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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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."

"I may have something but it has its own side effects." Ba'al says simply. "And I can assure you, you dick is not broken. It's merely... held back. There should be no lasting damage."

His mannerisms and tone of voice are the same as if he were discussing a business deal. In a way, it sort of is. He takes a moment to consider Mike. He decides, for once, the truth is ideal. "What I have does not entirely counteract the effects, it merely makes them manageable. You will remain extremely sensitive but it will get rid of the erection and ease the pressure." He moves toward one of the many locked cabinets to open one. "It would not be my first choice." He takes a spring loaded syringe out of the cabinet then closes it.

"I would advise waiting it out rather than using this. You may be unable to get hard for several days if you use it." Despite the warnings, he still offers the syringe to him.

Mike waited impatiently while Hadad explained, his lips pressed into a thin line and eyes wide. Cover or not, this was not something he had ever thought to plan for so he was coming up short on methods of coping. The syringe is certainly not what he expected, either. It gave him pause with the warning.

There were a number of things to consider. For starters, that needle could contain any number of drugs. Beneficial or not. If the man had a magic healing box, that injection could be something he'd never even thought of before. It could make the problem worse, or alter his mind. But the prospect of enduring this level of frustration was unbearable. It wasn't just the arousal, it was his entire body. Would maintaining the sensitivity be worth it to spend a few days limp? He wasn't exactly planning any intimate encounters while in the job.

In a fit of frustration, he grabbed the needle and brought it to his arm while still trying to hold the shirt in place. But the tip of the needle halted a fraction of an inch from his skin. He looked up to Hadad, thinking of some of his words. "What other side effects does it have?"

Ba'al gives a short laugh. He's actually impressed he managed to stop himself to ask the question. "You'll be somewhat... leaky." He waves at his crotch. "Soft, but semen will still be expelled. At a slower rate, of course. There won't be an orgasm, in case you were wondering."

Given that he knows what Mike actually does, he doubts that one side effect would be enough to satisfy him. "Oh, I believe it causes dry mouth. Occasional headaches. Not addictive as far as I know." Half-true. It becomes addictive when combined with the drug currently in Mike's system. But on its own, it's not.

Maintaining his cover was growing more and more difficult. As the assistant to Hadad, would he have used the "cure"? Getting rid of the distraction was his drive as an agent, not an assistant. Not only was there a chance it was something harmful, but trading the erection for leaking? That didn't seem like a beneficial trade off. The insistence that it wasn't addictive made him hesitate further. That was a claim he certainly didn't trust.

He managed to let the doubt settle into his face as he made his choice. As an assistant, he would follow Hadad's first wish that he wait it out. Loyalty was supposed to be the focus there. With great effort he pulled the needle away from his arm and held it back toward Hadad.

"You're right, I should just...wait it out. It's just...frustrating." He managed a rather embarrassed half smile. As if talking about dick problems with his boss as the worst part of his day.

"A wise choice." The syringe is taken and placed on the desk. Just to be sure the temptation is still there right where Mike can reach it. "I do apologize for the discomfort. We're still working out the... kinks in the machine." Yes, it was totally the sarcophagus' doing.

Ba'al stands the a moment, obviously looking at the shirt barely keeping him covered. There were just so many things he could do. He chews on the corner of his lip for half a second then forces his attention back to his face. "Is there anything that might make you more comfortable? You're free to use anything here. Cold may help ease it or, at least, numb it." He nods to a small fridge against the wall.

That syringe just sitting there made Mike nervous. The allure of getting rid of this feeling was already almost too great to resist, no matter the risk. He tried to tell himself he wasn't thinking clearly, but that did little to help. It was drowned out by an ever-changing array of ideas that could help relieve the pressure. Most of them involved getting his hands on the man before him.

Something cold. That idea would definitely work. An ice pack of some sort. Basic first aid, reduce the swelling. He didn't have the patience to feign gratitude, with all the things filling his head. He just moved to the fridge before those fleeting ideas could become anything more solid. He pulled open the fridge and tried looking inside. It was just short enough that he couldn't do so without bending over. And with out clothes that wouldn't work so well.

His first idea was just to pull the shirt aside and let the chilled air do the job for him. But he managed to resist that notion, crouching down to look at the contents for anything that might help.

It is tempting, once Mike crouches down, to just grab him. No, he wants to see if he can make Mike come asking for it first. So, while he will watch him carefully, he leaves him completely unmolested, for now.

The fridge is mostly drinks, everything from water to alcohol. What food that's there is in cardboard Chinese food boxes. The small freezer portion has an ice-cube tray and couple of ice packs. While Ba'al is the type to keep an ice cold dildo around, he doesn't have one here. No reason to be that obvious about his intentions.

After rummaging around, Mike finds the ice packs. Snagging one, he shoves the fridge closed. He doesn't even bother waiting for privacy. Decorum has long since flown out the window. He just wraps the ice pack in the shirt and slumps down against the wall.

Some of the tension bleeds out of him as the cold seeps through the cloth. It would hurt in a different way eventually, but for now he just waited for the cold to do it's job. To keep himself distracted, he focused on what minimal medical knowledge he had. This was basically a swelling problem. Or a blood flow problem. There were medications that helped with both. Hell, there were treatments to solve this exact problem, but if he was hesitant to put a needle in his arm, he wasn't about to put one anywhere more sensitive.

"An anti-inflammatory would be ideal right now," he said, as if it were a joke.

"They may provide some relief," Ba'al simply agrees. "Do you want some?" Just being suspiciously too helpful. He's even staying a respectable distance away. However, if Mike were to look at his eyes he'd see the same look from the bathroom. The kind of look that says he has ideas.

He's willing to let this farce to continue only a little while longer. Hm. He wonders if Mike would still try to keep his cover if he killed him and brought him back. It would be easy.

That was a look Mike didn't like at all. It made it feel like the ice had moved into his stomach directly. For the moment the chill seemed to be helping enough that maybe he wasn't going to need anything else. Either way, he was stubborn enough to wait out any game Hadad was playing. That's how he'd made it as far as he had. Not giving in no matter how appealing it seemed.

"That depends. Do yours come with any other weird side effects?" They were long past him maintaining a perfect cover, but even an dutiful assistant could get cheeky in a situation like this. They were certainly well into the territory of being a little too familiar with each other.

Suddenly, Ba'al decides to take a different tactic than his original plan.

"No more than the usual. Though I must admit, I'd rather you didn't take them. Purely for selfish reasons." He admits it too causally. Too reasonably. "My preference is to take advantage of this side effect." He gestures to him. "Clearly you don't agree. A shame really. It could've been fun."

One of the few unlocked cabinets, holds various first-aid supplies. Including a bottle of an anti-inflammatory. In pill form it would take longer to work, if it works at all, especially if he washes it down with water. In any event, Ba'al simply tosses the bottle at Mike.

Mike can't help the nervous laugh that erupts out of him. He'd never had someone admit to something like that so freely, and certainly not while on a case. Paige had to deal with it more than anyone else, since he was fairly certain anyone who made a pass at Charlie would lose their most sensitive parts to her knee. Though he doubted either of them would be sitting naked in a bunker holding an ice pack to their crotch.

"I try to make a habit of not sleeping with my boss," he said before any of those strange thoughts could root itself enough to consider. This was another game, he told himself. It had to be. Messing with him or testing him.

"I could fire you," Ba'al offers as an apparent joke. "I could just take you now. It would be easy." The dark look is back but he makes no move to act on it. "I could but I'm not."

Now, he does approach him, in the same casual manner he does everything. He stops a good four feet away and crouches. "I chose you because you're intelligent. Far more intelligent than you seem. I understood that it would eventually lead you to find out more than you should and it has. You merely found out sooner than anticipated. That puts us in a very delicate position." He sighs and stands back up. "I am not certain you can be trusted but I do not wish to kill you permanently. So, here we are." He crosses his arms and wanders back to the office area. "I've given myself three days to make the decision."

That threat made Mike's blood run cold. He was trained to handle a wide array of assault situations. But not sexual. And especially not when he had a seemingly incurable erection. Then again, he doubted even Quantico had a plan for something like that. At the mention of not killing him permanently, his gaze flit to the sarcophagus. How many more times would they go through this?

"And I'm guessing that if I let you do whatever you wanted with me, you'd trust me a lot more." It was getting harder and harder hold on to his cover. He wanted to make it sound like a joke, but too much tension made it's way into his voice.

"No, I would trust you far less than I do now." His tone and eyes are quite serious. "But I am willing to give you a little hint."

He idly picks up the syringe, looking it over and having no apparent plans for it. "Answer my questions truthfully. Not what you believe I want to hear. Hide nothing from me or I will dig the the answers out of you."

"I'll start simple. Why did you join the company?"

A cold sweat breaks out on Mike's skin seeing the syringe. He didn't believe for an instant that it was any sort of cure anymore. It could be anything, but there were rumors about things like truth serums out there. He'd assumed they were mere urban legends, but if the man had a box that brought people back from the dead, nothing was off the table.

He hesitated for a moment, trying to remember his cover story. "I um...thought it would give me a leg up. Once I'd learned enough I could start my own company. Use what I learned and either partner with you or buy you out." It came out in a rush. Made up on the spot, but it sounded believable.

It did sound almost believable. Ba'al flashes a quick smile. He slowly moves back toward Mike. "That would be lovely, if true." he says with amusement.

It turns out, he is a lot faster and stronger than he looks. He closes the gap between them grabs Mike's throat in a vice-like grip. He has strength enough to easily pull Mike to his feet by his neck alone. His other hand, brings the syringe down in his shoulder.

"The truth, please." He had been choking him but he relaxes his grip enough that Mike should be able to get words out.

Any attempt at dignity was lost the moment those fingers caught his throat. He dropped the ice pack and shirt the moment the man moved. Working on instinct, he was already throwing his hand against Hadad's wrist. Had the man been merely a business man, there was enough strength behind it to deflect the grasp. But Mike is severely outmatched and before he can even fully process that the blow hadn't worked, he's on his feet struggling to breathe. He beats at the arm holding him, trying to kick him. He barely even registers the needle in his shoulder.

"We all have secrets," he wheezed out, scrambling for details. He seized on a detail Hadad had teased him with earlier. "...debts..." he managed. "Needed to pay...gambling..." He was forming a tale of setting up to take money from the company to pay of astronomical debts.

Mike is pushed up against the wall after he answers. Ba'al is amused by his response and looks like he's about to laugh. "Debts. Really?" He doesn't sound convinced. His grip remains just loose enough that Mike can still plead his case.

Meanwhile, the other drug would start taking effect. The agonizing pressure starts ebbing away at the expense of a soft and leaking cock. Ba'al glances down, smirking when he sees the drug has taken effect. "You're making quite the mess."

For the moment, the sudden change in his erection was a relief. He was too focused on the had on his throat to recall the downside to the injection. He didn't seem to notice as cum dripped down his thigh, either. Staying alive was slightly more important.

"Yes!" He blurted out, trying to scrape his story together in his head. "I was getting close to you...to make it look like it came from you..." He was trying to pull the man's arm away, the muscles and tendons in his forearms standing out as he strained. "I needed five hundred thousand...but I was gonna try for double." There was a frantic, fearful edge to his words. As if it were the worst possible thing he could admit.

It's not a terrible story, if he didn't already know who Mike really was, he might've been convinced. "An interesting story." Ba'al's hand tightens on Mike's throat. "Let's see if it's true." He's not being terribly careful about choking him. He loses nothing if he dies.

His other hand comes up to pry one of Mike's hands off. He immediately pins that arm against the wall. Once he's sure he has a firm grip of his wrist, he releases Mike's throat. Then he moves to pin his other arm. He's moved in close enough that any attempts at kicking him wouldn't land.

No man should be that strong. Mike fights him every inch of the way, but he loses out far too quickly. Had the box or the drug weakened him? It had to be something because Hadad was way stronger than should have been possible. Was it the lack of oxygen?

He sucked in a deep breath that immediately got him coughing when the had left his throat. He struggled against the hands pinning him, but it was futile. "How?!" His voice cracked, not needing to feign his frantic fear. "It's not exactly the kind of debt that's going to show up on a record. What do you want? The name and number of the guy who's gonna take out my kneecaps if I don't get him his money?!"

"It would help, yes." He seems completely serious. "I can easily pay them off or just... get rid of them."

He seems to relax though his grip still remains inhumanly strong. He shifts to brush against Mike's softened dick. It's important to him that Mike realizes how sensitive he still is even if that means getting cum all over his nice pants.

Mike is about to spit out a name when that leg brushes against him and he gasps. He can feel the moan trying to get out, but he clamps down on it. But there's no hiding the shudder as it passes through him. This was wrong. So wrong. And he was in way over his head. There was only one person who could get him out of this.

"Rossi," he blurted out. "The guy's name is Rossi. But he's not the sort of guy you can just call up out of the blue. But if you call--" he rattled off the first number he could think of. If he had it right, it would be one of Briggs' mission phones. "He doesn't answer, he calls you back."