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 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.

[baals]

With a slight bow of his head, Ba'al indicates his agreement. It does offer some interesting insight into Sinjir's mind. A loss of self, perhaps? Identity? Interesting.

There's an uneasy pause and narrowed eyes. He's not quite sure what to make of the last comment. He could be just telling him what he thinks he wants to hear but it sounds genuine. It annoys him that he can't tell.

"Well then, Sinjir," he says as he straightens, "Let us decide what's to be done with you. I have a particularly strong desire to hear you scream yet I have an equal desire to see you gasping for air." He rubs his chin as he considers some options. "There's a bed in the next room. Lay on it with your legs open. I will join you shortly."

[drunk_ish]

There's an urge to touch himself and test the skin for any more pain -- it's hard to believe, somehow, that it's all vanished. But he recalls Ba'al's instructions on the matter, and doesn't. Wobbles to his feet, a little shaky but balanced.

"On my back or stomach?" he asks. Then -- "Is there anyone who'll see me if I just wander in naked?" Then, before Ba'al has the chance to answer, he laughs at himself. "No, nevermind. I don't care. If rumors started passing that I was the sex kitten of an Outer Rim crimelord, it could hardly make my reputation worse."

His reputation is about the worst that it can possibly be, at the moment.

So he moves towards the door, leaving the clothes scattered where they are. Maybe tosses a wink over his shoulder at Ba'al, if he catches Ba'al checking out his ass.

[baals]

Ba'al opens his mouth to answer but only closes it again. He's not terribly fond of being cut off but it gets a laugh. "On your back. Oh, and from here, your reputation can only improve."

Oh, Sinjir is terribly irritating and likable. A combination he's come across only a handful of times.

After collecting a few things, Ba'al joins him in the next room. He tosses a packet of lubrication on the bed followed by long string of metal balls, each progressively larger. "I believe I can trust you insert those yourself. As many as you feel you can handle, but do feel free to attempt to impress me." He then holds up something that looks very similar in design to the device on his hand but smaller and obviously for another purpose. It has a long, thin rod attracted to it. "I presume you can guess where this will go as well as its function." He pauses next to the bed to gauge Sinjir's reaction.

[drunk_ish]

He takes the time before Ba'al arrives to examine the room. The surroundings, the decor. Just to see what he can figure out about the man. (Probably not much more than he's already concluded.)

Then, the door opens. Sinjir shifts, minutely. Legs braced apart, back slightly arched. Sinjir does know how to properly display himself. He reaches for the packet, tearing it open -- taking Ba'al's words as an order. He curls up slightly with his knees open, so he can reach his fingers around to spread the lubricant at his hole.

But he pauses, mouth slightly agape at the device.

"Ahm," he says. "I think that's a bit longer than I've ever put, um. There." His fingers smear lubricant in his cleft, fingertips slightly breaching himself. before he's slick enough to reach for the balls.

[baals]

The decor is nothing terribly special. It's far nicer than most but still on the conservative side. The only thing that stands out is a metal symbol hung on the wall. It's old and banged up, like it was pulled from wreckage. The symbol is the same that he uses to identify his goods.

Ba'al does take a moment to appreciate how Sinjir laid himself out. Well, more than a moment, he's obviously watching with great interest. He takes a seat next to the bed to watch. His eyes get progressively darker, more predatory. No subtle signals here, his body language practically screams he likes to watch.

"But not beyond your body's ability?" he distractedly asks while he toys with the device.

[drunk_ish]

The first is easy -- tiny, and slips into Sinjir's body with barely a push. He squeezes down around it, his eyes flickering closed. He can feel the string connecting it to the next. Looks up, into Ba'al's eyes, and that's a mistake, because it makes him shiver, a wave of tension traveling up his spine.

He presses the second in, drawing a slow and shuddering breath. It's also easy.

"I don't know," he admits.

He can feel the weight of the first two inside of him. He toys with the third, rubbing it against himself, fingers getting it nice and slick. Starts to work it in, and his breath catches. Bites into his lip. A soft moan as it settles inside with the others.

[baals]

It is not usually a challenge for Ba'al to control himself. The challenge comes at the moan. He can have almost anyone with little effort yet, somehow Sinjir is different. That makes this both dangerous and thrilling. He'll have to keep his guard up.

"I suppose we can find out then."

He shifts over to the bed and settles on his knees between Sinjir's legs. He leaves room for Sinjir to work while getting himself a much better view. He works some lube onto the rod then runs his still slick fingers over the head of Sinjir's dick. He doesn't plan to insert anything just yet so he takes time to let his fingers explore his cock.

[drunk_ish]

Sinjir swallows, and his eyes are a little too wide, trying to take it all in. The rod looks long up close, compared to the only-slight sounding that he's done before, and he can't quite believe that he's letting this happen to him. He isn't just willing; he's eager, thighs subtly trembling at Ba'al's light touch.

He fingers himself, now, because he needs a little stretching before the fourth one. Two, three fingertips, working in and out of his body, as he makes soft gasping sounds. And then he presses the fourth against him, presses down with his palm and leans his body into it. The stretch almost reaches the point of pain, and then it slides in, sudden and swift, settling heavily in his abdomen. The way his weight rests, and the size of this one, puts subtle pressure on his prostate, and he rocks his hips just a fraction, his body straining for a pleasure just out of reach.