#brutus

brutus jumps, rushing to open his eyes as he hears the sound of a door swinging open.

it's maura!

...this isn't necessarily a good thing.

"m—" he isn't sure whether to call her maura or mistress. "what is this?"

she kneels down in front of him. it's only now that he notices his legs are restrained too.

she won't look him in the eye. he can't see her eyes at all, actually.

she pulls out his cock, already half-hard—look, it's a charged situation—and puts her lips around it.

some sort of intense scene?

it's not safe to make assumptions.

with no better options, he falls back on his training and relaxes into it.

he doesn't tell her he's close. she just knows.

he cries out.

edging. he fucking hates edging.

she said something.

"what?" brutus breathes.

"where's celia."

"she's—"

fuck.

this is an interrogation.

"she didn't... tell me."

she knows he's lying.

she goes back down.

"i dont know, i don't know," he babbles, panicked. "i swear to f-fuck, i don't know."

she keeps going.

"please not again."

he's suddenly staring at the ceiling as his head thrusts back, making pathetic gurgling noises. it hurts. it hurts so much.

"you know where she went."

"f-fuck," is all he can say in response. he couldn't finish the sentence with "you".

she stands up, staring down her nose at him, arms crossed like they always are.

"you know how this goes." her tone is even and confident. "tell me now, or tell me in three hours."

his eyes flick up to look at her. this isn't personal. it's just business.

his eyes flick back down.

unfortunately, he was never going to let his friend down that easily.

"sweat him out," maura said to the man posted outside the room. "he won't run."

as the door slams shut, he's alone again.

he takes the opportunity, trying to rest. relax and feel things out. he starts taking inventory.

his shoulders ache. his head pounds.

his fucking balls hurt.

the fur on his forehead is glued down with sweat. he's supposed to be able to take this. she trained him to be good at it. but every part of his body was betraying how not ready he was. she knew his strengths. which meant she knew his weaknesses.

no other torturer on earth would choose edging. would read him so cleanly he could see her catch his bluff.

he could get through it with someone else. he could take broken bones, pulled teeth. but only she knows what he couldn't take.

now all he can think about is how much he wants some water.

he wakes up. she's back. he must've fallen asleep at some point.

she has water.

she brings the bottle to his mouth. it's cold. she lets him drink it all.

she holds up something else. a banana. electrolytes.

god, she cares so much.

she kneels down.

he turns his head to stare at a fascinating tile on the floor.

a moan escapes as her tongue grazes his tip. it stings.

silent sobs escape through his nose. she's starting slow.

suddenly she's going full speed. a feral growl comes from deep in his throat.

just be a good boy and take it. it's the only thought he has left to hold onto.

suddenly it's over.

...why is it over.

she pats his head. ruffles his hair.

oh no. fuck.

"good boy."

no. fuck. fuck.