Work Text:
The razor thin blades of the ceiling fan spin languidly overhead, filling the relative silence of the bar with a faint electronic buzz. The lighting is inconsistent, shining brightly in some spots and leaving others in darkness. It's still a few hours until sunrise, but even with the door propped ajar, the coolness of the nighttime cannot penetrate the thick, balmy air that collected down here during the day.
You're sitting at one of the corner tables, nearly entrenched in shadow. It's to look inconspicuous, although you would probably do so anyways out of habit. There are only five other trolls in here, mostly olive or lower, and you're not very social to begin with. The only reason you're not sweating a river is the fortuitous location of your table near the cooling unit.
You walked in two hours ago, and will depart in another hour. You've been doing this every night for the past week, an unwilling regular to this establishment, and will probably continue to do so indefinitely. The inhabitants of this city are tightlipped and wary. Your superiors had told you as much at the briefing.
The first time you walked in here, your blood color earned a quirk of the eyebrow from the yellowblood behind the counter, who almost immediately seemed to lose interest. Ever since, hardly anyone had acknowledged your presence. As odd as that is, you prefer it this way. Less attention mean fewer awkward questions, less of a chance to draw suspicion. The alternative possibility is that everyone knows why you're here, and there's some mass conspiracy to make you believe otherwise. You think about this when you lie awake at night in cheap sopor, in a respiteblock whose size and trappings are a far cry below what you are accustomed to. Your lodgings were selected based on convenience of access to the city core, not quality. Just another thing about this city that makes you feel like an intruder, the fake you really are. Sometimes you let your mind wander during your nightly sojourn, and you swear you can feel the eyes of the other patrons. You tell yourself you're being foolish. It's not like anyone ever actually looks at you.
A cerulean woman at the other end of the room glances in your general direction (probably at the exit, not at you specifically). She disengages from the two midbloods she was chatting with and walks past your table, up the short flight of stairs, and out into the receding night. Your gaze follows her.
You've had your eye on her for the past three nights. Even though she hasn't directly acknowledged you even once, something about her draws your attention. The way the other patrons glance at her every time she enters, and the way the barkeep doesn't, but still straightens up just a bit. Little things that one wouldn't notice unless they were looking hard. Every time she left, the atmosphere of the room palpably shifted, and you watched her disappear into the night. This time you will follow her.
Standing up a bit more abruptly than you'd intended, you nearly knock over the flimsy wooden table. As usual, the other patrons seem too preoccupied to more than glance momentarily at you. The barkeep pointedly stares at the timepiece on the wall in front of her out of apparent boredom, not even bothering to feign interest at the brief commotion. You briskly ascend the stairs and step out into the chill night.
***
Ten minutes later, you've arrived at a building along a side street. She left the door unlocked behind her. Under ordinary circumstances, you would think this was a trap. This time, however, you are confident that she did not notice you following. After all, you took great care in remaining out of sight on the way over, probably even more than advisable. You kept a large enough distance that twice you nearly lost track of her, but it didn't hurt to be overcautious with these things. The building is nondescript, nearly identical to the others flanking it to either side. Bare concrete walls, small windows set too far from ground level to peer into, and a tattered, sun bleached awning stretched over the entrance.
It would really be better to turn back, make your report, and wait for backup before you check this place out proper. You hesitate though. This could be another false alarm, and your superiors hate it when you waste their time like this. Or maybe it is the real deal, and when you come back this place will be cleared out of anything useful. You're lucky enough as it is finding it undetected, and you'd be foolish to let an opportunity like this just slip away. Maybe this is a trap, but you'll catch them off guard because they don't know how strong you are. The cerulean, at least, would stand no chance against you in a fight. Before you realize it, you're already opening the door.
The lights that punctuate the hallways are hardly bright enough to navigate by, and several times you nearly trip over uneven tiling. You rehearse lines in your head, in case someone else comes along, but no one does. With each step you take, you keep expecting a confrontation. Your muscles tense, prepared to strike at the first sign of danger, but no such threat appears.
Your progress is painfully slow and fruitless thus far. With every room you peer into, your apprehension grows. There's no telling if an access point even exists in this particular building, after all. Your suspicions might have been off, and perhaps you've broken into the wrong place. The corridor circles around, taking you further up by way of treacherously steep staircases at fixed intervals. You turn each corner with caution, ready for ambush. Shadows seem to leap at you, and it's all you can do to keep your composure. You're not sure how much time passes like this.
After what feels like an eternity groping around in near darkness, you finally stumble onto an empty room full of idle terminals. You're so excited that you don't even question why you haven't encountered a single troll since entering the building.
The room is lined around the perimeter with desk terminals whose green lighting pierce the darkness. These are older models, and thus harder to hack into remotely, leaving on-location access the only option. None of the lights embedded along the ceiling are working, but you can faintly make out silken threads of light that crisscross the room through cracks in the plaster on one of the walls. You're uncertain if that means the adjacent room has better lighting, or that the sun is already rising.
Some of the terminals look heavily damaged, and you choose one that looks relatively unscathed and is sitting off to the side. Your luck can only hold for so long, you'd rather avoid the possibility of being spotted by any passerby. You plug the automated extractor you had been given for the assignment into the port on the side of the terminal. The lack of dust on the keyboard indicates someone has been using it recently, which is a good sign. As long as the terminal is still connected to the network, the extraction device should be able to hunt down any accessed files under the targeted parameters. The device doesn't eject after the first ten seconds, which means this terminal is almost certainly the access point you were looking for.
Something keeps you from glancing towards the exit. You really should because someone could walk in at any moment. You don't.
The minutes pass by in a blur, and sooner than you expected, the device has copied over the essential data and disengages automatically. You pocket the device. Something feels off, and you have the feeling that you need to get out of here immediately.
You turn towards the exit, and your bloodpusher nearly stops at the sight of a troll standing in the doorway. Your first instinct is to attack, to knock them out of the way and make a run for it. You cannot move. Some force holds your muscles in place with an iron grip.
You try to say something, anything, but you choke on your words because your tongue isn't being cooperative. Your excuses come out as an incoherent groan. Your vision blurs, and you lurch as the room seems to spin.
The grip on your mind slackens a bit, and you regain your balance. The figure in front of you resolves itself with more clarity, and you can see now that it's the cerulean who had led you here. You now recognize the feeling of the mind control detaching from your thinkpan, though not enough to return freedom of movement. Though your mind is still hazy from the intrusion, you are able to put the pieces together.
There were rumors that a powerful highblood calling themselves "Mindfang" recently gained control of every smuggling operation in the region. Some of the intel also suggested this highblood was also a powerful psionic, and you had hardly believed that until this moment.
"You...you're the psionic they're looking for, aren't you? The one that ... " Too late, you realize your slipup and try to backtrack. "I mean, that's what I've heard anyways, not that I would know anything about any investigation. It's all just hearsay, and I really have no interest in your affairs."
Before you can stammer out more assurances, a psychic tug shuts your jaw.
"Oh shut up, I already know you're the spy they sent." Her voice is soft and smooth, and spiked with irritation. She sounds almost bored, and that makes you wary.
"Did you really think I wouldn't catch wind of your clumsy snooping after all this time? I honestly can't believe the Imperials saw fit to send someone of this ineptitude to deal with my cunning operation, and an indigo for that matter." She steps out from under the doorframe, and you find yourself coming forward to meet her. "You couldn't have been more obvious if you'd announced yourself a spy upon stepping through the city gates!"
She seems to ponder for a moment. "Then again, they probably wouldn't trust anyone lower with infiltration work. Can't say I'm surprised in the least."
She speaks slowly, languidly drawing out her words like she's savoring this moment of complete domination. "You know, I should kill you right now. My plans have no chance of failure, but I am not so stupid as to leave loose ends."
Inwardly, you panic. You try to dispel the psionic tendrils that are still clawing into your thinkpan, to no avail. She's standing right in front of you, and if you could just break free you could smash her skull. Unfortunately, your great strength meant nothing if you couldn't move a muscle in defense.
Her eyes roam over you in close scrutiny, and the corner of her lips twitches upwards. "This time, though, I'm willing to negotiate an exchange." Some part of you feels relief knowing that you might have a chance of surviving this. You hardly notice, because the way she looks at you, like a predator eying fresh kill, makes your skin prickle. She hasn't yet stipulated the terms of her bargain, but you already have an inkling of what it might be.
Some back part of your mind notes that she could completely subdue you any time, and probably just wants to watch you struggle. Getting off on it, in fact. Her bulge is already erect and tenting the front of her clothes. "As a matter of fact," she purrs, "I'm feeling rather generous today. If you're any good, I'll even let you keep the data." She grips your thinkpan a little tighter, and you drop to your knees. "Maybe the Imperials will finally step up their game, that should make things more fun for me".
Now she steps right in front of you, her own bulge peeking out and level with your face. On impulse, you take her into your mouth, dragging your tongue across the smooth underside. She grips your unbroken horn with one hand, stroking roughly at the base with her thumb, and her other hand grabs at your hair. You hardly register the slight pain, so preoccupied you are with the pleasurable sensations radiating from your hornbed.
She's withdrawn her psionics from your head entirely, but you don't stop. You tell yourself you're doing this out of necessity, that she would stop you before you could land a hit. It's harder to believe when your own bulge is starting to unsheathe.
As you bob your head vigorously, your hands wander to her wet nook. You slip two fingers inside and brush against her shame globes, and she hitches her breath. Her bulge is already dripping small spurts of precum down your throat, and you think she's close. At this point you're practically drooling around her bulge, and your saliva drips down your chin. Without warning, she abruptly retracts from your mouth. Copious sweat drips down your arms, despite the slight chill of the room.
She eyes you, disgust evident in her expression. "Fuck, you really want this, don't you? I didn't even have to force you this time!" Your bloodpusher clenches, and a wave of intense shame floods over you. You don't have any choice but to pleasure her, but that doesn't change the fact that you were enjoying yourself. Even though on some level you were aware of your complicity, having the accusation thrown at you still stung. Nonetheless, the pleasure pooling in your groin doesn't abate, and you put up no resistance as she pushes you upright and against the wall behind you.
She pulls your pants down, exposing your now fully erect bulge and swollen nook. She strokes her hand along your swollen length, and your knees nearly buckle from the sensation. Sensing your overreaction, she diverts her attention to your dripping nook, sticking one, then two fingers inside, and pumping them in and out. You grind against her hand, and once again she pulls out just as you get a rhythm going.
She leans in against your larger frame, holding her bulge in one hand. A mental prod pushes your legs apart, and she slowly guides her bulge into your slick opening. You're not accustomed getting penetrated this way, and your breathe involuntarily hitches at her unexpected girth. Her bulge is still wet with your saliva, and slides in easily. The raw sensation of her length inside you leaves you panting as she buries herself in you, up to the hilt, then slowly begins thrusting. Through the haze of lust clouding your mind, you can faintly hear her breathy rambling.
"Nnnngggh, you're so fucking tight." She grips your arms, pinning them against the wall. You could easily break free, tear her limbs right off. She's bulge deep in you right now, too busy fucking you to keep more than a cursory restraint on your mind. It would be the easiest thing to kill her, but you don't.
"You're such a good little pailslut, so tight and wet! You'll do anything I say, won't you?" Her claws are drawing blood where they dig into your sides, but you hardly notice the pain through the building euphoria.
Her bulge is starting to swell inside you, and you stop paying attention to her nonsense because you're so close. She pounds into you even faster, and each thrust presses against your shame globes and sends pleasure shooting up your spine and flooding your thinkpan. After another hard thrust, you feel a swelling that travels from the base of her bulge to the tip, and bursts inside you. There's a sudden pressure on your gene bladder, and it tips you right over the edge. Your groin pulses with waves of pleasure.
Your own bulge, barely touched, splatters copious geneslime across the front of her dress. Your nook clenches around her, milking her bulge as it continues to dribble her seed in quick spurts. Your gene bladder feels so full, and when she finally pulls her flaccid member out, some of her genetic material gushes out, dripping down your legs in small rivulets to pool at your feet. Already your bulge is starting to retract, and your groin feels like it's on fire.
You lean against the wall for support still. It's all you can do to remain standing with the way your legs are shaking. You feel colder now, with how covered in sweat and genetic material you are. There's a sickly sweet buzz at the back of your head, almost overwhelming. She's already composed herself, and looks only slightly disheveled from your coupling. You suddenly feel exposed and vulnerable at your partial nudity, even more than before, so you hurriedly put your pants back on.
A sudden bout of drowsiness hits you.
"Well, that was fun and all, but I really need to get going. Tell the Imperials I wish them the best of luck!"
With that, you fall unceremoniously to the floor.
***
When you regain consciousness, she's vanished and left you alone in the terminal room, and your head aches from hitting the ground. You check your pocket for the device, and you're so relieved you nearly burst into tears when you find it right where you last put it. At the very least, you didn't just debase yourself for nothing.
***
Hours later, you're lying in thin, diluted sopor, and trying your best to forget all of today and fall asleep.
As soon as you had returned to the room you rented out, you had stripped off your sodden garments and ducked into the tiny ablution block tucked in the back behind a thin metal partition.
The ceiling was low enough to scrape the tip of your one good horn, and you could hardly turn around without knocking into one of the walls, but you sorely needed a shower. The slightly warm water hurt your assorted injuries, made them bleed again. You were glad for the pain, and you let it occupy your mind. You didn't think about today, because the humiliation hurt worse. You stood in the tepid spray for a long time staring at nothing, until the water ran cold.
Later, you reported your success in retrieving the files. There's too much risk in sending them over the connection, so they're letting you withdraw from the city so that you can deliver the data in person.
You'll be departing tomorrow at moonrise. It'll probably be hell getting up that early, given how little sleep you get in this place. The pattern seems to be holding even today, despite just how exhausted you are. After they see the data, they'll hopefully put you back on the frontlines where you should be.
You just can't wait to put this all behind you.