baals | for drunk

for drunk_ish

It wasn't easy to establish himself in an entirely different galaxy. He spent years simply learning of the worlds, factions, languages and cultures. It was dull work but important if he was to be successful. This galaxy was already at war when he found himself marooned here. War breeds opportunity.

Near the war's end, he took his opportunity. He started out in the distant planets, furthest from the New Republic's reach. The planet he chose to make his home still had some Empire holdouts clinging desperately to power. They were quickly dealt with with an added bonus of gaining the praise and trust of this little world. In turn, he urged them to govern themselves but he would gladly solve disputes and offer advice. On the surface, his new little world ran itself. Under the surface he controlled everything else. Call it the cleanest criminal empire.

He receded from view, becoming more of a story. It's oh so easy to construct a Godly persona after all. He began posing as he own right hand man. 'Ba'al' was rarely seen and often cloaked. Meanwhile, Mister Haddad saw to running things.

Today, Mister Haddad is over-seeing the running of one of the higher class bars. He's there because of reports of a rival crime faction attempting to horn in. Sending their men in to cause disturbances and damage.

He mingles with the patrons, subtly keeping watch. Keeping an air of important but not too important about himself.

If they try something today, he's ready to sent a message.

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Ba'al toys with the cord and taking his sweet time with pulling them out. He does consider pulling them all at once but he's not quite sure Sinjir's body can take it. Perhaps after he knows his body better.

He tightens his arm around him, to still Sinjir's not-really struggles. He allows his true strength to be felt, rather, enough to let Sinjir feel he's uncommonly strong for his frame.

A firm tug to pull out the first of the over-sized beads. "Breathe," Ba'al reminds him before meticulously pulling them out of him one by one.

The needy sounds he makes get higher and breathier, rhythmic; he clutches hard at Ba'al, and then, somehow, unexpectedly, his hips snap up and he comes again, hard, the muscle shivers pushing the largest one the rest of the way out.

The climax feels like a full-body impact more than a buildup of pleasure, and leaves him feeling weak as a kitten. He twists his head to the side and buries the whimpering sound against Ba'al's neck, rough with the stubble of his beard.

The others draw out of him easier, leave him tensing and gasping for breath, but he's too pliant for it to be difficult.

Admittedly, Ba'al is surprised Sinjir came with such force. He hadn't anticipated that strong of a response. It's a nice surprise and one that makes him chuckle warmly. "Quite the impressive response," he says in praise.

Curiously, Ba'al's fingers drift to Sinjir's ass. He lightly touches the stretched muscles. Along with simply enjoying touching him, he's also checking for any broken skin.

"I don't usually allow those I've only recently met to feel me but, for you, I'll make an exception." He's far harder than he'd thought he'd be, a pleasant surprise in itself. "Provided you're still interested," Ba'al adds, part joke part just liking to hear someone wants him to fuck them.

The sound that Sinjir makes is weak, enough like a little mewl that it's going to probably embarrass him later. Right now, he's a little too knocked flat to be embarrassed by much of anything. A few minutes; give him a few minutes, and he'll be back to something resembling coherence.

Oh, he's going to be sore after this. Unless Ba'al's little device fixes soreness, too...? Probably does. Great sex, no physical consequences.

He's still trying to catch his breath.

"Yes," he exhales.

Sinjir seems pliant enough in this state that Ba'al shifts him and himself into a better position. He props himself up against the headboard then pulls Sinjir into his lap. There's a hiss of breath from Ba'al when he frees his erection, still remaining clothed. He draws in a breath then slowly releases it as he presses himself into Sinjir.

For a second, his mind is blissfully silent and clear. As is his host's. Just sensation.

"I would like to keep you," he says against the back of Sinjir's neck.

He's reminded of Ba'al's strength, again; Sinjir can't do much to assist him with the movement, though he's not dead weight. He can move; just, when he tries to hold himself up, his muscles tremble.

But he settles back, slow arc of his spine molding to the way Ba'al holds him. Ba'al enters him, and Sinjir surprises himself by not being completely slick and loose, but by still having some tightness left in him. Either that or Ba'al is larger than Sinjir would have thought.

He surprises himself one other way, too: the feeling of being penetrated by someone, not something, makes his body do its best to stir with renewed arousal, makes his heart pound. His thighs are spread, straddling Ba'al's, his cock half-erect and wet and still penetrated by the heavy sound that feels like it pierces to the core of him. Sinjir, naked, and Ba'al clothed, and Sinjir deliciously used, and coddled, and kept.

A moan escapes him, and his hips twitch down, driving Ba'al deeper. Ba'al wants to keep Sinjir -- Sinjir wants to be kept. A hissed in gasp -- he can't actually get hard again so soon, not without -- "The device," he breathes. "Again?" He will plead, if that's what Ba'al wants. Or he will relent and be used, without his own pleasure. He wouldn't object to that either.

Of course, Ba'al's ego would like to believe he is very large, whether that's true or not Sinjir might find out later. Considering how much he's grown on Ba'al that seems very lightly.

A little choked sound comes out of Ba'al when Sinjir twitches his hips. Despite his desire to be in control, it's the little things that he can't control that get to him. He bucks his hips sharply in response and as a not-subtle-at-all signal that he liked that.

"Of course," he says as if he was merely waiting for Sinjir to suggest it. He encourages Sinjir to spread is his legs further apart with one hand running on the inside of his thigh. His other arm he loops under Sinjir's leg, pushing it up so he can get a better angle. The device hums to life seconds later, glowing brightly. He could have let it do a slow build-up but... this is more fun. Especially when he rocks his hips to grind against his prostate right as the device activates. He turns it off, he hopes, before Sinjir ends up coming again. But if he misjudged the timing, he'll just have to keep the device on and bring him back up slowly this time.

Sinjir, for a good three seconds afterwards, is pretty sure that he's swallowed his tongue. The way he so thoroughly choked was probably the only thing that kept him from screaming at the sensation, which was akin to.... no, there was nothing that was akin to. He'd felt like half his body was set on fire, but in a good way.

He breathes in like he's fallen thirty meters and got the breath knocked out of him on impact -- deep and shuddering breathing, trailing off into whimpering. It takes him another ten seconds or so to determine that he didn't, in fact, come from that stimulation, though it was a near thing. No, he's hard as durasteel and so very ready to keep going.

His vision is thoroughly blurry, and for a moment Sinjir is pretty sure it knocked his cornea out of whack, but then he blinks and feels tears spill over. Tears of sensation, not of sadness or pain. Good tears.

"Bastard," he curses, at Ba'al.

While Ba'al didn't completely stop fucking him, he did slow down so he could enjoy Sinjir's reactions. "This was your wish," Ba'al reminds him against his ear, with some amusement in his voice. He's actually a little breathless, not that he would admit he almost came just then.

"You perform quite well," he adds in praise while grinding his hips against him. "Perhaps..." he wonders aloud. His fingers drifting to Sinjir's cock. He lightly plays his fingers over the trapped flesh. "You should be allowed the rare honor of penetrating me." His own dick twitches within Sinjir at the idea.

Sinjir's started to get used to the sensation of having his cock penetrated by the sound. In fact, it feels a little like it's always been that way, that he's always been stretched and wrapped tight, pierced to the root of him.

Ba'al grinds against him, a slight shift in angle, and this makes him feel -- it's not the reality, he knows, there's long centimeters separating them -- but it makes him feel like Ba'al's cock is grinding right into the base of the sound, his prostate crushed between. It makes him sort of convulse, and he lets out a sob of sensation. Gods, any one of these sensations would have been enough for a truly memorable kinky encounter, but Ba'al has expertly layered them on top of one another, until Sinjir is an absolute mess.

He manages to breathe. And, of course, as soon as he has even a fraction of the breath necessary, he taunts the man who currently is inside him, who is stronger than him and who has control of the room's healing device, who holds all of Sinjir's potential pleasures in his hand like strings.

"You," manages Sinjir, sing-song, "liiiiike me. You like me," and, stars, Sinjir is an idiot, but idiocy is fun and maybe Ba'al will punish him for it. That would be nice.

Sinjir is lucky Ba'al finds that amusing and they're behind closed doors. It crosses his mind to threaten to kill him but there's no reason to. He knew he'd run his mouth the whole time.

Ba'al actually chuckles a little. "I do," he admits. "Keep my attention and that will not change." He shifts, putting his hands on Sinjir's hips so he shifts with him, and pushes him forward on the bed. Then he really starts to fuck him. He had planned just to sit back and leisurely fuck him but the sing-song gloating deserves a response. He let's go of holding anything back and aggressively pounds into him. His focus clearly shifted to what feels good to him and getting his own gratification. He starts to growl with each thrust, pushing in hard and deep then drawing back slow.

Sinjir half-wishes that he'd been more open to gags. If he were gagged, right now, he could scream, he could moan, he could make all the noise that he truly, honestly wants to make, and it would be held back. It would be restrained. It would be easier.

But the fact that there's no gag isn't going to stop him. He's just too far gone for that. Something just breaks, breaks through, and the first couple hard thrusts earn a shout. Then he's -- he's moaning, giving little yelps and jagged cries, overwhelmed and pinned open and used, hands moving up to brace himself. It's good, it's so good.

It's a good thing Ba'al finds all the noise Sinjir is making extremely gratifying. The sounds he makes seem almost a whisper in comparison. He really begins to lean all his weight into him as he gets close. When he finally comes, his entire body shudders with it. He grips Sinjir's hips forcefully, keeping them locked together until he finishes.

He eases off a few moments later and rolls Sinjir over. His hands go to the device still locked over his dick. He begins to remove it but leaves the rod for last. That he wants toy with. He has a half second of considering removing it with his mouth but he'll save that for another time. Instead he draws it back for a few short thrusts before slowly, very slowly, letting it glide free.

Sinjir is high, drunk on Ba'al's pleasure. Feels almost as good as another climax himself, the rush of heat inside him, as he takes it, takes all of it. He is marked, he thinks, dizzily; Ba'al has marked him, in some more-than-physical way.

He's still so, so hard when Ba'al touches the device, and he twitches up, gasping sharp. He's nonverbal, stretched out so far he could snap, every muscle in his body wrung out halfway to exhaustion. He's trembling; he half-curls, whimpering as Ba'al draws back the rod, sinks it back in, draws it out. It glides free wet, leaving a long string of semen that breaks, dripping back onto Sinjir's cock, his belly. He shudders, settling back down, breathing sharp.

"I need," he tries, and he shifts up, reaching out to Ba'al. Hooks his fingers around Ba'al's neck and kisses him, shaky but slow and wet and deep. "I need," he breathes, "I don't know," uncertain, cutting himself off with another desperate, aching kiss. If he was trying, he could resist torture forever, but here, he's let himself be broken. He shouldn't have, but he did.

The kiss was a little unexpected, if only because he expected Sinjir to be too out of it to initiate anything. Ba'al's content to let Sinjir lead the kiss. After all being too forceful in return could accidentally break Sinjir in the wrong ways. He's not a hundred percent certain where his most fragile pieces are.

"Hm, well, do tell me when you think of it," Ba'al says between kisses. As tempting as it is to keep going right there, he does pull away after a minute. "You need to be cleaned up. There's a bath chamber. Get up or I'll carry you. I don't care which."
The attached bath chamber is mostly tub but it has everything of a proper bathroom. And yes, he would pick up Sinjir, throw him over his shoulder then dump him in the tub.

"No," he mumbles, not really objecting to the bath in particular, but the idea of movement or effort in general. He pulls Ba'al back down, and just lingers in the kiss, just breathes with it. Slow goosebumps rising on his skin, sweat starting to dry and chill.

Ba'al puts on a sigh, like this is truly the most taxing thing ever to be asked of him. "You will need to clean up eventually," he points out but lays back down all the same. He has no aversion to cuddling though it does contrast with his whole terrifying crime lord persona. Regardless, he sinks back into kissing and eventually moves his mouth to Sinjir's neck.

Sinjir still hungers, but it's in a different way, marrow-deep, skin-stripped, raw. He half wishes that Ba'al would leave him used and dripping, just whisper filthy things to him and leave him broken. Half-wishes, too, that Ba'al would keep on like this, slow touches, fingertips skimming along the skin as Sinjir hums in soft pleasure. Imagines sinking down on Ba'al in the bath, curling half-asleep and fuzzy as Ba'al's hands take care of him. He breathes soft sounds, and touches back, lazy and blind and hungry at the same time, reading Ba'al's jaw line and collarbone and the curve of his shoulder through Sinjir's fingertips.

If Ba'al felt more secure about Sinjir, he would be fine with relaxing further and even falling asleep tangled up with him. He just can't shut off the part of him that is certain of betrayal. But he can pretend for a time.

Eventually, he pulls away. "Stay there if you like, I will return shortly." He heads off to the adjoined bath area. He'll clean himself up, take a minute to rethink his choices. Was that enjoyable, yes. Was it dangerous, yes. He just hopes he won't have to permanently kill Sinjir. Such a waste.

Unless Sinjir happened to follow him, he returns with a wet cloth.

Nope. Sinjir is half-dead, and he'll be that way for a little while longer. With a supreme effort of will, he could probably get up off the bed. But there's no reason to, and he actually feels sort of obscurely safe, despite the fact that Ba'al could have him killed.

Ba'al won't have him killed.

Probably.

Ba'al did not have him killed. Nor did he kill him himself. If he did kill him, he would have brought him back... but that's a little too much information for Sinjir to have.

It's better if no one is aware of his sarcophagus.

It's better if he's considered a somewhat exotic alien with technology on par with the fallen Empire and virgin New Republic. And at best considered 'force sensitive.'

Regardless, Sinjir is allowed to leave. Ba'al is confidant he will know very quickly if Sinjir decides to betray him.

Should Sinjir return, he'll be allowed passage into the living quarters if he tries to get back there. With the exception of areas containing goa'uld technology.

Sinjir does come back. The first time, he sort of sidles in, embarrassed, unsure of his welcome. If he'd just needed this a little less, he'd've come in much more cocksure, but the sheer depths to which he wants Ba'al to hurt him -- it just has him really off-balance. Being turned away would be beyond humiliating.

Which is why he decides to play up the bravado, a bit, when Ba'al enters.

"Got you something," says Sinjir, and he tosses, at Ba'al, a tight bundle of chain. It's cuffs -- four sets, actually, for throat, wrists, ankles, and cock, with a variable length of chain. Anything can be attached or detached from anywhere along the length of it, and it locks by activation of a magnetic key. Too strong for a human to pull apart.

And, because it's made for exactly this type of play: it will come undone on verbal invocation of a programmed safeword. But, bar that, it would take rather a bit of effort for Sinjir to get out of those.

In addition: they're gold (all the better to match against Sinjir's skin tone), subtly jeweled (decoration, without being overly gaudy, because he has this feeling that Ba'al likes things being decorated), and the edges are all blunted, with a bit of careful padding worked in. Not enough to make the cuffs completely comfortable to wear, but enough that there wouldn't be any real damage.

He picked these out quite carefully, and he had to dodge Temmin for like three hours while he did it, so he really hopes Ba'al appreciates the effort.

With surprisingly fast reflexes, Ba'al catches the bundle. He looks at it skeptically for a moment. "I presume, this is intended for you to wear and not myself," he says in a sort-of joke. He watches Sinjir for a reaction before inspecting the chains further.

He tries to put on the look of mild interest to cover the more intense calculation over it. What it is, the craftsmanship, the ornamentation and just why is Sinjir giving it to him. Well, aside from his ego. If it's something he'll like, there must obviously be some sort of catch to it.

"You expect something in return," he states. "This is too... exquisite to be a mere gift. Unless you have found yourself in sudden possession of wealth."

"Well, if you'd like to wear it..."

That's not what Sinjir came here for, but he'd be lying if he said he'd turn it down. He gives Ba'al a cocky, flirty grin.

"We-ell," he says, "I track down a lot of people, in my day job. And sometimes they have a lot of credits. And sometimes all of those credits don't get reported." This is true; however, all of those unreported credits have gone to Jas.

Sinjir has nothing to spend his money on, though. He gets food and shelter and, often, alcohol. Weapons. What does he want with fripperies?

Except this frippery is pretty nice.

"While it is temping, it would require an amount of trust I've yet to find anyone worthy to give," Ba'al says in a dismissive tone. He just doesn't trust anyone to hold that sort of control over him. Not right now, anyway.

Ba'al eyes him skeptically as he explains where the money comes from. "That doesn't explain what you expect in return," he presses. While he would just like to hear Sinjir say it - he's not a hundred percent convinced this is a recreational visit. Sinjir is too cunning to take at face value.

for drunk_ish

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