baals | (no subject)

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Hiding on Earth turned out to be quite the productive endeavor for Ba'al. He fit in absurdly easily in the world of business. While expanding into the business world he likewise expanded into the criminal world.

In the business world he's known as Hannibal Hadad. His holdings, which started in an areo-space company, expanded into real-estate, construction and string of electronics retailers.

In the criminal world he's known as simply The Boss. His criminal network, stretches into the usual suspects of guns, drugs and smuggling.

Spread across both the business and the criminal side are oddities. On their own, they just seem strange. Together, something big is being built. Something high tech. It could be anything from missiles to fighter jets. Whatever it is he's taking great pains that the government and the larger criminal underworld don't know what he's doing.

Seeing as he's making an effort to hid it. He shouldn't let the recently hired undercover FBI agent anywhere near himself or anything important. He could just feed him false leads down the chain. But... quite frankly, he's bored.

After a couple months, he calls him to his office. Enough time passed to not be suspicious and give Mike time to make a reasonable impression.

Ba'al's office is a modern minimalist style. All clean lines and simple shapes. No unnecessary furniture. As for himself, he's always wearing some designer suit or another. He's standing and looking over some papers on his desk when Mike enters. The papers are Mike's personnel file.

"Ah, yes. It's good to finally meet you. Michael, is it? Or Mike?" He holds out a hand to shake, which he won't last too long or too briefly. "You've been doing excellent work under Johnathan."

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After assessing guard positions and cameras, Mike makes his move. There's a window that looks like it might be in a blind spot. One of the cameras was questionable, but the guards were all too far away from it to really pay attention. And if they spotted him, he would have more than enough warning, and a decent path to an escape.

Thinking he had it all covered, he made his move. He crept up to the window, keeping out of sight. So far so good. He pressed his back to the wall, keeping clear of the light from the window, trying to peer inside. He could just barely make out a few figures. The one standing with his back to Mike, he assumed to be Hadad, but he couldn't be sure. At least he was close enough to hear what was being said. Maybe that would be enough to finally get some solid dirt on this guy.

However, before he could hear much, he heard the telltale click of a safety being flipped, a few feet behind him. There was no version of this situation that could end by his trying to reason with him. This was a shoot-on-sight arrangement. He reached for his gun, already diving out of the way. Bullets pinged off the side of the building and slammed into the ground. But he hadn't been fast enough.

One caught him in the stomach, another in the thigh. His dive turned into a tumble, and he rolled across the ground. He was only dimly aware of his wounds as he landed on his back. He showed his empty hands as he stared up at the barrel of a gun in his face.

"Don't shoot, I'm with--" his words were already strained, and the guard kicked him hard in the side before he could say anymore. He may as well have been shot again for how it felt. He doubled over, his face twisting in pain, as he lost the ability to even think for a moment.

Soon, Hadad, or rather, Ba'al, is there. He rips the weapon away from the guard and turns it on him. He shoots him twice in the stomach then tosses the weapon aside. "Deal with him." A command spoken to the other guards.

His attention turns to Mike, whom he hauls to his feet. "This one's mine." He more or less drags Mike toward his car. He takes a second to prop him up against the car to search him. Cellphone and watch are tossed aside immediately, along with anything else that could be a listening device. Mike is then shoved into the passenger seat. Ba'al takes the wheel and wastes no time getting out of there.

Ba'al mostly ignores anything Mike might manage to say or do until they're at their destination. He just picks him up and carries him. Mike might catch glimpses of where he is. It's some part of Hadad's home that requires an elevator to reach. Basement level or further down. The room they end up in has an ornate gold sarcophagus with a glowing white interior. Mike is dumped inside and the lid is closed. If he's still alive when he goes in, he'll feel strength start to surge through his body as his wounds begin to heal. An intense feeling of pleasure comes with the strength. Nothing hurts.

The sarcophagus' lid opens automatically when he's fully healed. It would've healed everything. Every scrape, bruise, everything.

As he's dragged to the car, Mike tries to explain. It's all there in his head. The reason he was there, the reason he followed Hadad. He'd worked through it on the drive. But it came out jumbled and broken. Each step was agony to his leg alone, and his stomach was so much worse.

He tried again in the car, trying to explain it. But he was loosing blood far too fast. The world was getting rather fuzzy around the edges, and remaining upright was becoming a problem. He may have asked if they were going to a hospital, or apologized for ruining the meeting. He knew this cold be really bad. Driving out to the desert to bury his body bad. At one point he tried to reach for the steering wheel, a desperate attempt to save himself, but he could barely lift his arm, let alone reach across the car.

He was barely conscious as they made their way inside, a cold sweat soaking through his shirt. Identifying where they were or why they were there was long gone from his mind. What thoughts remained were abstract at best, a vague acceptance that he was about to die because he had no strength to fight back.

That strange pleasure was the first thing he was truly aware of. As it flooded through him, he first thought maybe this is what death actually felt like. Because there was no way a feeling like that could be physical. But as the reality started to sink in, it came with an undercurrent of dread. A feeling like that wasn't something he could just shake off like it never happened.

The first thing he did was pull up his shirt, before even getting to his feet. The blood was still there, on his shirt. Evidence that he really had been shot. But there was no sign of it on his stomach. He prodded at the place he'd most certainly been shot, but there was nothing.

"What the hell?!"

"Ah, good. You're awake." Ba'al responds. In the time he was he the sarcophagus, he's had time to clean up and change his clothes. No suit, just a simple button up shirt with slacks.

The room they're in seems to be a sort of dual purpose bedroom and hi-tech office. The sarcophagus serves as a sort of room divider. Bedroom and bathroom on one side and work place on the other. Ba'al is currently on the office side, arms crossed and watching Mike closely. "I suggest not standing up too quickly. There is quite the head-rush following the use of the sarcophagus. Ah, and feel free to clean yourself up."

Thinking he was fine, partially because nothing in this situation made a lick of sense, Mike moved to stand up. Which immediately led to sitting back down as it felt like the floor was sliding out from underneath him. He sat there for a moment, trying to blink away the rush.

The events that led to his being here started to trickle back. Following Hadad. Getting shot. Getting found. Hadad saved him, but stripped him of his phone? That didn't make sense. But that was minor compared to how he was still alive.

"What...happened?" His brain was too logical to cope with the fact that a magic coffin had brought him back. So he was focused far more on the mission. Was he compromised?

"It seems you followed me." Ba'al casually wanders over, like this was a normal thing that happen."One of my men was over zealous in his protection. You were shot -- which is extremely unfortunate for the one who pulled the trigger. I brought you here and, well, healed you." The last part said with a shrug.

A table near the sarcophagus has several bottles of water, towels and a change of clothes. Ba'al picks up one of the water bottles and holds it out to Mike. "Drink." He waits for Mike to take the water before continuing.

"In the future, ask to come along instead. You're less likely to get shot. Now, why did you follow me?"

Taking the bottle, Mike winces slightly. Not in actual pain, but in the anticipation of it. He already had the scar to remind him of what it was like to have metal pierce his abdominal wall. Yet there wasn't even a lingering ache. That alone told him just how much he was in over his head. He couldn't even see the light anymore. As long as he knew which way was up, he had to try to get out of this. Some how.

As he settled back against the strange box, a sheepish, apologetic smile crept on to his face before vanishing. He wouldn't drop his cover until he knew for an absolute fact he was compromised. "I thought it was another test..." he admitted, lamely as he cracked open the bottle.

"With all the calls I've been hearing you take, I didn't think that was an accident. Then that last one, for you to tell me to go home it felt like..." He seemed to deflate, as if only now realizing the error in his thinking. "...an invitation."

It had been an invitation but it did not happen has intended. Ba'al has yet to decide if he likes this out-come better. He takes to very closely watching him, even already knowing he's an FBI agent, he can't help but to look for tells. So far Mike's doing a fairly good job covering for himself.

"You'll find my invitations are often more... direct. This is not how I intended to bring you here." He waves to the room then sighs.

"Clear yourself up," said with more command and force than his usual tone. "You'll stay here tonight. I'll need more than your word to know you can be trusted with what you've seen."

While Mike would remain suspicious after having lost his phone and watch, he was surprised when Hadad showed no further sign of exposing him. Staying put for the night didn't sound like such a big ask on the surface, but it was putting him in a vulnerable position. Unable to call out for any reason, and there was the distinct possibility that he wouldn't wake up. He was still wrapping his head around the magic revival, so it was easy to forget that piece.

"Yes, of course, Sir." He'd already downed half the water. He moved over to the clothes that had been left for him and set down the bottle. He didn't even hesitate before peeling off his bloodied shirt. Nothing spoke of trust like stripping down in front of your boss, right? He gathered up the clean clothes and headed for the bathroom. Playing the role of the dutiful assistant willing to do anything he was told, no matter what. In reality he was biding his time until Hadad left him alone so he could try to find something useful.

Ba'al gives a slight raise of an eyebrow when he takes his shirt off in front of him. While he hadn't expected him to, it's telling that he is.

"You realize, with the amount of blood you left in my car, it would be astonishingly easy to fake your death." Said while Mike is in the bathroom but loud enough he can hear. "Should you wish to avoid creditors." It sounds like a joke(it partially is) but it has a faint undercurrent of threat. He could easily make the world think he's dead while having him locked away somewhere.

Yes, he could actually kill him and leave him dead but where's the fun in that.

When Hadad spoke, Mike was staring at himself in the mirror. All he had managed to do was throw his bloody shirt in the trash. He was trying to work through all this, now that he could hide for a moment and not worry about blowing his cover. What the hell was happening? He'd died. He'd felt himself die. Yet here he was, without even a sign of the wound that had killed him. And that big coffin box thing? That couldn't be real. While inside it, Mike had felt more than alive. Yet there was something tugging at the back of his mind. Like a soft whisper to go back. A vague impression, like a dream he couldn't quite remember. He'd seen something. Or maybe he'd just felt it. It was right there on the metaphorical tip of his tongue. Then there was his cover. There was no way it survived that, yet Hadad was acting like everything was fine.

Those words from the other side of the door were like injecting ice straight into his veins. With the blood and the witnesses, it was more than enough to declare him dead. To keep him here. Mike's fingers tightened on the edge of the sink as numerous horrors played out in his mind. The things a man like Hadad were known to do to spies...and with that box, if it really could bring a man back to life...it was almost enough to make Mike sick.

After slightly too long, Mike managed to pull himself away from his reflection and muster a response that didn't sound entirely shaken. At least it was plausible to be worried with a threat like that. "It's...uh...it's a shame I've got my student loans paid off." He followed with a nervous laugh. Even the most dutiful assistant would be terrified in a situation like this.

Just to keep himself from completely losing it, he focused on changing his clothes into what Hadad had laid out for him. Taking tasks one at a time. Getting sick over the future wasn't going to stop it from happening.

By the time Mike's ready to come out, Ba'al moved to the office area of the room. Unlike his sparce office at the company, this one appears to more lived in. His desk down here is an antique, well used and more what you'd expect from someone running a criminal empire. On the back wall there's a work table. It's cluttered with various pieces of technology - some of it dissembled, some of it looking completely alien. There are tools and devices for working with delicate electronics. Another wall is devoted to storage, locked storage, including two safes of differing sizes.

"You have questions," Ba'al comments without looking up. He's standing over his desk, intently going over some papers. "Ask them."

The drug he put in the bottled water would very slowly take affect. At first as a sort of heat in sensitive areas. An itch. A keen awareness of every sensation. Uncomfortable sensations begin to feel good.

Of all things, Mike had not been been suspicious of the water. It hadn't killed him yet and it tasted like water. Having just stepped out of that strange contraption, however, he hadn't bothered to note whether or not it was freshly sealed when he opened it. And it wasn't even on his radar as he tried to figure out the details here.

In fact, as he stepped out of the bathroom, he picked up the bottle where he'd left it and promptly took a large swig. An invitation to ask questions. That was...dangerous. The man was still holding on to his secrets. They weren't yet to the the "opening up" phase of this thing. Did that mean Hadad intended to let him live, or was he playing a twisted game?

"Well..." Mike started, before taking another long drink. Stalling for time. "I...don't know if I have enough information to even know what I want to ask..."

As he stared at the sarcophagus, a vague wince passed over his face. If he hadn't known better he would have wondered if the jeans he'd been given were made of cheap wool. There was a strange prickle across his skin. But it wasn't everywhere, just in one specific area. He was regretting passing on a shower. Maybe he'd missed some blood while cleaning up? It was drying and flaking. That was it. He'd need to find a way to excuse himself soon.

"I doubt that." Ba'al looks up mild disbelief, like he's caught a child lying. "Here, I'll start: what did I use to heal you?" He straightens and turns all of his attention on Mike. "Why did I not simply let you die? Why bother? What was I doing when you followed me? Why bring you here?" He gestures to the room.

"What do I want from you? Are you a prisoner?" He slowly paces closer in calm measured steps. "Shall I go on?"

The strange itch only gets stronger. Just the movement of cloth over skin becomes arousing. And the arousal does not fade.

Those were the real questions Mike wanted to ask. Mike the FBI agent, at least. But the part he was playing, he wouldn't have questions quite like that. He needed to sort the two out, but it was getting harder to focus. His jeans were getting more and more uncomfortable by the moment. Trying to get himself more focused, he moved to take another drink, but there was just a small dribble left in the bottle.

"That's not exactly what I wanted to ask. It was more...how..." He looked to the man, feeling that cold trickle of fear that told him his cover was most certainly blown. Out of sheer desperation he tried to hold on to it. "Should I be asking those things?"

At least he didn't have to fake that tension, his voice hitching with the question because he'd just realized what he was feeling. There was no reason he should be aroused, even in the slightest. Yet if it kept up, not even the thick denim could hide it. Slowly he looked to the empty bottle in his hand, then to the sarcophagus. His list of questions and fears kept growing.

"If you want their answers. Otherwise, you can remain blissfully ignorant if you like." Ba'al seems to find this whole thing amusing. Given a quick glance downward, he's aware of what else is going on with Mike.

He moves right into his personal space but is very careful they don't touch. He knows what's going on inside Mike is getting steadily stronger. "It will only get worse, you know," he says in a low tone. Which it has, a steadily rising heat and sensitivity. It shouldn't take long before clothing becomes an unbearable source of stimulation.

Mike is all too aware of just how close the other man is. The hair on the back of his neck stands up and there's heat in his cheeks. It's getting harder to ignore what's happening to him. It's not just the jeans anymore. He's also keenly aware of the way his shirt rubs over his nipples with every breath. The collar of his shirt and the weight of the necklace against his neck. No drug he'd ever heard of that could do anything like this could be undetectable in water alone. It had to be that...machine. Something gone wrong.

Those words put him on edge. Was it getting hotter in the room? Was there something wrong with the air? Even though he was on the verge of panic, he kept his composure. A nearly perfect mask, but for tension around his eyes.

"I do have one question,actually." It was as if the rising stress had calmed him. He sounded perfectly conversational. He just needed to keep a cool head until he could get out. He held up the bottle between them and put on his most charming smile. "Do you recycle?"

Well, Mike managed to make him laugh. He's still standing uncomfortably close when he responds. "Of course. By the door." The door to what is presumably the way out. He's content to let him go over there. Honestly, he prefers that Mike does whatever he likes, he just happens to be most curious over what he'll do with that drug in his system.

"Make yourself at home," Ba'al somehow made the invitation sound like a threat. "Let me know if you... need anything." He then returns to the office area and the desk. He does actually have work he can do while waiting for the drugs to fully take hold. Unless Mike speaks directly to him or wanders anywhere behind him, Ba'al will act like he's forgotten he's there.

A laugh is no reason to relax. In fact, if Hadad were that casual, it gave Mike even more reason to worry. But he took the excuse to move away from the man, even as he was still talking. He managed to keep some semblance of composure, though his gait was stiffer than normal. Each step made those jeans rub against him, and he was aware of the fabric far more than he should have been.

"Of course," was all Mike said as he tossed the bottle in the bin. He eyed the door for a moment, wondering if he should make his escape. How would he explain this, though? If he couldn't shake it, he wasn't going to get very far anyway. He was already tugging at the collar of his shirt, wanting to tear the thing off. It was getting far too hot in this place. Running was the best plan, but his legs didn't want to cooperate. It took effort to think of things that didn't involve shoving his hands into his pants, or tearing his clothes off.

He barely managed to get to the bathroom, already tearing the shirt off before he got the door closed. Maybe he just needed to...take care of this feeling. Get it out then he could be okay. Dropping the shirt on the floor, he quickly unbuttoned the jeans. That was at least a relief in some ways. But it wasn't enough. It was shocking, really. There was no reason he should be so aggressive aroused.

Wanting to get this over with, he spit into his hand and wrapped his hand around his cock. Mike, being ever the regimented and straight forward person that he was, knew just how to get himself off quickly and efficiently. He couldn't have things like sex distracting him at the academy or on missions, and he couldn't take much time to deal with such things. He should have known this would be different with how flushed he felt. That pressure kept building and building, as he kept getting harder. As everything got more and more sensitive. He bit back a sound of frustration. What had that thing done to him?!

With his back to the wall, he slid to the floor. He tried to focus. Push the stress and fear away. Be in the moment. His other hand joined in, kneading his swollen balls as he stroked himself. He felt like he should be ready to explode, but nothing happened. His head pressed to the wall, he let out a load groan of frustration. More than loud enough for Hadad to hear.

Ba'al toys with the idea of ignoring the moan. He could just let him stew until he crawled out on his own. But then, he did want to see how desperate he looks now. He settles on waiting ten minutes before going to 'check' on him.

"Is there a problem?" he asks when he pushes open the door. Usually, Ba'al has near complete control of his expressions but under the casual concern lust shows in his eyes. They've gone dark and focused, piercing.

"Quite the incredible feeling, isn't it? I'm afraid I'm not certain how long it lasts." said in the same damn conversational tone as always. "But I can assure you it will be gone before you leave."

The moment the door started to open, Mike snatched up the shirt and covered himself. But no amount of fabric was going to hide an erection that fought him on laying down even when he tried to press it down against his thighs. Instead he pulled his knees towards his chest, but he was by far not fast enough. And it meant he was still slumped on the floor when Hadad invited himself in.

There wasn't much that could unsettle Mike, with all he'd seen. Well, nothing that could happen without weapons, at least. Yet that look in the man's eyes made him want to risk running for it. It spoke of all the possibilities he hadn't considered, all the varied ways this man could torture him.

"You knew this would happen?!" He managed to sound indignant despite his panic. "This--" He gestured toward his covered lap. "--was an expected side effect?!"

"Of course. I would not use something on you I did not know the effects of." He's not a monster. Well, okay, he is a monster, but he's a considerate monster.

He offers a hand to help Mike up, fully expecting him not to take it. "You'll be quite uncomfortable for some time but I will do what I can to make it more... pleasant."

Mike looks at the hand with great concern. Somewhere between offended by the offer and afraid as if it were a viper that might strike him. Still habit of his cover had him reaching for it before he stopped himself. It was the offer to make him comfortable that held him back. Something about it didn't sit well with him at all.

"I...um...think I can take care of it on my own." He just needed to work it out a bit more was all, right?

"Really? Oh, I very much doubt that." He chuckled lightly. "I suppose you must see for yourself."

Ba'al was momentarily tempted to grab him by the throat but he has all the time in the world. He can afford to let Mike learn the hard way. So he gives him a brief smile and leaves the bathroom.

He can be extremely patient when he feels like it and this is one of those times. He's prepared to wait hours while Mike drives himself insane trying to figure things out.

An hour passes. Mike spends it all on the floor of the bathroom. He seems to have given up on being quiet, his sounds of utter frustration not all contained. He kicked the wall, as if intent to put a hole through it. He lost the pants at some point, any sense of pride or dignity thrown out the window as he sprawled on the floor. At this point it was a matter of stubborn spite. He would not be defeated by his own body.

After nearly two hours in all, Mike emerged from the bathroom. He was not timid as he did so, holding his shirt over his crotch to maintain at least a mild sense of dignity. He strode over to his host, visibly irritated.

"This isn't just a side effect. Your machine broke my..." He gestured to where he held the shirt. "Please tell me you have something to counteract it that isn't just waiting it out."