SG1: Not Your Everyday Circumstance: Sam/Baal [NC-17]

[misaditas_fics]

Fandom: Stargate SG1
Pairing: Sam Carter/Baal
Rating: NC17
Written for: rounds_of_kink
Prompt: She can't remember the last time she wanted to go home, even if they'd let her come back after this
Kink: changing sides, attraction of evil
Warnings: non-con sex, oral, manipulation, smut and fluffiness.
Notes: thanks to morgynleri_fic for the beta


Blood is a copper tang in her mouth. She coughs and feels the rise of hot liquid. It burns the back of her throat and she gags, coughs again and spits it out. Footsteps sound and she lifts her P90. The barrel wavers as her hands shake: shock and pain and blood loss are taking their toil. She’s dying, but she will not go down without a fight.

Jaffa stride down the corridor. Sam blinks surprise and sweat from her eyes. Then she sees that they are not alone. Baal’s eyes met hers. The P90 tumbles from her boneless grasp.

He catches her fall. Shaking her head, she tries to pull away. She simply doesn’t have the strength.

“They have the facility,” he says then and she closes her eyes, moans sickly.

“No.”

“There’s nothing more you can do.”

Something tingles over her skin and she hears a distant metallic clatter, like hail on a tin roof. The lack of gunfire is a sudden, shocking emptiness that is immediately filled with other sounds: the crackle of flames and the moans of the dying. There were perhaps a dozen others that survived the initial assault, but she’s no idea how many still live.

She lifts her head. It’s a huge effort and the world seems to slide away from her, but she looks Baal in the eyes and whispers, “Why are you here?”

“On Earth?” His tone is oddly conversational given the situation they’re in, the level of destruction surrounding them. “Months. If you meant here here, then I have my sources and they all indicated an attack. I’ve not spend weeks on weeks cultivating a profitable business just to have it ruined by a pile of hardware.”

Only Baal could belittle the threat in such a way. Samantha Carter manages a weak laugh.

“Heaven forbid,” she says.

She becomes aware that the only thing keeping her up is his hold. He supports one elbow, his other hand on her waist. Something like concern darkens his brown eyes.

“You’re dying,” he notes.

“There was an explosion.” There were, in fact, several explosions, but she only got caught in one. That is going to be enough. “The lab, I think. It… gets a little hazy.”

He loosens his grip on her elbow and brushes her temple. Pain flares, but the blow to her head isn’t the one killing her.

“Samantha.” He stops and looks over her head. She knows what he sees and shudders. “I… I’m sorry.”

Lethargy shatters at those unfamiliar words. She stares at him. His eyes seek out hers and she sees a deep regret. Her stomach twists.

“No.”

“Sam-”

“No!”

He sighs and looks away from her. “What do you wish me to do?”

Her mind scrambles for something. She will not - cannot - think about what she wouldn’t let him say. She knows, and her heart threatens to break, and there’s nothing… nothing…

“The Alpha Site,” she manages. “Please.”

Heavy footsteps sound behind her. She turns her head enough to see his First Prime halt and incline his head.

“Lord Baal, we found the laboratories. They took whatever they came for and destroyed the rest.”

“We were too late.”

“I’m afraid so, my Lord. What do you wish us to do now?”

“Search for other casualties,” Baal says. “There may be some back-up on the way that can take care of them.”

Sam quails at the inference that there might not be. Heaving a deep breath in, she pulls herself upright. She is still a soldier, no matter what.

“How bad is it?”

Dark eyes settle on her face. His expression is grim. “Bad enough.”

“Baal…”

“Later, Samantha. Right now, I must take steps to stop your injuries claiming your life.” He pauses and tilts his head. “If I may.”

So she’s bad enough that it’ll take a sarcophagus. She sort of knew that, but hearing it, even couched in vague terms, gives her an eerie sense of calm.

“Why?”

“I have… a proposal for you. I cannot make that to a dead woman.”

“Tell me now.” If she is going to deal with the devil, she might as well hear it sooner rather than later. Death might still be the better option.

“This attack was well planned and flawlessly executed,” he says and she flinches at ‘executed’. He continues, “Area 51 has been decimated. I cannot contact the SGC. Samantha.” It’s gentle enough that she closes her eyes and waits for the blow. “There was an explosion in the capitol. I don’t know the details as there’s no news and I came here when I realised… When I realised that you were in danger.”

Darkness spins around her, nausea rises. Everything is gone, she thinks. The hollow is too deep for her to begin to feel grief.

“Baal.”

She’s pleading with him to take it back, to say it’s a lie. She knows it’s the truth. Her hand tightens on his arm, clinging to the single piece of her past, the only thing left to her. The irony threatens to choke her.

“Come with me,” he says then. “I can restore you and together we can push them back. I can give you the world, Samantha. All I need is your agreement and your loyalty. Swear that you will be my queen and I will move the stars if I have to.”

“No.” She pulls her hand off him and turns, needing to flee. Her strength deserts her and she collapses against him. Weeping in frustration and more than a little fear, she gasps, “I won’t become Goa’uld.”

“You mistake me. I have no intention of over-riding your wonderful mind with a symbiote. But that lack does not mean that you cannot take your place at my side. Sam, there’s nothing here for you now, but if you come with me than you can continue the fight against the Replicators.”

With her back against his chest, Sam looks over what is left of Area 51. There’s not much to it. Her military training considers the likelihood that the SGC has survived… and discounts the possibility - this attack has been too well planned.

A hopeless anger surges, a powerful need to strike out at the beings responsible for so many deaths, and Baal has just offered her all that on a plate.

It’s possible that her anger clouds her judgement, or that the loss of blood and pain colours her decision, but she turns again and looks into his eyes and says, “Yes.”

His smile is victorious.

She’s lifted into his arms and lets her head loll against his shoulder. Exhaustion pulls at her and she closes her eyes, drifts in a grey no-man’s-land between wakefulness and eternal slumber. His voice reaches down, keeping her from sliding further, and her skin is warmed by his steady touch.

How long she remains like that, she’s not sure, but a sharp tap against her cheek bring s her fully and rudely awake. Looking round, she recognises the interior of a Goa’uld mothership. There is a sarcophagus in front of her, lid still closed. Baal is a few feet away, watching her. She manages to turn to him.

“Please.” She wasn’t going to beg, but this close to death - and the cure - makes the word spill out. She doesn’t want to die.

“Strip,” he orders. “Discard the trappings of your former life and come to me as a newborn.”

She hesitates and he frowns. Lifts his left hand. Her limbs shake at the gold glitter of the ribbon device. She nods, unable to vocalise her obedience, and pulls off the shredded remains of her flak jacket. It drops to the floor, followed by her shirt and vest, her boots, trousers, socks. Her hands shake as she takes off her underwear to stand there, utterly naked, in front of him.

His gaze takes her in slowly, his expression satisfied and yet still… hungry. She knows what comes next even before he moves. This is, she realises dimly, what she agreed to.

She is turned and pushed down against the sarcophagus, her breasts flattening on its lid. Her blood pools in the carvings and print them in reverse on her skin. A hand sweeps down her spine and a boot nudges her feet apart. A cry rises and lodges in her throat, choked by the horror that engulfs her - she has not the strength to fight him off.

“I have waited for this,” Baal tells her. “Waited for far too long and my patience is gone. I shall have you, Samantha, and make no apologies for the lack of comfort or care.”

Despite those words, she notes he is still caressing her. Her proximity to death makes her feverish, loosens her grip on self-control. He knows what he’s doing and at his talented touch, the lightest finger over her clit, her body betrays her. His chuckle is all she needs to know that he’s noticed.

Hot hardness presses against her. She gasps as he slides in, pain rippling through her at his intrusion. Her head is throbbing from the lack of blood and she’s woozy, disorientated. The hard edges of the sarcophagus bite into her stomach and thighs, the carvings grate at her breasts as her body is shifted by his first thrust.

“Hurts,” she groans.

“It is supposed to. Birth is not a painless process, rebirth even less so.”

He thrusts again and she whimpers, hands fumbling for some purchase to stop her body being grazed by the metal. His next thrust is harder and she cries out. Tears spill onto the sarcophagus, puddle in the pictograms, mingling with her blood.

“Blood and pain and tears,” Baal states and rams her over and over and over until she’s sobbing, aching, pain mounting on pain and yet… and yet she’s moistening, yielding as her strength and will evaporates. “Surrender to me.”

Sam stops fighting, too tired and sore to keep it up, and sprawls bonelessly. Instantly the violent, painful thrusts cease and she’s gathered, naked, bleeding, dripping, into his arms. His mouth closes on hers. Something dark inside her blossoms, a hungry, yearning need, and she kisses him back.

This time she’s not sure if the coppery taste is hers blood or his. Her teeth graze his lips and she wants to devour him, to be devoured, wants the pain to stop the deeper hurt that is starting to overtake her.

“Please,” she says and has no idea what she’s begging for. Her fingers knot the collar of his coat and she can’t breathe for crying. “Please.”

He cradles her almost gently, then lifts her up, placing her inside the sarcophagus. Panic overwhelms her and she grips him tighter.

“Easy, now.” His voice is soft, gentle. He strokes her hair back from her face and she leans into that touch. “Hush, Samantha. It’s alright.”

The last thing she hears is his voice, telling her that she’s safe, that she will be well, that he loves her. Then, there is nothing for a long, long time.

~ ~ ~

It’s not the inside of the sarcophagus that greets her opening eyes, but the generous expanse of a bedroom. She’s lying, still naked, amongst gold silk sheets and knows immediately this is his bed. She feels… well. Better than, actually, and realises that she’s no longer dying.

Sam sits up, expecting the room to spin, but it remains still. Her head is clear, her thoughts lucid.

Reality crashes in.

Area 51 is gone, lost to the Replicators. The SGC has most likely suffered a similar fate and, according to Baal, Washington is gone as well. She made a choice, to come here and be his queen or consort or whatever, in return for the ability to crush those that have destroyed everything she’s fought to keep safe for so long. She waits for the regret, the guilt, the shame. It doesn’t come.

She rises from the bed and goes to the door. It slides open: she is not a prisoner, then. Naked, she pads through the corridors and into the throne room. He sits, Jaffa in attendance, looking regal and darkly handsome. She wonders if the sarcophagus can have changed her already, or if that was sparked by seeing the Replicators level the military base she’d lived on for several months, seeing them kill people she’d worked with, people she considered friends.

Baal notices her arrival and smiles. His eyebrows arch, no doubt at the fact she’s naked, and then he rises from the throne and comes to her.

“You look much better,” he notes. “How do you feel?”

“Healthier. But not much better in other respects.”

His smile fades. “No. The sarcophagus cannot heal those wounds.”

“What have you found out?”

Baal removes his coat and drapes it around her shoulders. The courtesy surprises her a little and when he puts an arm around her waist, she leans into him.

“The SGC has been destroyed, I’m afraid. I have no idea if any managed to escape, though my Jaffa did record some strange readings at the time of the attack. I suspect that there was an Asgard ship in orbit.”

“The Daedalus,” Sam supplies, and smiles. “They’ll have beamed people out.”

“And then go to the Alpha Site?”

“Probably.”

He looks down at her. “Then that is where you wish to go?”

She thinks about it, but there is one fact she needs before she can really make that decision. “Do you have a Replicator weapon? I know you used something at Area 51.”

“Yes,” he says. “Plans… ah, fell into my hands a while ago. I recreated them and issued the weapons amongst my Jaffa, just in case.”

“How very forward-thinking of you.”

He smirks, but she’s too busy with plans of her own to respond.

“I know where they’re based, or at least one of their bases. If we modified your ship’s weapons using the plans you have, then we could attack and take that one out.”

He frowns. “To what purpose.”

Sam turns to him. “Revenge.”

“Spoken like a Goa’uld,” he says in an approving tone. “Suitable for my queen.”

She smiles. “Yes. Precisely.”

Baal waves a hand at the Jaffa. “Leave us.” They go and he brings her closer. “Ah, my love, what are you plotting? You cannot have been turned so quickly.”

She gazes up at him. “No? Are you so sure?”

“Samantha…”

“I want to destroy them, Baal. Every last stinking block.” Her eyes burn and she blinks the tears back. “Eight years of my life, dedicated to keeping Earth safe. You have no idea what I’ve sacrificed in terms of time and people and my own wants. If the others…” Grief chokes her. “If the others are dead, then I don’t have anything left. Nothing, except you.”

Doubt flickers in his eyes. His mistrust hurts, surprising her with its sharpness. He is close enough that she can rest her forehead on his chest. Her hands find his.

“If you betray me, I will kill you,” he says, and it sounds less of a threat and more a regretful fact.

There is nothing left to betray him for, but she does not say that. Instead she says, “I only ask that you don’t hurt me,” and shudders as she recalls his fucking her over the sarcophagus.

He reads that correctly, because he adds, “Again.”

She hitches her shoulders. She doesn’t want to talk about it, mainly because the shudder wasn’t entirely down to the pain. There is, she’s ashamed to admit even to herself, a part of her that enjoyed being ravished. And not simply because it stopped her from thinking about Jack and Daniel and Teal’c being dead.

“Yeah,” she sighs. His hands settle on the small of her back and she sinks into his embrace, looping her arms about his neck.

For a while, there is nothing but the sound of their breathing, her own heartbeat in her ears. She’s cold, not just because all she has on is his coat, but deeply chilled by the violent change her life has undergone. Baal is warm and she moves closer, seeking comfort and an ease to the ache inside.

He gives a small sigh that she feels more than she hears. Lifting her head, she meets his eyes. His gaze is steady and her lips twitch into a smile. He blinks slowly, tilts his head just so. Her gaze flicks down to his mouth, the crooked half smile revealing a row of white teeth, then jolts back to his eyes, dark and deep enough to lose herself in. She forgets how to breathe.

It’s a lighter touch than she expected; a teasing test of a kiss that’s almost tentative. His eyes remain open, holding a silent question echoed by the furrow of his brow. She nips at her bottom lip, nervous and uncertain, then tries kissing him again. This second is longer, though chaste. It’s not enough: she needs more.

“Baal,” she murmurs and his eyes darken, his grip tightening. Desire flares and… and he is kissing her deeply, tongue plunging into her mouth, hand at the back of her head. Her own hands fist his shirt and she pushes her mouth harder against his.

His growl rumbles across her tongue and she moans in response. She’s suddenly hot, moisture sliding down the inside of her thighs and she wants him. Wants him now. Wants him to tear into her and make her scream. Needs him to blind her to everything except him and here and now.

What he does is gently push her away. He’s panting and it’s evident that he wants her, but…

“Not like this,” he says. “Not when you’re like this.”

Confusion makes her blink, lost and empty. He’s a Goa’uld, he is supposed to be cruel and hard and exactly what she needs, not compassionate and understanding and deny her the pain she seeks.

“When did you grow a conscience?” she bites out. If it takes angering him, then she will.

He laughs at her.

“That won’t work, Samantha.” His voice ripples with humour, but there is a light in his eyes. She knows that he really understands what she’s trying to do… and why she’s doing it. “I will not harm you again.”

She sags, defeated.

As normality rearranges itself around her, she realises what almost happened, and feels a sudden wave of nausea.

“Oh, God!”

Ripping away from him, she bolts to the throne. There’s a bowl meant for water beside it, thankfully empty. She retches, but her stomach is empty and all she brings up is bile. It burns her throat and makes her gag again.

His hand rubs her back and then he sighs, pulls her into his arms. She’s shaking; sick and cold and horrified at her behaviour.

“Here,” he says and she finds a cup pressed into her hands.

Water washes down her throat, cooling the burn and soothing her stomach. She breathes heavily, limp in his embrace. She’s no idea what she’s doing - her emotions are shattered, her energy gone.

Baal sighs again. “The sarcophagus can only heal so much.”

She hears it, this time, and nods brokenly. “Yeah.”

“You ought to rest.”

Her eyes are already closed. “Yeah,” she says again, suddenly marrow-deep tired. “I’m sorry.”

“For what? You are only human.”

Her lips twitch, but she hasn’t the strength to laugh at his obvious teasing. She squeezes his hand.

“I didn’t…” She fingers his knuckles, listening to the beat of his heart. He sounds remarkably human himself. “It wasn’t… entirely anger,” she admits. “Especially not at the start.”

“I know.” His voice carries a certain note and she knows he’s smiling. “But still, as tempting as it was to take advantage of that… that is not what I wanted.”

This time she does smile. “What do you want?”

She knows - she just wants to hear him admit it.

“I want you to come to me of your own volition. I want you to… desire me. And I don’t want there to be an ulterior motive… on either side.”

“Maybe…” She shifts as much as she can manage and looks at him. “Maybe I could manage that.”

He smirks and then kisses her forehead. “Sleep, my love. We’ll… ah, discuss this further once you’re more rested.”

~ ~ ~

For the second time in one day, Sam awakens in Baal’s wide and very comfortable bed. She’s no idea what time has passed - in fact, she’s lost track altogether and isn’t sure how long it is since he carried her away from the remains of Area 51.

At that thought, she braces for a wave of crippling grief. It doesn’t come; instead there is a brief pang that settles to a distant ache. She takes a long breath in and then sighs, stretches, and realises that she is not alone in the bed. Rolling onto her stomach, Sam gazes down at the slumbering Baal.

Relaxed, his face looks younger than he does. Which is, she notes with a wry smile, far younger than his years anyway: his body is two thousand, while he doesn’t look a day over forty. She eases the silk blankets down and finds he’s naked. From the waist up, at least; she doesn’t quite dare to check further. And anyway, his torso is interesting enough.

He’s lean and muscular and she carefully runs a hand over the flat stomach, trailing up over the defined pectorals and the small nubs of his nipples. A low mutter makes her freeze, eyes on his face; she’s not ready for him to wake up just yet.

When he settles again, she edges closer and continues her investigation of his body. The broad shoulders are corded, silent testimony to his inhuman strength. His arms are as powerfully muscled, his skin smooth as silk under her palm.

Sliding her hands over him, she feels her earlier desire spark again. It’s not a sudden surge, just a flicker of heat between her legs. Breathing out, she accepts the sensation and explores the expanse of his stomach.

Her teeth dig into her bottom lip when she realises that he is aware of her caresses on some level - his physical reaction has tented the bedclothes. Curiosity gets the better of her. It would seem that Baal sleeps in the buff.

The burn between her legs heats as she stares at his well-proportion erection. She wets her lips as she imagines that inside her. A small groan escapes and she squeezes her eyes shut. Then she snaps them open again - well, why shouldn’t she? He wants her to approach him of her own free will and right now she’s more than willing.

She leans over him, aware that he’s only pretending sleep and has been for a while. “Don’t move,” she tells him and then lets her gaze roam downwards. His lips tempt her, but she doesn’t want to get emotional again, so her first kiss goes on his collarbone. She explores his chest with her lips, noting that his breathing quickens as she does so. He hisses as she nips at a nipple.

“Sam.”

“Shut up. We’re doing this my way, so just keep quiet and still. Or I’ll stop.”

She risks a glance up. He arches an eyebrow and smirks, then settles back on the pillow, hands folded behind his head. Taking that as his agreement to her demands, Sam takes a deep breath and then turns her attention back to his chest.

Not a millimetre of skin goes unexplored as she makes her way from collarbone to hip. His breathing is sharp by the time her fingers brush his thighs, his muscles tense under her hands. She smiles against his stomach, aware that the trembling that wracks him is the effort it takes to remain still.

“You’re beautiful,” she murmurs. When there’s no smug reply, she glances up and sees shock on his face. She smiles at him. “Well, you are. I thought that you knew that; you preen enough for it.”

He huffs, his expression morphing to an irritation that’s far more like him.

“Of course I know that,” he says in a maddeningly superior tone of voice. “I was just surprised that you’d noticed. It certainly took you long enough.”

“I noticed,” she says and throws him a coy glance. “I just didn’t let on that I had.”

His mouth works and she laughs at his wordless indignation. Then she strokes a hand across the lower part of his abdomen and his frown relaxes. She smiles again and edges her palm downwards.

“Sam,” he breathes.

“You’re supposed to be quiet, Baal,” she reminds him in a low voice, intent on her destination now. “Do as I’ve asked, please.”

He breathes out hard, but says nothing. She flashes him a quick smile and goes down.

He is sweet, rock-hard and hot. She swirls her tongue and he groans. The sound knifes down her spine and pools in her stomach: her touch is arousing him and that fact, in turn, arouses her. She takes him fully in, feeling the head of his cock at the back of her throat. Sucks and slides her tongue, grazes his skin with her teeth.

“Shit.”

The rare curse makes her grin and she pulls off, sitting back on her ankles to look at him. His usual poise of cool detachment is nowhere to be seen: instead he is right at the edge of his self-control, eyes squeezed tight and mouth open as he gasps for breath. Her instruction to remain still and silent has resulted in enough effort to bead sweat across his chest and forehead.

Knowing that she has inflicted this state on him gives Sam a feeling of power and pleasure spikes through her. She’s aware that the control is granted, that he could easily, should he wish, reclaim it whenever he wants, but the fact he is willing to allow her this… something bubbles inside her and she looks away from his face, not wanting to examine that too deeply right now.

To distract herself, she swings one leg over his, straddling his thighs. The muscles along his arms flex as he fights his need to touch her. She needs to see his eyes.

“Baal,” she murmurs, leaning over him, hands flat on his chest. The pounding of his heart reverberates through her palms.

His eyelids flutter and open. She sees strain and lust reflected in the brown depths of his eyes and feels a tug deep within her. There is no second thought, no hesitation; she kisses him hard, needing that connection. He responds to her by mouth alone, still keeping his hands off her. Part of her admires his control, another part wants him to lose it and yearns to feel his hands on her flesh.

Without breaking the kiss, she shifts her knees. His cock bumps the inside of her thigh and she uses that contact to guide herself down. She gasps into his mouth as heat pierces her. He fills her gloriously; thick and long and oh God but she needs this. It’s been far, far too long since she last had sex, last wanted someone as badly as she wants him.

“Okay,” she says breathlessly. “You can talk now. But your hands stay where they are.” He groans at that and she chuckles, low and throaty. “You have a problem with that?”

“I want to touch you.” His voice is uneven, ragged. She smiles against his lips and then slips her tongue just inside. He nips at her and she laughs. “Fuck, Sam.”

It’s the second curse to leave his mouth and she arches a curious eyebrow.

“Language,” she chides.

“I could ground you out in Goa’uld if you prefer,” he notes and she grins at him.

“I understand that, remember?”

“Well, there’s that plan shot down.” He sighs dramatically. “But seriously, you are… quite incredible.”

She smiles and rocks her hips, feeling a frisson at the way his jaw tightens.

“You want to control this, don’t you?” she teases, voice low. He doesn’t answer, but looks away, throat shifting as he swallows. “Or are you undecided? You want control but you like me on top? You like to watch me fuck you.”

He shudders and Sam bites her lip. Then she pushes up to sit upright, and stretches, grinding her crotch against his. His eyes follow her every move. She grins at him.

“Is that a ‘yes’?”

“Yes.”

She tilts her head. “To which part, Baal?”

“To all of it,” he admits carelessly. “I want to control you, but yes, I like you on top. And yes, I do have a rather unique view. I think you’ll find me being suitably appreciative.”

He eyes her breasts and gives a lecherous smirk, making her laugh. Then she leans down and kisses him. Again and again, desire building to a raging heat. She scrubs her fingers through his short hair, loving the feel of it, and rocks her hips with more intent.

The pressure builds.

She hovers on the edge and no amount of grinding is pushing her over. Pushing down, she breathes out hard, frustrated.

“This usually works,” she mutters.

“Are you saying there is something wrong?” Baal’s tone carries a hint of danger. “And if so, is it you… or me?”

“Neither.”

She frowns, trying to decipher what is missing. Staring into his brown eyes, she recalls the earlier kiss, the desperate, driving hunger… and his hands on her body and…

Sitting up, she grabs his wrist and repositions his arm so his hand is on her ass. She smirks at him. “That’s what was wrong.”

“Ah.”

His other hand joins the first as she props herself on her elbows and he squeezes her cheeks as she rocks. This is what she was missing: his touch, the feel of his hands against her skin.

“Hmm,” she moans. “That’s much better.”

“I… concur.”

“Oh…”

Her ability to speak is lost to the sudden wave of bliss, a breaking of tension that sends frisson after frisson of pleasure through her. She collapses against Baal’s chest, breathing hard, heart pounding. Her energy is gone, depleted in the most satisfactory way.

After a moment, she lifts her head and grins at him. “There’s a shock,” she chuckles and disengages to flop on the bed at his side.

“Excuse me?” Baal shifts onto his side and hooks a leg over hers. “Who said we were done?”

~ ~ ~

An interminable time and another two orgasms later, Sam lies in a tangle of silk sheets, incapable of doing anything other than breathe. She aches everywhere, in a few places she’d forgotten having, but is too sated to give a damn.

She’s woken to a bed devoid of Baal, a fact that both relieved and disappointed her: though unsure she could actually survive another session in his bed, she was more than willing to try. He has, however, deprived her of the opportunity.

The door slides open and she wonders if she’s somehow managed to summon him by thought alone. Then dismisses that as he’s dressed, in the same black top and trousers he wore… whenever it was. She really has to get a grip on how much time is passing.

“Here,” he says and tosses something at her. When she unfolds it, she finds it’s a dress of deep burgundy silk. “Get dressed.”

Disappointment knifes through her, but she does as he’s ordered and hauls herself out of bed and pulls the dress on. It is low at the front, revealing a generous amount of cleavage, and plunges to her ass at the back, the sleeves are long and flare at the cuffs, the skirt is long, but is split at both sides up to her thigh. In short, it leaves her with little doubt as to how Baal views her, which is why she doesn’t ask about why he’s not supplied her with any underwear.

“What’s going on?” she asks instead.

“Come with me - I have something for you.”

Sam puts her hand in his and lets him lead her out of the bedroom. He takes her to the bridge and motions at the viewscreen. She stares: beyond the protective glass there is a small Replicator ship, held in stasis by a beam that originates from Baal’s ship.

She turns with a frown. “What?”

“A gift for my Queen,” he says with a sweeping bow. “All you need is to say the word and your enemies will be destroyed.”

Eyes on the ship, Sam steps slowly towards the viewscreen. At the back of her mind she sees scuttling metallic spiders cutting a swathe through Area 51, careless as to whether they cut down military or civilian staff. She can see the bodies, the blood, feel the burn of the explosion against her skin. Anger surges, hot and demanding her do something. Turning back to Baal, she says, “A word?”

“My Jaffa are at your disposal; they will carry out your orders as readily as they would mine.” He smiles at her. “You are my chosen consort, my Queen, and the power I wield is yours to do so as well.”

Sam looks at the ship. Her hands clench. She will do this; for those that were lost at Area 51, for the possible loss of the SGC, for Jack and for Daniel and Teal’c.

“Fire,” she says and watches a second beam shoot out. It knifes into the Replicator ship and the hull glows. Then it erupts into a hundred thousand blocks, shattering like glass. She finds a victorious, vicious grin on her face.

“There, my love, the first blow of many.” Baal’s arm slides around her waist. She leans against him, eyes burning from the flare of light. He kisses her temple. “Soon they will be eliminated and you shall be avenged. How does it feel?”

Her heart is beating faster, but it’s not terror that bubbles through her veins. She feels… elated.

“Incredible,” she murmurs, then turns in the half-circle of his embrace to look at him. “What you said, about… power, did you mean that?”

“Of course, Samantha.” He smiles at her warmly and brushes her cheek with his fingertips. “As I told you on Earth - there is nothing that I will not do, will not give you, if it is in my ability to do so.”

She stares at him, dumbfounded. Her fingers pluck numbly at the collar of his coat. She can’t think, can’t move, can’t get beyond the hugeness of his simply put statement. The only thing she can do is rest her forehead against his chest and wait for her brain to engage.

This is not helped by the way he runs a hand up and down her back, in fact that is extremely distracting. The odd chill burns away as her body reacts to his touch. She sighs at herself, irritated that he can stir her so easily.

Then he moves away from her. As she blinks at the loss of contact, she realises that they are alone: at some point the Jaffa have left and it’s just her and Baal. Her gaze settles on the remains of the Replicator ship, floating in space as a cloud of metallic dust. Her lips twitch into a smile: as long as she can do this, as long as she’s taking out the threats to her world, then she’s still doing something worthwhile, still defending the things she holds dear. Just not in a way that they would immediately recognise. But she’s worked with Baal before, this is no different.

He turns and she recognises the light in his eyes. Okay, maybe a little different, she thinks as her skin tingles in anticipation. His gaze shifts to the throne on its dais. She moves towards it, aware of him closing in behind her, and then sits on the edge of the seat. Tilts her head at him.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he says in a low, husky tone that makes her stomach flip. “You’ll be here for some time.”

She hitches so her back is pressed against the hard upright of the throne. She’s surprised at the lack of comfort, the stark solidity of the seat. Further surprised as he kneels before her, yet there is nothing submissive about the expression on his face. He takes her left leg and hooks it over the armrest of the throne, repeats the process with her right so she is wide open.

“Baal,” she stutters, cheeks flaming - she cannot do this here.

“Hush, my love. No one will disturb us.” He smirks. “Though I cannot guarantee that they will not hear you scream.”

She doesn’t get a chance to inhale, never mind voice a dissent - he has pushed what passes for her dress out of his way and his hands slide up the inside of her thighs and-

“Ohh.”

She manages not to scream, but his tongue works against her clit, as talented there as it is at delivering stinging denunciations against her species, and if he keeps this up then she most likely will. Already the pressure is building and a part of her is amazed he can wring another climax from her exhausted body.

“You’re going… to kill me,” she gasps, voice hitching as he slips a finger inside her. “Oh, God, don’t. I can’t… Baal, please.” She is truly afraid that he’s going to push her too far.

“You say that,” he comments, sounding amused. “Your body seems to have a different opinion.”

Sam isn’t sure her body is still attached to her head. It can’t be, because she knows this is insane and that he really needs to stop, but that knowledge isn’t stopping her from being wet and aching for more. The pleasure is so intense that it hurts.

“S-stop. Please.”

Her words fall on deaf ears. A second finger joins the first, opening her wider. His tongue is hot and he makes long, slow passes over, in, and then suckles on her clit. She whimpers and drops her head back. Stars float across her vision as she cracks her skull on the unforgiving frame of the throne. And all the time he fingers her deeply, sucks her hard, and she’s gasping for oxygen, for sanity, for the strength to pull away.

Through her blurring vision, she sees what is left of the ship, realises why he’s doing this here. The ship was for her, destruction to give her as much pleasure as his mouth does.

It’s too late. The spark of dark joy she felt at the Replicators’ demise ignites the fuel of her desire and she’s shuddering against him, wave after wave washing through her until she can feel the moisture oozing out. Her scream echoes in her ears.

Then a blinding, sharp pain spikes in her thigh and something cold and insidious creeps upwards, stealing thought and consciousness.

Sam tumbles into blackness.

~ ~ ~

When she comes to, she’s in a different room. The bed is marginally smaller than Baal’s, the décor a little less grand. The Queen’s quarters, she thinks, not sure about that but unable to imagine another possibility.

She sits slowly, but finds there is no need for her care: her body feels more than rested, it feels whole in a way that makes her want to vomit: he put her in the sarcophagus again.

Clutching the sheet to her chest - and she’s naked again - Sam rises from the bed. There’s a table against the far wall, laden with trays of food and a gold pitcher. She walks over and examines what’s been left for her. It looks edible, though she’s no idea if it is or not. Or if it’s been tampered with.

Still, the sarcophagus can only restore so much and she can’t remember the last time she ate. Hunger is a gnawing ache in her stomach. She picks up a thick slice of bread and nibbles at the crust. It’s not long before she’s trying the meat, which tastes like ham and could be, for all she knows, and what is definitely cheese. The pitcher holds a deep red wine that smells rich and fruity. Sam ignores it and goes for the small glass jug holding water.

Once she’s eaten her fill, she takes her cup to the window and looks out. The stars are the blue blur of hyperspace speed. She wonders where they are headed and snorts - for all his claims about her sharing power, Baal has not seen fit to even keep her abreast of his plans, never mind ask for her input.

Sam, you are an idiot, she thinks. You’ve fallen for his lies and half-truths, let him wheedle his way under your skin and you really should have known better than that. He’s too tempting. Too handsome, too clever by half, and he’s played her so well. That he’s so damned good in bed has just added to her ability to fall for completely the wrong guy.

No. She shakes her head, pushing that thought away. It’s not like that.

No, not much.

“Shit,” she says aloud. Has she? In the midst of everything that happened, in the midst of him fucking her six ways from Sunday and actually what day is it, has she done something even more stupid than abandon Earth on her bent for revenge?

The door opens and she turns. And despite knowing that he drugged her and put her in the damn machine, her heart misses a beat at the sight of him. Even though she’s angry, she wants nothing more than to feel his hands on her, feel his mouth against hers.

She pulls on the anger, drawing herself up, spine ramrod straight, and she glares at him.

“You put me in the sarcophagus.” It’s easier to start with simple statements of fact. “You drugged me and put me in, without any agreement from me. So much for your respect.” She gives a flat laugh. “In fact, so much for wanting me as I am, since that damn machine alters me. Is that what you’re doing, Baal? Changing me by increments until I ask for a fucking symbiote?”

Her tirade has little effect - he just stands there, arms folded, and waits for her to finish.

“Are you quite done?” he asks after a moment.

She breathes out hard. “For now. I want to hear what amazing excuses you come up with this time.”

“I need no excuses.” He drops his arms to his side and walk forward. She forces herself to hold her ground, not willing to let him know how much he really intimidates her when he’s in this mood. “Nor do I need to give you any reason for what I do.”

The truth hurts more than it should.

“So you don’t really care. This is just some game for you, isn’t it?”

“Well you seem to know me better than I know myself. Maybe you should answer those questions, since you’re clearly more qualified.”

“You lied to me.” That’s what really gets her - she trusted him, and he’s betrayed her. It shouldn’t matter. It does. “Why, other than to hurt me more? Haven’t I suffered enough for you?”

His eyes flash and his jaw tightens. She waits for it, but when he does speak, his voice is still human.

“I have not lied, Samantha. Everything I have told you is the truth, more than you realise and certainly more than I should have said. This no game and I have no wish to injure your feelings. The reason I put you in the sarcophagus was to ease your suffering. I… went too far, for which I apologise by the way, and I wished to correct that mistake.”

She frowns, thinking over what happened on the bridge. “What did you do then that was so wrong?”

“I should have stopped. You begged me to, but… well, I am what I am. It was a slip that I do not intend to repeat.”

He is what he is. Sam blinks as that registers. Somehow, she’s forgotten. Or maybe it’s just ceased to matter. She’s not sure which is more nerve-wracking, yet she’s not as horrified as she ought to be. She closes her eyes, wondering what the hell has become of her. What the hell she is doing.

There are a hundred things she should say, but what comes out is, “You didn’t hurt me” and she opens her eyes again, looks at him directly. “But… but I frightened myself.”

A dark eyebrow arches, a silent demand that she explains herself and quickly, if the expression on his face is anything to go by.

She looks away. “W-when I… climaxed I-I…” Her tongue fumbles the words and her cheeks flame. It’s odd that she can give oral to a System Lord and yet not tell him what actually happened when he went down on her. She scrubs a hand through her hair. “No offense, but it wasn’t entirely down to you. I… I was on a high, and you damn well know that I was. That’s why it was there, so I could see what I’d done. I got off on blowing that ship up and I don’t care!”

The last is more to herself because she does, a little, and she’s sick of being good and doing things the right way. All that’s gotten her so far is a myriad of dead friends, more close calls with death than she can recollect and a failure of a love life.

It occurs to her that it’s not really him that she’s angry with, even though he did drug her. In a typical paradoxically Baal fashion, he’s done the wrong thing for the right reason. She wonders how a being so intelligent can constantly be so dumb.

After a moment, she speaks. “I’m not playing a game, either. I have more… invested in this than you realise.”

His lips twist and he huffs. “Invested? You have given me nothing. The only reason you’re here is because there was no other option available to you.”

She cannot deny that, as it’s the truth - he offered her a chance to defeat the Replicators and she took it, regardless of the consequences. She just hadn’t imagined that one such consequence would be his becoming important to her.

Moving to his side, she puts a tentative hand on his arm. “Baal,” she says softly. He glares at her and she smiles slightly, sadly. “You’re right. At least about why I came, but… but you’re wrong if you think that’s why I stayed.”

Some of the anger leaves his face. “You stayed because you want revenge, a desire I understand and if that is what you need then… then my offer still stands. I have not lied. I truly did not intend to hurt you. Maybe I fool myself, but-”

He sighs and moves his arm. Her hand drops to her side and she watches, cold and numb as he folds his arms and walks away. Loss wells up and spills down her cheeks.

“Please don’t go.”

It’s out before she can censor herself, before she can debate the wisdom of laying her heart on the line. He is all she has and, though not sure that’s entirely fair on him, she cannot let him go. What she feels terrifies her and it only makes sense when she’s in his arms, when he stops her from thinking, from analysing.

His eyes rake her, his expression full of distain. “Why should I stay?” he asks, voice bitter. “Just because the sex is good? It is, but you cannot believe I will settle for that. No, Samantha. I will not be your distraction, as… entertaining though that is.”

With that he leaves, and her heart is torn from her. Sobbing, she sinks to the floor, utterly broken and realising a hard and painful truth.

She is in love with him.