Defiance

by Flamethrower

Title: Defiance
Author: Flamethrower (flamethrower@thedeadcat.net)
Archive: MA and my site, the Flamethrower's Archive (Under Flippin' Construction!), and my LJ.
Category: Q/O implied, AU, Non-Con, O/other
Warnings: Messy.
Spoilers: Nope.
Summary: A short sequel to In a Lonely Place.
Feedback: Please? :)
Thanks: to archaeologist_d, for the quick beta. :-)

Disclaimer: "Rob? That's a naughty word, we never rob! We just... sort of borrow."
"Borrow? Boy, are we in debt!"

He never wanted this. The hands on him were as abhorrent as the blood that ran down his arms, trapped as he was in a position that strained every muscle in his body. He closed his eyes and could almost take himself past the pain, past the near-pleasure that years of abuse was starting to trigger in his body.

He never wanted to get to the point that the hated thing ramming into his body, spewing foul words and fouler breath, was something to enjoy. That _would_ break him, where nothing else had quite managed to breach his last tattered bit of self.

Luck or the Force -and he prayed fervently that it was the Force, that light had not abandoned him completely- had given him a chance encounter on far-flung Roxuli. He'd taken advantage of it with all of a Jedi's preparedness and a Sith's conniving.

He closed his eyes, breathing out fetid horror, breathed in remembered light. Qui-Gon, his steel-gray hair fanning out on old white sheets, the sheen of sweat on his skin, the almost-growl on his face as Obi-Wan Kenobi had tried his damnedest to give the man pleasure... and part of the remaining light in his heart.

Remembering that made him remember all of it, clean sweat intermingling, musk of sex, and that kicked in the physical and the remembered feel of Qui-Gon Jinn inside of him, filling him, making him feel like he was still whole, still alive. It had been all too easy to think of those bound hands wrapped around his hips instead, holding them both together as their bodies came together and their pace frenzied.. .

The memory and the unwanted touch intermingled and when he came it was not a sound of pleasure but a growl of frustration. The dark laughter that blew past his ear made him jerk in his bonds, trying to get away from the fingers still running through the blood-slick skin of his shoulder.

Sidious laughed again, a dark joy that grated on his nerves and made him bite back screams of rage. "If you wish for this to stop, then you have two choices, dear boy," he said, the melodic accent as always a sharp contrast to the bite of his words. "You can learn to defend yourself, or," and this time he yanked cruelly on the long hair that Obi-Wan did not keep by choice, "you can _obey_ me."

The Sith Lord stepped away, his nails offering the shredded flesh of his back another painful slash. Obi-Wan bared his teeth, the feral smile he had never shown to Qui-Gon settling into place. "Conflict and chaos, my Lord Sidious," he rasped out, his voice ravaged by the screams that had torn his throat. "That is the way of the Sith - or is it only the way of the Sith when it suits you?"

When Sidious stepped into his line of sight, he was cloaked and hooded, as still and impassive as if he had not just spent gods-knew how much time peeling apart his pet Jedi. "My plans lead to the ultimate in the expression of our Code!" Sidious snarled, backhanding Obi-Wan hard enough that his lip split. Obi-Wan shook his head and spit out the blood that pooled in his mouth. Sidious's lip curled in anger and distaste. "While I take great pleasure in the rage you harbor for your former Master, you will not take his life until _I_ give you leave to do so!"

Obi-Wan found himself laughing, thinking that his life had become some epic parody. There was rage there, true, but he'd had to cultivate it, feed it, basing it on one moment that was and yet was not a betrayal. The problem was that now that he had that rage, he wasn't sure if he would be able to put it aside when the time came. "If he's still alive, then you have nothing to worry about, Master," he whispered.

Dooku - Tyrannus - stepped out of the shadows of the far wall, and Obi-Wan thought that it was a shame that he hadn't saved the blood. Tyrannus's expensive wardrobe and blood did not mix, and Obi-Wan always took a perverse pleasure in making those dark eyes light up with rage for so slight an insult. "Yes, he is still alive, though I heard it was a near thing."

Fucking voyeur, Obi-Wan thought, some part of him distantly wondering how long he was going to wind up hanging from the bonds that pierced his wrists. Then he saw Tyrannus removing his cloak, and this time rage welled up without thought. "Absolutely not," he growled.

Sidious chuckled. "If you were so willing to disobey me, our little sessions must have been boring you. I decided it was time to give you some... new encouragement."

When Tyrannus strode forward, he didn't backhand Obi-Wan - he punched him with a closed fist, rocking Obi-Wan's head back and sending blood flying. The strike was hard enough to leave him with white sparks behind closed eyes. When his head cleared, he glared at the former Jedi Master challengingly. "What, is that the best you can do?" he taunted, grinning when Tyrannus's eyes flashed.

"Don't destroy anything that cannot be repaired," Sidious warned Tyrannus before another blow could be delivered. "If you do, you will answer to me."

"Of course, my Master," Tyrannus said, his voice as smooth as synth-silk. Sidious left without another comment, leaving Obi-Wan to the mercy of the Sith Apprentice's brutality. Dooku shook his head at Obi-Wan in mock-sympathy. "If only you would do as you were told, we would not be meeting like this," he said.

Obi-Wan raised his eyes to meet Dooku's. He thought of breathless passion and cerulean eyes that had looked at him without rancor, without pity - eyes that had looked at him with love. He startled the older man by offering him a wide grin, uncaring when his split lip began to bleed anew. "It was worth it."