Warning: This scene is dark. It hits hard and fast. It is completely gratuitous. Unapologetic. It involves a version of Liara that some people may have difficulty imagining. She is not the fluffy, happy character that appears in most fanfic. However, in my mind she remains a loving, brilliant, forgiving woman. As it is merely a scene, I do not spend a lot of time explaining why she behaves the way she does. I will leave it up to you, dear readers, to imagine the details on your own, should you choose to read on.
Brokering in Shadows
by owelpost
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Fear rounds brown eyes.
The Shadow Broker hides her excitement, the trembling of her fingers, by snapping the rope taut. The way the human's eyes lock on the cord sends a thrill through her. She advances and the woman shrinks back, struggling against her temporary bonds.
The human has been stripped down to a white tank and a pair of thin panties; the fabric of both indecent. She's been hosed down. Cold water drips from the ends of her hair, over her goose-fleshed arms, and slithers down the inside of her thighs to gather in puddles at her bare feet. In the wicked candlelight, the woman's breasts strain against the shirt in the absence of a bra, nipples hard.
Her captive contests her bonds, biceps popping. She's never been the combative type, but she's fit enough that her muscles are delicately defined. Liara's breath catches in her throat. She grasps the rope tightly in one hand, pulls the loose end with the other, burning her unprotected palm to regain her composure. The broker has removed her gloves; there's nothing like the silken feel of a human's skin when it's slick from terror.
"This can all end. You just have to say the word." She stalks forward.
Liara sees a familiar glimmer of trust swiftly masked as the captive lifts her chin, narrows her eyes in defiance. "I don't have the information you want."
She slaps the human—her head rocks to the side, damp, shoulder-length brown hair swinging to cover her face. She remains that way, slumping limply from bonded wrists fastened to large metal loops embedded in the wall. Liara knows the fight has not left her. The woman will save acts of defiance to strategically needle her tormentor at more propitious moments. Liara finds the challenge exquisite.
Forcing herself to put the rope down next to the bundle of implements on her work table, she avoids the softly glowing candles in their classical, yet elegant holders. She picks up the shiny metal tags that the captive had, until recently, dutifully worn beneath her clothing, before running her free hand along the beveled edge of the table. It is plain and smooth, made of stone sculpted to her exacting standards. During her first tour on the Normandy, Liara had little control over the things that had shaped her life. That changed after she assumed the role of the Shadow Broker. She sharpened herself into an appalling tool, adept at little else but extracting information. She had controlled everything she could. Her surroundings and décor being the easiest of all, including the goddess-damned creation of a work-table that could easily be cleaned to eliminate all traces of her… unusual proclivities.
Liara turns back to the woman. The human has raised her head and is now watching her, expression cautiously vacant. Liara lets the chain slither slowly through her fingers until the tags dangle from her fist. They jingle against one another, competing with the captive's erratic breathing to become the dominant sound in the room.
"You are a consummate actress, I will give you that." It is true; the game they play requires a script to be followed with infallible precision. "But I do not believe you." Liara moves closer. Close enough to slip the chain back over her captive's head. She positions the tags in the valley between her breasts. She hooks a finger through the chain, and stares into beautiful brown eyes as she recites what the metal revealed from memory.
"Traynor, Samantha. 577-43-6438. O-positive. No preference."
The human snorts derisively. "Really definitive detective work."
A smile curves Liara's lips. She makes a fist around the chain and slides it up, causing it to constrict against the human's throat. Traynor lets out a strangled noise. Her eyes widen, her cheeks flush. Liara leans in, letting her breath play over the woman's nose and mouth, a reminder of the basic freedom she no longer possesses.
"Human folklore puts great value on names," Liara whispers. She drops the chain. Samantha gulps air. Were her hands free, they would be about her throat, gingerly touching the stark red line that limns it. "And you clearly have no idea who you are dealing with."
Samantha's eyes, and the subtle, thrilled hitch in her breathing, betray her. "I have my suspicions," the human murmurs.
"Let us just say I am in the information extraction business and I am very good at what I do. Would you like to know what I discovered about you after some meticulous investigation?"
The human remains silent, her chest rising and falling with every ragged breath. Liara grabs her captive's wrist, just under the rope cuff, then settles her weight against the human, pressing her against the cold stone wall. The fingertips of her free hand skip down the human's curves to her hip, toying with the damp band of material around her waist.
"I have to admit, the videos were well hidden and your encryption algorithms are among the best I've ever had the pleasure of cracking…" Liara presses the heel of her palm between Traynor's legs, relishes the way the human tries, unsuccessfully, to jerk away. She slips beneath the fabric, moves her lips against the human's ear. "But eventually I found out what you did with the councilor's daughter."
Liara dips the tip of her forefinger into the human.
"Stop, please…" Traynor's voice trembles, her body writhes. The movement facilitates further penetration. The human gasps.
"Give me the information," Liara whispers.
Her captive is inexplicably emboldened. She smiles rebelliously, using what little leverage she has to raise herself up, only to press gradually down on Liara again. "No," she says, never taking her eyes off her tormentor.
Liara's finger is slick when she withdraws it. Evidently she's going to have to change her tactics. She could use her biotics to truss the human, but she finds that they generally have greater fear of more… physical bindings.
Releasing Traynor from the ropes binding her wrists, the human drops to her knees, legs too weak to support her weight. Liara squats down next to her, grabs her by the throat, and presses her thumb into the hollow there. Traynor's head tilts back, fear dancing carnally in her eyes.
"Take off your shirt," she commands. The woman remains motionless. "Now."
Traynor flinches, her hands going to the hem of her tank. She pulls it up. Slowly. Liara lets her go, inhaling sharply at the excruciating revelation of glistening, caramel skin, accented in the shadowy candle light. Just as the human drops the garment to the floor, Liara is on her again. She grabs the back of Traynor's neck and quickly rises, pushing the human's head down as she does so. She drags her captive across the floor to dump her, face-down, next to the table.
She takes her rope from the table. The hemp had once been abrasive and hard, but she painstakingly prepared it by knotting the ends, simmering it in water for several hours before drying and finally oiling it to its current softened state. Even the unique scent of the cord is electrifying.
Kneeling next to the human, Liara keeps one knee planted in the small of her back to keep her motionless. Although Traynor seems too stunned to move, Liara swiftly doubles over her length of rope and binds her captive's hands behind her back.
The rope bites deliciously into smooth, dark skin, and Liara's heartbeat accelerates. It took her years to learn the art of rope binding and she takes pleasure in the necessary precision—the beauty of it.
She draws the rope over Traynor's shoulder, under her arm, across her back and around the other arm, finishing over her shoulder once more. When she's done, Liara loops it under the central column of rope down the center of the human's back. She holds her fingers over the woman's bicep, rapidly winds the rope around Traynor's arm and her own fingers twice before jerking them free. She repeats the process with Traynor's other arm, before returning the rope to the center and threading it over several times.
Grasping Traynor by the binding, Liara drags the human over on to her back, this time pushing three fingers against the human's throat. She coils the rope around; once, twice, three times to create a thick hemp collar.
She shifts until she is straddling Traynor's thighs. "Tell me." Liara's voice is honeyed as she stares into the human's wide eyes.
"Fuck you," Traynor spits.
"I believe," Liara asserts, "that I will fuck you instead."
Traynor thrashes wildly, kicking futilely with her legs. "Let me go."
"I told you how to end this."
"I can't!"
"Cannot?" Liara slaps her. Her palm stings from the force of it. "Or do not wish to?"
"Please…"
Liara rises up on her knees, snags the corner of her bundle of implements and yanks it down. It lands on the floor with a metallic clatter. Traynor's no longer kicking. She shivers, failing to hide her anticipation.
Their script always falls apart as they give in to one another's needs.
"Please…" Samantha repeats. She knows Liara loves it when she begs.
Untying the bundle, Liara carefully unrolls it. Tucked in individual pockets is an assortment of interrogation tools: pliers, scalpels, a myriad of knives, even a ball-peen hammer. Her fingertips brush lightly over each one. They're pristine. Props, not toys or tools. Bypassing those, Liara first tugs out a pair of heavy-duty paramedic shears. When she reaches up and drops them on the edge of the table, they ting against the stone. Next she withdraws several cylindrical sections of steel. One end of each has been drilled and tapped. The other end is threaded.
As she screws the sections together, her attention returns to Samantha. The human has drawn her bottom lip between her teeth in an endearing display of uncertainty. Desire thrums low in Liara's core, radiating outward until her skin tingles with need. She resists putting the bar aside to run her hands over the smooth, flat planes of Sam's belly up to perfect breasts that tremble as the human struggles to control her breathing.
Liara closes her eyes as she finishes attaching the cuffs to the end of the bar and finally sets it aside. She takes a steadying breath before climbing off Samantha. She uses her foot to roll the human over, then reaches down and hauls her to her feet. She bends Samantha over the table.
Crouching down again, Liara picks up the spreader bar and attaches one cuff to Samantha's ankle. In quasi insolence, the human shifts her free foot away. Liara pinches her bottom sharply and Sam gasps. Scraping her fingernails down the back of the human's quivering thigh, she forces her to spread her legs wide enough to attach the second cuff.
"From this point two things can happen," Liara says as she rises. "You can talk. Or you can resist. If you talk, I will allow you to leave unscathed."
"I have nothing to say to you."
Liara smiles. She leans forward, pushing her left hand into the human's hair and making a fist. "Are you absolutely certain?"
Sam remains silent.
Taking up the shears, Liara works slowly, methodically, allowing her captive to feel the cold, blunt side of the blade slide against her skin as she clips away the fabric of her panties. The human endures while the last remnant of her dignity is stripped away. Given how hot and wet the garment is when Liara bunches it in her fist before tossing it over her shoulder, Samantha is eager for the humiliation.
Liara begins by gently caressing the soft, beautiful skin of Sam's firm bottom. She follows quickly with a stinging slap. Samantha cries out, her bound hands balling into fists behind her back. Five more harsh slaps ensue. By the last, Sam has learned to control her reaction, although she is covered in sweat, her face turned to the side, her cheek pressed into the smooth tabletop.
Suppressing a white hot flash of desire, Liara nearly comes undone at the confidence underlying Samantha's vulnerability. It's a heady combination.
"Will you tell me what I want to know?" Liara whispers, her voice trembling. She knows what Sam has asked her for, what they have agreed upon. She wants to give her one last out.
"Go to hell," Sam growls.
Liara takes a frayed breath. She reaches beneath the table where she has hooked her rattan cane. She grips it a quarter of the way down. It feels familiar and light in her hand. As a new broker, it was her tool of choice. She is adept at using it to draw out confessions.
Samantha knows better than to ask Liara to use it very often.
Before she can change her mind, Liara steps to the side and swings. The blow lands precisely as it should for minimal damage, maximum pain. Her captive screams and jerks against the table, a long welt immediately appearing across both cheeks. Tears spring to Samantha's eyes and her legs tremble. Liara counts carefully. Twenty seconds. The second blow. Twenty more seconds prior to the third. The final strike angles across all three previous marks. Brown skin blazes white before subsiding to an incensed red. Liara can no longer hear the sounds Sam makes; she hears only the frantic rush of blood in her ears.
Fingers numb, Liara drops the cane. Her captive is hanging off the edge of the table, panting. Trailing her fingers up the inside of Samantha's thigh, Liara's suspicion is confirmed: the woman is drenched. She thrusts three fingers into her. Sam shifts back against her hand with a throaty moan.
"Tell me," Liara demands breathlessly as she spreads her fingers.
Samantha jerks her hips. She tries to ride Liara's hand, but tied up and bent over the table as she is, she can't get any leverage. Stepping forward, Liara puts one leg between Sam's and leans in. She hisses when Liara's pelvis presses into her tender backside. Liara reaches out and splays her fingers over Sam's cheek, forcing her thumb between her lips. The moist heat of Sam's mouth is intoxicating.
She slowly withdraws her fingers from Sam's sex. Her whimpers of frustration strip the remaining shreds of Liara's composure. "I need to hear you say it."
Samantha nips her thumb with her teeth, reminding Liara that discipline is of the utmost importance. Liara bites the inside of her cheek as she slams her fingers back into her captive. Sam receives her with an indelicate grunt. She's so wet that Liara glides easily in an out as she furiously pumps.
Sam's essences thoroughly coat her hand and Liara knows she's close to the edge. She lets go of the human's head, reaching between Sam's legs to run her finger lightly over her sensitive, engorged nub. "Say it," Liara growls into her ear.
"I love you," Sam whispers just before Liara's touch drives her over the edge and she comes violently, muscles clamping around Liara's fingers.
Withdrawing her fingers, Liara kneels at her feet, leans forward and gently kisses each mark she left on Samantha's perfect skin. Working quickly, she releases her ankles from the spreader bar, and then rises to untie the rope. Once her lover is completely unbound, Liara helps her to stand. She turns Samantha to face her. The rope slinks to the ground.
She captures Sam's face between her hands, thumbing away the remaining tears on her cheeks. Liara's own tears threaten to fall, but Sam smiles. It is a smile of satisfaction and adoration that always makes Liara's heart skip a beat.
The gorgeous human shifts up onto her tiptoes and kisses Liara deep and hard.
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Author's Note: Thank you to those of you who helped me with this. This story is a riposte to Corentin IV's "Still Game". If you are interested in more of a back-story for [this interpretation of] Liara\Sam's dynamic, I'd suggest reading that piece. It's intensely powerful and one of my favorites!