Cute Without the "E"

[Cryax Bane]

No idiot, indeed. Despite his immaculate looks, the younger man wasn’t as green as Cryax had hoped. The animalistic hiss that snarled out of Nejaa’s throat only served to stir the Chiss in unintended ways. His voice descending into a throatier register that betrayed the nature of his desire, Cryax spoke.

“Ok, genius, you got me,” he admitted with a shrug. “The Sith are my willing clients. I run with criminals. I’m a slicer, a slaver and an organ thief.” He rattled off his illegal pursuits as if they were ordinary hobbies and then gestured a blue-skinned hand towards the expansive window looking out over the dazzling Coruscant skyline.

“It's just business, my dear Nejaa. Those views aren't going to pay for themselves.”

Was it best to leave out details of his history as one of the most infamous crime lords in the galaxy, and that five million credit bounty that kept him a prisoner on Coruscant? He wasn’t sure it mattered. Scum was scum, no matter what kind of pretty blue bow you tied on it or how many credits you offered for its head.

Since Nejaa had started to become less than a dream captive, it was a good thing that as a precaution, the Chiss had mixed a generous portion of Gree Spice into the box of takeout noodles, with a bit more stirred into the water for good measure. The highly illegal spice, would soon grant Nejaa a sense of euphoria, power, emotional warmth and an empathy toward others, as well as distortions in sensory and time perception. In other words, he would be as high as a kite.

Bane slowly crept a few inches closer to his collared captive. Leaning forward on his hands, looking into Nejaa’s dark eyes for traces of pupil dilation, or any other kind of sign that the spice was taking hold. Cryax internally congratulated his own prescience. Something to wipe that feral sneer off the other man’s face and temper his bratty defiance was in badly in order, and if anything, Gree Spice was just the substance to make Nejaa as sweetly compliant as his handsome face suggested. He dropped hand down to let it rest on the young man's thigh, testing the drug's waters.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Core Worlds;
Corusca Sector;
Coruscant;
Cell of Cryax.

“Ok, genius, you got me, the Sith are my willing clients. I run with criminals. I’m a slicer, a slaver and an organ thief.”

For the first time, Nejaa could bring himself to believe this Cryax. Only now when he recanted his crimes in earnest, speaking of horrible things lightly. It was so obviously comfortable for him. Never had this evil been allowed to live while the Jedi were in control of the planet, not while this place was his home world. The jedi wouldn't allow it, no, they'd seek it out, they'd burn corruption like this to the ground. Although no noise came from his mouth, the snarl remained so as to continue bearing white teeth, always finding a new way to shrink further into himself. When Bane pointed, a sweeping motion towards that which lay just beyond the room's edge, Nejaa didn't move. Certainly didn't look, or give much thought to the idea. Doing so would mean removing his eyes, even if only for a second, from the snake curled in striking position just opposite him. Those eyes, unblinking, a clean slab of red used like mirrors to reflect the room's lighting.

“It's just business, my dear Nejaa. Those views aren't going to pay for themselves.”

Even without any kind of identifiable features, there was some kind of clotted emotion cramped and pushed behind those crimson orbs. Some kind of swelling anticipation or growing silence. Waiting for something, for the spark which might ignite his fire. Steadily, every motion of Nejaa's defiance only increased the visible hunger on Bane's face. That lingering interest which seemed to pour from the blue alien in dreadful amounts. Directed towards him, towards Nejaa. Though, as if he were preparing for a gift long since promised him. Nejaa had seen looks like this before, or looks similar to it, though it was difficult to remember where. Perhaps just before violence, those moments just before an attack is made. When both opponents study one another and list together each and every exposed opening. Anything they'll be able to exploit or pin against the other. That's what Nejaa saw on Bane's face now; eyes which had already peeled the Jedi apart and positioned him as he needed to be positioned. A mind without a question as to its next target, and a mind which needed to move- needed to act.

"I'm not business, I'm a person!"

An urge, almost compulsive even if easily justified or excused. That's what it was when Cryax finally reached forward, looming ahead so as to place a hand on his unique product. His very own rare catch, even if Nejaa struggled to resist it. Even now, the jedi had no way of identifying with this intimate energy, even when it had long boiled in the lower parts of his stomach for years now. A carnal churning which, even against something so forbidden, seemed capable of compelling just about anyone to do its bidding. His arms flexed, then pulled back, fingers finding their weapon and preparing to use it. The Jedi's entire anatomy lit up like an animal, hanging low, eyes devouring, then body moving. From his loosely cross legged position it was hard to move all too quickly, especially the leg which had become victim to a sickened entitlement. Even despite this, Nejaa whipped himself like a catapult, empty glass in hand, braced and positioned to collide with the back of Cryax's head.

What happened next, well, Nejaa couldn't honestly be completely sure. What he could remember was the sound of glass against something hard. A thud, then a sharp shatter, and the world didn't stop spinning. Like he had never fully unwound from his attack, or his eyes had forgotten how to remain still. "The food," Nejaa whispered, more to himself than the fiend before him, that awful moment of realization motivating another strike against Cryax, weak arms dealing less damage than the glare behind them. Deafening waves of numbness began to grab at the edges of his body, the tips of fingers and against his cheeks. Thoughts became increasingly difficult to think, words harder to speak, sounds and noises more and more difficult to properly identify. But mostly, it was warm, erratic, and pumped through his body. This was a feeling which differed from those already felt here, in Cryax's 'care.' Unlike the pain killers and other medical toxins he'd been subjugated to this was a feeling designed for pleasure, for the experience. Soft but harder than anything. It was strange how, as if exponentially, sobriety left him alone and without defenses. Something silent pushed and poked at him, reminded him that he couldn't be still. He had not time to just feel this feeling. When he moved an arm, prickles and sensations lit it aglow, or a leg, or his head.

Although he tried to fight it, tried to breathe his way out of it, Nejaa's eyes became glassy with whatever intoxication had been chosen. His back fell as if unable to offer support, his head stooped low and hung not inches from the sheets which covered him. And oh, those sheets, how had he missed it before? Just how soft they were, how their temperature felt cool against heated skin.

"Hhhuuuh god... what..."

His tone was muffled, spoken sloppily with words barely recognizable. He could feel himself moving, but he wasn't entirely sure of where he was going when he reeled himself backwards, hands stretching out before him so that he might gaze upon forward turned palms. "What've you," he repeated again, this time with just a little more clarity. His lips hung full of their pout, plump and relaxed into a taunting treat. He never did finish that sentence, glazed focus splintered against whatever this was. Cryax- all he could see was Cryax, and he was close. Always so close. Nejaa wanted to attack him again, finish what he had started, use the weapon he had kept to himself. He told himself he would, that he had too, but he didn't. He couldn't remember the reason, or convince himself that it would be worth it. So it never happened. Something stopped him, something he couldn't explain, and didn't plan to. Something which had hit him hard with an artificial domination of the mind, tearing him from his path and tossing him into rapidly increasing disarray. Something which felt wrong even as it was happening, pushed him backwards to fall in among the cushions to his posterior, unguarded and unable to procure any real shield any longer. A whoosh of displaced air as he fell, bare torso stretching long against the bed's surface and arms out to the side. Unpleasant lags, a drizzling slur of movement to perception, nothing lined up as it should. Untying themselves from the form of a fist, Nejaa was just barely able to command his fingers to move, sliding first over fabric, then his own abdomen, chest, up in a winding line across his neck until his hand merely rested against his head, elbow pointed tall in the air.

"... What've you..."

"... Cryax..."

"... What's... happening to me...?"

[member="Cryax Bane"]

 

[Cryax Bane]

Cryax almost wished he didn't have to temper those lovely emotions with the spice, especially given the dark things the young man’s rage stirred in him, but the euphoric substance was for Nejaa’s good as much as his own, he reasoned. If the Jedi ended up being sold to a Sith Master, a result that was not yet entirely off the table, the young man could very well be facing years of suffering. He could be physically or mentally tortured or experimented on. Perhaps all three at once. His time in Cryax’s care could be rationalized as almost a mercy.

These were the types of lies the Chiss told himself on a daily basis. He wasn’t delusional. He simply lived in a world where everyone around him was a potential victim. And if the first lie didn't work...wait a minute, there would soon be another.

Bane’s red, bottomless orbs watched Nejaa’s reactions with mild amusement. He found himself involuntarily enthralled by the way the young man’s nose scrunched up in a feral snarl every now and again, and the way his muscles tensed like a tiger in a trap.

But the tiger trap was not air-tight. Suddenly, lips pulled back over teeth and hands clenched into fists. Bane raised his hands high to protect his head and chin, forearms tucked against his torso to impede body shots. The tiger was lunging...

...and then he fell backwards. The effects of the Gree Spice had excellent timing. Bane's lips twisted into a wicked grin. The small trace of spice in the bite of food he had eaten, had entered his own bloodstream as well. Not enough to have a profound effect, but enough to soften his features.

“Shhhhhh,” comforted the Chiss. Nejaa stammered with confusion as the effects of the drug left him a taut tangle of muscular limbs. The Jedi’s pupils dilated. His slender hands fingered the bedsheets, searching for tactile sensations. Touch was very important to someone under the influence of the Gree Spice, as sensory perception was perversely heightened. The feeling of skin-on-skin would eclipse the fragile ego, and make the user feel part of a unified field. It was a gorgeous, heady feeling, and one that Nejaa would crave once it eventually subsided.

Nejaa flopped backwards on the bed and stretched languidly. Sentences hung in the air, unfinished. Needy hands dragged against the sheets, pulling at the sensual fabric.

“Relax," he ordered. "Nothing bad is happening to you, Nejaa.” Not yet anyway. You'll know it when something bad happens. With a smirk Bane shrugged and added, “It’s just spice.”

Cryax had him exactly where he wanted him. Moving closer, now almost parallel to where the young man lay, he chanced another gesture, reaching out to let a hand brush against the Jedi's chest.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Core Worlds;
Corusca Sector;
Coruscant;
Cell of Cryax.

“Shhhhhh.”

And shh he did, inhaling a deep breath to form a swelling chest and closing eyes. Every small fold in the fabric was like it's own string of sensation, inflicting a ripple of stimulation along the course of his entire body. Every second, the feeling grew stronger, and reality dropped further out of perspective. If asked, Nejaa would strongly oppose the use of spice. Though somewhere much more locked away he had always been curious. Always wondered why these kinds of experiences were so far forbidden among those in the order. Now he knew. This feeling consumed him in everything which was restricted. Every sin washed over him in milky abundance. Even when he snuck in so close.

“Relax, nothing bad is happening to you, Nejaa...”
“... It’s just spice.”

Nejaa's ability was that of transformation, though it failed under the touch of skin. Bane's touch shattered the smooth texture of human's flesh around Nejaa's left pectoral, sending the once tan skin into an array of gray and feint olive colors. Nejaa's lips curled upward, a smile, then a small laugh and his head fell sideways, eyes wide. It was the end of his laughter, but each new bout seemed less and less spirited, less joyful and more so broken. He knew what his options were now, he had lost, again. Lost to the lying devil who hovered over him. When his eyes made contact this time, they seemed to already carry the defeat which would come. The coloration shook within the iris, the shape of his pupil. And even what did remain of his human guise grew pale under a failing transformation.

"Hnn, hn-hn, I get it now..."

But he couldn't hold eye contact for long, didn't wish too. "Me, here... like this," left hand fell against his chest a hollow noise resonating therein. Even his own body felt fun to touch- it was like he could feel every pore on his skin. Though his right, the one closer to [member="Cryax Bane"] , struck that intrusive hand off of his body and grabbed him by the wrist, trying to further yank it away. Bane's Wrist was slender, like his own, but infinitely stronger under these circumstances. Whatever musky accent he carried seemed to further disguise his words, annunciating odd sounds from the basic vocabulary.

"You can't-- I won't... hn, hn-hn, you can't make me..."














[[TO BE CONTINUED]]

#FiftyShadesofBlue.