Master
Apprentice  Archive
In Line
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Archive: The Boys in Chains archive, master_apprentice, anyone else, pls. ask
Author's web page: http://www.ravenswing.com/ravendreams/
Category: POV
Rating: NC-17, for language
Fandom: TPM
Warnings: This fic is neither warm nor fuzzy. No romance, no gentle anything. Slavery discussed. There is no actual non-con in the fic, but it is alluded to.
Spoilers: none
Summary: A slave waits in line.
Notes: This is my Happy 1st Anniversary BiC Archive fic. I'm pleased and honored to have been involved with the archivists, the writers, the artists, the readers, and especially MJ Lee, basingstoke, Mystique and Velma Doo. *g* All mistakes are mine.
Feedback: Waited for with bated breath.
Disclaimers: I don't have enough to pay attention. Lucas owns everything.
Oh, not you. Not you. You can't see me, not here. I will not let that self-righteous son of a whore see me here, not like this. I am not going to let you see me -- filthy, hair matted down my back, one eye swollen shut and whip marks scabbing on my thighs. Not when you're standing there, calm and cool and so utterly Jedi.
You don't think that undercover costume fools anyone, do you?
You're looking at the first row, the pretty ones, the young girls. They're quite lovely, all tears and trembles and dewy-eyed pleading. The dung piles that keep us here let them bathe. Raises the price, I suppose. I know when I was shopping for flesh it did.
What are you up to? What does the Council of Liars have their own personal savior of the universe doing now? Looking for a new pet? Did you already dump young Kenobi? Or did he dump you?
Fine piece of ass on that one, not that he'd look at me twice, in the state I'm in. I've often wondered what it would be like, to be buried to the balls in him, listen to his soft sighs, watch that smooth ass work itself on my cock. He's got a spectacular mouth and those eyes...
Tell me, Jinn, did he cry the first time you slipped yourself in his throat? Was it erotic as fuck, the agony and panic in those eyes? If they hadn't doped me to the edges, I'd get about in the convoluted mass you call a brain and pluck the memory to savor. There's little doubt you fucked him, after all.
Fucking people, why that's your gift.
What are you looking for? There are a few Force sensitives here, not enough to draw attention, not a distinct lack of us either. Sith's hell, we're not THAT uncommon. There are plenty of lucky people who avoided the yoke of the Jedi. What is the old man doing?
I can't stay back here forever, you know, Jinn. Eventually one of the guards is going to figure out that the not-exactly bulky Force-user doesn't belong with the miners. Even if I don't escape, I won't be sent to the mines.
Not with my cheekbones.
I'll end up as a novelty item in an Outer Rim whorehouse -- if I'm lucky, I'll be flat on my back beneath some heavy-pocketed smugglers until I can convince one to set me free. If I'm not...
Well, if I'm not, I wouldn't be the first slave to die bleeding and raw. There's precious few in the galaxy who would mourn me.
You made sure of that when you killed my father.
Come on, Jinn, find your newest pet project and leave. You've got enough information, enough of whatever the fuck you've been sent here to find. Everything you need, do you hear me Qui-Gon Jinn? You have all the information you need. You can move on to the next stall.
Stupid fucking drugs. If I could, I'd slip into your mind and...
Wait, if they hadn't drugged me I'd have popped the chains and would now be sitting in some well-appointed room having a nubile young thing suck me off. Vengeance is well and good, but it's not going to replace luxury and pleasure.
You don't see me. I'm just another too-skinny man who's spread his legs before too many strangers. You wouldn't know me. I'm just one more slightly bruised, over-used smelly slave in a long line of piece of shit unfortunates. No one you'd know.
It's okay, remember, Jedi don't buy slaves. They don't buy slaves. Especially not old, tired worn-old, unrecognizable, former padawan slaves hidden in the back row.
No one you'd know. Although, I'd recognize you anywhere, slave or no. I have hunted you, been hunted by you for years. It's quite entertaining, especially when you let that boy of yours play.more. You've gotten older in the last few years, getting more grey every time I see you. More wrinkles, too, I see. Your eyes haven't changed a bit though. They're still that same blue.
That same blue, dark and rich and tinged with more than a slight spark of recognition and... pleasure?
Oh, shit.
The End