Archive: M/A, Black Rose if she wants it...(Since it's her
fault - AGAIN. )
Pairing: Q/O (Duh!)
Category: A/U, H/C, Angst(Must have angst.)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash but not any really graphic sex, graphic
violence though...
A revised (greatly) version of Hunger Test with the picture
(and Black Rose's permission ) is posted at
http://www.sevenpillarsarabians.com/Maygra/swtpm/brpicfic091
3.html
Summary: Yet again, all fault lies with Black Rose and her
artwork -- this one, posted for a challenge at
http://digitalmidnight.simplenet.com/gallery/fan/force.jpg, is
not exactly what she had in mind I don't think, but since
Hunger Test was still clutching at my grey matter, I came up
with the prequel. The anitbiotics did nothing to stave of fthe
infection BR has caused.
There's a plot...but still trying to work around capturing the
picture.
It was beta'd...but still, errors, glaring or otherwise are
mine.
Disclaimers: Not mine. Characters and concepts belong to George
Lucas, Lucasfilms, LTD and ILM. No infringement is inended, no
recompense is sought.
Feedback: Please: Good, bad or indifferent. Any comments
welcome to maygra@bellsouth.net
It began as a whisper, barely noticed, elusive. Caught between
waking and sleeping, it almost seemed as if the voice was
speaking to Qui-Gon, but try as he might, he could make no
sense of the words. He tried to make it hush, but his efforts
were mocked as a second whisper joined the first. Not quite
voices, more like the rustling of leaves through a courtyard,
only to change again and seem to speak his name.
//Listen...listen...list...isten...ist...// It faded again and
his eyes opened, staring up at the shadowy, red tinted
darkness. The voices faded to nothing and he sighed softly,
taking a steadying breath. Three nights of this...or perhaps he
should say days, since by Alkinar's cycles it was day, though
you could barely tell the difference in the skies. They went
from dark to black and back again under the weak red sun. The
Radouhd clan of Alkinar kept their activities to the darkness
of night and so he and Obi-Wan had adjusted their sleep cycles
accordingly.
His hand came out to touch his bedmate's blanketed hip, smiling
slightly in the shadows. Whatever this sleeping visitor of
sound and presence, Obi-Wan seemed to be unaffected by it. He
had reported no more dreams than usual, and though he shifted
under Qui-Gon's light touch, he did not wake even now. He found
the planet and the simple life of the Radouhd to be relaxing.
Rolling to his side, Qui-Gon fit his body against Obi- Wan's,
pulling the blankets up around them both. It was cold on the
planet, even in summer. Not frigid as Hoth was but cold enough.
The Radouhd made their homes over a series of natural hot
springs, millennia old lava rivers but a few miles north that
kept the temperature bearable without requiring special
clothing. The quarters they had been assigned were likewise
heated by hot springs but the rise and fall of the waters with
the tides had a tendency to make their rooms either steamy as a
jungle or barely warm. They compromised during the sleep cycles
by wearing as little clothing as was decently possible and
piling the blankets high.
Decent clothing was necessitated by their hosts' unnerving
habit of entering and depositing their meals and small tokens
and clean clothes without warning. After the first few nights,
Obi-Wan had asked if they should perhaps take advantage of both
beds provided but as their hosts seemed nonplused about the
pair of them sharing a bed, Qui-Gon did not see the need.
And, in truth, he thought his sleep might be even more
disturbed were not Obi-Wan stretched out beside him. He had
gotten quite used to his padawan's presence in his bed, if not
every other aspect of his life. Almost dependent upon it.
A few years prior and he would have been horrified at the
thought -- or not horrified but adequately uncomfortable. But
Obi-Wan, while still his padawan, was no child ,but a man grown
and perfectly capable, he had quite determinedly pointed out
nearly a year ago, of deciding when, where and with whom he
bestowed his favors.
Damn it.
Qui-Gon, being the wise and venerable master he was, had
acquiesced gracefully.
It still made him laugh.
Obi-Wan had brought him more joy than he had ever thought to
find. As an apprentice, he had forced Qui-Gon to reach past
years of ingrained behavior to stay ahead of his curious and
energetic and endlessly questioning padawan. The closer Obi-Wan
got to his trials, the more value Qui- Gon placed upon having a
partner and a companion, a counterpart in all things, and now,
as a lover, he did not think his life could be any richer, his
commitment to the goals and ideals of the Jedi any clearer, or
his heart any fuller.
And Mace had once told him he had no romance in his soul. //I
should have fallen in love sooner,// he thought, letting one
arm wrap around Obi-Wan and resting his head on the pillow next
to his lover's. Obi-Wan pressed back inviting contact, the soft
red-gold silk of his cropped hair tickling Qui-Gon's cheek.
"Awake again?" came the sleepy question, Obi-Wan's hand
covering Qui-Gon's at his waist, lacing their fingers together.
"Mmm. Go back to sleep," Qui-Gon soothed.
"Are you all right?" Obi-Wan asked twisting to look up at him,
although all they could see of each other was shadows.
"Yes. Go back to sleep," Qui-Gon scolded, kissing his temple.
"The voices again?"
Qui-Gon sighed and lay back, not surprised when Obi-Wan turned
over to lean against his chest. Slightly more light showed from
the not quite twilight beyond, turning Obi- Wan's usually pale
skin, tan and the white singlet he wore to a dusky brown. His
padawan's braid swing down to tickle Qui-Gon's bare chest and
he caught the slim twist of hair, rolling the end of the braid
between his fingers. "Yes. The voices. No more clearer this
time than last."
"And nothing in the Force?" Obi-Wan asked quietly, propping his
head up on one hand. His other hand stroked soothingly across
Qui-Gon's ribs.
"Not that I have been able to discern, no," Qui-Gon said. "When
I wake there is nothing there."
"Then perhaps you should try to sleep and I will keep watch. If
there is something trying to reach you, I may be able to detect
it awake as it come to you in your sleep."
Qui-Gon listened, reaching up to touch his lover's face. Others
might have thought his imagination or shrugged it off as no
account when nothing could be detected but the vague echoes of
a sleeping mind. That Obi-Wan steadfastly believed him to be
neither imagining nor distracted or mistaken said much for his
ability to truly listen to others, a gift that had served them
both well.
"If it persists we may try that," Qui-Gon allowed. "But I am
awake now and you were not. One of us needs to be fully rested
enough to continue the negotiations with the Radouhd."
Obi-Wan snorted. The negotiations, such as they were, had
dragged out for two weeks already. The Radouhd were gracious
hosts, canny negotiators and they welcomed the Republic's
interests in their adnium mines. Most of the details had been
worked out, but they would not take the final steps to close
them negotiations. Night after night the talks concluded with
the same admonition. "When you are of the Dahoud, we will
complete our transaction."
But 'of the Dahoud' was no more clear in meaning to Obi-Wan
than it was to Qui-Gon. Questions provided no indication if it
were a ritual or a festival to be observed, only that the Jedi
must wait for the Dahoud.
So they waited and worked on details usually left until after a
treaty was signed. The Radouhd seemed content to go over
shipment schedules and equipment needs as if they were done,
but no seals had been pressed to the carefully recorded
agreements, no voice prints made to finalize the contracts.
It was progress without a resolution that could be pinned down
and the Chancellor bade them wait it out for as long as it
took. The Republic had need for the vast amounts of adnium on
Alkinar.
"They prefer to deal with you it seems," Obi-Wan observed,
finally laying his head on Qui-Gon's chest.
"They esteem age, but they have treated your contributions
respectfully. It may be as much their culture as anything."
Qui-Gon soothed, not that Obi-Wan was feeling particularly
slighted. Early on in the negotiations they had noted the lack
of young people at the conference fire, dealing only with the
elders of the clan, those well into their fifth decade or more.
Even those who brought them food or beverages or reports or
extra cloaks, when the Jedi became chilled, bore the same marks
of age. Male or female, their rank and age was marked by the
intricate tattoos etched into the left side of their faces,
covering them from mid brow to mid chin and all the way to
their hairlines. Some of the men still sported beards on half
their faces, the women often shaved that half of their head and
allowed the delicate tattoos to cover their skulls as well. But
they had not seemed put off by Obi-Wan's youth, answering him
and dealing with him as courteously as they did with Qui- Gon.
The difference was only in their leave taking each day shortly
before dawn, bowing to Qui-Gon and touching their foreheads as
a unit, all seven elders, "May the Dahoud embrace you, Kaia
Jinn." They offered only a smile and a polite inclination of
their heads to Obi-Wan.
Yet there were others around, younger, who tended their rooms
and provided them with meals or small services such as laundry
or to drive them to tour the mines. Far more outgoing than
their elders, they seemed no more able to answer questions
about the Dahoud than their elders. Children played in the
village outside of the council room and their parents either
worked as merchants or in the mines. All other aspects of the
clan life were seemingly straightforward but this seemed to be
less religion than like some phase of life that could not be
defined as adolescence or puberty. Or so Obi-Wan had theorized.
"No doubt in time and with patience, this too will be revealed
to us," Qui-Gon sighed, tucking the braid behind Obi-Wan's ear
and following it with a caress along his throat and shoulder.
He chuckled softly when Obi-Wan groaned against his chest. "Try
to rest, beloved. We have the Tisak tonight and Laki says it
will go on until past dawn."
"That will be interesting at least," Obi-Wan murmured. "There
will be dancing," he added slyly, looking at his master with a
grin.
"And songs and stories to welcome the turning of the seasons,"
Qui-Gon said mildly, then made an 'oof!' of sound as Obi-Wan
squeezed his thigh sharply, glaring at him with a particularly
mischievous smirk. "I am sure I can find energy for one dance,"
he amended.
The hand that had so mercilessly pinched his thigh moved and
Qui-Gon made a different sound. "Unless you are too tired,"
Obi-Wan offered him an escape. But there would be a cost.
Sinking his fingers into the short, thick hair, Qui-Gon drew
him upward, his other hand skating along the smooth skin under
the thin singlet. "You have yet to wear me out, youngling," he
said severely.
Obi-Wan's lips descended on his, exploring his master's mouth
with tongue and energy as if he had every right to do so --
which he did. "There is no try," Obi-wan murmured reaching to
strip off his singlet in one fluid motion. "There is only
'do'," he said, pulling the blankets back.
Perhaps they got no rest, but neither was Qui-Gon disturbed
again by the whispering voices in the darkness, which may have
been Obi-Wan's intention, but Qui-Gon doubted it.
The Tisak actually started before sunset but as promised, it
went on for many hours, the entire village turning out with
music and rich foods, festival finery and great vats of the
local and potent equivalent of wine. Such festivals would be
happening all over the clan lands and Qui-Gon did his best to
record as much as possible. The Alkinar had only recently made
forays into the greater Republic, trading their privacy for
goods and services and, unfortunately, protection. It was a
large part of the bargaining the Jedi had done. Raiders and
opportunists had begun to descend upon Alkinar in the past
twenty years or so, when adnium, in small amounts, was found to
increase the output of the hyperspace drives. Not much was need
for each component and it was not as rare as some elements, but
it was valuable enough to be worth stealing.
There was dancing and, as the elders absolutely refused to
discuss further treaty needs during the festival, both Jedi
relaxed into the festivities. Buoyed by good spirits and an
enthusiastic crowd, Obi-Wan had danced with the other young
people much to the elder's delight. Fast rhythms and much
laughter and forgiveness for missteps had finally convinced
Qui-Gon to give his padawan the dance he had promised, and that
also delighted the elders and the other Radouhd.
But after two dances, Qui-Gon sat again, accepting another mug
of the wine and quite willing to watch his lover's graceful
movements with the granddaughter of one of the elders during a
slower dance. Other partners would have claimed Obi-Wan as
well, but flushed and sweating, he declined, grinning as he
dropped back onto the bench beside Qui-Gon and stole the last
of his wine.
The story telling went on while they ate, then more wine and
song were offered, Obi-Wan surrendering the bench to sit on the
ground between his masters' legs as he listened. But either
little sleep the day before or too much wine soon had him
nodding off in a doze. h Qui-Gon felt far from sober but
somewhat more clearheaded, for all that he'd probably drunken
twice as much and gotten half the exercise.
"Your mahazar is in the dreaming," Laki murmured. Eldest of the
elders, he was a gnarled, wizened old man, with eyes as black
as obsidian, skin stretched tight over his bones and teeth
stained brown and chipped to jagged points from too much
chewing of chaka root, a local mild narcotic.
"Too much of your excellent brew," Qui-Gon said amiably.
"It is for the dreamers," Laki said, pointing at any number of
young people who seemed equally drowsy.
"Would it offend you if I put him to bed?" Qui-Gon asked,
shaking Obi-Wan's shoulder and getting a sleepy response.
"Be as it will," Laki said with a smile and touched his
forehead. "Be welcome the Dahoud," he added bowing.
Qui-Gon returned the bow, not so clearheaded that he felt up to
pursuing the mysterious Dahoud again. Getting Obi-Wan to his
feet took a moment or two, but his padawan at least seemed
capable of walking once he was up, although he wrapped his arms
around Qui-Gon's waist to steady himself. "Is the festival
over?" he asked, speech slightly slurred
"Not quite, but for us I think," Qui-Gon returned, guiding them
toward their quarters as a deep rhythmic drumming began again
behind them.
"I didn't think I had drunk so much," Obi-Wan complained
softly, trying to focus on his steps and his thoughts.
Qui-Gon chuckled . "But not to offense. Some sleep will put you
right, beloved." He got them to their room and overcame
Obi-Wan's protests to help him undress and slipped a clean,
white singlet over his lover's head before tucking him under
the blankets. Obi-Wan was asleep almost as soon as his head hit
the pillow.
For himself, Qui-Gon availed himself of the small hot spring in
their rooms, bathing before stepping into his loose sleeping
pants. The effects of the wine still hovered at the edges of
his perceptions, but a small mental touch allowed him to reach
his padawan through the Force and he got a sleepy, but sure,
response so they were not dangerously affected.
Obi-Wan barely moved when Qui-Gon joined his lover under the
blankets save to scoot closer. Feeling relaxed and very
content, Qui-Gon let his eyes drift close, still able to hear
the drums in the distance.
He could not say how long it was before the whispering began
and as before he tried to focus on it, then to hush them until
he woke. This time, however, they did not fade on the waking.
//Listen...Listen...Kaia Jinn...listen to us/// again and
again, still whisper soft, but clearer and sounding quite
close. A touch of Force and he reached out to locate them only
to find nothing resonating within those energies. Was he
dreaming still, then?
//Listen...listen... you must be of us to treat with us....//
the voices murmured.
"Obi-Wan," he said it softly, shaking his companion slightly,
pushing with the Force to wake and caution his lover.
The response was sluggish and confused. Setting the insistent
voices aside for the moment, he rose up, drawing Obi-Wan up
with him. His padawan was limp, breathing still, his heart rate
much reduced as if in a deep trance. Cradling his lover against
his chest, he tried again to break through the murky veil that
clouded his lover's mind with little better luck save a soft
whimper of confusion.
Drugged. Obi-Wan's wine had been drugged, somehow, was his
first thought although he could not say when or how since they
had often shared the same cup.
//Listen...you must be of Us... of the Dahoud...// The voices
insisted, sounding less like echoes and more threatening with
the limp weight of his lover pressed to his chest. They also
sounded closer. Carefully he eased Obi- Wan back onto the bed
and rose, seeking his robes and his lightsaber. The drums had
fallen silent. There was no sound at all save the soft
whispers. The lightsaber flared and he thought he saw a shadow
detach itself from the doorway and move outside.
Still, the Force revealed nothing. Moving carefully, half his
attention on making sure their rooms were clear and half on the
shadows beyond the doorway, he headed outside, his saber
providing both illumination and warning.
//Your mahazar is safe...in the dreaming. You must be of the
Dahoud...// Again, the summons.
The Tisak was marked by the full rising of two moons, providing
more light than even the brightest day they had yet seen, but
it was silvery and cold still, the temperature outside their
quarters enough to rise a chill on Qui-Gon's skin.
As did the sight of the elders waiting for him, arranged in a
semi circle outside their quarters, the flat stones of the
courtyard gleaming palely underfoot.
Laki smiled at him. "It is time, Kaia Jinn, to be of us. You
must be of the Dahoud."
"What do you mean?" Qui-Gon asked, confused by their presence.
They showed no weapons, only their simple tunics. Beneath the
strange lights of the moons the tattoos on their faces gleamed
red. He lowered his saber slightly, pointing it down, the green
glow adding a more eerie filter to the night's colors.
"We are of a people. Our own kind only do we trust... do we
treat with. You must be of the Dahoud...of the people and then
you may speak for us in your Republic."
A ritual then, Qui-Gon thought, feeling a small pang of relief.
The elders had been waiting for the auspicious sign of the
Tisak before they could complete whatever rite they had in
mind. Still, anxiety pricked at him when he thought of Obi-Wan,
all but unconscious and defenseless in the room behind him.
"Did you drug Obi-Wan?"
"He is your mahazar. Your life-bringer. He will provide for the
Dahoud as it needs be. Not a child of yours or kin but close
enough," Laki said and they began moving, a side step and
pause, circling him. "He will be the life for yours with the
Dahoud."
Another chill that had nothing to do with cold crept down
Qui-Gon's spine and he raised his saber again. "Stop, Laki. You
must explain more. Your ways are not my ways."
"Our ways must be your ways. You must be of the Dahoud," Laki
said, and moved again, the others whispering and moving with
him.
Alarmed, Qui-Gon moved back, prepared to defend himself as need
be. Without the Force he could not tell if their intent was
benign or not. "I cannot be of the Dahoud until I know what it
means."
"When you are of the Dahoud you will understand."
"I must understand first!" Qui-Gon said firmly and took another
step back, crouching in a defensive stance.
He was struck from behind with enough force and speed to send
him to his knees. He twisted and came to his feet, whirling,
trying to place the door at his back, and was caught again from
the side. The elders had seemingly vanished, only the
whispering and the fast ripple of shadows across the ice
colored ground a sign they were there at all. Again he was
struck and he gave himself to the Force, slashing with the
saber and touching nothing.
Another blow, enough to knock him off balance, but never enough
to hurt him he realized, and he struck out. His arm was caught
in a vise of steel. A look and Laki smiled at him as another
elder caught his other arm, hands stronger than their wrinkled
and clawed form would indicate peeled his fingers back from the
saber and he dropped it.
The last thing he heard was Laki's whisper in his ear, "When
you are of the Dahoud, you will understand."
There was pain then, ripping through his flesh at the join of
throat and shoulder, so sudden and fierce he could barely
manage a strangled scream of shock and pain. The cold grew more
intense, his limbs held immobile, the only warmth he could feel
was the damp trickle of his own life's blood across his skin.
The agony eased and was replaced by...
A spasm of desire shot through him, heady and sudden, dragging
the breath he had gathered for another scream into a deep moan
of sensation. Rapturous and consuming, he felt himself react as
if his lover had taken over control of his body...but Obi-Wan
had not. He lay insensate still, not far away, close enough
that Qui-Gon could hear his heart beating, the soft escape of
his breath as he exhaled.
He sank deeper into the sensation, his limbs losing strength as
the blood was drained from him by the relentless grip on his
shoulder. Once more he reached for the Force to try and shrug
off his attackers but it was as if they did not exist inside
the Force at all, but beyond it...ghosts...and the last thing
he remembered was the cold settling into his body as the warmth
was sucked away.
Clawing up from m hazy dreams, Obi-Wan heard his own groan. He
felt as if he were wrapped in heavy damp fabric, limbs and
thoughts responding only sluggishly to his command. //Too much
wine... // he thought, recalling the Tisak and his own
inebriated state with something close to embarrassment. It took
real effort to push himself upward, remembering too late to try
and move without disturbing Qui- Gon.
He need not have worried. His master was not in the bed
although Obi-Wan could see where he had lain. A touch on the
fabric revealed the bed cool, though, and he sucked in a
breath, reaching for his lover through the Force...
He hissed at the cold. Not so much on his skin as along their
bond, the sheer alienness of it clearing his head as nothing
else could have. The room was still in the half- twilight of
late afternoon, but beyond there was no sound save the rustle
of a mild wind through the chaka trees and what sounded like
distant murmuring.
Light enough though for him to spot Qui-Gon as he rose. He
staggered in relief to see his lover laying on the other bed.
Had he been dreaming again and awakened? Seeking the other bed
so as not to keep Obi-Wan up another night?
"Qui-Gon," he said it aloud, wincing at the overloud sound and
at the renewed pounding in his head as he moved to sit on the
edge of the bed. The room was chill, the springs having receded
with the far distant seas in Alkinar's southern hemisphere.
He looked to be sleeping but his hands were cold when Obi- Wan
caught up one and then the other. The sharp coppery tang of
blood rose to his nostrils and he leaned closer, seeing traces
of dried blood at Qui-Gon's shoulder and in his dark hair,
although Obi-Wan could see no wound. //Qui- Gon...???// he sent
with effort, the pounding in his head increasing with his heart
rate as anxiety took hold. His fingers crept over the still
face, feeling the cold there, too, under skin that was far too
pale.
But he could sense Qui-Gon, however oddly, and as he watched,
the broad chest rose and fell once.
It took him a moment to realize that another breath did not
follow for at least a full minute. A hand pressed to Qui- Gon's
chest tensed for another long minute before he felt the single
beat of it and he hissed, eyes narrowing as he searched his
lover's face and body for any sign of injury or influence.
There was dirt on his loose pants at the knees and a few more
stains of blood on the dark grey fabric. Closer examination
revealed, more dirt under Qui- Gon's usually immaculate nails.
//Qui-Gon!// More force this time, clutching the chill hands
between his own and chafing them. "Qui-Gon!" reinforcing his
sending with a tight command.
Another uncertain response and he leaned forward, pressing his
forehead to his lover's and taking the pale face between his
hands. //Beloved, answer me...// he sent, pouring all of
himself into the call.
The response was immediate. Qui-Gon convulsed beneath him and
Obi-Wan caught his master's shoulders, eyes widening in alarm
as the eyes snapped open, unseeing at first. "Qui- Gon?"
Obi-Wan said again, a relieved half-smile curving his lips, as
the eyes focused on him.
The relief vanished as Qui-Gon surged off the bed, hands coming
up to grip Obi-Wan's arms and pull him closer. Obi- Wan had
only the briefest glimpse of sharp white teeth, the beloved
face twisted into a snarling visage that in no way resembled
his lover.
He could not stop the scream that erupted from his throat as
those teeth sank through the skin of his shoulder into the
muscles below then over, tearing at his flesh, then again.
Instinctively he struck out, bringing his arms under and
between Qui-Gon's to dislodge his grip and wrenching himself
backward. The skin at his shoulder tore but he was free,
rolling off the bed, and scrambling to his feet, feeling the
hot pulse of his own blood at his shoulder and throat.
Qui-Gon was on him again in that moment that he got his feet
under him and he blocked the charge. "Qui-Gon, stop!" he
screamed, using the Force to reinforce the command but his
master paid no heed. He got his arms up only in time to fend
the larger man off for a moment before he was propelled
backward, his back and head striking the wall with enough force
to knock the breath from him and send a sharp cracking pain
through his skull that almost sent him into darkness.
His arm came up and he screamed again as the sharp fangs ripped
into the flesh at his wrist, Qui-Gon's weight pinning him to
the wall, his own arm almost strangling him as Qui-Gon bit and
dragged blood from the wound in great sucking gulps, swallowing
it, then sucking again.
It took all Obi-Wan had to summon Force enough to thrust his
master away, clutching at his wrist to stop the bleeding and
panting with effort as he tried to quell the pain that seemed
to be in every cell of his body. Qui-Gon hit the floor and lay
stunned for a moment then he was up again, a snarl on his lips,
blood at his mouth and spattered across his chest.
Releasing his injured arm, Obi-Wan called his light saber to
his hand and ignited it, trying to ignore the blood pumping
from his wrist where Qui-Gon had caught an artery.
//Qui-Gon, you know me...You must stop this...// he sent
desperately, trying to reach through that chaotic taint to
their bond. //Please...beloved...Listen to me..//
Qui-Gon paused, taking a breath, then his eyes narrowed again.
//Listen to me! // Obi-wan sent again, too focused on Qui- Gon
to even begin to try and heal himself. //Beloved...what has
happened? Tell me...//
Another hesitant step and Qui-Gon's eyes focused for a moment.
"The Dahoud..." he whispered, as if his throat were too dry or
too tight to let sound escape. "Is in me..."
"The Dahoud?" Obi-Wan repeated, trying to make sense of it.
"Tell me...what has happened. Qui-Gon...No!" he screamed as
Qui-Gon rushed him again, evading the awkwardly held blade and
Obi-Wan's own confusion and weakness. His sword arm was pinned
and belatedly Obi-Wan realized he would never have struck
anyway, and too late now to convince himself that if he wanted
to survive, he would have to.
He screamed again as Qui-Gon sank his teeth into his throat,
biting hard and sucking once more, almost moaning as Qui-Gon
sliced deep enough to hit the jugular. The fear rose in Obi-Wan
as his lover's jaw worked over his skin in a terrifying parody
of the passionate love bites Qui-Gon had once offered. The grip
on his sword arm numbed his fingers and the saber fell away,
his other arm was still bleeding, the chill of the room seeming
sharper. Qui-Gon's weight held him immobile, and his own
despair sapped his will as readily as his blood loss sapped his
strength. //Beloved...please...listen...// he tried once more,
shuddering under the pain and the chill.
The pain faded, the chill became but a distraction. His senses
were fading from shock, but all the familiar scents were there:
the feel of Qui-Gon's hair across his skin, the scent of his
body, even the weight was familiar on some level.
//Beloved...// he surrendered on that one word. Even if he'd
had the will to defend himself for his own survival, the moment
was past, the strength he needed, gone.
The arms that had held him pinned now supported him, holding
him close, an embrace of sorts. He clutched at Qui- Gon's arm
and held on, letting his head fall back because his neck would
no longer support it. All his strength was concentrated on
holding onto the familiar strength of the arm that held him.
The shift of his head dislodged Qui-Gon's teeth for a moment
and Obi-Wan fought to see some recognition the blue eyes that
studied him. "Beloved..." he said, seeing what he needed to.
Perhaps it would be all right then...Qui-Gon could over come
this. He closed his eyes as the bloody mouth bent toward his
throat again, steeling himself for the pain he knew would
follow.
It was not pain he felt. A different warmth spread through him,
the arms that held him no longer merely supporting his weight
but holding him close. A cool hand brushed over his thigh,
lifting the bloody singlet to caress across his flank and hip,
and a weak arousal flared. He thought he made a sound, felt the
hard press of Qui-Gon's groin against his own, even as the
mouth continued to suck at the wound at his throat. He was
lifted, he thought, or floating; perhaps dying, but the fear
faded with the more familiar gentle touch of his lover rather
than with the violence of the last few moments. The suction at
his throat mimicked a different kind of suckling he had known
elsewhere from those same soft lips, and he felt it then. His
body reacted weakly but with the same pleasure, the insistent
tug and pull at his groin sending a fiery warmth through his
otherwise chilled body.
//Listen...Listen...// he heard it then faintly.. .echoing the
sound Qui-Gon made at his throat, pressing feebly into the hand
that now fondled him beneath his singlet. His own moan almost
drowned out the whisper and he was vaguely aware there were
others in the room.
//Listen Kaia Jinn...listen...you will kill him...you must
cease...It is enough for the Dahoud...we are sorry...we did not
know...listen ...listen...you must close the wound thus...//
The words made no sense to Obi-Wan, were not meant for him.
Only the touch of Qui-Gon's hand was meant for him...even as
another mouth closed over his wrist and he whimpered at the
strange touch.
//Obi-Wan? Beloved...// such despair in that sending, but it
was sane, familiar, familiar enough to let him give over,
weakly surrendering his seed into his lover's hand.
//I am here, Qui-Gon...// But not for long, he knew. He thought
Qui-Gon said something else, tried to tell him something but it
was enough, the alien coldness was gone from the touch of his
lover's mind, the hands on his body as gentle as always.
//Forgive...//
"Always forgiven, beloved...." Obi-Wan whispered. At least he
hoped he did, hearing once more the steady beat of Qui- Gon's
heart against his cheek. //There is no death...only...you.//
The first thing Obi-Wan became aware of was that there was
warmth and that it was brighter than he recalled, even with his
eyes closed. The next was that he could no longer smell the
chaka trees or the mineral springs. The air was devoid of
almost any scent at all. Save one, one he was intimately
familiar with. "Qui-" his throat felt dry and he coughed. A
strong arm supported him and held a cup to his lips. //Qui-
Gon?//
//Here, Obi-Wan. I am here.// There was an unfamiliar
contriteness in the tone, a tightly controlled barrier there as
well, but Qui-Gon's face, when Obi-Wan opened his eyes, held no
strangeness, only strain. Mutely Qui-Gon coaxed him into
drinking all the water in the cup before easing him back down
on the bed.
A ship. They were on the small courier they had used to reach
Alkinar. "What...I thought I was...dying," Obi-Wan said,
completely surprised that he seemed to be very much alive.
"You almost did die," Qui-Gon said, setting the cup aside. He
was sitting on the edge of the bed, but very carefully was not
touching Obi-Wan save as he had needed to to support him and
hold the cup. "The Radouhd were able to stop the bleeding and
provide a transfusion of my blood to you."
Memory came back in a flood, Obi-Wan shuddering under the
suddenness of it, but not so caught up in it that he did not
notice Qui-Gon drawing away, both physically and mentally.
"Don't," he hissed, suddenly angry, reaching out to grip
Qui-Gon's wrist with surprising strength. "Tell me what
happened. You attacked me," he said, trying to hedge the
accusing tone in his voice. He was not entirely successful.
"I did," Qui-Gon said, but made no further effort to withdraw
physically. His mental shield, however, were another matter
entirely.
White marks showed under the press of Obi-Wan's fingertips to
Qui-Gon's flesh and the younger man eased his. His eyes were
momentarily distracted by the white bandage on his other wrist,
the surface covered by a series of odd symbols reminiscent of
the tattoos on the Radouhdan elders. A slight turn of his head
revealed a pull at shoulder and throat, another bandage there,
and he paled slightly, recalling the tearing of his flesh under
the sharp teeth. Teeth he had yet to see again in even a sliver
of a smile on Qui-Gon's face. The paleness was almost
immediately replaced by a low flushed feeling in his cheeks.
Not so much for the intimacy he recalled and in front of
others, if he was remembering correctly, but because of the
suddenness of it. Still, he would not release Qui-Gon's wrist.
"Tell me," he commanded again, eyes locking on his lover's
face.
Very carefully, Qui-Gon used his other hand to pull Obi- Wan's
fingers from his wrist and at his lover's protest, merely
slipped his finger through Obi-Wan's, sighing softly when
Obi-Wan tightened his grip. "We misunderstood...the Dahoud," he
began slowly, watching Obi-Wan's face for any signs of fatigue
or of fear. At present, there were no signs of either, merely
an increased pallor that was a vast improvement over the near
colorless skin he had seen when he finally came to his senses.
He closed his eyes briefly at the memory of his beloved, laying
limply on their bed, blood staining his singlet, his skin, and
hair. Laki had moved swiftly. The other elders as well,
swarming over the pair of them, sealing the wounds, whispering
in those odd voices that both terrified and calmed him as they
set about strengthening Obi-Wan. They explained and apologized
to Qui- Gon as they worked. It had all been very confusing.
None of the panic fading until he saw the first blush of color
return to Obi-Wan's face, until he heard him sigh softly as if
in sleep, watching his own blood being transfused into the
other man's body in enough quantity to remove the danger. The
Radouhd had then introduced fluids into Obi- Wan's system,
having excellent and efficient medical support.
"There is a symbiont among the elder of Alkinar. An organism, a
parasite, that is introduced into their blood and bodies. It is
semi-sentient. Only the elders possess it and even then, not
all. It is this symbiont that makes them 'of the Dahoud' for
that is what it is called. Possessed of something like a hive
mind, it allows them longer life so wisdom cannot be lost. It
repairs injuries, heightens their senses, but it requires
blood, the blood of others daily to survive. But in possessing
one, the Alkinar can know a man's heart and mind, whether he
will deal justly with them. It is what they meant that they
would not sign unless or until I was of the Dahoud. One of
them. They tried to explain through dreams, for those that can
hear the Dahoud, are the ones that receive it. But I didn't
understand and the elders, and the Dahoud, did not understand
our bond." Qui-Gon said, pausing to make sure Obi-Wan was
following his explanation.
Surprisingly, Obi-Wan seemed to be tracking the information
rather well. "And do I now have this...Dahoud, as well. You
said you gave me your blood," he asked.
"No," Qui-Gon shook his head, one silver-grey lock of hair
falling over his shoulder. "The introduction of the Dahoud into
a host requires that the hosts blood be entirely drained and
replaced -- the Dahoud, in its larval form as introduced to a
new host, is exceedingly fragile. The immuno-variants in our
own blood would kill it. So the new host is drained entirely,
the Dahoud then takes care of replenishing the blood supply.
You were close, beloved but not close enough. You are free of
it."
Something in his tone or perhaps the way Qui-Gon would not look
at him alerted Obi-Wan that all was not as it should be. "But
you are not?" He asked reaching up to push the lock of hair
back, and in doing so, sat up more, bringing their bodies
closer.
"No. The Radouhd know of no way to remove the Dahoud without
killing the host. I am hoping the healers on Coruscant will
have a better solution."
Obi-Wan filed that away for the moment, still sensing a deep
disquiet in his lover, for all that he seemed calm on the
outside. "There is more," he prompted. Why did you attack me?"
This time there was no accusation in his tone at all, only
curiosity and concern.
"The Radouhd failed to take into consideration our bond. Among
their own people there is a ritual and a pattern to follow. The
/mahazar/ is chosen, usually from among their own families. The
first and primary source for the blood nourishment the Dahoud
requires. They did drug you, to reduce any emotion for the
parasite reacts to strong emotion. Having spoken to me in their
dreams, they thought it would be all right, that you would
sleep and when I woke, they could guide me through the
necessary steps, their controls overriding my own as with their
own people. The Dahoud matures quickly and wakes... Hungry is
the only way I can describe it. But you woke too soon, your
attempts to reach me overshadowed those of the Radouhd Elders.
The Hunger I felt had no control, no recognition and I did not
understand what had been done to me. All I knew was that I
needed to feed."
"And now...?" Obi-Wan asked, and reached out for Qui-Gon, only
to have him draw back slightly. "What is it? What else do you
fear? They showed the controls, the..." Obi-Wan sought for the
proper way to think of this, his brow furrowed as he tried to
understand both what had been said and left unsaid.
"The Elders are not sure the Dahoud can reach so far across
space," Qui-Gon said, the reason for his tight control and his
shields made more obvious. "It would seem the Dahoud has a
liking for our blood -- it is, intoxicating to the creature, as
the Radoud's blood is merely sustenance. The Hunger...is very
strong beloved. I dare not tempt it."
"But you said you needed to feed," Obi-Wan said, searching his
lover's face seeing the strain for what it was.
"We will reach Coruscant in two days. Until then, I must master
the Dahoud," Qui-Gon said and gently pulled his hand from
Obi-Wan's. "I thought to stay but the longer I have this
...thing... inside me, the more difficult it will be to remove
and you," his fingers flexed to indicate the bandages. "The
bleeding has stopped but the wounds are not healed -- another
failure to understand how this parasite works its...desires. I
know better now and the Elders have provided me with as much
information as they themselves possess about the Dahoud."
Yet the rising hunger had been what drove Qui-Gon to attack him
in the first place. If they were two days from Coruscant, that
meant they had been at least three in space from Alkinar, and
himself drugged or asleep the whole time. No other living thing
was on the ship.
Obi-Wan thought idly that he should be afraid -- for the attack
had been terrifying until shortly before the end. But he was
not. Knowledge could indeed conquer fear. "You cannot wait," he
said firmly.
"There are no Elders here to restrain me," Qui-Gon hissed back,
eyes narrowing.
"Yet, you restrain yourself. You said the Dahoud needed its
sustenance daily -- if it is as desperate as you say, you risk
us both by denying this," Obi-Wan said calmly and reached once
more, gripping Qui-Gon's sleeve when his hands became elusive.
"Qui-Gon, don't shut me out of this, for fear. Fear is..."
"I know the coda," Qui-Gon said harshly, exhibiting a temper
that further convinced Obi-Wan that his lover was already under
tremendous strain.
Stubborn. Qui-Gon was exceedingly stubborn, even Yoda thought
so. But Obi-Wan could be equally as obstinate, reaching out
along their bond, through the Force, not withdrawing when he
felt the first brush of that same coldness, qui-Gon's presence
already altering as he fought back the influence in his blood
and body.
//Show me...//Obi-Wan sent, eyes closed and they battled over
the issue for a moment before Qui-Gon realized that his padawan
would exhaust himself yet again before giving in.
//Stop!// he returned, surrendering the battle of wills. //In
part only...// he warned and felt Obi-Wan's agreement. He
allowed that much of his control to fall away, shuddering under
the Hunger that reared and just as quickly locking it back
behind his shield, his self-control
To Obi-Wan it was not so much the Hunger he felt as the cold,
like an aching wound that has been deeply chilled past the
point of numbness and into the brittle feeling that would allow
the skin to shatter, the blood to freeze. He drew a quick sharp
breath, recognizing the feeling, but when he looked at Qui-Gon
again his resolve had not lessened.
"If it overcomes you, I will have no better chance now in
defending myself than I did then," he said and watched his
lover's face pale -- Qui-Gon already aware of the threat he
presented. "For now, you must accept that it is part of you and
act accordingly. Beloved," he said seeing the set expression on
his master's face, "if our positions were reversed, what would
you be counseling?" he asked.
The expression became more stern, even forbidding save its
effect was the opposite on Obi-Wan. He knew that look, the
expression one that Qui-Gon wore when he had been backed into a
position that he knew was correct but that he did not like.
Many long years of being counseled to patience, served Obi- Wan
well for the next few minutes as he watched his master, his
lover struggle with the idea, twist it and turn it to find a
weakness. Qui-Gon could be arrogant but he was not a man prone
to masking his faults from himself.
This was no different. The bio-alarms had alerted him that
Obi-Wan had awakened and he had been unable to resist checking
on him, even though the Dahoud demanded its blood payment.
Locked tightly behind his own will, he had thought only to stay
a moment. Or had he? Laki had warned that the Dahoud, thwarted,
could be a subtly persuasive companion.
As Obi-Wan had so quickly discovered, he was not sure he could
maintain this level of control for another two days, not when
every breath Obi-Wan took, every beat of his heart called to
him like a siren, offering peace.
"How much?" Obi-Wan asked softly, and to his surprise, Qui- Gon
found his hands once more caught between his lover's, the warm
hands chafing his colder ones.
"No more than a cupful," Qui-Gon answered distractedly, seeing
the pulse beat in Obi-Wan's wrist, the small blue vein
throbbing just below the surface of the pale skin.
"I think I can spare that much." There was a subtle hint of
humor in Obi-Wan's words and Qui-Gon looked up guiltily. Having
seen Qui-Gon's eyes fixated on his wrist, Obi-Wan offered up
the unbandaged one, tensing slightly at the remembered pain,
that much leaking across their link.
"I can...forestall that," Qui-Gon said quietly, knowing the
decision had been made without his every really acknowledging
it. "The Dahoud...has its persuasions."
A shiver ran through Obi-Wan, something dark in his master's
tone sending an unexpected and not wholly welcome erotic thrill
through him. Too clearly, he did remember when that frightening
bite had changed, working through him as subtly as the Force.
Nonetheless, he turned his hand, exposing the vein.
Qui-Gon nodded then reached past him, pulling Obi-Wan's
lightsaber from the shelf beside his bed and placed it in his
padawan's other hand, closing his finger around it then closing
his own over Obi-Wan's as he moved closer, the hilt of the
saber pressed to his chest just above the diaphragm.
//No...I can't!// Obi-Wan sent recoiling.
//You will or this conversation is at an end,// Qui-Gon sent
back fiercely.
It was Obi-Wan's turn to reconcile his doubts and fears.
Frowning, his fingers tightened on the hilt. //So be it... //
he sent at last and tensed again.
The press of Qui-Gon's lips to his wrist was not painful in the
least. The moist tongue laved his skin and he felt and odd
numbness, like that same cold and a moment later felt the flesh
part. There was no real pain, only a mild discomfort....
Until Qui-Gon began to suck.
Intentional or not, the feeling was as he recalled it, without
the precedent fear. IT was not as strong as before, or perhaps
he was not so weakened but he did hear himself gasp and felt
Qui-Gon jerk back in alarm.
//I'm...all right,// he sent, feeling a flush in his cheeks as
he squirmed slightly on the bed, the need for the movement
suddenly apparent to Qui-Gon a well.
//My apologies, beloved,// Qui-Gon sent and hesitantly began
again, the feeling was reduced somewhat to merely pleasurable
and therefore more bearable, but Obi-Wan guarded his own
thoughts at the reaction the first attempt had elicited. Now
was not the time to pursue this rather strange and darkly
wonderful side-effect. Qui-Gon had quite enough to deal with as
it was.
A few minutes later and his need to hold onto the lightsaber
was dispensed with as Qui-Gon seemed to find some kind of
balance within himself. Once more his tongue cover the skin and
as he lifted his head, Obi-Wan caught sight of only two small
puncture marks that were already rapidly dwindling in size and
closing until only a reddish mark from the friction of
Qui-Gon's beard remained. Then Qui-Gon bent his lips once more
to place a simple kiss on the spot. When Obi-Wan saw his face
again, it was calmer, the strain less apparent and the cold,
strange feel along their link had faded considerably.
He smiled a little and shook his head at the searching gaze
Qui-Gon gave him. "I feel no worse, only tired," Obi-Wan
promised, setting the lightsaber aside with a quick frown, but
his hand caught Qui-Gon's again, "IS it easier?" he asked, need
verbal confirmation for what his eyes told him.
"Yes, beloved," Qui-Gon said and the first smile Obi-Wan had
seen in days appeared. "I am ...lucky to have so wise a
padawan."
"Remember that next time we disagree," Obi-Wan said, scoldingly
and lay back, fingers once more interlocked with Qui-Gon's. He
did feel tired but not drained.
"I shall endeavor to do so," Qui-Gon said, with a quirk t his
lips. "Rest awhile, beloved and I'll bring you something to
eat," he said and would have risen save Obi- Wan pulled at him,
reaching upward. Qui-Gon resisted only for a moment then let
his mouth meet Obi-Wan's. The kiss was brief but thorough, a
promise more than anything else. Reluctantly Obi-0Wan let him
leave, relaxing once more against the pillows as his lover left
the cabin. He was hungry he realized -- although not in such a
way as what Qui-Gon had described. Idly his fingers rubbed over
the spot where Qui-Gon had so recently fed, marveling at the
lack of a mark.
For just a moment he let himself feel that subtle influence,
the shiver that ran through him not of fear but of something
else entirely. He had not thought Qui-Gon's skills as a lover
could be much improved, spectacular as they were, but now...
He turned on his side, closing his eyes as he waited for
Qui-Gon's return, a light doze stealing over him, and in that
half dreaming state felt the fire along his veins again. The
murmured voice was wholly Qui-Gon's and his blood reacted to
the unseen and ghostly caress of a man who was not touching
him.
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