for drunk_ish

[baals]

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.

Comments

[drunk_ish]

Sinjir finds he's rather keen on being praised, himself. Feels good to play this kind of game on behalf of something he doesn't hate.

He just smiles. "I'm authorized to propose mutual non-aggression," he says. "The New Republic's sole condition is that the worlds that you claim have some way of choosing, publicly, whether they join the Republic or not."

This was Sinjir's idea -- this condition. Several people strenuously argued against fracturing the Republic, or some other such nonsense. Others made noises about conspiring with criminals.

"So here's hoping you don't rig the decision-making process," he continues. "I wonder -- will you let pride win out, and give it an honest go? Do you want the people there to choose you?"

[baals]

He appears to consider it, as if the decision has weight. It does, just not in the obvious way. He would allow these worlds to honestly choose and he would be fine with them choosing the New Republic. It merely changes his role slightly. Earth has already shown him he'll does well in 'free worlds' and gaining power in different ways. What really brings weight to it is Sinjir himself. He's not sure what he wants to do about that.

"I accept," he says finally. He stands up and looks directly at Sinjir. "I prefer to be truly wanted in all things." he smirks and adds, "If I didn't, I would have taken your clothes along with all your weapons."

[drunk_ish]

Sinjir blinks.

"Just like that?" he asks. "Don't want me to jump through hoops? Provide guarantees? Connect you to a holoconference with Princess Organa?"

Because there are more things he could do. Mostly, those things are practically irrelevant and don't mean anything, but he could do them.

"Though," he admits, additionally, "taking my clothes wouldn't have necessarily meant I didn't want -- things."

Things. Unspecific things.

[baals]

"Provided your story checks out and I am presented with a written agreement. The only guarantees I require is that I may retain some property and resources. Nothing too extreme. It would be nice to have somewhere to live should all my worlds choose the New Republic." He waves a hand, almost dismissively.

"Things." Ba'al echos back in amusement. "Then lets not be coy. I would be delighted to hold you down and send you to the very edge of pain and pleasure until you beg. Perhaps even after you start begging. You would look lovely shivering with need. It's something I can make last hours with ease. One must be truly willing. It's not a quick fuck over a desk."

[drunk_ish]

Everything in Sinjir goes boiling hot in an instant. And that's while he's expecting it. Imagine if Ba'al had sprung this on him cold -- he probably would have combusted. Oh, he is in so much trouble.

He swallows. Takes a couple tries to clear his throat. "Am I prostituting myself for the New Republic?" he asks. "Not that I'm categorically opposed to that set of circumstances, but I would appreciate the clarity."

Sinjir didn't often do submission, as a general rule. And when he did, it was usually to fulfill someone else's desires -- like a particular officer who really wanted someone younger-looking to spank over his knee. Sinjir actually got a little into that. Focus, he admonishes himself. -- The simple fact was that a loyalty officer could not trust themselves to be helpless with anyone. It was too dangerous.

Paranoia runs deep, but he's not in that role anymore. He's a free agent. And this sounds shockingly appealing.

[baals]

Ba'al is perhaps a little too satisfied with that reaction. "It certainly wouldn't hurt matters. As you already have my agreement, consider it more of an optional bonus."

[drunk_ish]

Okay, this is good. This is fine. He's going to uncross his legs because his cock is starting to feel a little uncomfortable. He leans forward.

"Ground rules," he says. "I'm not your pet, or your child, or your droid, so please no explicit invocation of that. No infliction of any damage that would require a bacta tank -- or a bacta tank's equivalent," because he realizes abruptly that there are other ways to heal damage in this galaxy, and that gives an obvious and terrible loophole, "to repair, individually or on the aggregate. If you're tying me up for more than ten minutes at a stretch, I need an easy way out of it, and definitely no gagging or blindfolding while I don't have an easy way out."

He is direct and firm about this. Panic is the emotion least conducive to good sex.

"Safe word is bacta," he says. "Invocation of the safe word at any given time will not have consequences against the New Republic." -- just to assuage a little of his guilty conscience. He doesn't want to be the reason this fails. "And I don't really like messing about with feet. Never got the appeal." A beat. "And no women," he adds. "Nothing against them. Just not even a little interested."

[baals]

Ba'al almost wants to ask if Sinjir was ever referred to as a droid, since he bought it up. He'll content himself with picturing some Imperial Officer calling him a sex-droid and immediately regretting it. In fact, he can't help but think of the situations that led Sinjir to discover his preferences.

They're very Goa'uld like conditions. Almost comforting, in their own way.

"Of course, I ask the same, should I decide to end things prematurely. And I will end things the moment I sense even the slightest threat on my life or other such unfavorable conditions. Second, I expect honesty should I ask after your condition. Do not tell me what you believe I wish to hear."

"Ah, and know that anything I do to you, I've experienced myself. I know how it should feel, hence the importance of honesty."

All his important points made, he clasps his hands behind his back. "We may start whenever you desire. You may also inspect and choose any location within this building - barring public spaces. Take whatever time you need." The room they are currently in connects to a hallway and a series of private rooms. Used as apartment and work-spaces for Ba'al and a few trusted underlings. There is a concealed room, that houses Ba'al's Goa'uld tech and other artifacts. It is something Sinjir could locate the door to but not open. On the off chance he does find it, Ba'al has already decided he would open it if Sinjir asks. He is the slightest bit curious to see his reaction.

[drunk_ish]

Sinjir holds up a hand. "One more thing." And he doesn't really want to talk about this, but it's relevant, and potentially necessary. His responses change because of it. "I wasn't just an Imperial officer. I was an Imperial loyalty officer. Do you know what that means?"

[baals]

"It means you are nearly my equal in discovering the truth. I imagine you're quite good at breaking bones and delivering maximum of pain with a minimal of effort. I'm sure your service record is exceptional, judging by the amount of dubious alcohol you consume," he says matter of fact. It's bizarrely said almost affectionately. "I suspected you were once a loyalty officer or something similar. There was no true fear hidden behind your laughter."

He shrugs. "It makes you worth my time, regardless to whom you may serve."

[drunk_ish]

That could be a warning sign. Sinjir wears his trauma on his sleeve, these days, and people who like that are probably predators looking for weakness. -- Still, that being said, Sinjir's pretty sure he's already so in pain along those fault lines in his psyche that exploitation would be a difficult prospect.

He moves to his feet.

"Then let's start. I don't need to take a look around," he says. This is stupid, daring and reckless, and it feels good. "Go ahead and put me where you want me."

[baals]

That wasn't quite the response he expected but neither is it a bad one. After a second he motions for him to come stand near him. Ba'al gives a momentary glance down as if he's tempted to tear Sinjir's clothes off right there. His gaze returns to his face. "Tell me something, are you good at holding still for long periods of time? I'd like you to avoid touching yourself as much as possible. Consider that my job. If you move, I stop."

He takes a casual step closer. His hands come up to start removing Sinjir's shirt. It'll become apparent he's wearing something on one of his hands, even if its concealed by a glove.

[drunk_ish]

Sinjir's pretty sure he'll have the chance to snoop at a later date.

"In fact," says Sinjir, dryly, "that is something they trained us to do quite well, at the Imperial Academy." He settles into an at-ease posture, chin lifted, discarding the scruffy-rogue attitude and settling into old military-trained posture like another skin. Of course, the decidedly not Imperial-standard beard and vague shagginess remains.

His eyes flick up to Ba'al, who has a couple of centimeters of height on Sinjir. "I assume you'd still like my witticisms."

[baals]

"They're part of your charm," Ba'al assures him jokingly.

He allows gravity to do most of the work when it comes to undressing Sinjir. He keeps it at a lazy pace, taking his time to brush his skin. Naturally, he takes a moment to grope and properly feel up his dick. He makes a little sound of approval before letting go.

He holds his hands up where Sinjir can see them when he takes off his gloves. A close fitting kara-kesh resembles jewelry more than weaponry. "This is a weapon. Offensive, for the most part. Designed more for pain than fatality." He holds his hand palm up then causes it to glow. "Extend your hand over it. You should know how it feels before I use it on you."

It causes a burning, tingling sensation. Much like the feeling of a blaster bolt just missing your skin. Needless to say, it wakes up every nerve ending it nears. He makes no sudden moves with the device. He's intently watching Sinjir, waiting to see if it's beyond his comfort limits.

[drunk_ish]

Oh. Long runs of goosebumps spread under Ba'al's fingers. Sinjir's skin is responsive, starved for gentle touch. And Sinjir himself, though his response is more subtle: a change the way he breathes, longer and deeper. His eyes closing when Ba'al's fingertips glide down his skin in the right way.

Except for at his dick. There, he makes a little startled sound, and twitches, not expecting Ba'al to be so direct about it. It speeds up the process of getting an erection by quite a bit; he can feel himself swelling under Ba'al's hand.

His own hands unclasp from his back, and he reaches one out, palm down, perhaps twenty centimeters away. Nothing on his face but curiosity, and he lowers his hand slow, testing the sensation, noting the exponential increase of pain to distance. Winces, a little, a soft hiss; he's never seen anything quite like this before. He gives his hand a cursory look. No visible damage.

"Any nerve damage?" he asks.

[baals]

Ba'al holds back a laugh. Even if it caused nerve damage he could so easily repair it. "No, not like this," he replies holding back on his amusement.

"All the same, I expect you to tell me should it become too much." he says as he very slowly turns his hand toward Sinjir. Admittedly, he will find it entertaining to see just how much he can get away with using it on him. Which... he might as well test that now. He directs it between his legs. Close enough to cause the warmth but far enough to cause burning pain. All his movements are slow, allowing room for escape. His other hand returns to Sinjir's skin with gentle contrast.

[drunk_ish]

His breath draws in sharp, and his teeth grit tight. The question flits through his head: does Ba'al prefer to hear the sounds of pain, or prefer to have them bitten back? But it's too late to actually make a decision on that. He's already committed to the second course, except for his breathing shuddering in a throat, soft, muffled whimper.

Yes: he is very, very much in trouble. Because it hurts enough to make his legs want to buckle, leave him swooning into Ba'al's arms like a damsel, and yet there's the eroticism of standing here naked in front of a fully clothed man, one who is hurting him where he's so vulnerable, and knowing that he has agreed to it, that he can stop it, that the situation is in his control and he takes it because he wants to.

It's edging up toward too much, and he still wants it, he realizes, dizzily. He wants to be tortured, as long as it's like this.

His fingers curl. He wants to grab onto Ba'al's arm and support himself that way.

[baals]

"Tell me when you can no longer support yourself." With emphasis on the when. He expects him to give out eventually.

Ba'al shifts to stand to his side, with his other hand running down the small of Sinjir's back. His hips are canted just enough to allow him to feel a hint of when Ba'al grows hard. He does nothing to stimulate himself, just allowing a subtle way Sinjir can tell how much Ba'al is enjoying himself.

His hand with the device remains hovering in front of his dick. A small pulse joins the sensation as Ba'al varies the intensity. "I wonder..." whispered against his ear, "Can you come without being touched? Perhaps we should try..."

[drunk_ish]

"Tell you?" asks Sinjir. No, more like gasps Sinjir, because his voice has gotten all strained and breathy. "You mean you wouldn't rather me just drop to my knees?" His hands twitch toward Ba'al, a centimeter or two, before he stops them, and the pulse almost makes him buckle. Amazingly, the blood rushing to his cock in response to the pain just about equals the blood leaving it because of the pain. His erection really isn't flagging that much.

"Never have before. Something tells me --" and there is a real whimper, this time, and he's gasping on every breath, "that if anyone was first, you'd make it happen."

When training a loyalty officer, there is infliction of pain. There, in the halls of their private training facility, the instructors told them a few handy secrets about enduring torture. And they mostly involved letting go of dignity. Scream, curse, flail; all of this releases endorphins, and makes the pain easier to take.

Sinjir isn't doing that right now. He probably will, in a short while. But here he was asked to remain standing, and so he does. And he's not participating in this because he wants the pain to be easy to take.

It's an incredibly long time -- feels like about half an hour, though Sinjir guesstimates it at more like thirty seconds to a minute -- before Sinjir really shudders. "Please, Ba'al," spills out, without him even thinking about it. "I don't know how much longer--"

[baals]

"As lovely as that sounds, I'm sure I will have other opportunities." A teasing tone underlined by the confidence of there being another time.

Now, here, Sinjir gets a point. Ba'al is actually caught off guard by the please. There's a small twitch in his entire body. He inwardly admonishes himself for that. It has the potential to be used against him, especially by someone like Sinjir.

The glow fades from the device. "You're free to move. I suggest you lay down. You may choose where." he says, while keeping a hand ready should he need something to keep him upright.

[drunk_ish]

The twitch, he notices. He hadn't used the please on purpose, but now he certainly might.

The glow fades, and he sags, a thin sheen of sweat on his skin. He doesn't lie down. He does as he said before, and folds to his knees, resting on his clothes. He curls over himself. All of him feels as though it's buzzing; the sudden release of pain is just as good as pleasure, in the first moments.

He sits back on his heels, swallows to moisten his throat.

"Is Ba'al what I should call you?" he asks. "It occurs to me that I haven't asked yet." His voice is rather weaker than he would like, but at least he didn't swoon onto the couch.

[baals]

Ah, well. It seems he can't keep this man from falling to his knees in front of him. How terrible.

Ba'al takes a step back to allow him room, in case he ends up sprawled. "Ba'al is acceptable but you may call me what you like. I would caution you, choosing to use an insult to refer to me will make me more inclined to cause you more pain." Not that he's daring him to make fun of his name, except that he is. Completely daring him.

[drunk_ish]

"Got it -- if I want more pain, make a pun."

He's leaning on one of his hands, but uses the other to give a thumbs-up.

[baals]

Usually, Ba'al's thoughts and his host's are synchronized. They've been together so long it's simply unavoidable.

But for a second a clear thought comes from his host - a grumpy feeling about puns. Ba'al, in turn, assures his host that he is still the expert on Ba'al puns and he'll let him pun-battle Sinjir. Outwardly, Ba'al is rolling his eyes both at Sinjir and his host. It takes all his effort not to sigh in exasperation.

"I know what you don't want to be called but is there a name or term you'd prefer?" he asks as he crouches a short distance away. He has a name in mind if Sinjir doesn't care. "There's a word where I come from: Lo'taur. Translated to Basic it means most-favored or trusted servant. I think it may suit you."

[drunk_ish]

A slight pause. Sinjir clearly struggles with his answer. His lips press together, and he looks up to Ba'al.

"Actually," he says, clearly pushing himself to answer honestly, "could you use my name?" It turns out what he wants isn't de-personalization, but re-personalization. He wants to be treated like an individual again, with his choices respected.

A beat. "Though," he says, "I would say, I'm mindful of the respect that translation shows me." It's not that he's rejecting that respect, he wants Ba'al to know.