A DARK REFLECTION

by Anna (obifan@yahoo.com)

Archive only on M/A and my Homepage : http://home.iprimus.com.au/amacker

Category: angst

Rating: NC17

Summary: Obi-Wan meets up with a dark reflection of his former Master.

He stood in the shadows, unseen, and watched the man walk past through narrowed eyes. He'd been sent to kill this one and like any predator he'd studied his prey, looking for vulnerabilities and strengths, researching his history. His Master had told him all he thought he needed to know. The man was a Jedi Master. But there had been more than that. Some spark had lit his mind when he'd seen the image, some impossible memory. This one had served the man who had come before him. Served in more ways than one he suspected. His own loins ached at the sight of him for reasons beyond understanding.

I want him. I've never wanted one before, but I want him. My Master didn't warn me that I might. By the ghosts of all the Sith, I will taste what my hunger demands...

Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master, had sensed a strange presence on Halomeer ever since landing only days before. It tantalised him, sliding along the edges of his Force senses, a swirling taste of danger, a honeyed hint of potential. Always sensitive to the flow of future events, he thought his fate waited for him on Halomeer. Lonely years might be winding down for him among the dusty streets of that little known world.

He'd been hunting a rumour, a tale of some dark Force-using assassin who killed and vanished into the dark. Whoever it was, they were good. Three Jedi had been sent to track the rumour, three had never returned. Now it was Obi-Wan's turn to face the dark.

He walked through the city streets, offering cash for word of a dark stranger only to find that he himself was hunted when he turned a corner, realised it was a dead end and went to walk back only to see the figure standing at the mouth of the alley. Tall, dressed all in black. A fist grabbed Obi-Wan's heart and twisted. Even shadowed the features, the body, were unmistakeable.

He seemed like the realisation of some dark dream. Garbed in a black form of his old Jedi robes, this man was Qui-Gon reborn. Still taller than Obi-Wan, still slender, still those same bottomless blue eyes. The hair was a little longer, pulled back into a single tail, rich golden brown without a hint of grey. Likewise the beard, smaller, trimmer, framing the mouth that smiled at him, tempted him to remember fantasies buried with the ashes of the man he'd loved.

But this man wasn't his Master, wasn't anything he should consider loving or trusting. This man could be his death.

Vulnerable, he started to step away only to find himself pulled forward, gathered into a strong, dark grip. Fight him, strike at him, before he kills you... But all he could do was stand there and look up and up into those beloved features and wonder if life was worth living if it meant striking out then, destroying what he wanted most.

Even the voice was as he remembered it, honey-sweet and low, but more vibrant than the memory. "I am to kill you."

One large hand rose to hold the back of his head, the fingers sliding through his hair and he closed his eyes, letting his head drop back, revealing his throat.

"Do I get a last request?"

"I wasn't told you could...but then again, I wasn't told you couldn't." And Obi-Wan gasped as a warm mouth descended on his throat, bit into the skin until he bled, marking him. "I wasn't told how much I would want you, either. Why is that, I wonder?"

Lust flared between them and Obi-Wan was pushed back against the wall, lifted up and turned, held in place against that hard hungry body. A hot mouth buried itself against the back of his neck as hands pulled his leggings down. It was madness but he couldn't seem to stop, thrust himself backwards, impaling himself onto that alien yet familiar body.

"My name...." The low rich voice panted, "...is Vane. Darth Vane." The Sith who bore the body of the man he loved thrust into him, grinding against him, mounted him with urgent hungry need. "Good....so good....feel me.....let me.....in...."

He pushed into Obi-Wan's body savagely and the jedi groaned as the big cock nudged his prostrate, sending pleasure swirling through him in a dark, hot wave. "Qui-Gon.....my Master....."

"Your...Master...is...dead.." Vane held his hips and rammed in, working the man beneath him brutally, his own body screaming out its pleasure at the taking. "I...am...your Master...now. Tell me...."

Obi-Wan felt a link being thrust into his mind with the same brutal strength as the cock behind him was being pushed into his body. He didn't fight either, opened himself and accepted the joining, flooding the man behind him with the memories of Qui-Gon; the wisdom, love and strength. At the same time Vane filled Obi-Wan with the dark pleasures of their union, triggering the Dark inside the Jedi's heart and mind, swamping the feeble Light under his straining dominion.

Their mutual climax was explosive, leaving them both drained and saturated with sensation. Obi-Wan clung to the tall body, senses wild with his smell and taste and aura. Vane held Obi-Wan against him in a hard, possessive grip, not knowing what he'd done, only knowing that he couldn't kill this one now. They were joined through the Dark by a bond of fire. Just touching the slim, strong body made him hungry again.

"We must go," Vane said at last, looking about the alley, nostrils flaring as he scented for danger.

"Where?" Obi-Wan asked, pulling his clothing together and stepping closer to the tall dark figure.

"I have no idea." The tone, the voice, echoed from another time and Obi-Wan looked up in surprised delight. Blue eyes studied him, hot and unblinking. "I think it will be interesting, wherever we go."

Smiling, Obi-Wan took his Master's arm and followed him into an uncertain future.

It was the morning of the third day and I was no closer to understanding my insanity than when I'd turned and seen that shadowed figure for the first time.

He isn't Qui-Gon. I know that all too well. Except that every now and then when he turns his head, or looks at me with that particular half-disbelieving smile, or frowns or looks surprised...then I see Qui-Gon and I'm lost again. It's simply too much to ask of a man to lose his life's love twice. Once through my own lack of speed and skill. This time it would be at my own choice. Leave him to the Dark alone. Kill him as a proper Master Jedi should. Neither of those alternatives are acceptable.

So, can a Jedi, a walker in the Light, co-exist with a Sith, a creature of the Dark? Not according to every tenet of the Order, and probably not according to whatever rules a Sith might follow as well. It's an impossible combination, as it stands. I know I'm just putting off some sort of inevitability, that avoidance never solved anything. Yet all my life I have done what others expect of me. Once, just once, I want to do what pleases me.

His makeup, his life's training, cannot abide to have me with him as anything but as a submissive. Were I to attempt to be his equal or superior it would trigger the aggressive instincts of a lifetime, it would be kill or die for both of us. So I must assume this somewhat unnatural role to keep peace, to maintain the precarious state. We dance around the whirlpool that would suck us under and I do what I must to anchor us to life. But that place we are heading towards is very dark and I'm not sure if I can exist there.

The Light shines brighter in the Dark.

I blinked, coming awake from my tired contemplation. Qui-Gon? Every now and then during the years since his death I thought I'd felt his presence, heard his voice, felt the touch of his hand on my head. It seemed, in that moment, that he was very close to me.

I was sitting on a chair in our rented accommodation staring out the window at the unspectacular view of Rampart City, elbows rested on the windowsill, chin propped up on one hand. I'd seen everything interesting there was to see in that view over the previous days and nothing had changed. The sky was dusty brown, the city grey and unprepossessing. A boring nowhere town on a nothing planet at the edge of nowhere. Something of a match for our current situation.

I knew logically that I couldn't recreate Qui-Gon....could I? Every spirit is separate, different, no matter the form...but the essence of what made him lies in Vane. I can sense it. It's so close underneath all the dark this Sideous buried him in. If I can just get through to it..

I sensed the flare of presence as the door opened and didn't turn, knew what would happen even as it did. I'd never imagined the kind of physical demands Vane made of me, nor my responses to those demands. Time and again we'd mated like animals, driven to a state of physical exhaustion until we'd collapsed into something more like unconsciousness than sleep. It was as if Vane had wanted to exist inside me, to be physically a part of me as we were joined through the Force. That ever-present burning link grew stronger with each lovemaking until we were almost speaking without words, communicating by touch and taste and the hot need that sparked the air around us.

There was a thump as Vane dumped his parcel on the floor and I straightened to the feel of arms being wrapped around me. I would try again to hold something back, to keep part of myself separate - I'm not sure if it was pride or habit or simply self-preservation. But when his hands touched me...when that hot mouth marked my throat I was lost. Who knows, perhaps something in me demanded domination. Perhaps that was the only way I could accept his touch without trying to kill him. I was afraid to find out.

I turned in the encompassing arms and pressed my face against the warm black cloth, took a deep breath. "You need to shower. So do I."

He looked up in narrowed, interested eyes. "Together?"

I chuckled. He was getting quite predictable. "You have a one-track mind."

A large hand stirred through my unbound shoulder-length hair. "Yes. At the moment I seem to." Vane began to leisurely strip my clothing away. "Very well, Jedi, let's get clean."

Getting from the bedroom to the bathroom was an exercise in reflexes and judgment. Clothing was left strewn on the floor behind us and I was pleased the shower recess was large enough for two men contemplating doing more than just getting clean. Although it felt good to do that too. It required a little perseverance to persuade Vane to stand still and let me soap him.

"Yes, I know," I said laughing as the taller man tried to squirm around behind me. "In a minute. Let me wash you first."

As I pulled the tall body around I saw again the faint striped markings across the pale skin. He wouldn't tell me about the marks but I could guess. He'd been beaten, whipped probably, many times. I ran soapy hands over the scars, gently tracing the patterned stripes.

Vane sighed and adjusted the warmth of the water. "Am I clean yet? I wish to wash you now."

He isn't accustomed to patience. I gave his back and butt and last stroke and he swung around, long hair slapping across his shoulders. I applied more soap to the wide chest, stroking slick wet hands over the lightly furred skin, then slid down over the stomach, past the hips and gently lathered his genitals, massaging more soap around the balls and over the already surging cock.

He growled and pulled me around, rubbing his own soaped hands over my chest and back and down to my arse. Slick wet fingers traced down the crack and around the puckered opening, then pushed inside, working the soap and water into past the well-worked muscle. After three days of almost constant sexual intercourse my body was well used to his touch and I relaxed even further, bending slightly and spreading my legs as he pushed three fingers inside, stroking in to the prostate. Oh yes, that felt much too good....

Vane continued the internal massage until I was gasping and pushing back into his hand and then he slid the fingers out and replaced them with the broad tip of his cock. Slipping his arms under mine he pulled me backwards at the same moment as he thrust forward, surged in....oh Gods, that felt so good....hard and very, very hot...

"Yes...yes...yes....fuck me....more..." Thinking gone, mind gone, everything centred on that fabulous penetration, at his hands stroking down to surround my cock and I'm falling back against him, his mouth on my throat, licking my ear, my face, biting my shoulder as I grab the hands holding me, squeezing me and he pumps in and out in a shattering rhythm and my legs are going and...

Light and dark. Blending together in a multi-coloured explosion.

The next thing I know I'm lying in bed, limp and coming down from some flaring overload with that long, powerful body wrapped around me, holding me to him, kissing me with languid pleasure. Qui-Gon never made that low, rumbling noise after sex; not quite a moan, an odd sound mixing pleasure and satisfaction. I turned towards him and he licked my cheek, his tongue running over the wetness made up of sweat and tears, licking up to my eyes, tasting me with sensual pleasure.

His mouth moved down finally to my throat, tasting the pulse in the big blood vessel there, knowing that just a little air and skin lay between his teeth and my life's blood pulsing out with my heart's beat. I acknowledged his ownership by lifting my head and lying still as he kissed the damp skin there, making those odd, satisfied sounds before he fell me sleep, finally, wrapped in my arms. Trust is not something he has been taught to know. He gives it to me without realising even what it is.

I have set myself an impossible task. Convince him to come with me back to Coruscant. Then convince the Jedi Council to let both of us live long enough to come up with some sort of solution. He's Sith, made from the flesh of a Jedi Master. I'm a Jedi Master turned at least some way toward the Dark because of my need for a Sith. They'll probably cut us both down before we get through the door.

I won't let them kill him, I can't. I'll fight all of them if I have to, go down to death with him if I have to. The Force brought us together for a reason. All I have to do is figure out what the reason is...

End