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Unexpected	By : dragonslover1 Category: +S through Z > Thief / Thief 2 Views: 1864 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Thief is not mine. Please note that I write this for every fic before posting.

Chapter List
- 1-Unexpected
- 1
Disclaimer: Thief is owned by Eidos/Square Enix. I am not profiting from this fan fiction.
Summary: Sometimes even a hardcore, unemotional thief needs to unwind. Unfortunately for our intrepid anti-hero, Garrett runs into a few problems as a direct result. . .

Rating: NC-17 (NSFW) for graphic sexual content.

Unexpected

One

Ah, the Siren’s Rest. A haven for people like Garrett—criminals, mainly. It was one of select few places he could go and no one would report his presence as suspicious. Oh, sure, he could change all that with a new ensemble every now and again, but that would be lying, wouldn’t it? He wasn’t a commoner, nor one of those spiffy nobles in their tight waistcoats and creaseless breeches.

He was a thief. And unlike some others, he not only wore it proudly, but he knew how to wear it proudly. And here, in this ramshackle building with its unwritten rules of no crime despite being filled with criminals, those who caught his eye merely nodded. Some even asked for him to ‘fetch’ things for them—for a price, of course.

He wasn’t looking for that tonight. No, right now all he wanted was, well. . .a bedmate. Not necessarily with a bed attached. His ‘job’ usually kept him busy enough that carnal pleasures didn’t strike him often, enough that even the sight of carnal pleasures wasn’t rousing as long as he remained focused, but even he occasionally craved another’s touch upon his body, another’s skin, another’s moans.

When Garrett took a lover, he ensured those moans would occur. He wasn’t selfish—well, not about this, anyway. And for the most part, all he required in a partner was health of body and willingness of mind. Everything else he could close his eyes and imagine away, if needed.

As he surveyed the clientele of Siren’s Rest this evening, he noted several possible prospects. He’d learned long ago that his mysterious nature and tight black leather was a hook to many types of woman (including noblewomen whose homes he’d entered to thieve, only to find a sexually frustrated deviant coming onto him as if he were a dream), and as such, he knew there wouldn’t be too much difficulty for him once he’d selected a woman.

There was a redhead at the bar, a man on either side of her, both palming her exposed flesh as she chuckled and flirted without mercy. A blonde in a corner, whispering with a blond male—family?—and checking constantly for eavesdroppers. A brunette at a table, ankles crossed on the table itself, a book in her hands. Another brunette lounging at the stairs, something in her hands which she was examining.

All seemed busy. In the end, the brunette at the table was closest.

And easiest, it seemed.

Garrett had merely had to step into her line of sight and take a seat without asking to get her attention, and then her eyes—at first annoyed—ate up the sight of him, turning intrigued in a split second. And she recognized him? Of course; the posters of him were everywhere. Thanks to the unwritten rules of this bar, she knew she was safe from him, even if he refused to lower his mask while here.

Though she’d only paused her book and the lighting in this place was atrocious, he could see some details about her now. Her hair was in a braid down her back, and though it looked black at first glance, the shine of it was more red. Because of the lighting, he wondered? Her eyes were either a dark brown or a dark green, it was hard to tell.

From her position, he could see she wore a light brown shirt, a cloth vest of dark brown and tanned breeches, with knee-high boots and bracers upon her wrists, both black. Draped across her lap was a long coat, about the same shade as her vest.

He leaned in and offered, without ado, his proposition. “I come looking for a no-questions-asked lover,” he told her. “Clean of body and willing of mind.” The implication was clear: no diseases, no contagions, no resistance.

If she was surprised, she didn’t betray it. He could see her mind turning behind her eyes, working out the details. “And of recompense?” she finally asked.

He wasn’t above paying for services, so he answered, “I’ll pay, so long as your price isn’t too extreme.”

Again those eyes worked, looking him over, processing his words. It took her several moments, and though he was a patient man, he had to resist the urge to thrum his fingers upon the table.

Then, folding her book closed, she replied, “We’ll work out the details later.” She uncrossed her ankles and rose to her feet, so he did the same, giving her a bow as he went in thanks. It turned her lips in a smirk, as though amused.

Most women were. He was one of few men who were willing to thank a woman for her time in this act, not to mention the use of her body and subsequent risks. Even women with dedicated lovers were often ignored, which Garrett both knew and despised. His entire gender seemed to have no respect.

Or maybe he’d gained a great deal of it, he thought as he escorted her outside, given how many acts he’d been privy to over the course of his life. Too many times to count, he’d been trapped at some job or another when a randy couple had entered a room he’d been residing in and engaged in carnal delights. Other times, he’d had to wait for such an encounter to complete before beginning a job.

In both cases, the waiting had brought a slow but steady revelation, as women afterwards muttered to themselves out of earshot of their lovers, complaining and blaspheming and cursing how they’d been treated. Even the prostitutes, whose job it was to please men, were dissatisfied.

It was amazing what you learned when others spoke, unwitting to your presence. For example, most noblewoman wives were horrendously bored with their husbands, as their husbands were in turn bored with them, making their marriage something of a hilarity to Garrett. The husband is bored with the wife, so he seeks the arms of paid whores, while the wife is bored with the husband and seeks the arms of other men.

If they knew how they both felt, they might even be capable of salvaging their marriages.

Outside in the crisp air, she slid her coat on, pulled her hair from under it and slipped her book into a pocket before turning to look at him. Expectantly. Waiting for him to point out a destination? Her eyes slid over his mask then—ah, wanting to see his face, he realized. He wasn’t surprised. He rarely lowered his mask, even for lovers, and women were always so curious to see.

But that wasn’t part of the agreement, now was it?

He slid his fingers around her wrist and gestured to the left, out of sight of most. He wasn’t looking for privacy, explicitly. “This should be plenty quiet for our needs,” he told her.

She eyed the area, lips pursing in distaste. He was on the verge of suggesting they break into a home then, if it would make her more comfortable, but she nodded before he could. “I suppose it shall,” she agreed, though her voice was less than satisfied. Out here in the night air, he noted, her eyes looked a dull grey-blue—the moonlight, he supposed.

Knowing she wasn’t pleased with the situation didn’t stop him from following her as she led the way, stepping over a box or two until they were well-hidden. She gazed about with a critical eye, noting the expanse of the water, the sides of buildings, how one could only glimpse the roadwork nearby, and nodded again. When her eyes snagged his again, she had eased.

Her fingers lifted, reaching for his mask, but he caught them instead, pulling her against him. The downside to wearing the mask: he couldn’t use his mouth. Not for anything except pillow talk, anyway. He could, however, touch her. He wouldn’t strip her, though. It was a chilly night. Which was a shame, because she looked quite fit—not skinny and starved as most commoners, nor plump as nobles tended to be. More like a worker, someone who did manual labor often and was well-fed for it.

His fingers crept along her hips, testing what kind of touch she would allow, how he would need to work with her. Her own hands rested at his shoulders now, an air of frustration about her. She seemed alright with the touch so far, but evidently he would need to try a lot harder. She wasn’t aroused merely by his presence, as some were.

So be it.

His hands went down her thighs, gripped her and lifted her against him, drawing a gasp of surprise from her, her arms winding around his neck. With a single step, he had her pressed to the wall. And then he began grinding against her, previous experience knowing this would work. Women were more sensitive on the outside than the inside, he’d learned.

A soft moan was his immediate reward, letting him know that surprised or not, it was working. His hands crept up along her body, stomach and breasts and neck, a finger trailing against her lips. For a moment, her eyes fluttered closed in pleasure. Her lips parted and her tongue licked up his finger, then she began sucking at it.

He felt that sensation somewhere else entirely, and under his mask, he wet his own lips. Maybe he ought to lower it, he debated, for he very much wanted to kiss her now.

Later, he promised himself.

If there was a later.

His hips kept up a steady grind against her, his cock slowly waking and filling with need. Though he loathed to interrupt the suck of her mouth, he slipped his finger back out so he could use his hands as needed, going back down to her vest. He undid the buttons and pushed it aside, his fingers seeking out her breasts. The shirt she wore was thin, he noted, making it so easy to locate the peak of each—already hard—and give them proper attention.

She arched into his touch with a deeper, needier moan, starting to writhe against him. She wet her lips, bit them; he grit his teeth, wanting so much to suck on them. Her eyes were still closed, and when his fingers gave a gentle pull at her nipples, she arched her back further, head dropping back. Another moan echoed around them.

Now well and truly aroused, reminded of how long it’d been since he’d last taken a lover, he decided he might as well. One hand slid up to her neck, righting her head and pulling it in while he yanked his mask down to his chin. He meshed their mouths together, wasting no time in giving firm suckings.

In his arms, she jolted, surprised. Then she relaxed, kissing him back, even opening her mouth to lick across his lips. This time, he moaned, his body keyed up and prepared for the next step. He took her mouth with the need of one starved, demanding and hungry for more. For a moment he was lost to the sensations, forgetting the steady grind he’d begun between her legs.

It wasn’t too much longer before they were both panting and pulling at one another, though admittedly Garrett couldn’t feel much of what she did and in turn she couldn’t do much more than paw and hope to find flesh.

He didn’t break the kiss, but he did slide her legs down to the ground. From this position his fingers, though blind, found her pants tied at the hips. He undid the ties easily, then dove one hand inside, past the curls, seeking her woman’s core.

Hot and wet, he noted, and though she initially gave another jolt—even pulled away—when his fingers started to stroke, she shuddered and pushed into his grasp. Between his talented thief’s hands and the thrusts of his tongue, he had her uttering a near-constant streams of pleased noises. Gasps, moans, soft squeals.

Then he pushed two fingers inside her and she gave another shudder, grasping him tight. Unsure if her legs would give out or not (it’d happened before), he wound an arm around her for support. Only then did he begin to seek, to stroke, to discover.

Long ago, his dexterous hands had mapped out the female body, making mental notes and testing what he’d learned on other bodies. Thus, he knew every woman liked a particular inner touch, one which could only be properly touched with fingers—though the strength of reactions changed per woman. This one, he soon discovered, liked it only moderately.

Oh, she was still moaning, still enjoying it, but he deduced she wouldn’t be getting any greater pleasure with this than she would from his cock surging within her. She’d greatly enjoyed having her breasts stroked, though, so he made a note to fondle them more while he took her.

Speaking of. . .

She was undulating against him now, following the rhythm of his fingers. She was ready for him, then, and the knowledge carried with it a measure of relief. He was so hard by now, he couldn’t wait to get inside her.

In retrospect, a good sucking probably would have satisfied his need just as well. Too late now, he decided (with perhaps some satisfaction); he’d gotten her fully riled, and it would be cruel of him not to grant her everything.

He diverted his kiss to her neck then, retrieving his fingers from her pants. As she shivered, coming back from the pleasure he’d given her, he kept one arm around her, the other undoing his own pants to finally, finally free his aching cock. The night air was cold, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that it wouldn’t feel cold for much longer.

A soft, needy hum vibrated the throat under his mouth, and he nearly nipped in response. He only stayed the urge because he didn’t want a single ounce of pain to douse her passion. He didn’t know if she liked a bit of pain or not, if she was alright with a sting or jolt, so he wouldn’t risk it.

Instead, he pulled his mouth back, hands gripping her hips and turning. She followed the motion without protest. He would have liked to keep kissing her while he took her, but she wore breeches, making this position one of few that they could hold without stripping her from the waist down.

Still worried about the pain issue, though, he didn’t enter her right away—though he suspected he very well could have. He’d felt inside her, knew her walls gave with more ease than most. Even so, he gripped her hips and slid forward, between her legs, running along her core without entering her just yet. Her wetness spread along his hard, hot length, and he hissed in a breath to feel her heat on him. Her hips pressed against him as he went, seeking, a pleased but needy gasp leaving her.

He retreated, dove forward again, still not entering her. Another arch of her hips, her hands now bracing against the wall, lines of strain branching them. So she needed this as much as he did, then? Another withdraw, another slide. Then another and another, until he was slick with her own juices, his fingers biting into her hips to keep himself under control.

A glimmer of worry passed through him; did that hurt? Was she displeased? The last thing he needed right now was for her to regret or demand he stop. And if she did tell him to stop, he would, for he would never force himself upon a woman.

But instead of complaining, he heard her breathe the word please, so quiet he was sure she hadn’t meant to. His desire flared up all the higher, a quiver raced down her spine, and he decided it was time.

Another withdraw—and then he began the slow but sure slide into her willing body. He had to brace a hand against the wall as well to keep his control tight, doing his damnedest not to cause her any pain. He dove in only an inch, punctuated by a muted cry from her, then drew back to the very tip. Then he dove in again, deeper, feeling for resistance, going slow with every intention to pause if she grew too tight.

She didn’t.

In fact, when he slowed, she whimpered and pushed back into him. He shuddered, stopping altogether because this just felt too good. It took her only a second to realize he wasn’t going any deeper, and then she took over, pushing harder. He sucked in a breath. It really had been far too long. Her heat enveloping him was almost too much.

Trained and disciplined being that he was, he doubted he could last more than a few strokes if she kept this up.

Her body was all but begging for him by now, as his was for her; no use resisting, he decided. He barely recalled his earlier plan to pet her breasts, yet the inkling came to him just as he started to thrust within her, smooth and long. His hands slid up to her chest, feeling, seeking, and soon, stroking. She shuddered, a cry of pleasure leaving her. Perfect.

He made sure to keep up the motions of his fingers, pulling and squeezing and fondling, keeping her body wracked with constant quivers, as he kept up the motions of his hips. Gentle, he reminded himself; be gentle. It was a hard thing to remember with her walls constricting around him, drawing him deeper, and her cries of pleasure reaching his ears with each dive into her.

Hot and wet was damn right. Though he’d had some misgivings when they stepped out of the building, he was totally satisfied with his choice of lover now. She moved with him, meeting him thrust for thrust, matching his rhythm even as he increased its speed. A hand settled over his own upon her breast, showing him how she liked to be touched, and his cock gave an appreciative jerk for the lesson.

Concentrating was difficult by now, though he managed to continue his massage until she was shuddering in his grasp, crying out, her inner walls squeezing him so tightly it threw him over the edge. He could only pray that she’d reached rapture, because now he was reduced to his own shudders, pleasure racing through his veins, incapable of seeing to her own. He pulled back as soon as he felt his climax take him, but he’d still lost a jet within her confines. The rest he aimed downwards, at the wooden planks beneath his feet.

It took him a few moments after the final surge left him to take note of his surroundings again, get a feel for the last few moments in which he’d been in a drunken haze. He could vaguely recall her cry of release, pride swelling at the memory, and he could vaguely recall his own shout of pleasure. That one was a bit more shameful—not because he didn’t want her knowing he’d felt pleasure, but because the nature of his existence was to be as silent as possible.

He spoke in low tones and whispers for a damn good reason.

He wasn’t sure how this has happened, but they were both braced against the wall now. She had pressed a knee into it, for balance, he supposed. His mouth was against her shoulder, panting against her. Her own head was braced on a forearm, her eyes closed.

Enough of that. He withdrew, fit his mask back on, and—though it felt odd—put his softening manhood back in his pants. With that done, he helped his lover recover, pulling her back against him, righting her breeches and starting to tie them back up. She offered a moan of protest as she came down from her own high, straightening with visible effort before shooing his hands away.

He backed off. For all he knew, this was a pride thing for her. She eyed him sideways as she fixed her clothing, finishing with her pants before buttoning her vest once more. He noted her gaze travel over his mask again, disappointment coloring her expression, before she seemed to deem it alright. Then he dug into one of his many hidden pockets, withdrawing several gold coins.

He didn’t bother counting them, but pulled one of her hands over and placed the coins there. “Satisfied?” he asked.

Evidently not. Her expression grew thoughtful as she looked at them, spread them with her thumb to count them, then frowned. Looking back up at him, she held them out, returning them. “Changed my mind,” she told him.

Oh? He didn’t take the coins back yet, instead he held her outstretched fist, giving her a chance to change her mind back. “You asked for recompense,” he pointed out. “Other than gold, what else would you want?”

It dawned on him then that she might ask for a favor. It’d happened once or twice, where he’d ended up bartering sex for favors. Once some nobleman’s wife (or possibly mistress) had caught him in her home, rifling through a cabinet. She claimed they weren’t her things and she didn’t care if he stole them (he got the impression she was displeased with the man of the house), but she had demanded he make love to her to keep her mouth shut about it. Lucky for him, she’d been a lovely creature and he hadn’t had any qualms about it. Unluckily, she’d also been lively, and he’d ended up taking her twice and pleasuring her otherwise thrice before she’d let him go. That had been harder than breaking into the house in the first place. . .a house that had been guarded by dogs.

He hoped this woman wouldn’t ask for a favor, though. For once he wasn’t in the mood for a burglary. He’d received the release he’d needed, and now he wanted rest.

To his utter surprise, she responded with, “Round two would be a fair trade,” a smile blooming on her face. Naughtiness danced in her eyes.

Well, then.

For several moments, he considered this. She wanted another go at him, then? He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised—as he well knew, few men considered a woman’s pleasure a necessity when it came to coupling. Garrett was an odd one in that respect. Sex was an act in which he didn’t want to just take and give nothing in return.

Though he feared she might turn clingy the way that noblewoman had, he found himself answering, “Deal.” He took the coins back, hiding them back in their pocket.
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Unexpected