Master
Apprentice  Archive
Labyrinth of Truth
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Category: Non Q/O (Bruck/Obi-Wan), POV, Angst
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Summary: Bruck puts words to his feeling for Obi-Wan.
Archive: M_A, anyone else who might be interested, please ask.
Disclaimer: George owns Obi and Scholastic books owns Bruck and that's just the way it is.
Feedback: Please, on or off-list.
Notes: This is a result of a challenge I issued to use the line, "I ask for so little. Just fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave," from the movie Labyrinth, which I think George owns a part of too. Anyway, I got caught in my own trap and had to write something. I use the whole line, just not all in one place. Thank you to Hilary and Ali for taking a stab at the challenge and making me proud and happy. This was not beta'd, all mistakes are the property of Major League Baseball.
I watch you. You know I do, but you think it is for another reason. You think that I hate you, or on your more confident days, that I am jealous of you. I don't hate you, but the jealousy part is true to some extent. Your master trains you himself, takes you on every mission, while mine sends me away to other masters to learn a variety of semi-useful skills while he generally goes about the galaxy without me.
Still, though, it is not you that drives me mad with envy. It is he, your master. He who sees you every morning when you wake up warm and sleepy-eyed, shares meals and jokes and quiet times with you. I wonder if he is your lover, as well as your friend. I see the devotion in your eyes when you speak with him, how your eyes crinkle and your pupils dilate. Sometimes you blush and the sweetest smile graces your perfect pink lips.
I ask for so little, only for you to look at me like that, just once.
If you knew how I felt you might be frightened. Sometimes the intensity of my desire scares me. It especially does when I wake up alone in my bed drenched in sweat, your name echoing in the darkness, my seed dampening the sheets and dreams of you fading from my grasp. Pleasure gained at the very thought of you, but it is false pleasure. I must have you for real. I want to march through the quiet halls, kick open your door, and take you. I want to fill you, encompass you, and make you gasp my name in untold passion as I did yours.
Just fear me, I know I do.
I have imagined many times what kind of lover you might be. Would you be playful, teasing and tormenting me with soft touches? Or maybe fierce? Would you claim me, mark me with a bite, take my soul and twine it with yours? You might be tender, whispering words of love in my ear, against my skin, worshipping my flesh with your hands, your mouth, and those glorious blue eyes.
You could be any of these, but I think you are all of them and more. You could love me in ways that I haven't imagined with emotions unvoiced.
Please, love me.
How I long to command you to have you on your knees before me, your body throbbing with lust, the heat from you ensnaring us both. How could I resist you? Why might I want to? Touch me. Fuck me. Destroy me. Build me up and tear me down again.
Do as I say.
Now, I look at you across a crowded auditorium. Our glances catch and hold. I can't help myself; everything I feel is in my eyes. And I see that blush of yours, suffusing your fair skin with color. You look away briefly. When you look back I can tell. You know. You know everything. And I don't mind because you want me.
Someday you may love me and then I will be your slave.
Finis