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Brander watched the security feed silently. Darkness rendered the image incomplete, fuzzy around the edges, like the manifestation of a fragmented memory. Just barely visible in the distortion was a cloaked figure, stock-still. He couldn’t see a face, not in this lighting, but Brander already knew exactly who had come to visit the station.
Over the past few rotations, the camera in the break room downstairs would periodically fizzle out. Glitch. Sometimes, it would endlessly replay a feedback loop; other times, it went entirely dark, only to suddenly reboot. The result was always the same. The room would be empty, then, there he was: a spectre, a slinking shadow, determined to haunt Brander. It had been over a week, yet his motivations remained just as elusive as his ability to appear and disappear at will. But Brander wasn’t interested in the how, only the why and the what. Why was he here? What did he want? And, more importantly, what knowledge could Brander discover in return?
“I don’t like this,” said Two-Boots, also observing the footage. The droid often fretted over policy, but for once, Brander couldn’t blame him. This was a dangerous game. If it were to slip beyond Brander’s control, which it very well could, every officer could be at risk.
Fortunately, Brander was no stranger to risk. “How long has he been there?” he asked instead, neglecting to acknowledge the droid’s sentiment.
“Approximately twenty minutes,” Two-Boots responded smoothly. Twenty minutes without moving. His patience would be impressive, thought Brander, if it were not so disconcerting. Most humans had the compulsion to fidget, once left to their own devices for an extended period of time. To pace. Then again, this was no human. Brander could not say what he was. Every file, every single piece of information he tried to access stubbornly remained classified. Hence, he would collect his own intelligence.
“Then let’s not keep him waiting,” replied Brander grimly, ripping his eyes away from the feed. He strode towards the door, determined, but walked no further than a few steps.
A robotic hand laid on his shoulder, keeping him in place. “Wait,” Two-Boots interrupted. Brander turned around, an eyebrow raised quizzically. In one hand, the droid held out a blaster. “Don’t forget this.” Although his expression was fixed in place, Brander swore he could see concern gleaming in Two-Boots’ yellow optics.
He chuckled, grasping the blaster and holstering it in one smooth motion. “We both know it’ll be useless,” he said, almost bitter. The longer Brander spent with their little problem, the more he’d come to realise just how much of a threat he was. Nearly his entire unit had been torn through by the shadow, their weapons but a moot point – even used against them at times. A sort of raw power followed him, surrounded him, and Brander knew that on his own, he stood virtually no chance at all. “But it’s the thought that counts, right?” he added dryly. Besides, if anything were to happen, he wasn’t going down without a fight.
“For the record, I do not believe this is a good idea. Terrible, even.” Two-Boots replied with the same paranoid urgency as always, and Brander sighed.
“Which you’ve made clear multiple times,” he said, tired but fond. “Look out for me while I’m gone, partner?”
Two-Boots tucked himself into the security guard’s chair, already prepared. “Of course, captain. But do try not to get yourself killed.” If Brander hadn’t heard it all before, he’d roll his eyes.
“No promises,” he said instead, steeling himself for what was to come. Brander felt like he’d been tasked with walking straight into the nexu’s den, sans any form of protection, with no one to blame but himself. Whatever it takes, he thought.
From the security room to his destination was a straight shot down. Travel a couple flights of stairs, pass a few doors, and he’d arrive. Yet, it still felt like an eternity to reach. Brander would run through the worst possible scenarios, the questions he had, the signals he shared with Two-Boots. For the moment, no one walked the halls of this floor – he’d pulled a few small strings. An emergency, he’d said. But he did not know how long that trick would work. Nor did he even know how long this facade of an exchange would continue to be maintained. Rotations, weeks? Surely nothing further. Perhaps the most concerning factor was that he could not understand the angle. The incentive. For Brander, this was his best shot at an investigation. For the shadow? He could not say.
Perhaps, Brander mused, this was an attempt to undermine them. These stunts had already proved that their security was sorely lacking – maybe that was the point. But if he sought to reveal their weaknesses, scare them, why appear more than once? Panic certainly brewed during his first arrival, the office in a state of disarray, but now only Brander knew of his visits. Surely, the shadow realised this. Somehow, like some form of witchcraft, he could tell exactly when he was being watched, and by who; whether it was the entire station, or just Two-Boots.
Brander paused in front of the break room door. He breathed in deeply, holding it for one, two, three seconds, then exhaled. Even from the outside of the room, it smelt vaguely of caf beans and microwave meals. A familiar, comforting scent, soured by the plight that lay ahead. The handle creaked as he turned it, the dim light of the hallway slowly, painfully slowly, revealing the contents of the room.
Brander must have spent hours upon hours in this space. Not consecutively, of course, but over the course of many years, deliberating over a suspect or strategy or whatnot. Almost every morning, he’d pour himself a cup of caf here. Even in the dark, he could still map out every corner, every obstacle by heart. To the left of the room were cabinets, countertops, caf machines. Two of them, because everyone in the station could not survive without their caf. Including himself. Cups and mugs were splayed out over the countertop surface – half of them were probably Brander’s. In the corner, adjacent to the kitchen area, was the ancient vending machine that still needed to be fixed, accompanied by the fridge, covered in sticky notes. On the other side of the room were tables and chairs, left untucked. On rare occasions, when Brander wasn’t in a hurry, he’d sip at his caf here, rather than at his desk; maybe chat with his co-workers.
In between those areas lay an old, black sofa, positioned directly in front of the doorway. Its leather was unworn, as rarely did anyone sit there.
Except for one person.
“Maul.”
The cloaked figure, illuminated by the hallway light, rested his arms against the headrest, legs spread casually like a king sat upon his throne. His eyes, previously shut, opened to reveal glowing orbs of molten gold. Brander felt a chill run down his spine. “Captain Lawson,” Maul practically purred. He did not move to greet Brander; as was custom. Instead, he simply watched the man enter the room, flicking the light switch on and shutting the door behind him.
They had a routine now. First, they’d greet each other, as they just did. Then, Brander would proceed to ignore Maul, turn on the caf machine, and make himself a drink. He’d fiddle around for a moment, and only when his cup was in hand, steaming lightly, would he finally acknowledge the crime lord in the room. Nerves appropriately steeled, Brander pulled up a seat across from him. He sipped, still stalling. He cleared his throat.
“Why are you still coming here?” he asked bluntly. For most of his sources, Brander had, at the very least, the pretense of a polite conversation. No such thing existed here. Maul was a wild-card – a danger. The longer this went on, the more suspicious it became. If Maul was planning something, Brander had to know.
The crime lord hummed to himself, his eyes tracing the smear of caf around Brander’s lips. “As a guest of this establishment,” he said slowly, “I believe you should show more respect, captain. Do I not deserve the exchange of pleasantries?” Although his voice seemed flat in tone, frigid, almost, Brander recognised the mocking irony. To Maul, this was a game. Brander was more than familiar with the avoidance of direct answers, of pointless questions aimed to frustrate him. Still, he’d wager that every game with Maul had a purpose. One he intended to discover.
“I should arrest you right now,” Brander remarked, “but I see the value in an investigation. What I can’t see is what you get out of this. It makes no sense.” His words were punctuated by the frustrated thud of his cup against a nearby table.
“It is irrelevant, should you acquire the information you need,” Maul replied, seemingly unfazed.
Brander scoffed. “And yet I barely get that.”
Maul tilted his head, a small, uncanny movement, like the curious motions of a predator stalking its prey. “Then arrest me,” he commanded casually.
As much as the other man avoided direct answers, sometimes, he’d occasionally drop useful information. Small pieces, nothing enough to take down his organisation, but sufficient to build a case. There was a reason why Brander still allowed these meetings; even if the higher-ups would never approve. “Answer my questions, and I won't have to. At least not yet,” he declared pointedly. For now, this was neutral territory. An unspoken, uneasy truce.
Maul did not respond. He merely observed Brander, indifferent towards his threats.
“If you won’t explain why you’re here, then at least give me something to work with,” Brander sighed. “For one, are you attempting to rebuild the Shadow Collective? And why abduct Devon Izara?” He’d learned that name from Maul. Her files were also classified – one mystery that unfolded to reveal another. “Is she a part of your plan?”
As usual, Maul answered a question with another question. “How did you come to learn of the Collective?” he asked quietly. Brander could not tell if he was genuinely curious or intended to derail the conversation. Either way, he decided to humour the crime lord.
“There are other informants on Janix,” Brander said, intentionally neglecting to mention who.
“You are willing to work with the underworld, then. Quite resourceful,” Maul commended, and Brander frowned at the praise. Was that a compliment or an indictment, veiled in approval? An attempt to accuse him of corruption?
Brander crossed his arms. “We have to be.” Or he had to, at the very least. Why he felt the need to justify his actions to a criminal, a vicious, murderous one at that, he did not know. On a planet like Janix, one needed to get their hands dirty to control the filth, however unseemly it appeared. That was simply how things were – surely Maul could understand that.
“And what of the Empire?” he said.
Brander raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. “What about it?” he asked uneasily.
Maul suddenly stood, hands behind his back, so that he towered over Brander, looking down upon him. Brander did not rise immediately; if Maul wanted to try and intimidate him, then he could do so. It wouldn’t work. “You collaborate with criminals. Yet, to my great surprise, there has been no interference from the Imperial machine,” Maul pronounced, the intensity of his gaze close to burning holes in the captain’s face. Brander made no outward reaction at the unfortunately accurate observation.
“Who’s to say the Empire’s not on its way?” he bluffed, but from the look in Maul’s eyes, Brander already knew that it was of no use.
“I think not,” Maul dismissed. “They would already be here, had you adhered to Imperial protocol.” Brander reclined backwards in his seat, glaring up at the other man. This interrogation was rapidly turning against him. Still, it seemed as though Maul also sought to avoid Imperial notice, perhaps even more so than Brander. That, and the heavily classified files, the urgent APB, painted an interesting picture.
“It’s not much of a choice,” he conceded, “the Empire puts us all at risk. Once they get their claws in Janix, they’ll never let go, even when the job’s done.”
Although Maul did not smile, there seemed to be an air of satisfaction about him. That was what he wanted to hear, Brander realised. “Well put,” said Maul. He turned to circle Brander, behind his back, out of sight. Two hands grasped his shoulders lightly, and a few small, short puffs of breath tickled the junction of his neck. “I see my suspicions of you are not unfounded,” Maul whispered into Brander’s ear, causing him to shift uncomfortably. “You are a man of intelligence.”
Brander realised very quickly that Maul had a silver tongue – could talk his way through just about anything. This, however, was new. He was growing bolder. “I aim to please,” he said, sarcastic in an effort to distract from his unease. “But that might change if I don’t get any answers.”
The hands left his back. “Pick one question, not many at once,” Maul murmured, still behind him.
Brander unconsciously flexed his shoulders at the loss of warmth. He peered over his shoulder at Maul, who still watched him intently, hawk-like. “Then I’ll ask again. What do you want?”
Maul stalked back into Brander’s line of view, arms drawn behind his back. “A great many things, far beyond your understanding, I’m afraid,” he said, and Brander nearly scoffed. He could understand plenty. It was a broad question, he knew, but this meant that it was also simple, straight-forward. A mere semblance of the Collective’s goals would be satisfactory, and yet, Maul continued to avoid an explanation, practically smug. His expression was entirely flat, but as he stood over Brander, looking at him expectantly, he could tell that Maul enjoyed walking circles around him. Both literally and figuratively.
For reasons unbeknownst to himself, he felt oddly off balance by the lack of distance between them, rather than comforted. It seemed the unpredictability, from close to far, unsettled him. At the very least, Maul didn’t seem hostile – merely amused. Maybe that was worse. Brander knew how to handle hostile, not whatever this was. “What do you want here then?” he asked. With the syndicates, he knew how they functioned. He knew that they were selfish, greedy – aimed to benefit themselves at the cost of others. When they cooperated, it was out of self-preservation. But Maul, much to Brander’s great dismay, had the upper hand. Every possible reason that he devised for these meetings could not account for that one simple fact.
Maul paused, perhaps deliberating. He eyed Brander strangely, calculating, almost, but not quite – like he was attempting to look deep inside Brander’s soul, see his most essential components, analyse them. Brander met the crime lord’s gaze with his own glare, unafraid. Then, Maul smiled ever so faintly. A bare tug at the corner of his lips.
“You.”
Brander inhaled sharply, mouth slightly agape. Yet no words left him. His mind went blank, then, all at once, a million thoughts raced through his mind. This made sense. Too much sense, and yet no sense at all. The unusual flattery, Maul’s insistence on meeting Brander and Brander only, the usage of this room, his room – it fit neatly into place. Whenever Brander was not present at the station, Maul did not appear. It was only when he knew, somehow, that Brander could see him, could meet with him, that he made himself available. He had orchestrated this purely for Brander. “Me?” he repeated, unbelieving.
Maul nodded his assent, that cruel, half-smirk still present. “Indeed,” he agreed readily. As if that answered anything. Brander felt himself backed into a corner, his composure cracking at the seams. If Maul planned to disturb him, it was working.
Brander closed his eyes, inhaled deeply. He needed to pull himself together. Think clearly. If Maul was afraid of the Empire, which all the evidence pointed towards, perhaps he saw Brander as an opportunity. Undoubtedly, Maul realised that he was no fan of the Empire. Maybe he thought he could manipulate Brander, combine forces against their common enemy. Yet, this felt too personal. Too much effort. On the other hand, Maul could see Brander as a potential spy, but he was showing his hand too early for that. “Whatever you want with me, I won’t do it,” said Brander, voice subdued. Cautious.
“No?” Maul questioned doubtfully. “Pick another question. Anything at all. I will answer to the best of my ability, and in return, you will grant me one request.” Brander narrowed his eyes at the other man, entirely skeptical; whatever this ‘request’ was, it couldn’t be good. Brander was tempted to dismiss it outright, but he paused. This was an opportunity. He couldn’t waste it.
Still. “That depends on the request,” he replied, just to be sure.
With one hand, Maul gestured for Brander to come closer. Against his better judgement, he stood. From this newfound, minimal distance, Brander could see the more intricate details of the other man’s tattoos, the rings of red encircling his eyes. Maul leaned forward, his lips near brushing against Brander’s ear. “Kneel,” he murmured.
Brander stepped backwards, perplexed. He swallowed dryly. “That’s it?” he asked, not bothering to hide the skepticism in his voice. He felt his face warm at the implications; surely that wasn’t what he wanted. This had to be a power play of some sort. Another game.
“More or less,” said Maul. How reassuring, Brander thought sarcastically. The request by itself was simple enough – he didn’t exactly want to stroke Maul’s ego, but it wouldn’t hurt. In fact, it could prove useful. The problem lay in what was left unsaid – that Maul wanted more, and Brander did not want to know what that meant for him.
He sighed. He felt like he was back to square one, puzzled by the crime lord’s motivations, but reluctantly willing to play along, if given the right information. “Where’s your base of operations?”
Maul looked unimpressed, his expression shifting to a small frown. Brander could admit, that was a steep question – he hadn’t expected an honest answer, but it didn’t hurt to try. “I have been reasonable in my demands. I expect you to return the favour,” Maul said flatly, and Brander pursed his lips in irritation.
“We are far beyond ‘reasonable’ right now, but.. fine. Just let me think,” he grudgingly conceded. He’d have to approach this carefully – what could be important, but not important enough to risk immediate exposure? He raised a hand to his lips, too deep in thought to notice Maul track the movement with his eyes. He could ask for associates, next targets, future heists – but that wasn’t big enough. Brander had one shot. One question. He needed to make it worth… whatever this was. “What’s the end game here?” he asked, his voice a ghost of a whisper. “Take over Janix? Or are we just a stepping stone?”
Maul hummed. “A good question,” he acknowledged, which Brander repressed the urge to sarcastically respond to. “No, captain, Janix is not the final objective. It is, as you say, a means to an end. I did not lie when I said that my aims are beyond your understanding. They are not confined to one planet, nor even a singular system. My revenge concerns the entire galaxy.” Revenge?, thought Brander, nonplussed. The entire galaxy? Just how far did this operation go?
And more importantly, “Revenge on who?”
Maul did not respond, holding out a singular hand; a signal to stop. To be silent. Then, he pointed to the floor. ‘Get on your knees’, he said, without saying a word. Brander huffed at the man’s audacity.
Nonetheless, he dropped to both knees obediently. Brander grunted at the scrape of flesh against the cold, hard floor, heightened by the sharp sting of humiliation. He didn’t want to look Maul in the eye – not like this. Against his will, a finger curled around his chin, forcing his gaze upwards. He was smirking again, Brander noted sullenly as they made eye contact. The other man’s thumb traced the corner of his lips, a mocking imitation of an affectionate gesture. He did not like what that gesture implied. “That is another question,” said Maul, admonishing. Brander did not trust himself to respond – the words would come out shaky, whether in fear or anticipation, he could not say.
The hand left his face. Maul stepped backwards, and in one curt, yet graceful motion, he sprawled back on the couch, resuming his previous position. He patted his leg, beckoning Brander as if he were a dog. From his place on the floor, Brander realised that to reach the crime lord, he’d have to crawl, also like a dog. Shifting to his hands and knees, Brander inched forward, his face flushed. He stopped once he reached the in-between of Maul’s legs, caged on either side.
“If I am to respond honestly,” Maul continued, reaching into the pocket of his pants, “I ask of you to fulfil one more request.” In his hand was a thick, black strip of fabric. A blindfold, Brander realised. He could feel his heart racing in his chest. “No harm will come to you, I give you my word,” Maul said, quiet, like he was soothing a frightened animal. It did little to settle Brander’s anxieties. After all, what good was the word of a criminal? …And yet, Maul had never acted violently towards Brander, not since their first meeting – hadn’t even threatened him. It could very well be an attempt to lull him into a false sense of security. Then again, Brander was keenly aware of the danger Maul posed. If the crime lord wanted to hurt him, kill him, he would have done so by now.
Reluctantly, Brander nodded his approval. The last thing he saw was the barest hint of teeth in Maul’s smile, before his eyes were covered by the blind fold, tied behind his head with deft hands. He could see little else but darkness now, not even the outline of Maul’s figure. At least like this, Brander did not have to see those eyes, constantly watching, constantly assessing. “Tell me,” he demanded, strained.
Brander startled at the keen pressure of something against his face. He realised, belatedly, that it was just a hand. Again. Maul cupped his cheek, oddly tender. Gloved fingers moved across his face, smoothing a few stray hairs on his forehead back into place. “I seek the destruction of my former Master,” said Maul, softly. “He is behind everything. The galaxy itself has twisted to his purpose, moulded over decades of careful conspiracy. Once, I served him as nothing more than a weapon to be discarded, abandoned without thought. Now I shall be his downfall.” Brander frowned in thought. Grand speeches aside, that revealed an interesting detail: Maul was a slave. Not what he was expecting.
Hesitantly, Brander reached out to steady himself on Maul’s legs, an anchor in the darkness. Through the material, he could feel the rigid surface of robotics, unlike the soft, pliable sensation of warm muscle. Brander wondered, for a moment, just where the prosthetics ended and the flesh began. Were his limbs cut off by this Master of his? From the sound of it, he was powerful, very powerful – bigger than all the syndicate leaders of Janix combined and likely even crueller too. When Maul spoke of this mysterious figure, it was with a mixture of reverence and malice. Admiring and hateful. Brander supposed that it made sense, considering that Maul’s entire plot to overthrow the syndicates, take control, was ultimately designed to defeat this singular enemy. That demanded a certain level of respect.
A sudden rasping hiss disrupted Brander’s internal musings. His eyes widened. Dread pooled low in his gut as the pieces fell into place.
Maul had just undone his zipper. “Are you satisfied?” the crime lord asked, coy.
Brander did not respond, too preoccupied with what that sound portended. The rustling of fabric accompanied it, confirming his exact fears. He didn’t need sight to know what was in front of him; what Maul wanted him to do with it. Though he wished he didn’t.
This was his payment.
He had to prostitute himself.
Brander was frozen in place, paralysed with indecision. He felt sick to his stomach. Deep down, he knew that this was the natural conclusion to the kneeling, the blindfold, the sweet, misleading touches, but he didn’t want to believe it. After all, what would Maul achieve from this, other than humiliating him? Brander couldn’t understand it. If Maul sought sexual gratification, there were far more attractive and willing hookers on the side of the road. No doubt he could afford it. So why him?
“You can’t be serious,” he breathed.
“Deadly,” Maul replied.
“No,” Brander immediately objected. “I am not –” he struggled to even find the words, “what do you take me for –”
“Listen and listen closely,” Maul interrupted impatiently. “Comply with my demands, and I will provide any information you so require. Whether it be of my organisation or others.”
Brander paused. “Any?”
“Within reason, of course.”
He had to admit, it was a good offer. Maul clearly possessed connections far beyond what the Defence Force had available to them. Intelligence that they could not acquire, either hidden from them or beyond their grasp. Things could be worse. At least now, he had finally learned what the other man wanted from him. He ignored the trembling in his hands, how his breath shook with every exhale. It was just a bodily function. An insignificant act of submissiveness. If this was what Maul required… so be it.
Ever so slowly, Brander extended his hand, blindly grasping for needy flesh. His fingers brushed against a solid entity, though it lacked the warmth and feel of what should have been a cock. Confused, he wrapped his hand around the phallus shape. Maul stiffened at his touch as though it was real — but it couldn’t be.
Smooth, dense metal replaced velvety skin, cold to the touch. His entire natural lower body, from the midsection and down, was gone. It seemed as though Maul had been cut in half and miraculously managed to survive. But… how? How could he even feel any of this?
Brander stroked upwards mechanically, squeezing slightly, fingers enveloping the tip. The imitation was certainly shaped like the head of a cock. He didn’t know how to feel about that: the accuracy of its mould. He glided his thumb along the dented tip, strangely warm at the apex, compared to the shaft. Satisfied with his anatomical mapping, he pumped downwards, towards the base. At the very bottom, he felt thick wiring, protected by sleek plating. Just above this were little groves in the metal on the fake cock’s underside. He wondered, briefly, what that would feel like inside him, but swiftly discarded the thought with no small amount of revulsion.
A low growl interrupted his exploration, impatiently urging him on. It seemed as though Maul really could sense this. Brander tightened his grip a little, firm but gentle, and began to stroke up and down at a steady pace. Usually, he’d use one hand to pump, the other to periodically cup the testicles, but there were no testicles. Just the rod. His unused hand remained awkwardly fisted in the material of Maul’s pants.
Brander couldn’t believe that he’d found himself in this position. He was jerking off a crime lord, and not just any crime lord, but Maul – currently the most wanted man on Janix. It was disgusting, certainly, but also surreal. Sex wasn’t usually a part of negotiations. But that was fine. He just had to weather the storm – try not to think so hard. As long as he got the other man off, Brander would receive his intelligence, and they could both leave and pretend none of this had ever happened. He needed to do it quickly too, before his body could continue to respond in kind. His pants had already grown too tight.
To distract himself, Brander thought of the last time he was on his knees like this. Another bounty hunter, a handsome twi’lek, hovered above him, watching Brander swallow his dick whole. He’d been a lot more confident then, had hardly flinched as it hit the back of his throat. He could still remember the taste of cum coating his tongue. The strong, musky scent.
As if noticing his mind wander, the crime lord abruptly seized the back of Brander’s head, fingers entangled in his hair. He yanked him forwards, towards his cock. “Pay attention,” Maul hissed as Brander’s grip faltered in surprise. Before he could snark back, Maul dragged him forward again, cheek bumping against the metal appendage. Brander licked his dry lips nervously at the pressure — a clear, wordless command to open. To swallow.
Brander held Maul’s cock tight in his hand, leaning over it. He was big. Not the biggest, but more than enough to make him nervous. Tentatively, his tongue darted out to lick the very tip. He dragged it over the surface thoroughly, tasting hot metal; then, with one push, he relaxed his jaw and took the rest of the slowly warming cock into his mouth. “Good. Just like that,” Maul praised, voice honey sweet. He loosened his death grip in Brander’s hair, softly caressing the strands instead as if petting him. Like a reward. Drool spilled down the sides of the crime lord’s synthetic erection obscenely as Brander began to move. Despite his lack of recent experience, he could still remember the basics: hollowing his cheeks, breathing through the nose and trying very, very hard not to gag. He stroked at the cock’s base, stimulating what he could not reach with his mouth.
Slick, lewd noises filled the room as Brander continued to bob his head. The metallic tang tasted odd, though not entirely unpleasant. It mixed strangely with what he registered as pre-cum gushing into his mouth, down his throat, leaking like a broken faucet. He swore he could feel Maul’s cock throbbing inside him ever so slightly. Twitching. Heat now encompassed the entire appendage, rather than just the tip; if he could look past the slightly inaccurate flavour, the ridged, solid surface, Brander could believe it was a real cock pressing against his tongue insistently, threatening to choke him.
“You’re doing very well,” Maul purred, pausing to groan softly. “Better than expected.” This time, the praise shot straight to Brander’s dick. He pressed his thighs together, now fully hard, much to his mortification. His neglected erection throbbed needily, begging for attention that would not come.
‘Better than expected’? Just how long had the crime lord been plotting this for? He wondered, nauseous, if Maul masturbated to the thought of him; if he stroked himself, wishing it was Brander’s hand instead. The possibility that for the entirety of their dealings, Maul had been attracted to him, had fantasised about him, felt like a horrible brand on his skin.
The crime lord subtly tugged at Brander’s hair, another silent, vague command. He tried to pull away, only for Maul to wrench him back in place. Shifting his approach, he instead attempted to move further downwards, engulfing the shaft entirely. Drool leaked down his chin as he worked to fit it all, but to no avail; the back of his throat spasmed and convulsed before he recoiled, suppressed the urge to retch.
What would Maul have done to him, had he refused to do all this? He certainly had the power to force him to take it. Maybe he simply sought to give Brander the illusion of choice; either he’d willingly get on his knees, or he’d be held down and used instead. For reasons unbeknownst to himself, the image made his cock twitch in his pants, almost bucking his hips into nothing.
Brander squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment. If only he could will his arousal away. He wished so very badly to think of this as just another transaction, another objective to cross off his list. Unpleasant, as many things were in his line of work, but necessary for the greater good. But no matter how hard he tried to keep the motions mechanical, his body betrayed him.
His conscience felt at war with his dick, which throbbed and leaked and twitched as he moved. If Maul had the mercy to pull his pants off, free him from its restrictive cage, he was sure his cock would drip pre-ejaculate like a hot candle. The worst part: he couldn’t remember getting this hard this fast in years. He hadn’t even received any stimulation. Simply sucking Maul off had aroused him more than Rheena’s careful touches.
Brander received no warning before Maul suddenly shoved his head down. He coughed, gagged, tears springing to his eyes, before the crime lord relented. Maul shushed him gently while Brander continued to sputter. “I know you can take it,” he whispered huskily. Brander wanted to protest that this was not the deal: a hand-job or a blow-job he could handle, but he no longer possessed the muscle memory to deepthroat. But he paused. Arguing in this vulnerable state would be a poor decision. Who knew how the other man would react; either their deal could be at risk or even worse. He hummed in agreement which, much to his embarrassment, sounded more like a pathetic whine. Brander’s hands dropped to Maul’s thighs, enabling him to set the pace.
Contrary to what he expected, Maul wasn’t rough with him. Not at all. Instead, he gently manoeuvred Brander downwards, allowing his throat time to relax, to carefully adjust. The urge to gag was near unbearable as he inched further down. More tears seeped into the blindfold’s fabric. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he swallowed the entire appendage. For a moment, nothing happened. The throbbing warmth remained at the back of his throat, his nose practically pressing against Maul’s crotch. Then, with an abrupt tug, Maul jerked him upwards.
Gradually, he began to lower Brander back onto his cock. In and out. He seemed to be in no rush to finish, the movements painfully slow, though Brander could feel a slight tremor in the hand that clutched him. As he showed no signs of choking, Maul’s thrusts incrementally sped up. Brander did not resist the push and pull. All he could do was cling to the crime lord’s legs, utterly compliant, and focus on his breathing.
Brander nearly choked at the sudden, electric touch against his crotch. A ghostly imprint rubbed him through the tight layer of fabric. Fuck. His entire body tensed in pleasure as if he’d been shocked. A desperate moan wrenched itself from his throat as the phantom sensation fondled him lazily, snug against his cock, palming the length in a back and forth motion; if Maul kept that up, he’d – he’d –
The impression faded, and Maul paused, leaving his own cock lodged at the back of the other man’s throat. “You’re nearing climax,” he commented from above him. “I’ve barely touched you.” He sounded just as surprised as Brander was. Slowly, he started to move again, preoccupied with his thoughts. Then, a strange sensation brushed against Brander’s subconscious. It prodded at him, poked at memories and hidden corners. Inwardly, he reeled. What was that? Before he had time to react, the invasive force retracted itself. “An unexpected development, but a welcome one,” said Maul, his tone of voice indecipherable. “I wasn’t aware of your perversions, captain.”
Had Maul just read his thoughts? Brander tamped down the urge to unholster his blaster. Not only had the crime lord taken his body, but he was treating his mind as a personal possession too. And Brander was utterly helpless against it. He wanted to loathe Maul for forcing this on him, but he had done nothing to stop it, had he? From an outsider’s point of view, it may have even looked like he enjoyed it, trembling and moaning at the other man’s mercy, mouth stuffed full of his cock. Part of Brander hoped that Maul would neglect his own weeping sex – that way, he could leave this encounter unsatisfied. He’d be able to reclaim some small amount of his dignity, knowing that he hadn’t reached completion from Maul’s sick treatment. The other part desperately craved release. It craved Maul’s hands on him, in him, until he no longer knew that he was supposed to hate this.
As much as he tried to push aside those horrible thoughts, they refused to wane. Flashes of perverted images crawled into his mind and took root like weeds. Even if Brander understood what Maul was doing to him was wrong, degrading, on some depraved level, it excited him. It was so easy to relinquish control, let himself be used like a toy. All he had to do was mindlessly obey.
For a paranoid moment, he contemplated whether Maul would film this encounter. It would be the perfect blackmail. A respected cop, debased to a mere cocksleeve for a criminal’s pleasure. Unseeing, inarticulate and entirely helpless. Saliva and tears mixed together in a wet mess that clung to his skin, pooled at the base of Maul’s cock. Brander could only imagine how it looked – like something straight out of a holoporn video. He didn’t even want to think about what would happen, should the footage be publicised. He’d surely lose his job, his reputation, everything that he had built.
Wait.
Brander choked, throat suddenly rejecting the appendage. Thankfully, Maul stilled his movements – a small mercy next to the wave of profound horror that swept over him.
He’d left Two-Boots in charge of security.
This was being watched. Recorded. He could see everything.
Almost frantically, Brander signed the all-clear signal against Maul’s leg, angled towards the room’s camera. If Two-Boots thought he was in any danger, called for backup, it would prove disastrous. He could only hope that the droid noticed the gesture and Maul didn’t.
That hope was immediately dashed once the other man spoke. “What’s this?” he asked, amused. Brander tried to lift his head, explain, but Maul kept a firm grip in his hair, squeezing threateningly. “I see,” he said simply. Although his vision was obscured, Brander knew Maul was looking in the direction of the camera. “Your droid is getting quite the show. Perhaps he’ll alert your superiors.”
Uncaring of his discomfort, the sheer terror that gripped him, Maul forced Brander to choke down the rest of his length. He set an utterly brutal pace. Each drag felt like Maul was attempting to fuck every thought out of his brain until he was left with nothing but the sensation of dick on his tongue. A niche was being carved into Brander’s skull, drilled into him over and over and over through his mouth. He could no longer muster any embarrassment at the muffled whimpers that left him, especially as that ghostly sensation returned to palm his cock in time with Maul’s thrusts. He was so close. Even when fear and disgust wrapped itself around him like a shawl, his entire body burned with the desperate urge to cum.
“What would your colleagues think of their captain now?” Maul taunted, albeit strained. “Perhaps they’d remark on your… surprising efficiency. You’ve hardly faltered this entire time; surely you must be quite experienced.” Brander could barely hold himself up anymore. His thoughts of self-loathing moved like molasses through his mind, a sluggish and steady stream of pleasurable torture. Although Maul moved with intense speed, it seemed as though the world was in slow motion, reduced to the pressure on his groin and the dick in his mouth.
Brander realised that he was losing oxygen. He couldn’t breathe. His airways were clogged, either with cock or fluids. Weakly, he tried to push away, but it was futile; Maul’s grip planted him firmly in place. “Keep still. We don’t want to disappoint our audience.”
If Brander’s eyesight was not already obscured by the blindfold, he was sure there would be spots in his vision. Consciousness slipped by like sand grains in a sieve. He tried to reach for the blaster at his side to no avail – his mind and body were no longer his own. They were held hostage by Maul. He could not move, he could not speak, he could not cum without his say so.
“There is no need to pretend as if you aren’t enjoying this,” Maul uttered low and rough. A shadowy, parasitic force had attached itself to his psyche, siphoning the fantasies and thoughts he kept close to his chest. “I know of what you truly desire,” he murmured, although he sounded ever so close, as if right next to Brander’s ear, “you wish to be owned. For someone else to take control, be used as they see fit.”
To some degree, maybe Maul was right. Brander knew that hypervigilance had taken its toll on him. He yearned to just let go, to not have to fight tooth and nail against crime and corruption. For once, he could just surrender. But not like this. Not with him.
“Such a delightfully depraved mind,” Maul mocked him as he whimpered at the relentless assault, still on the verge of orgasm. “Wouldn’t you agree, pet?”
Maul dragged him off of his cock with a wet pop. Brander desperately gasped for air which filled his empty lungs so suddenly he felt lightheaded. He coughed violently, hacking up spit, tears and whatever synthetic substance Maul used as a substitute for pre. His jaw throbbed. His lips were numb from overuse. His balls ached, even as the sensation groping him ceased.
Brander panted, almost unwilling to speak — not knowing if he even could. “Shut up,” he replied hoarsely. The words chafed his sore throat.
Maul huffed out another amused chuckle. “It appears you need to be reminded of your place.” He rose then, taking a resigned Brander with him. The other man could barely keep himself up, anchored by the hand in his hair.
Maul guided Brander’s lips to his cock. Instinctively, he widened his mouth, flattened his tongue, as if trained to do so. The crime lord rammed inside without resistance. His hips pistoned back and forth, keeping Brander in place with one hand. “I believe you would make the perfect whore, Lawson,” he continued, his voice unsteady. He was losing his composure. At any moment, he would release his hot cum down Brander’s throat; thick, steady ropes would paint his insides. He’d be marked. No matter how hard Brander scrubbed his skin, nothing could wash away how he’d been violated. “So eager to engorge yourself,” Maul growled harshly under his breath, “even as your fellow officers sit and watch.”
Brander stuttered out a broken whine in protest, narrowly avoiding choking as cock jammed itself down his throat again and again. He was only doing it because he had to. No sane person could find pleasure in this abuse. “Oh, you disagree?” Maul teased, “I suppose I must prove it to you then.”
A sharp, sudden snapping pierced the silence around them, loud enough to be heard over the wet slaps of flesh on metal. Brander registered the stretch and tear of fabric below him. His pants were being ripped open at the crotch, exposed to cool air. Urgently, the captain tried to close his legs, but the spectral sensation simply forced them back open. His attempts were useless. Once it had shredded a large enough hole in the now ruined trousers, it attacked his boxers next, unwrapping the warm flesh inside like a gift.
It held his weeping, drooling dick for a moment, squeezing softly. Ghostly fingers skimmed against his most sensitive areas: along the head, down his shaft, grazing the frenulum. The fingers then reached deeper into his torn boxers, prodded at his hole. Brander’s entire body clenched in dread. Not there, he thought. Anywhere but there. It circled him teasingly for a moment, before retreating backwards. But this reprieve did not last. Gone was the previous gentle treatment, a farce of consideration, replaced by frenzied strokes. Maul jerked him with the same speed of his own thrusts: urgent and frenetic.
Brander’s legs twitched and quivered at the merciless onslaught. He realised he must be making noise, but couldn’t hear himself over the rush of blood in his ears, the lewd smacks of Maul fucking his mouth. The pressure in his balls kept building and building, but with nowhere to go. It sat hot and heavy, an unbearable, pleasurable torture as Maul continued to abuse his cock.
No, Brander desperately wanted to say. No more. Get off of me. Stop.
Maul shushed his shaky whimpers from above. “It’s alright. Come now. Show them who you belong to,” he commanded, and Brander could not help but obey.
The floodgates in his mind shattered open. Every anxiety, every thought became blessedly blank. White hot pleasure surged through him and out of him as Maul milked his dripping cock for all it was worth. Brander moaned in euphoric relief, felt his cum spurt in stuttered ropes, making a mess of the floor. Maul allowed him to rock into the sensation desperately, chasing the last dregs of his high. He came and came and came until completely emptied, and only when he started to whine and flinch from overstimulation did Maul stop stroking.
At the tail end of Brander’s climax, the crime lord buried himself deep inside his throat. The ridges of the mechanical penis pressed against Brander’s flattened tongue, twitching wildly. He could hear a mechanical clicking noise, then a loud, possessive growl, and that was his only warning before hot cum shot down his throat. The consistency was near identical to the real thing, warm and thick and so sickeningly human. It even tasted familiar on his tongue — bitter and salty, if not slightly tinny. Brander was forced to swallow it all down to avoid choking. Vulgar slurping noises filled the room before Maul finally, finally pulled him away. A string of saliva stretched between Brander’s lips and the wet cock as he gasped for air.
Without Maul to hold him in place, Brander nearly collapsed. He felt as though he had freshly surfaced after hours of being submerged underwater: short of breath, his mind swimming in the after-shocks of orgasm. Clinging to Maul like his only anchor in the world, the crime lord reclined backwards on the sofa with Brander crumpled in his lap, head resting on his leg. A hand carded through Brander’s hair gently. He couldn’t protest even if he wanted to; exhaustion seeped into his very bones. “Well done,” Maul praised softly.
Brander could not tell how long he laid on Maul’s lap, whether it was an hour or a minute, but Maul eventually guided him onto the sofa, away from the hard, metal surface of prosthetics. He let himself be moved. Then, he could hear rustling, the pull of a zipper, footsteps. Detached from his body, his thoughts, Brander listened blankly. From far away, he heard a voice. “I will be back for you,” it said, just barely coherent. It echoed in Brander’s mind over and over, an endless feedback loop. Maul would be back for him. In his near-unconscious state, he did not know whether he felt fear or relief.
The door burst open. Brander jumped from his temporary doze, sliding off the sofa and onto the ground. “Captain?” another voice said, shrill. “Captain?!”
Brander groaned from his position on the floor. Everything hurt. He reached a hand to his face and pulled the blindfold off in one tug, blinking sluggishly as the world came back into view. With it came the appearance of one police droid. Two-Boots stared at him from the doorway, light filtering in.
“Captain, are you alright? Do I need to fetch a medic?” he said in clear concern, but Brander was already shaking his head.
“No, no medic. I’m fine.” The words crawled out of his mouth as a mere hoarse whisper. Brander winced at the sound, massaging his throat, then dragged himself up into a seated position. His muscles protested persistently as he pushed off the floor, collapsed onto the foot of the sofa with a long-winded sigh. This shouldn’t be so difficult, he thought. He felt like he was moving double of his weight. Brander squinted at Two-Boots, who still hovered awkwardly by the door. “When did it get so dark?”
Silence. Two-Boots approached him, closed the distance in a few short strides. He dropped to one knee next to Brander, their faces at level with each other. “When Maul exited the station,” he reported, quiet.
Brander’s heart dropped to his stomach. “So… you saw everything?”
“You exchanged sexual favours. Though I cannot say why,” said Two-Boots. He sounded not perplexed, not like Brander expected, but solemn.
He realised then what he must look like. Pants torn in half, hair ruffled, dried cum and spit and tears sticky around his face. Two-Boots nearly stood right on top of the puddle of Brander’s ejaculate. His hands immediately flew to cover the torn hole where his soft cock spilled out — or part of it, at least. It appeared as though a wild animal had chewed through the entire crotch area.
“I…” Brander trailed off. He turned away from Two-Boots’ gaze, shame settling in his gut like ice. “I did what I had to.”
All he could do now was hope that Maul held up his end of the deal.