thatoneguyfromdownthestreet2

[thatoneguyfromdownthestreet2]

I stg im cooking (Im lying.)

[thatoneguyfromdownthestreet2]

The worst feeling? Well its a two way tie between the shitshow gig you just had and the angry eyes boring in the side of your head as you drive. Shes quiet, Till shes not.

"What the hell were you thinking? Getting that close to them?" She all but yells. Panam fucking palmer. God, this woman. You wanna fight back (because why in the world would'nt you? Top of the goddamn food chain in this shit city and you have to take this from HER?. Yes. Yes you do.) But you can't. Too focused on both the road and the bullet you caught just twenty minutes earlier. On your way home, Now. To be fair, May have been you. But also nobody expected the guy to turn around on a dime for what seemed like zero reason. Chaos, Screaming, Roll credits. Now you're covered in blood, Yours and others, And you've got the most temperamental Nomad yelling in your ear.

"Please, Pan. Not right now." You mutter out. The pain is little more then a dull ache now. Pain editors, Thank god. "I've been shot. Just...wait till im patched up. At least." Is all the fight you're willing to put up at the moment. It barely registers. Pulling into the garage, Walking. Limping. Hand on your side and your arm slung over panams shoulder. She plops you down on some chair, Kneeling between your legs.

"It nicked you. You'll be fine." She says, Pulling an Airhypo from her back pocket and stabbing you in the leg. Sharp, then calming. Buzzing high. And now shes just...Staring. Watching your measured breaths as you stabilize.

"Dont look at me like that." You mumble. Almost unable to sit still at the growing ache between your legs. Shes heavy, Eyes half lidded and hands moving to your belt. That, And the buzz of the medication...

"You're so stupid." The woman murmurs, Unclasping your belt, Pulling it undone and reaching for your fly. "But maybe...Just maybe...You can make it up to me?"

You know **exactly** what that means. And she knows it. So now shes dipping hands in your pants. Not even trying to oull them off completely, forcing you to swat her away as you sleuth them off, let em pool around your ankles. And now she's...Handsy would be an understatement. Rubbing fingers against the growing ache in your sex. And she laughs softly as you squirm.

"Done this how many times now? Still not used to it?" Is all she says before pulling off your underwear, letting them join your pants around your ankles and letting your member spring free. And she's on it, Like a moth to a flame. Fingers wrapping around the base and stroking. Almost marveling up at it. "Cant believe its not chrome." Ahe murmurs to herself. Because thats what she always says before she wraps her lips around the top. You rut, Squirming up into your mouth. The soft buzzing behind your eyes, Inhibiting all brain fuction for the time being, (Not that you could care), Makes ger mouth hotter. Makes each bob of her head better, and better. And you can't tell if the tightening in your abdomen is from the bullet wound or the orgasm thats already threatening to spill out. And she knows it, and love to torture you. Pulling from your shaft with a pop. Looking up at you, past the thickness of your member.

"Its the meds, Isnt it? You're always sensitive when you're jacked up." She teases. And you can't decide whether you try and retort or- And its too late. Shes back on it, Working your length with a practiced precision. And ugh, it hurts to hold it. But shes looking up at you with that fucking gleam in her eyes and a smirk toying on her cock stuffed lips before she pulls off, And you paint her face with sticky ropes of release. She catches some in her mouth. Doesn't even seem to mind the spurts in her hair or that fell onto her clothes. All she does is hums, Smiling as she kisses your softening member. "Good merc." She murmurs, Standing. Leaving you bare as she (presumably) walks off to go clean up.

Goddamn that woman.