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]

He can't just keep going while Ba'al does this to him. His hand drops to the bed next to him, and his jaw goes slack as the rod sinks into him the first time. It is a strain, almost-hurt, a wild and terrifying feeling. He can't tear his eyes away from the length slowly vanishing into his dick, the point of strain that moves lower and lower --

A shuddery gasp as Ba'al pulls it out again, and then his leg curls up for balance and his hand fists tight in the sheets as it sinks again. Shaky breaths. Again, a release of tension when Ba'al pulls it back, and this time, it yields an actual moan, and Sinjir's body goes tight from rib cage to thighs, his hips rising just a fraction. He is shocked by the feeling, by the intensity of his reaction, the stretch that keeps drifting deeper and the way the tip of his cock has stretched to accommodate the penetration.

Finally, it seats itself just a little bit too deep, and Sinjir watches as Ba'al binds him with a solid ring and a little chain. It's halfway between adornment and bondage, and he feels stretched open and taken in more ways than one.

His hand lifts, tentative. "You said I couldn't touch myself," he says. "May I...?" Wide and dark eyes searching Ba'al's for permission. Not to get himself off, but to touch how the chain feels against his skin. To explore it, to make it more real.

[baals]

They are lovely reactions and something of an ego boost. This isn't something he's convinced anyone into since he came to this galaxy. Of course, he doesn't count forcing it on someone as a method of information extraction -- he doesn't get much gratification out of it with that method.

Needless to say, he plans to commit this to memory. Every little twitch and gasp.

"Now you can," for clarification: "As much as you like for as long as you wear it." It seems like a fair trade off to him, but then, he thinks blowing up things so his enemies can't have it is fair.

Ba'al shifts from his spot and back into a seat. Sinjir is a little too dangerous to risk extended periods of closeness when he can still speak coherently. Perhaps after he exhausts him, he'll allow himself that little indulgence.

[drunk_ish]

"But no coming, right?" With a little, shaky laugh, and his fingers ghost along his length, trace the line of the ring. The cap over the head. And he presses, until he can just feel the end of the sound inside him.

He's back to being a display. Only, this time: decorated, for Ba'al's pleasure.

He tries to relax himself, shifts back into the position where he was, pushing the balls inside himself. But it's impossible to ignore the heavy weight on his cock, the way it pulls at him. A constant presence. He braces one of his thighs further apart, and fingers himself again, nudging the balls inside up a little further. This fifth one is going to be difficult, and he stretches himself wide, shifts, bites his lip to muffle a whine when that puts weight where the last ball inside him presses up against his prostate.

Reaches for the lube, spreading more where he's already slick, and he begins to push the ball inside. He has to lean back on the bed, back arched up, and every breath comes in a gasp as he's stretched wider, wider...

And it's past the ring of muscle and inside him, and he's panting against the bed, his body hot and flushed.

"That's all," he breathes, "I think that's all." He couldn't possibly fit either of the last two. Could he?

[baals]

Ba'al shrugs. "Not necessarily. If, by chance, you were to come while wearing that, I will be able to... speed your refractory period as well as keep you aroused as long as I like." And he says it so innocently, like it's not a big deal. "But do hold off as long as you're capable... it makes everything more enjoyable."

It's worth noting that Ba'al begins to get noticeably(through his clothing, that is) hard. He neither tries to conceal it or draw attention to it. It's simply there and not something he's concerning himself with. He's far more interested in watching Sinjir squeeze in two more balls. His eyes have gone dark and predatory.

"Mmm, perhaps I should check," Ba'al says in response, his voice dropping lower. He pushes himself up and slides a hand up the inside of Sinjir's thigh. His fingers trace over his ass. "I'll attempt to place the last two. You must tell me the moment it becomes too painful, not after."

He rolls up his sleeves, showing the most skin since he met him, and picks up the lube. He slicks both hands then presses a finger inside, rather intentionally nudging the balls inside near his prostate. For now, he just plans to use his fingers to see how much more Sinjir can stretch.

[drunk_ish]

"If I happen to come," he says. "By chance. Unrelated to all of the fucking that's going to be -- going on..." And he finds himself staring at Ba'al's skin, now. He hadn't registered consciously anything about Ba'al covering himself up, but the act of uncovering is so deliberate it makes Sinjir tingle, along the line of his spine.

He lays himself back, pliant to Ba'al's maneuvering.

"I remember the safeword," he confirms. Also his way of saying that protest does not necessarily mean withdrawal of consent. Sinjir would like to protest. He might even like to fight a little.

He yelps as Ba'al nails exactly the right spot on the first try.

"You like watching, don't you," he says, a little breathlessly. "Thought you might call someone in to touch me while you look on, but I think that's not what you like, is it? You get jealous. No: possessive. Not about wanting to be the one touching your toys -- it's just about wanting no one else to."

[baals]

"Entirely unrelated," Ba'al jokingly confirms.

It's tempting to react to the words in anger at being easily read but he was somewhat prepared for this given how they got here. So, he decides to let Sinjir know he's right but that he's a tiny bit annoyed by it. He does this by pushing in two more fingers and really grinding the ball at the spot. "They may break what they do not know the value of," he growls out. Another push against the ball, now to provide room to stretch him more.

Soon, he starts to push the next against him. He's not so much trying to get it in as stretching him. "As long as it remains mine, I do not tolerate unapproved damage. Even that which I make myself, I will repair in the end." On the small scale, anyway. He can't unblow-up a planet but he'll still do it.

[drunk_ish]

His hips buck up, and he can't quite bite back the cry. It makes his body seize up -- he swears he can feel his nerves tingling from thighs to his throat, an abrupt convulsion from pleasure too much too handle. A half-orgasm bubbles up in him, doesn't quite complete, and then he's whimpering as Ba'al's fingers press the balls in deeper.

A sharp breath at the pressure of the next ball. "I can't," he breathes, "I can't," one hand going to grip Ba'al's free forearm. It's a protest, but a protest that is absolutely not his safe word.

[baals]

"Yes," Ba'al corrects, "You can." He keeps up a steady pressure and only pauses for a fraction of a second when grabbed. It was unexpected but not unwelcome. He moves that arm to stroke the side of Sinjir's face with his hand.

"I suspect, your body is more capable than you realize." He starts rocking the ball to help get it past resistance. A little more pressure.

[drunk_ish]

His body is giving way, stretching wide, to the point of pain and just a little past it. It's too much, he can't breathe, his cock is so heavy and so hard and he can't -- he can't --

A feeling of slippery, slow movement, and Ba'al rocks it, little by little, into him. The widest point passes, and Sinjir lets out a sound like a sob, turning his face in towards Ba'al's hand. The ball is hard and large within him, and Sinjir's hand drifts to his belly. The presence is so big that it seems like he should be able to feel it from outside his abdomen. He can't; obviously, he can't.

A clench of internal muscles, and the ball shifts inside him, deeper.

"Oh, Force." He moans, thighs splayed wide.

[baals]

It is all too gratifying to see what it's doing to Sinjir. Ba'al lets out a breathless laugh. He's having fun.

He leans forward, takes Sinjir's arms and loops them around his neck. He leans back, bringing him with him. He plans to let gravity do most of the work on the last one. Well, that and some more lube. He just makes sure it's centered. "Relax. It'll find its way inside."

He's not above helping it. He rests his hands on Sinjir's hips to rock them against it. He has a number of wonderful ideas of what to do once its in. One of them sticks out, it's a bit on the dangerous side for him, but it makes him shiver.

[drunk_ish]

The last one, Sinjir estimates, is about how far he would be stretched if Ba'al were to fist him. And -- his body probably can take it, even though it's more than the last, but it scares him a little. It's a little wild, a little out of control, and relaxing enough means really putting his body in Ba'al's hands.

His thighs have a subtle tremor, and, at first, he balances himself above the sphere. He dips his head, breathes out, and shifts just slightly -- but enough to make him clench down and breathe out a little curse. "Every time I tighten up," he manages, "it's right there," and he can feel the narrow rope connecting them as he rests himself down on the sphere. With how slippery he is, and how -- stars, he's really starting to be loose, isn't he? Stretched, in a way that feels slutty -- it sinks partway in easily.

His fingers curl around the back of Ba'al's neck, tentative and careful, ready to move if there's any indication Ba'al doesn't want him to do it.

His toes curl tight, and he's making these breathless moans, pliant to Ba'al's hands, rocking his hips on top of a sphere being forced inside of him. So far from the dignity of an Imperial loyalty officer, far even from the calm and efficiency of a New Republic agent. To Ba'al, right now, he is more of a plaything, a cherished toy. He likes it. He likes Ba'al possessive, because it means that he's wanted, and valued. In this case, he's wanted for being clever and sharp-tongued, and for being beautiful, and for enjoying things like this, and that's just fine.

He keeps pushing down, and keeps stretching wider, rocking through little twitches of tension. This has to be all... he can't do any more. "No," he breathes, "I--" Gasps in his breath and the sound out of him is high and protesting, the hint of fear breaking through.

His body gives, just barely gives, and then it's sliding deeper, past the widest point, but his stretched hole can't completely close because of the way he's stuffed full. It's insane, it's so large inside him that it feels like it's crushing him.

Sinjir cries out, and comes, his cock untouched. A brutal convulsion of his body, curling over against Ba'al as he spasms tight around all the spheres, all of them inside him. The largest ball is pressed so hard against his prostate that it feels almost like the semen is forced out of him. And how does that -- the sound, is the sound going to plug it up inside of him?

[baals]

Ba'al is perfectly fine with Sinjir touching him, exceedingly fine. He'll have to remember to tell Sinjir that, at some point. Until then, Sinjir might notice Ba'al is more likely to touch him the further gone he is.

"Very good. You're almost there."

The feeling of power Ba'al gets when Sinjir comes, is very close to sexual gratification. As if he was the one coming. His hands claw down Sinjir's back and seem just eager to touch him everywhere.

"There, that wasn't so hard, was it?" said against his ear.

As for the sound, it does plug to an extent but after that it'll begin leaking out around the sound. Whether it leaks or not, the jewel at the top glows.

Ba'al pulls back, putting his hands on either side of Sinjir's face. "I have an odd request, which you may refuse without consequence." He waits for some sort of sign Sinjir can hear and comprehend before continuing. "I would like you to attempt to hurt me. You may break bones. In return, I will show you what I healed you with." Really, Ba'al expects three possible out-comes. 1, Sinjir immediately breaks his hand, 2, Sinjir questions it or 3, he simply refuses.

[drunk_ish]

The way the semen leaks out makes him feel like a mess, wet and debauched. He leans heavily on Ba'al, panting for breath. Can't believe what just happened. Starting to come to the uncomfortable realization that all of this is going to have to come back out of him, and that Ba'al will take just as much pleasure wrecking Sinjir that way as he did this.

Sinjir lets out a little groan. "You can't wait for a time," he says, "when I'm not a complete wreck?" He keeps trying to tighten his entrance closed, but can't quite over the mass of spheres tight inside him.

He reaches up to Ba'al's hand, for all the world seeming only like he's steadying himself -- and then he twists, lightning fast, breaking two fingers at once.

[baals]

Ba'al will convince himself he asked so he'll know just how good Sinjir is at his former job and not out of some buried deep masochistic need. Regardless, it gives him more information.

It's most certainly not a turn on.

He opens his mouth to respond to the question but it cuts off short. His fingers break and he lets out a low guttural cry. He doesn't pull away though it obviously hurts and instincts scream to cradle his hand protectively. He takes a minute, breathing heavily through his nose. He had closed his eyes to hide the glow and when he opens them again his pupils are blown wide. For a second, he leans in like he might kiss him but he pulls away.

He steps back from the bed. He might not be curled up on the floor in pain but he definitely isn't as steady on his feet as he was. With his good hand, he pulls a small device from his pocket. Similar to the one he already wears.

Not quite trusting his feet, he leans back against the wall as he powers on the healing device. It starts to glow and the swelling goes down radically then - pop - pop - his bones return to their proper positions. Ba'al winces but the tightness around his eyes ease.

"Impressive," Ba'al breathes. Because it's totally normal to compliment someone for expertly breaking bones. "I think you know why I asked while you're a 'wreck'," he adds.

He returns to the bed, opening and closing his newly repaired hand. "Now, tell me something you want done to you and we'll see if we can make that happen. You may opt for silence and I will choose for you."

[drunk_ish]

Ba'al lets out a sound of pain, and it hits Sinjir like a punch in the gut. Like all the twisted and furtive feelings he'd felt about beautiful young men crying from torment, like everything he's always tried to swallow away.

Damn.

He truly, honestly hates himself for, on some level, getting off on the punishment of those officers.

Ba'al pulls away, and Sinjir falls back onto the bed, curls over to his side to watch Ba'al, hand moving to his cock. He strokes it, slow, smearing the leaked semen, and watches the healing device. That thing's miraculous; it's also more than a little unnerving. He's never seen technology like that. He knows he broke those fingers -- he felt it. So how...?

He pushes it out of his immediate consideration. This isn't the time to investigate. He'll have the opportunity later.

"Hope I passed the test." His breath comes short, still. He shakes his head, but he's not refusing Ba'al's order. "Later," he breathes. "Later, once you've exhausted me, I want you to fuck me. Slow." Slow and agonizing. "No toys. Just you, in me, sloppy and stretched as I'll be. You like me playing the slut, don't you? But, a slut just for you." A buzz of endorphins is rising in him. He is soft, but he has this feeling that the device attached to his cock is going to fix that in short order. Just an instinct.

Ba'al can see, now, if he looks: that Sinjir has light scars along his back, lines long-since healed. From being beaten with a switch when he was a boy.

[baals]

Ba'al raises a brow at that. He almost wants to question it, that Sinjir is trying to tell him what he wants to hear. His expression says he's skeptical and he makes no effort to hide it. He considers it as he stretches his healed hand. "It certainly an appealing prospect. Provided you're still conscious by then," he says, half joking. "I suppose I could revive you if that happens."

He holds out his hand with the device, it glows then the one on Sinjir's cock glows. It's not quite painful, more like a sudden rush of energy. It won't start getting uncomfortable until he's hard again. The light fades from the hand device but the one on his cock remains on. Ba'al's hand lightly traces one of the thin scars. "Who is responsible for these?" he asks with an edge to his voice. It's more like he's asking Sinjir who he needs to kill.

[drunk_ish]

He arches up with a sharp gasp, moaning and digging his fingers into the blankets on the bed. What a rush, he thinks, dizzily -- vitality streaming into him, reviving all that was just exhausted, and changing the presence of the spheres inside him from one of vague pain to one that's intensely erotic again.

"If I'm unconscious," he says, "or half-conscious," and he shivers in delicious pleasure, "consider yourself as having permission."

And that's dangerous. Extraordinarily. But he likes the idea of Ba'al manipulating him, using him even then. Passing in and out of consciousness with Ba'al inside him.

"What?" Cranes his neck. "Oh," a shake of his head, "it's not, it's really not sexy to talk about my mother caning me. Could we do that another time?"

[baals]

"That's something of a risk, isn't it? You will be completely helpless." He knows Sinjir thought of this. As much fun as he's having the stakes are not lost on him. "Or are you truly that desperate for something for yourself? You don't have to answer. I'm merely curious."

He settles on the bed to watch him. The jewel glows again, this time the device pushes toward painful. "I'd like to keep you," he admits with a sign, "But you may prove too dangerous. Not intentionally so."

He shouldn't even be considering this. He shakes his head, annoyed with the thought. "Ah, well." Best to move on. Just to keep Sinjir from questioning that too much, he wraps his hand around his dick. He squeezes just enough to feel the rod inside. His thumb and fore finger toy with the trapped head of his dick.

[drunk_ish]

The way Sinjir moans goes strained and softer. He aches for the pain maybe even more than he aches for the pleasure: it feels so good to let someone else have control of his body. He squirms, hands clenched into fists, then unclenched as he remembers that he doesn't have to restrain himself from touching himself.

But Ba'al beats him (heh, beats him) to it.

Oh, god -- he loves this. He's scared, more than anything, of what Ba'al will do when he realizes how much Sinjir loves this. It's a much deeper vulnerability than Sinjir had realized.

"I am dangerous." He spreads himself under Ba'al's hands. "So are you." Firm eye contact, daring and almost belligerent.

[baals]

"You have no idea," Ba'al returns sharply. He may have just squeezed harder than necessary to punctuate it. It's oh so tempting to elaborate but he reminds himself he's most likely the last Goa'uld in the universe. He can't afford anyone knowing too much.

He eases up his grip on his cock, only to make the device glow brighter. The rod inside him might almost seem to vibrate.

Meanwhile, his other hand travels up Sinjir's body. His hand lingers near is neck, he could so easily crush the life out of him and Sinjir has no idea. He pushes that thought aside and focuses on something else. "Pain seems to have a greater effect on you," he comments. "Is it guilt or something more complicated?"

[drunk_ish]

Tips his chin up, as Ba'al's hand moves, baring his throat. Choking was not one of the limits Sinjir set at the beginning of this session. Therefore, it is not out of the question.

His face creases, and he starts letting out gasps, noises of pain. A high whimper. This does almost hurt, a sensation like a vibration through the center of his cock, and the wide stretch inside of him, which Sinjir swears could make him come again on its own. He feels so pulled apart, and, in some contradictory way, the pain hits right at the core of him, where the pleasure comes from. It makes him harder.

He starts to leak -- or he should be leaking, but the plug keeps the precum inside him. He curls over onto his stomach, knees braced apart like he's being fucked, his hips pressing hard against the bed as he muffles those shivery sounds in the blanket.

"I don't know," he gasps.

[baals]

"I believe you," Ba'al responds, not bothering to hide his amusement at Sinjir's new position.

Though still clothed, Ba'al slips in next to him and pulls him on to his side so his back is pressed up against his chest. He keeps one arm around his chest while the other feels for the cord to the beads. He tugs on it lightly, not trying to pull it out just yet.

The hand at Sinjir's chest moves up to wrap around this throat. He's mostly doing it to keep him from muffling himself in the blanket. He's not actively trying to choke him, but if Sinjir were to struggle he could end up cutting off his own air.

He tugs again on the cord. "Shall I remove them now or later?"

[drunk_ish]

Sinjir struggles, a little. If he really wanted to get away from Ba'al, he would struggle much more efficiently and with very targeted strikes; most of what he does right now is arch his spine against Ba'al's grip, so that his hips grind back against Ba'al and Ba'al's grip digs into his throat.

"Now." Because then Ba'al could fist him, could break out a fucking machine, could just make Sinjir beg to fill the emptiness, and all of those sound good.

[baals]

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.

[drunk_ish]

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.