Stargate: SG-1, Ba'al/Ba'al clones, narcissism
The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is himself.
"Welcome to life," Ba'al tells him with a smirk.
He closes his eyes, trying to understand. His memories are there, intact, all of them. He's done this before. Last time though, he was the one on top. He'd thought being a clone would feel different, less worthy, less real. He was wrong.
He tries to move his hands, and the force of the bonds holding him comes as a surprise, even though part of him knew they'd be there. He swallows, nervous for the first time in longer than he can remember. He knows what's coming, had done it to countless versions of himself before, and yet, he can't quite come to terms with the fact that it'll be done to him now.
When he opens his eyes again, Ba'al --the real one-- is still there, hovering over him. Waiting.
"It's good to be alive," he tells him, lowering his eyes in just the right way. He knows what effect it'll have on the real him, remembers the other clones doing the same.
Ba'al'd believed they had accepted their place in life, that they had recognized his -- the original's-- superiority. He wants to laugh at the naivety. He licks his lips instead and looks at the other Ba'al, the real one, through his lashes. An invitation.
He's forewarned, but still, the brutality with which Ba'al shoves his already hard cock down his mouth makes him gag. He tries to adjust, to breathe through his nose, but the other him doesn't give him time, pushing harder, faster. His jaw aches with the roughness of it, and it takes all of his concentration not to bite down. Only knowing what happened to the few clones who dared stops him.
He looks up and sees his own eyes looking down at him, dark with desire and possessiveness. He moans with sudden arousal and is rewarded with a harder shove of Ba'al's cock, his own cock, and a slight breaking of that perfect rhythm. The other Ba'al is close now, lost in pleasure. It surprises him how much he wants to shatter that control. He swallows and pushes his tongue against the underside of the cock as hard as he can. The real Ba'al makes a choking sound and comes down his throat. His mouth fills with the bitter, familiar taste of his own come, as he tries to figure out how to swallow it, not sure if he wants to.
Ba'al leaves as soon as he's done, not bothering to untie him. It stings, even if it's just another way to show him that he isn't the one in control. He relaxes and waits for the other clones to come and free him. The night is not over yet. The others will want to use him, too. It's what he'd do in their place.
The clones open the door, and come in, one after the other, twelve of them. All with perfect, identical smirks on their faces and eyes dark with the need for revenge. He smiles at them, a promise of retribution and pain, when the right time comes and the tables turn. Even now, when he's just one more clone, he still thinks they're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
He doesn't bother feigning submission. Contrary to the real Ba'al the copies know the truth. Being a clone doesn't make them different or less. When the time comes, they'll claim their rightful place as Gods and kill the competition on the way. It's the Goa'uld's way. They're all biding their time. Meanwhile, he can allow himself to enjoy this.
He recalls the schedule of the cloning facility and smiles with anticipation. In another week a new clone will be done. It'll be his turn then, and he won't stop at a blowjob like the real Ba'al did. After this humiliation he'll want to see Ba'al pay, even if it just a copy of him. Only then does he realize that the clones won't stop at a blowjob either. The knowledge enrages him as much as it arouses him.
It's all right, though. He'll survive. The others have too. And next week, it'll be him on top once more, until is only him left.