Breaking Benjamin (NSFW, 18+)

That certainly gets her attention, and she sits up a little straighter, turning to look at him... smiling with what seems to be genuine affection. "..mmmh. How long have you been awake? You were.. " She yawns. "Asleep when I got home."

She pushes herself up, rubbing away a smudge of makeup still on her cheek, grabs the bag and walks over, rummaging through it.

 

He reddens, looking down. It would be easier in some ways if she were just a monster, out to torture him and have her fun. He could just be angry, and not weirdly grateful when she shows some mercy or affection. She still kidnapped him! She's a dangerous lunatic who literally has him strapped to a medieval torture device next to a hungry zombie!

It's been a long time since he's been in this much contact with another person. Grocery store cashiers don't count.

He squirms uncomfortably. "Not... Not that long. I... If I promise not to run, will you let me down?"

 

She starts setting out what looks like simple-to consume breakfast foods, along with a large water bottle. "Why would I let you down?"

She carefully uncaps the bottle and slides in a large bendy straw, which she nudges at his lips. "And even if you did run, you're not getting out."

 

He reddens still further, mumbling under his breath. "... look, if you were watching me, you know how much coffee I had while I was finishing your work."

It's been a full day, he has... has things to take care of.

It's a weird, uncomfortable feeling, being hand-fed. He takes a drink obediently, watching her nervously.

"... I know. You can summon fucking fishhooks out of mid-air, and I bet that door's locked and barred. I... I don't want to give you an excuse to spear my eyeballs for fishbait, okay? I just..."

 

"....right. Right." She pauses, then shoves the food in the bag, setting the water to one side. "I usually have people handling that."

"I suppose that's fine. I don't want you to injure yourself!" She idly pets his hair. "But I'm not leaving you alone."

 

He shivers at her touch. He's almost getting used to how it feels, and that scares him. "... I know," he whispers.

He has a feeling that he's not going to be alone and unbound much. Not unless she lets him go, and that ... that doesn't seem likely at all.

"... whatever you want."

 

She loosens the cuffs on his ankles, then his wrists, stowing the food and water, then catches one of his hands. "Move slowly. Your legs are likely asleep."

 

He stumbles, almost falling as he tries to get up. "Shit..."

They're definitely asleep. He feels like a limp noodle, slowly moving to sit up as he waits for his circulation to return.

He swallows, looking over at the zombie man nervously, from his better vantage point. "... Is... Is he like you?" he asks softly.

Is she going to feed Ben to him? Or... make him like them?

 

She settles a hand on his lower back, watching him with sharp eyes. "No. He's a failure. A disappointing experiment."

She glares at the body. "...I've streamlined the process. It will nor occur again.:

 

He hesitates, swallowing hard. "... ... The body? Or the ghost inside him?"

He rises slowly, wincing as his muscles complain.

"... You're going to do that to me." It's not really a question, just an exhausted, panicked statement. He... He can't stop her, and they both know it.

 

"The body," She confirms. "Yosef is not a failure."

Her fingers tighten on Benjamin's arm. "He deserved better than he got, and I'm going to ensure he gets it. Stand up," she snaps.

 

Benjamin cringes and obeys, trying to stave off another anxiety attack. He stumbles, still clearly unsteady on his feet. "I'm sorry. Sorry."

She wants to do that to him, put a dead man inside him, as his flesh and mind slowly putrefy and rot away. Keep him here on the table until his body gives out, and then dump him like trash.

His breath catches in a stifled whimper, hands clenched into fists. This is insane.

 

She holds him up with a rough grip on his arm, the other curling tight around his waist. "We'll see about that."

She pulls him towards a corridor he didn't see before, small and dark.

 

He jerks at her touch, trying abortively to pull away. It's startling, and it makes him feel pinned, trapped, surrounded. He bites his lip hard, until it bleeds, his breathing harsh and ragged as he clings to control.

 

She pulls harder, dragging him close to her side, leading him to the hall even if she has to half-drag him, her boots echoing loud on the concrete as they enter. "If I let you go on your own, never go further than this door. You won't like what happens or your punishment for disobedience. Understand?"

She shoves the bathroom door open with one foot. It's. Not as cramped as expected, and the bathtub is surprisingly sizable. It's. Nice?

She sniffs him, then grimaces.

"Might as well clean you up while we're at it."

There are no windows, only a light that cays a slightly bluish tinge - is surprisingly comforting. More natural than the harsher lights in the dungeon itself.

 

"Fishhooks," he says softly. "I don't... I don't want to piss you off. I'm not some kind of Rambo."

He swallows hard, looking at the ground. He'll take care of things if he's allowed, flushed beet red with embarrassment. Then... Then he'll start to undress, looking at her for approval through his lashes.

It's not a sexy striptease. He wouldn't know how to do one, even to save his life, and the blue light emphasizes the paleness of his skin, the dark shadows under his eyes.

"... I'm not going to disobey you."

 

She smiles wide, watching his movements with dark eyes, not giving him any hint of modesty. Why should she, anyway?

It isn't as though it would change a damn thing. He's hers.

And he has no idea how far the rabbit hole goes.

She waits until his clothes are on the floor before she steps forwards, one hand settling on his hip as the other raises to gently brush his cheek. He feels the faintest touch of metal between her fingers, teasing his skin.

"Oh, if you think my little hooks are the worst I can do..." She chuckles, then nips his lower lip. "Then I really do look like far nicer a person than I am."

 

It takes him a moment to recognize the hook; it's as icy-cold as her fingers, but hard, damp, in a way they aren't. She could turn that hook and rip right through his face, with no effort at all. He can't quite suppress a moan, as his body starts to... to react, both to the proximity and the threat.

"... I know," he whispers. "You're terrifying."

Why the fuck does that get him hard?

 

She presses him back against the counter, jeans grinding against his hips as she laughs into his mouth. "Nice of you to notice."

The hand on his hip shifts position, gropes him, a firm grip on his shaft and a slight tug. "Just remember. Compliments won't get you everywhere."

The hooks press just a little harder against his flesh, and she watches him, eyes glinting with malicious glee. "But they're very, very encouraged."

 

The denim of her jeans is rough, just shy of painful on his skin, as she pins him and takes control. His hands grip the edge of the counter, white-knuckled. "F... fuck..."

His eyes flutter shut, lips parted. "You're so... so intense..."

"... Are you going to cut me up with those?" The idea of pain doesn't get him off, but being marked, helpless, claimed in a way he has no control over... He whimpers slightly, holding very still.