from the other room. The room where the corpses were kept in their drawers. Shilo hadn't wanted to see them, even though he'd asked her if she did. Maybe it was irrational, but she had a fear that she'd find her father in one of those drawers.

Graverobber was off in the other room, extracting zydrate from the fresh dead, and he'd told her to wait for him in the coffin storage unit. He'd been excited, almost ecstatic, when they'd broken into the morgue on this late night. His strange. . . . obsession with the lifeless unnerved her a bit, but she was able to push back those feelings. Since she'd taken up residence with him, she'd started coming with him on his grave robbing trips, if only because she had nothing else to do.

. . . . well, okay, that wasn't the only reason. Truth be told, she loved spending time with him as well. He was odd, nihilistic, and at times downright creepy. He almost got them into and out of trouble so much Shilo's heart almost couldn't take it. Yet he seemed to be the only thing that could make her smile lately. A sarcastic comment or a small joke, and even the occasional offhand compliment. And she supposed this was important; after the events of the Genetic Opera, she'd thought she might never smile again.

She pushed her mind away from that bloodbath. No. Think of something else, it's out of mind, it's all over. . . .

But the thing was, trying to think of something else never worked, not when the Genetic Opera came to her head. Blood, so much blood, Mag impaled, Mag's empty eye sockets, the Largos leering at her, her dad dying in her arms. . . . her arms that were covered in so much gore. . . .

Shilo felt the lump in the back of her throat, and the tears were hot in her eyes. She sunk down against a queen sized coffin and let the droplets fall, making a mental note to wipe them away before Graverobber came back. But for now, she cried, remembering that night, the night her life was unraveled, the night that poisoned her dreams when she slept and crawled in the back of her mind while awake.

She didn't have enough time to hide the evidence of her pain when Graverobber appeared, whistling an unfamiliar tune. He looked cheerful, and said to her, "I got enough zydrate to get us a few hundred dollars, depending on what the scalpel sluts are willing to pay - Shilo?"

He'd caught sight of her as she was hastily batting away the tears, muttering, "That's good, enough money to last us through the month. Can we get out of here now?"

Graverobber's answer was to slide down next to her and run a few fingers through her hair. She looked at him and found herself staring directly into his eyes. Blue, they were a deep, dark shade of blue. She never got tired of staring at this color, not since the first night she noticed it.

It had been shortly after the Genetic Opera. She'd been wandering the streets, covered in blood, dazed, and shocked. A few people tried to stop her to ask if she was alright, but she'd pushed them away, pushed everyone away until she'd found herself in the graveyard.

She'd fallen to her knees and broken down sobbing. Hours of endless sobbing.

Eventually she'd felt the warmth of a coat drape itself over her shoulders. When she looked up, her eyes were at first so blurry with water that she didn't know who was standing over her. After the droplets were leaked out, she saw him. Graverobber, his eyes a murky blue.

"Hey, kid," he'd said. "Need a hand?"

Now he was holding her against him, and she was sobbing gently. Dad, Daddy, I'm so sorry, I never meant for this to happen to you. . . .

The sounds of her crying were met with complete silence all around the morgue. Silence, the silence of the dead. When Shilo stopped crying, she felt a sort of madness inside of her, the kind that likely would've had her breaking coffins and pushing the corpses out of their drawers. Madness that would've consumed her right there, if Graverobber hadn't been holding her. His scent. . . . it wasn't exactly pleasant, but it gave her something to focus on. Old clothes and zydrate, with just a hint of death. That was what her Graverobber smelt like.

She blinked a bit and sat up away from him. Her Graverobber? Since when had she started thinking of him as hers? She didn't even know the man's real name. . . .

"Thinking about that night again, kid?" His fingers were still going through her hair. She wanted to lean into his hand, but resisted.

"Yeah," she whispered. Always, it was always that night that caused her to cry.

His thumb caught a stray tear on her cheek. The brush of his hand against her face sent up a tiny spark in her skin. "Need a hit of Z?"

"No," she said, and the slight feelings of elation were gone. She huffed a bit and stood, ready to get the hell out of this creepy place and get home. Graverobber lived in a small, dingy apartment, and Shilo took up his tattered couch. It wasn't nearly as comfortable as her own bed, but it was soft, and she needed the comfort of something soft. Something that wasn't zydrate.

He'd asked a few times of she wanted to try the drug. Every time, she said no, and every time, she felt a twinge of annoyance at his asking. She'd seen the scalpel sluts and Amber Sweet. Fuck that. She wouldn't become that.

But maybe if I became that, he'd want me.

The thought came out of nowhere, but it wasn't unusual. Random ideas of what she could do to make him want her. Want her how, she didn't know. But she, for whatever reason, felt a growing need to be desired by the strange Graverobber. Desired for. . . . something.

Sex? Maybe it was sex. Shilo didn't know; having spent her entire life locked up, she didn't know what lust felt like. She'd never had anybody to lust after. She'd never had anyone lust for her. Amber Sweet and the scalpel sluts. . . . there was no doubt in her mind that Graverobber had probably fucked them more than once. They were desired. By him.

Him -

His arms were suddenly around her from behind, and she felt his nose nuzzle her ear. She froze. "Need a hit of something else?" he murmured in her ear, and when she felt his teeth nip at her neck, she exhaled loudly and shakily.

What do I do? What do I say? What is he implying? What -

Graverobber's hand moved across her stomach, and the cloth of her shirt suddenly felt far too thin. Or perhaps not thin enough. Shilo couldn't decide.

Then he let go just as suddenly as he'd grabbed her. He turned and crouched down to pick up his bag of freshly-acquired zydrate, and said, "I think I could use a hit myself. Not of zydrate, but of. . . . something." When his head turned to look at her again, his eyes looked almost predatory. But he slung the bag over his shoulder and said. "Now, if you want to go home -"

He cut himself off when Shilo reached out to touch his face. She wasn't sure why she did. Curiosity, need, and impulsiveness all seemed to be playing a role. His cheek was soft, a bit cold, and she could feel the slight prickles of stubble. She caressed his cheekbone with her thumb. So. . . . unusual. She'd never touched anyone like this before.

Graverobber was gazing at her, and he reached up and took her hand in his own. Her heartbeat quickened, just a little, as he placed a kiss on her palm, those blue eyes staying locked on hers. He said quietly, "Tell me something, Shilo. Have you ever touched anyone like this before?"

Shilo blinked a bit before answering an honest "No." She couldn't lie; he would see right through it.

"Ever held someone's hand like this?" He dropped their hands down and twined his fingers into hers. His thumb massaged her knuckles. She felt a shiver crawl down her spine.

"No."

"Ever kissed anybody?" His grin was like a crescent moon, and he leaned in a bit closer when she whispered a shaky "no." "You ought to try it. Quite fun."

"Not like I have anyone to try it with," Shilo said, and as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew what Graverobber was going in for. And she was unsure as to whether she wanted it or not. A part of her was writhing in fear; this was new, this was not something she had any experience with, this was something she should back away from. But another, bigger part was saying, "fucking go for it."

So she did. She leaned in and kissed Graverobber, right on the lips. Cold, that was her first impression. His lips were cold, just a little chapped. She kept her eyes open only because she didn't know to close them.

For a second, she only stood there, thinking what now? The kisses she'd seen on TV looked intense, passionate, and enjoyable. How could she make this like them?

Graverobber pulled her toward him a bit, and she felt his arm snake around her back, one hand run itself along the back of her neck. The feeling was nice enough that her eyes fluttered closed, and then she felt his lips move on hers. Open a bit, close, catching her lower lip between his. She hadn't realized how sensitive her lips were until that moment, and she rested her hands on his chest, copying his mouth's movements with her own.

When his tongue brushed against her lower lip, she was at first surprised enough to pull back. Graverobber's face was a shade pinker, and he muttered, "Too much for one night?"

"No," Shilo said. She took a deep breath and leaned in again. "Do - do it again."

So he did. He kissed her again and his tongue slid across her lip, and this time, she returned the gesture, trying her hardest not to slobber too much on him. Eventually his tongue had found its way into her mouth, but oddly, she didn't find it gross at all.

Actually, the feel of him batting at the sensitive flesh that was the inside of her mouth. . . . it was sending something hot right down between her legs. When she felt his teeth gently pull at her lower lip, the feeling increased, and she felt something besides heat, something indescribable. . . .

Eventually she had to break away and gasp for air; she'd been getting so little oxygen from breathing through her nose that she was starting to be dizzy. Or maybe it was his kisses that were making her dizzy. Either way.

Graverobber chuckled, seeming not the slightest bit out of breath. "See? I told you it was fun." His grin returned and he said, "Think that's enough for one night, kid. You got your first kiss, time to -"

"No," Shilo gasped out. Her hands went into his hair - it felt a bit coarse, but so easy to tangle her fingers into - and she said, "I just - I need something. I need. . . . I don't know what I need. I need you to not stop."

"You need sex?" He said it so bluntly that it caught her off guard. She stared at him for a bit, and finally spoke after forever of simple staring.

"I need something between my legs, that's for damn sure."

Graverobber laughed openly at this statement, and said, "Tell you what, Shilo. I'll keep going, but since you're a virgin, you get to call the shots. Anything hurts or doesn't feel right, let me know." He winked at her. "Wouldn't want to break you, now would I?"

Shilo opened her mouth to protest at the implication that she could be broken by him, but suddenly his lips were on her neck. They moved slowly, agonizingly slowly, and his teeth scraped the tender skin, his tongue lashing out. She would've been shocked at the sensations this was causing, had she been able to concentrate. But she couldn't - all she could do was moan and lean her head back farther, allowing him more access to her skin and tangling her hands more in his hair.

His hands strayed under her shirt, but he kept them firmly at her waist, massaging her back, purposefully skipping touching her breasts. Shilo whimpered a bit and Graverobber chuckled in her ear, whispering, "It's so much fun to tease."

He pushed her so that she was standing against the coffin, and her breath hiked up when one of his legs slipped between her thighs. She was wearing a loose skirt and stockings, her underwear and his pant leg the only boundaries between them. By the time he finally unhooked her bra, her cunt was almost aching, and he was kissing her lips with savageness as her grinded against her.

It took her a moment to realize that she could touch him, as well. He was right there, and he was willing. While he continued to give her small doses of pleasure via the grind, she slid her hands under his coat, under his shirt, and felt the body beneath it. Soft and cool on his stomach, hard and coated with downy hair on his chest. He grunted when her hand skimmed over his nipple, and suddenly his hands were inside her bra, his fingers skimming over her breasts.

Shilo was taken by surprise when he pushed himself back and grinned at her. In the dim light of the room, his white face almost glowed. His hair was even more of a mess than usual, the colored streaks showing up in neon. His eyes were piercing her with a lust that was so primal, so hungry it was near frightening. He wants me. He wants me.

Eat your goddamn heart out, Amber Sweet.

He pulled her shirt over her head and nearly yanked her bra off, and when he attacked her breasts, she almost crumbled under his touch. Teeth, tongue, lips, sucking, biting, her flesh, her nipples, dear God. "Graverobber," she moaned out. "Graverobber. . . ."

He picked her up by the waist and sat her on the coffin. When she looked at him again he said, "I want you to do me a favor, Shilo."

"What?" Anything. Fuck, anything for this man.

"Don't ever get a surgery. And I don't mean the life-saving ones; I mean the trendy ones. The kind that people like the Largos get."

Shilo stared in surprise at him, her arms resting around his neck, his hands at her hips. "Wasn't planning on it."

"Good." He traced shapes on her bare back with his fingers. "Designer hearts, trendy lungs, shiny new stomachs. . . . you don't need any of them. Your body," he leaned in close and kissed her, a short kiss, but such a surprisingly sweet one, "is the most perfect in the world."

Shilo didn't know how to respond to this, but he didn't give her the time to. He kissed her again, and she kissed back, craving that odd taste of his, something that was dead and alive and cold and intoxicating and purely Graverobber. His hands left her body, and she almost whined in protest until she heard his pants unzip. Soon his hands were back on her again, snaking up her thighs, under her skirt, and he murmured a command to raise her hips a bit so that he could pull her panties off. She felt the cold of the air directly on her, the smooth surface of the coffin under her.

Then she felt his fingers, stroking up the inside of her thigh, and when his thumb pressed against the outside of her cunt she felt her body convulse. "Please," she said, and he smiled. His face was all that she could see, all that mattered on the planet. His thumb slipped between her lips, brushing something small and round, and she curled her toes at the stab of pleasure that flashed through her body.

Inside her. His thumb was inside her now, and it was all she could do to keep from screaming. It bent upwards, hitting something on her inner walls that made her entire body buckle at the wave of pleasure it sent. He chuckled a bit. "Do you know your anatomy at all, my dear?"

She bit her lip and shook her head.

"This," Graverobber said, massaging the tiny bud of round flesh at the top, "is your clit." Shilo's back was arched, she was whispering his name, her nails digging into his shoulders. "The main center for all your pleasure. This," he thrust a few fingers into the hole, and she gasped, "is your vagina. And inside that," he curled his fingers upwards to his that magic spot again, and her body was so tense, she never thought it could be this tense, "is your G-spot. A little lesson in genitals from your friendly neighborhood Graverobber." He laughed a bit and kissed the hollow of her exposed throat.

Graverobber pushed her legs apart then massaged the inside of her thighs. "You're wet. Very wet. That's good; the more wet you are, the less painful this will be."

Shilo blinked a bit, some sweat flicking itself into her eyes. "Painful?"

"Penetration can hurt, the first few times or so," he said. "But I promise that I'll be making this as easy on you as I can. After all," he pecked her lips, "you are my Shilo."

"Your Shilo?" Despite the intensity of the situation, her heart fluttered like a little girl's at these words.

He didn't respond to this, and instead gripped himself and slowly slid into her.

Graverobber had been right; it was painful. She felt like she was being stretched to her limit, invaded, and the yelp that escaped her lips revealed this to him. He kissed her cheeks in a surprisingly gentle manner and muttered, "I'll stop if you want."

"No," Shilo said, and despite the discomfort, she gripped his hips and made sure he stayed in place. "Fuck me. Now."

Graverobber muttered a response she couldn't make out, and he thrust against her. Pain, there was nothing but pain. Still, she held onto him and demanded he thrust again and again, and again. More. More thrusting. More murmurs of her name against her neck. More kisses along her jaw. More pain. More love.

What's love got to do with this?

The pain didn't go away, but there was something else there as well, a sort of pleasure that was hitting her in spite of the hurt. It wasn't very strong, but it was there, and Graverobber was the one moaning now, her body giving him ecstasy. My Graverobber. My Graverobber. . . .

"Shilo," he murmured into her ear. "Shilo, come here. . . ."

To her surprised, he pulled out of her and picked her up off of the coffin. She exhaled sharply in relief that he was out of her, and then looked on curiously as he pushed the lid off of the coffin. He climbed in and laid on his back, his erection still bold in the air, and he motioned for her to get in with him. "I want you to ride me," he growled.

She got in and hovered over him, breath heaving, and looked down to where his dick was under her cunt. She held it and moved onto him, and her Graverobber's chest surged up and down as he felt her. She felt him, too, uncomfortably so, but the knowledge that she was now the one in control put her a bit more at ease.

Shilo leaned back and realized she now had a full view of him. Still fully clothed (it would later strike her that they would have to remedy this in future sessions.) His hair spread out around him, brown streaked in neon. His face had gone from white to deep red, and his lips were parted, his eyes closed, his hands squeezing her hips. So alive, despite being surrounded by death, and Shilo wanted more of him.

She thrust, and despite the hurt, seeing the look it brought to Graverobber's face was almost enough payoff. His mouth opened further to let out a groan, his eyes - so blue - opened up and rolled into the back of his head. Sweat ran down his temples, down his neck, dampening the roots of his hair. How beautiful, she thought as she thrust again.

Shilo found that, now that she was controlling the speed and pace of the thrusts, her own pleasure was much more intense, and it began to equally match the pain. Pain, pleasure, braided together in a long hot flush throughout her body. She felt the sweat racing down her breasts and back, the thumping of her own heart in her chest, and the desire to make her Graverobber, this beautiful man, experience as much excitement as anyone could bring him.

"Shilo," her name came out in a harsh rasp and she felt something hot and wet fill her; he'd come. So close, she was so close, the pressure was building, and then the dam broke and she came as well. Release, tides of pure release rocketed through her body, and she collapsed on top of him. Her mind was blank, free of anything but the calm of the afterglow.

-philia: Combining form. 1. Denoting fondness, especially an abnormal love for a specified thing. 2. Denoting undue inclination.

As he read this definition in his book, Graverobber wondered if that word - philia - could fit his relationship with Shilo. It certainly was an abnormal love. Undue inclination. . . . he supposed it could be called that. After all, he was a good amount of years older than her, and had been almost obsessed with her after he'd learned her story. Inappropriate, unwarranted obsession.

Not that he particularly cared whether other people found it creepy or not. All that mattered was that she was his and his alone.

He shut the book and reached over her sleeping form to place it back on his bookshelf. She'd completely abandoned her previous place on the couch for his bed, and slept curled up next to him, still naked from their last romp. She wasn't wearing her wig, but a bit of black fuzz grew around her head. Graverobber found that he loved it even more than her regular long dark hair. So much. . . . sweeter.

He settled down into the bed and turned off the side light before turning to spoon his Shilo. His. No one else's, not ever. He didn't know what it was that caused him to be so in love with this girl, so passionately consumed with her. But he didn't care. He needed some light in his miserable life. Shilo was that light.

Leaning in to press a kiss on the back of her neck, he found himself muttering, "Sometimes I wonder why I need you at all."