Archive: MA, WWOMB, anywhere else please ask first
Category: Angst, BDSM, First-Time, h/c
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sequel to 'Lex Talionis'. Qui and Obi try to deal with
the ramifications of Obi-Wan's rape.
Feedback: yes, please! (whimper)
**** WARNINGS!! **** This story contains some very dark S/M
themes, in vivid detail. That means graphic descriptions,
folks. If this kind of thing bothers you, then please take
heed. Also, there are references to the first story in this
series (which was noncon).
Author's Notes: Okay, this is another experimental story. I
haven't tried a real BDSM fic since "The Red Temple" and I
decided it was time to try my hand at it again. This one kind
of ran away with me and got a bit more intense than I'd
originally intended (blame it on the fact that my car broke
down this week and cost me more than $1500 to fix - of course
someone had to suffer for that g).
More Notes: Heartfelt thanks go to Amy F. for the beta. She
saved me from a number of embarrassing grammatical errors,
including the dreaded lay/lie syndrome.
Obi-Wan huddled deeper under the blanket that covered him,
shivering. No matter how hard he tried, he could not seem to
get warm. The air around him felt like a living thing, leeching
the heat from his body.
"Here, Obi-Wan. Try some of this."
Obi-Wan closed his eyes, shrinking away from the quiet voice
and sinking deeper into the folds of the blanket. It was very
heavy, very thick, and its weave was rough against his cheek.
If he concentrated, he could almost believe that nothing at all
existed outside of its comforting folds.
A light hand brushed across his back, intending to soothe him.
Obi-Wan ignored it. He heard the faint clink of a mug being set
down on the table next to him, and the sharp, spicy scent of
hot ch'rak wafted up to his nostrils. It had been his favorite
drink when he was a child, and it was known for its calming
properties.
"It's going to be all right, Obi-Wan," the voice said to him.
If he tried, he could think of the name that went with the
voice. Apprentice Healer Serashka, Sera to those who knew her
well - she had been one of Obi-Wan's closest friends in the
crèche. "Qui- Gon is on his way. He's going to be here
soon, Obi-Wan."
Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan's heart seized up at the thought, and he felt
the first hot sting of tears since he had returned to the Jedi
Temple. Strange how he could not remember his arrival at the
Healing complex, nor the assumedly frenetic race he had
undergone to get here. His thoughts were filled with a vague
kind of fog that only gave him brief flashes of his more
immediate memories. He remembered attending the Senatorial
reception banquet, making polite conversation and trying not to
look as bored as he felt. Qui-Gon had smiled at him across the
room, giving silent sympathy for his Padawan's long-suffering
patience.
It had been a relief when he at last found an excuse to retreat
out onto the balcony behind the reception chamber. It was a
calm night, and the air had been still around him. Above him,
the sky was painted in vivid lines of light as the air traffic
made its never-ending way through the atmosphere, far above the
heights of the buildings. As a rule, the thriving metropolis of
Coruscant never actually slept, but at this time of night it
tended to lounge a bit, giving Obi-Wan a sleepy kind of
satisfaction.
The cloaked and hooded figure had been a darker swath of black
cut out against the deepening purple of the night. It had taken
Obi-Wan a while to realize that he was being watched. There was
no tingle of warning, no echo in the Force to alert him that he
was in danger. In fact, there had only been an echoing numbness
around him, as if all of the Force-energy around him was being
swallowed up into the depths of a great void. It had not been
enough to rouse Obi-Wan's suspicions, and by the time he
understood that he was being threatened, it was too late.
The darkly cloaked figure had drugged him and taken him to a
suite in one of the lower levels of Coruscant. Obi-Wan fought,
but his efforts had not been enough to free him. When the
realization struck him that the Dark Side of the Force was
being employed against him, his terror had escalated to a
fevered pitch that left him aching and breathless. And by then
he had no options at all.
Desperately, Obi-Wan willed the fog to settle back down inside
his brain. He did not want to remember. He had vague
recollections of returning to the Temple, the frenzied flurry
of Healers that surrounded him when it became apparent that he
had been assaulted, the rapidly escalating concern as he
refused to speak to them beyond a dispassionate explanation of
what had been done to him, and finally, the soothing coolness
of the room he was in now, where he had been left alone save
for the well- meaning ministrations of his friend Sera.
Obi-Wan hunched even further down into his blanket, trying to
block out what he could of the outside world. The steady hum of
the air circulators was loud in his ears, and he focused on the
sibilant vibration of it, willfully closing off his thoughts
once again.
Fear leads to anger.
Anger leads to hate.
Hate leads to...
Obi-Wan closed his eyes and shuddered lightly, willing his
Master to appear.
Master Healer D'rell stood outside the doors of the infirmary,
waiting patiently. He sensed Qui-Gon's approach long before the
man came into view - he was easily detectable by the cloud of
tightly controlled fury that surrounded him. Perhaps it would
not have been readily noticeable to anyone other than a Master
Healer, but to D'rell, the signs were clear.
Qui-Gon paused when he stepped into the entry foyer of the
Healing complex, casting about for a moment with an anxious
scowl. Then he moved toward the infirmary doors with a
determined stride. D'rell moved to intercept him.
"Master Jinn," he said, in a voice that immediately drew the
older man's attention.
Qui-Gon's eyes were dark as they turned to look at him. "Master
D'rell," he returned stiffly. "Where is Obi-Wan?"
D'rell touched a light hand to Qui-Gon's sleeve, trying to
project soothing emotions into the distraught Jedi Master. "We
should talk, Qui-Gon. If you'll come into my office for a
moment?" He gestured towards a door at the far end of the room.
Qui-Gon cast one more dark glance at the infirmary door, then
acquiesced with a small dip of his head. He was obviously
seething at the delay, but he was smart enough to realize that
he would never get to see his Padawan against the Master
Healer's wishes.
D'rell's office was small, but the closed door gave them some
measure of privacy. Qui-Gon politely refused the chair that
D'rell offered him and stood in stony silence, waiting for the
other man to speak.
Trying to project an aura of calm, D'rell sank slowly into the
chair behind his large desk and said, "You know your apprentice
was kidnapped."
Qui-Gon drew a deep, calming breath. "Yes," he said after a
moment. "What happened to him? Is he all right?"
D'rell hesitated slightly. He was almost as worried about this
man's state of mind as he was for the apprentice. "He was
raped."
D'rell saw the shadow fall across the Jedi Master's eyes, saw
the stone-faced expression that refused to cave in to grief,
heard the silently voiced cry - No - that whispered in
the air between them. He sighed wearily. "We've repaired most
of the physical damage. It will take him a while to fully
recover, but we don't believe there will be any lasting
physical injury."
Qui-Gon was silent for a moment, absorbing it. D'rell could see
the struggle to contain his anger on the man's face. Finally,
once he had gotten himself under some semblance of control,
Qui- Gon said, "No lasting physical injury."
The emphasis on the word "physical" was barely detectable, but
D'rell heard it and understood the silent question. "Obi-Wan
has been ill-used, Qui-Gon," he said quietly, dropping the
formal title in the hopes of breaking Qui-Gon free from
whatever chaos of self-retribution may be assaulting him. It
was common in these circumstances for the Master to blame
himself for not being able to protect the Padawan. Fortunately,
these cases did not occur very often. "He needs you now. I just
want you to be prepared."
"I understand." Stonily.
D'rell hesitated. "It's going to take time to get through this,
Qui-Gon."
"I understand."
When Qui-Gon stepped into the private room at the far end of
the infirmary, he stopped in the doorway, frozen by the sight
in front of him. Obi-Wan was sitting sideways in a deep chair
under the window in the far wall, his knees pulled up to his
chest. He was wrapped tightly in a thick blanket, and the way
he was clinging to it told Qui-Gon a great deal about his
apprentice's emotional state. The boy's hair was mussed, his
expression vacant as he stared out across the room. The sight
of it sent a pang of agony through Qui-Gon, and his stomach
twisted with nausea.
Forcing a neutral expression onto his face, Qui-Gon moved into
the room. The young Healer-apprentice sitting in the chair next
to Obi-Wan looked up at him with wide, solemn eyes. The
burnished light sinking in through the window outlined the
lines of concern etched into her face.
"Master Jinn," she said to him in quiet greeting. Her eyes
darted to glance at Obi-Wan.
Qui-Gon did not acknowledge her presence. Taking care to move
slowly, he dropped to one knee in front of Obi-Wan's chair.
Reaching tentatively for his Padawan's hand, he said simply,
"Obi-Wan."
As if he were fighting to see through a thick haze, Obi-Wan's
eyes slowly focused on his Master. He blinked for a moment,
long lashes dusting across bone-pale cheeks, and then the
breath wafted out of him in a long, gusting sigh.
"Master," he whispered.
Qui-Gon reached out a trembling hand to touch his Padawan's
shoulder and, when Obi-Wan didn't resist, pulled him carefully
forward into a loose hug. Obi-Wan all but fell against him,
subdued tremors wracking through his slender frame. Qui-Gon ran
a hand soothingly over the back of his head, wary of the
bandage he could see taped against the backside of his
Padawan's neck. The sight of it sent a spike of anger through
him, but he tamped the emotion down ruthlessly.
"It's okay, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon murmured, rocking slightly as
Obi- Wan leaned further into his embrace. He felt tears against
his skin as Obi-Wan's arms moved around him, face burrowing
into the side of his neck. "Shh, Obi-Wan. It's all right now.
It's over."
He continued to whisper soft, senseless phrases into the
younger man's ear, as Obi-Wan shuddered and cried against him.
Qui-Gon did what he could to comfort, to hold, but inside he
felt nothing but the rage.
Obi-Wan leaned back against the wall of the bathtub, letting
the water swirl silkily around him. The door to the bathroom
was ajar, and he could hear Qui-Gon moving around in the common
room at the other end of the hall. The water felt warm and
comforting against Obi-Wan's skin, and he was surrounded by the
scents of vanilla and spice. The water stung in some places,
particularly in the place where he had been ... touched. The
memory made him feel strangely empty inside.
Has your Master taught you that pain can be pleasure?
A sudden knock on the door startled him, and Obi-Wan jumped,
splashing a considerable wave of water over the side of the
tub. Qui-Gon peeked his head cautiously around the side of the
door.
"How are you doing?" he asked.
Obi-Wan shrugged, his gaze dropping to the floor.
Qui-Gon moved into the room and dropped a towel onto the
spilled water without comment. Kneeling beside the tub, he
said, "I didn't mean to startle you, Obi-Wan. I apologize."
When Obi-Wan said nothing in reply, he added, "I've cooked
dinner for us. Do you think you're ready to come out and eat
something?"
Again, Obi-Wan shrugged. His hand moved slowly through the
water in front of him, creating milky swirls of motion that
seemed to hold his rapt attention. He did not lift his eyes
from the water.
Qui-Gon looked at him for a moment more, then reached out a
hand to gently touch his Padawan under the chin. Carefully, he
turned Obi-Wan's head to face him. When Obi-Wan finally raised
his eyes to meet Qui-Gon's, the only thing that Qui-Gon could
see there was ... emptiness.
The rage twisted through him again, rising up in him with a
surge of bitter renunciation that left him shaking inside. He
wanted nothing more at that moment than to scream, to rail
against the injustice of the universe that would allow
something so tragic to happen to his innocent Padawan. Obi-Wan,
his light. That light was broken now, shattered, and maybe it
was something that could never be repaired.
Sternly, Qui-Gon clamped down on his emotions with a layer of
fragile calm and smiled, trying to relay a wealth of healing
and comfort through his touch as he helped Obi-Wan up and out
of the tub. Obi-Wan allowed his Master to direct his movements
without a word of protest, and Qui-Gon's smile faltered at the
continuing unresponsiveness of his wounded Padawan.
"Let's go eat," he suggested mildly, giving a light touch to
the skin over Obi-Wan's brow. Concerned, he added, "Are you
still hurting anywhere?"
The expression in Obi-Wan's eyes did not change. "Pain is
better than fear," he said.
After dinner, Qui-Gon urged Obi-Wan to sit on the couch in the
common room. He kept a surreptitious eye on his Padawan while
he cleared the table, but Obi-Wan only sat with his legs pulled
up to his chest, chin resting on his folded knees. His gaze was
affixed on the steadily falling darkness outside the window.
When he was done with the dishes, Qui-Gon moved to join his
Padawan, his eyes following Obi-Wan's steady gaze without his
conscious will. From this angle, all Qui-Gon could see of
Coruscant's considerable presence was the darkness, suspended
behind the fragile reflection of light from within the room. It
made him shiver to see it, so he turned his attention back to
his silent apprentice.
Tentatively, he reached out to tuck the boy's braid back behind
his ear. "Do you feel that you want to talk yet, Obi-Wan?"
It took a moment for Obi-Wan to turn and look at him. His eyes
were silvery blue in the lamplight, strangely dark in his pale
face. "I've already told you everything."
Qui-Gon shook his head, feeling a piercing ache in his heart.
"I don't mean what you told the authorities." Qui-Gon's arrival
at the Healing complex had coincided with that of the Temple
authorities, and at his Master's urging, Obi-Wan had dutifully
told them everything he could remember about the man who had
attacked him. Just the memory of that cool, emotionless voice
relating such a horror of events made Qui-Gon's blood run cold.
"I want to know what you're feeling. You still seem very
distant to me, Padawan."
Obi-Wan shuddered delicately, seeming to fold further in on
himself, but Qui-Gon soothed him with a light touch to the side
of his face. Obi-Wan smiled his gratitude and leaned into the
touch, letting out his breath in a deep sigh.
"He hurt me," he said after a moment, sounding reluctant to
impart this much information.
The ache struck again, deeper this time. "I know he did, Obi-
Wan." It was an effort to keep the brimming anger out of his
voice. Just the thought of what his Padawan had suffered
through was enough to send Qui-Gon spinning into a fearsome
rage, although he kept the emotion buried deep beneath the
layers of concern that he felt for his wounded apprentice.
It was a couple of minutes before Obi-Wan spoke again. He
leaned his shoulder against the back of the couch, playing idly
with the seam of the cushion in front of him. Qui-Gon's arm
rested along the top edge of the sofa; his fingers brushed idly
across the young man's shoulder in a gesture of silent comfort.
Obi-Wan couldn't meet his Master's eyes. "I'm not sure what you
want me to say."
"Anything you wish to tell me," Qui-Gon answered softly. "Or
nothing, if that is what you prefer. I only want you to know
that I am here for you, if you feel the need to talk to
someone."
Obi-Wan smiled softly, and it was such a tender, vulnerable
expression that Qui-Gon had to fight back the sudden sting of
tears at the sight of it.
"I'm still feeling kind of woozy, I guess," Obi-Wan said. "It's
hard for me to think right now."
Qui-Gon nodded, feeling another twinge of protective anger. The
Healers had found traces of the drug that was used against Obi-
Wan in his bloodstream; it was a Force-inhibitor, very exotic
and very effective. He would have been completely defenseless
during the assault. "Perhaps you should get some sleep then."
Obi-Wan looked grateful. "Yes, Master."
Qui-Gon helped him up and then followed him to his bedroom at
the end of the hall. Obi-Wan allowed his Master to tuck him
into bed the way he had when Obi-Wan was a child, and the
familiar intimacy of the act made Qui-Gon even more aware of
the damage that had been done to his normally confident and
effusive Padawan. The anger stirred again, darker this time,
but he pressed it down with an effort. It occurred to him
suddenly that he did not want Obi-Wan to be out of his sight.
"Would you like me to stay with you tonight?" he offered,
sitting gently on the edge of the bed and running his fingers
lightly over the planes of Obi-Wan's face. Obi-Wan all but
purred under the caress, smiling as the pleasurable sensations
shivered through him.
"No, that's all right." Blue eyes opened foggily under
Qui-Gon's hand, blurred by fatigue. "I'm fine, really. I'm just
tired."
Qui-Gon nodded, unconvinced. "I'll leave you alone, then." He
rose and crossed to the door, palming off the light switch. The
illumination coming in through the high window was pale and
strange, shifting in hazy patterns across the room.
He couldn't resist one last look over his shoulder at Obi-Wan.
The young man lay there in the darkness, looking pale and lost
under the sheets. As an afterthought, Qui-Gon turned the light
back on. Although it seemed to make no appreciable difference
to Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon felt somewhat better knowing that the young
man would not be sleeping alone in the darkness.
Obi-Wan was grateful that his Master had left him the light.
The memories seemed less fearsome that way, even if he did tell
himself repeatedly that they held no further power over him.
His recollections of the previous evening were fuzzy, distorted
by the drug he had been given, no doubt, but also by his own
fear. The fear pulsed through him with each sickly beat of his
heart, until his entire body was chilled and trembling.
He was very, very grateful that Qui-Gon had left him the light.
Perhaps he should have taken Qui-Gon up on his offer of company
while he fell asleep, but that thought was somehow more
terrible than the thought of facing his terrors alone. He was
not yet ready to reveal to his Master the reasons for the
biting shame that spread through him.
Has your Master taught you that pain can be pleasure?
"Stop it," he whispered into the deepening silence around him,
resisting the temptation to turn and make sure that he was,
indeed, in his room alone.
It wasn't the rape itself that shamed him. He knew,
intellectually, that the things that had been done to him were
not his fault. He had been victimized, preyed upon by a
remorseless predator of a man who had taken advantage of his
isolation and his youth. The drug had insured that even a full
Master would have found it difficult to resist the events of
the evening; there was no reason to feel embarrassed by his
inability to fight back.
No, what shamed him was the fact that he had found himself
actually craving the bastard's touch. His body had responded
far too willingly to the captivity imposed upon it, until the
slightest touch of his assailant's hand was enough to make him
writhe. Obi-Wan had acted the part of a two-credit whore,
despite his frantic determination to simply endure what was
being done to him.
He hurt, inside. The pain was a constant reminder of his
disgrace, of the reasons he felt the way he did. Glancing down,
he extended a finger and traced the line of the deep bruises
around one wrist, remembering. The ligature mark was still
openly bleeding on the outside of his hand, where the cuffs had
chafed him. The bindings had been abominably tight, and had cut
when he struggled.
The Healers had wanted him to remain in the hospital, but he'd
pleaded and cajoled until they agreed to allow him to return
home. All he wanted was to put this entire experience behind
him, to forget that any of it had happened to him at all. Now,
he was beginning to realize that it wouldn't be that simple.
The memories refused to leave him, no matter how much he tried
to shuffle them away from his thoughts.
Deliberately, he rubbed his thumb with increasing pressure over
the chafe-mark on his wrist, wincing at the slight flash of
pain it caused him. It had hurt somewhat like this when he'd
struggled, with this kind of dull, spreading discomfort that
ached down into his hands with every movement he made. The
memory made Obi-Wan shift uncomfortably under his sheets, and
he worked his nail into the small wound, stifling the small
intake of breath that escaped him as the pain in his wrist
flared.
The pain had given him some small escape from the pleasure that
his assailant inflicted on him. After a while, Obi-Wan had
looked forward to the pain, craved it, because it shielded him
from the truth of what was being done to him. Shielded him from
the frightful pleasure of the bastard's hands, his mouth...
Obi-Wan rolled and buried his face in his pillow, keening
softly. He didn't want to remember how good it had felt, those
hands on his naked skin, touching him, caressing him, stealing
away the pieces of his soul bit by bit until there was nothing
of Obi-Wan left. He had never felt so naked, so exposed, so
completely vulnerable to another's whims. It had been a
terrifying experience, but at the same time, there was
something deeply provocative about being used in that way.
I am going mad. The certainty of this observation made
him feel cold, but it actually soothed him somewhat. For
surely, if he was still sane, then he had already been consumed
by the darkness. It had been thick about him in the isolated
suite where he had been taken, filling the air around him,
choking him as it tried to force its way into his lungs as he
breathed. He had seen it in his assailant's eyes, felt it in
the touch of his cold hands.
Obi-Wan shivered. The light around him seemed suddenly fragile,
unreal. He was struck by the sudden desire to call for his
Master, to feel the comfort of Qui-Gon's steady presence
surround him, protect him. But he only lay there, trembling and
alone, too shamed by his weakness to give in to the help that
he craved.
Determinedly, he rolled onto his side again and forced his
breathing to slow. Dwelling on these matters wasn't going to
solve anything. It was time to be strong, to let the past go,
and to get on with his life. Lots of people were victimized in
this way, without letting the memory control them. The thought
made him inexplicably angry, and he burrowed deeper into his
pillow as he waited for sleep to claim him.
Remember me.
Obi-Wan remembered.
Obi-Wan was still disturbingly silent at breakfast the next
morning. Qui-Gon greeted him cordially as he emerged from his
bedroom and sat down at the kitchen table, feeling the by-now-
familiar ache move through him. Obi-Wan gave him a wan smile in
return.
"Good morning," Qui-Gon said, placing a glass of cold juice on
the table in front of his Padawan. "Did you sleep well last
night?"
"Just fine, Master." Obi-Wan reached for the glass and took a
tentative sip from it, wincing as the tart juice smoothed over
his tongue. His gaze shifted to the view outside the large
window in the common room.
Qui-Gon frowned, but made no other comment. He had checked in
on the young man several times throughout the night, only to
find him lying in the same huddled, nearly fetal position.
Whether or not he had actually been sleeping was questionable.
His attention was suddenly caught by the ring of bruises around
his Padawan's wrist. The wound was lividly visible in the
morning light, and he was dismayed to see that one corner of it
was bleeding.
"Padawan," he said quietly, taking gentle hold of his
apprentice's hand and lowering the glass of juice back to the
table. Carefully, he sank to his knees next to the chair and
dabbed at the beads of blood with the corner of a cloth napkin.
"You should have let me know that this injury was bothering
you. I don't remember the cut being this large yesterday."
Obi-Wan firmly yet gently extricated his arm from Qui-Gon's
grasp and dropped his gaze down to the table. "It's nothing,
Master," he murmured, pulling his sleeve down to cover the
wound. "It hardly pains me at all any more."
Qui-Gon brushed his fingers across the younger man's cheek,
drawing his hand away sharply when Obi-Wan flinched at his
reflexive touch. Cursing himself inwardly, he said, "I'm sorry,
Obi-Wan. I only want to help you."
"You can't." This was barely a whisper. Obi-Wan's gaze was
locked on the window again.
"Obi-Wan, please." Qui-Gon was stricken by his apprentice's
obvious pain. "It was a terrible experience, something no one
should ever be forced to suffer through, but we can get through
this, I promise you. Just don't close me out, please, Obi-Wan."
He risked touching the younger man's hand where it curled on
the table, and he let out his breath in a relieved sigh when
that hand wasn't drawn away.
"You don't understand, Master." Still Obi-Wan refused to look
at him.
"Then make me understand. Tell me what you're feeling. I can't
help you if you hide from me, Obi-Wan."
"I'm not hiding from you."
Qui-Gon fought the surge of frustration that rose in him. The
Healers had warned him that this would be a lengthy process,
the healing of his Padawan's soul. For now he supposed he
should be content with what they had already achieved.
Deliberately changing the subject, he said, "I've been meaning
to spend some time in the Crystal Gardens, Obi-Wan, and I'm
thinking that today might just be the perfect day for it."
Obi-Wan turned to him with an expression of subdued amusement,
one eyebrow quirked. He didn't seem to be fooled by his
Master's apparent casualness. "What about my xenopsychology
exam?"
"I'd say we can beg out of that one for today. I think we both
need the time to recuperate."
For a moment, he was afraid that Obi-Wan was going to refuse,
but then the younger man dipped his head in acquiescence. "As
you say, Master."
Qui-Gon smiled, soothed by the spark of humor that his Padawan
had shown. This time when he reached out to stroke Obi-Wan's
cheek, the boy didn't pull away from him. "We're going to get
through this, Obi-Wan," he said again, fiercely.
The light in Obi-Wan's eyes was shadowed, but he did smile,
ever so slightly. "Yes, Master."
The gardens were virtually empty at this time of the morning,
save for a few scattered Masters who were using the dawning
hours to meditate. Obi-Wan breathed deeply of the cool air as
he and Qui-Gon emerged from the elevator, relishing his
unaccustomed freedom. It wasn't often that he had the leisure
to simply walk and enjoy the beauty around him.
The sunlight was heavy as it made its way down to the platform
where the Crystal Garden was located, high up on the forward-
looking spire of the Jedi Temple. The grass was soft and gilded
under Obi-Wan's feet, and he had the ridiculous temptation to
take his boots off and curl his toes in the loam. Subdued
birdsong came to him from a distant copse of trees, cutting
through the solemn stillness of the morning. The horizon was
still tinged faintly with a blush of lavender and crimson as
the sun continued to rise.
"It is beautiful, isn't it?" Qui-Gon murmured, gathering his
robes about him as he sat on an artfully arranged boulder at
the side of the lake. The sunlight reflected off the surface of
the water in a single sheet of brilliance, nearly blinding in
its intensity.
Obi-Wan perched lightly on the boulder across from him, his
gaze sweeping the lake with an approving air. "Yes, it is."
"It's amazing how peaceful the world can look, once you take
the time to step away and view it from a distance."
Obi-Wan's eyes rose involuntarily to look at the buildings of
Coruscant, spread out far beneath them past the edge of the
garden platform. He gave Qui-Gon a sideways glance from under
his lashes. "Not very subtle, Master."
Qui-Gon laughed slightly. "Give an old man credit for trying,
Padawan."
Obi-Wan couldn't stop the slow grin that his Master's words
caused. "You're not old, Master."
"Old enough, Obi-Wan. Old enough." He sounded slightly
saddened, although he laughed when he said it. His eyes held
Obi-Wan's for a long moment before sliding away to look out
over the lake again.
They sat together like that for a while in a companionable
silence. Obi-Wan felt truly at peace for the first time since
the kidnapping, and marveled at it. Had it only been two days
ago? It felt like years.
"You shouldn't feel ashamed because of what happened to you,"
Qui-Gon said suddenly, breaking the stillness.
Obi-Wan hated the sudden tension that rose in him at the words.
Why was this so difficult for him to talk about? He rubbed
absently at the ligature mark on his wrist, taking comfort from
the brief sting of pain.
"I'm not ashamed because I was raped," he said softly. Oh, how
it hurt to say the word aloud, but it was truth, regardless. "I
know that I wasn't responsible."
"Then why won't you look at me, Padawan?"
The subdued challenge in the words forced Obi-Wan to raise his
gaze to meet Qui-Gon's. His Master's eyes were full of quiet
sorrow.
Obi-Wan pressed his lips together when they wanted to tremble.
"It's not that easy."
"You feel soiled."
"I was touched by the darkness, Master." He laughed shortly.
"Hells, I was fucked by it."
The placid expression on Qui-Gon's face did not change. "It's
not your fault, Obi-Wan."
Obi-Wan tore his gaze away, angered to find that he was
shaking. "You don't understand."
Instead of the subdued protest that he had expected, there was
only silence in response to his petulant statement. The silence
lengthened until he began to twitch uncomfortably. Finally, he
looked back at his Master to find Qui-Gon observing him with a
tender expression.
Obi-Wan watched warily as Qui-Gon slid down off his rock to
kneel on the grass in front of him. The Jedi Master's eyes were
touched with a hint of purple in the rising sunlight, deepening
the affection in his gaze as he looked up at his apprentice.
"I don't want to pressure you, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, reaching
for his Padawan's hands and giving them an affectionate
squeeze. "But I can't stand to see you blaming yourself for
this."
"I'm not-"
"Enough." Qui-Gon chuckled low in his throat, standing and
pulling Obi-Wan up with him. "I meant to bring you here in
order to ease your worries, not add to them. There will be time
enough to discuss this when you are ready." He slid his arms
around Obi-Wan's shoulders, pulling him close in a gentle hug.
He moved slowly, as if expecting Obi-Wan to pull away at any
moment.
Obi-Wan did not pull away. He burrowed deeply against his
Master's chest, feeling the unexpected prickle of tears in his
eyes. His arms moved up around Qui-Gon's torso, holding him
tightly.
"Thank you for being patient with me, Master," he whispered.
Qui-Gon's breath was warm against the top of his head. "How
could I not, Obi-Wan? You are more dear to me than my own life.
I would do anything to see you happy again."
Obi-Wan relaxed into the soothing comfort of his Master's
embrace, inhaling deeply the familiar scents that rose from
that thickly woven robe. He felt safe here, protected, in a way
that seemed almost magical in his current state of mind.
"Anything?" he murmured, tightening his arms around his
Master's sturdy frame. His fingers played idly with the open
wound on his opposite wrist, behind Qui-Gon's back. The slight
pain felt vaguely comforting, distracting him from the turmoil
of his emotions.
Qui-Gon returned the hug, rubbing his cheek against the bristly
hair at the top of his Padawan's head.
"Anything," he promised.
Obi-Wan could not pinpoint the exact moment when the comfort he
drew from the pain crossed over the line into outright
pleasure. He could not get to sleep without it any more, those
little flares of pleasure that his nails gave him as they raked
across his skin, burning him, branding him with the force of
their claiming. He was always careful not to leave too heavy a
mark, and the pain was just enough to tantalize him, tormenting
him with the promise of what could be his if he could only
cross the line of his fear. Yet even that frustrated desire was
pleasurable in its own way.
He supposed he should be horrified by what he was becoming, by
the dark desires that were rising up within him, insatiable in
their hunger. But those fears were simply sublimated along with
all the others. Fear was a constant companion to him now, and
the only release he could find from it was the pain.
But it was never enough. He knew, deep within his heart, that
he needed more if he was ever to be truly free of the lingering
shadows of his encounter with the dark lord who had claimed
him. He still refused to dwell on the memory, to remember how
he had given into the touch of the demon's hands, its voice.
The feel of its tongue on his flesh.
Part of him wanted desperately to go to his Master with these
concerns, to lay bare the trauma he was suffering through, and
confess to the reality of this tender, aching need within him.
But he never did. How could he explain to Qui-Gon that he took
pleasure in his own pain, that he inflicted that pain on
himself and took joy from it? That he sometimes masturbated,
forcing himself into explosive orgasm while he traced shallow
runnels in his thighs with a razor blade?
He could never quite bring himself to heal the wounds that he
inflicted on himself, so he took care to arrange them in spots
that would be easily concealed. He felt ashamed of his need,
and ashamed of his weakness in giving into it. Yet the chafing
sting of his clothing as it rubbed across the small wounds was
deliciously erotic in its symbolism, reminding him of the
reasons he performed such a penance on himself.
It was only during the nights, when he lay alone in the
darkness, that he became truly afraid of this desire that was
enslaving him. Even so, the pain he allowed himself to feel was
not enough to banish the clinging shadow of the memories that
haunted him.
It wasn't nearly enough.
As the days went by, Obi-Wan showed subtle improvement. Qui-Gon
was loath to let the young man out of his sight at first, but
he understood the necessity of allowing his Padawan to find his
own tentative equilibrium. Obi-Wan resumed his classes and
seemed to find some comfort in it, and his evenings were spent
sitting next to Qui-Gon on the couch in their quarters,
studying while his Master curled up beside him with a favorite
book.
The afternoons were reserved for Obi-Wan's visits to the
Healers. He protested against the necessity of these visits,
but in this Qui-Gon was firm. Obi-Wan's physical health was
closely monitored for several days, but then the physical
examinations dropped off and he was required only to spend his
requisite time with the Soul Healers.
Obi-Wan was always disquieted after these encounters. Qui-Gon
was deeply concerned by the shell that was growing up around
his apprentice, but nothing he tried seemed to break through.
The Healers encouraged him to be patient, to provide what love
and comfort Obi-Wan would accept from him, and to wait for
Obi-Wan to come to terms with his grief in his own time. As
difficult as it was, Qui-Gon obeyed their strictures. He made
sure he was available whenever his Padawan wanted company,
offering the silent comfort of his presence and hoping each day
that Obi-Wan would finally make the decision to open up to him.
Not that there was anything he could fault Obi-Wan for in his
training. The young man performed faultlessly in the training
salle, and he pursued his studies with a determination that
would have been admirable under other circumstances. Even so,
Qui-Gon was disturbed by his Padawan's increasingly aloof
demeanor. He knew that there was something deeply troubling his
apprentice, and he felt helpless that there didn't seem to be
anything he could do to make it better.
It was a quiet night, after nearly two weeks of the strained
silence between them, when Qui-Gon noticed Obi-Wan toying
absently with the ligature wound on his wrist. It was a subtle
gesture, and Qui-Gon almost missed it, but the strained lines
between Obi-Wan's brows spoke of more than just concentration
on the text he was studying.
"Obi-Wan?" he said softly, concerned, and laid his book aside.
Obi-Wan glanced up from his data reader with a questioning
expression, catching the insistent note in his Master's voice.
"Yes, Master?"
"Let me see that." He reached for Obi-Wan's hand, and after the
barest of pauses, Obi-Wan surrendered it to him. Qui-Gon turned
the smooth limb over in his hands, feeling his expression
tighten as he took in the sight of the irritated flesh around
his apprentice's wrist. Parts of it were still bleeding freely.
"If this is not mending properly, I would have expected the
Healers to have done a healing on it by now."
There was only silence in response to his statement, and he
looked up to find Obi-Wan staring down at the fabric of the
couch between them.
"Obi-Wan?"
Obi-Wan took a deep, shuddering breath before answering. "I
haven't gone to the Healers about it."
Qui-Gon felt an uncomfortable stirring in the pit of his
stomach. "Why not, Obi-Wan?"
Obi-Wan did not answer him. The younger man's lips pressed
together in the expression that Qui-Gon had come to recognize
as his Padawan's refusal to share what he was feeling.
This time, Qui-Gon refused to put up with it. "These cuts must
pain you, Obi-Wan." He kept his voice soft as he brushed his
fingers across the top of the wound, sending a warm pulse of
healing energy into the abused skin.
Instantly, Obi-Wan snatched his hand back out of Qui-Gon's
grip. Holding the injured wrist close to his chest, he glared
up at his Master with a slightly wild expression, anger
sparking deep in his eyes.
"I told you no," he grated out, sliding backwards across the
length of the couch. Fury fairly radiated out of his lean
frame.
"No!" The sharpness in his voice seemed to bring Obi-Wan back
from whatever wild edge of fear he had been pushed up against,
and he relaxed slightly, looking repentant. He did not take his
eyes from Qui-Gon. "I'm sorry, Master," he said quietly,
lowering his eyes with seeming reluctance. "You just ...
startled me, is all."
Qui-Gon stared at him for a long minute, feeling a strange
numbness spread through him. His gaze dropped to the injured
wrist again; Obi-Wan had covered it with the sleeve of his
robe.
"Why, Obi-Wan?" he asked, feeling suddenly cold inside.
"Master?"
Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed, and Obi-Wan had the grace to look
abashed. "No more games, Padawan. No more diversions. You've
been injuring yourself. Why?"
Obi-Wan held his gaze for a moment without answering; there
were tears brimming in his eyes. Qui-Gon refused to let it sway
him. Finally, Obi-Wan looked away and sighed heavily, pulling
his knees up to his chest. It pained Qui-Gon to see the return
of this vulnerable posture.
"The pain helps me to forget."
Qui-Gon closed his eyes against the sudden spike of agony that
moved through him, chased by a surge of anger against the
creature that had done this to his Padawan. The admission was
so much worse than the suspicion could ever have been; Obi-Wan
had been inflicting pain on himself, intentionally, no doubt
punishing himself for some perceived wrong. Qui-Gon felt a
surge of wild guilt, that he had not recognized it sooner, and
the guilt was fed by a fount of pure rage, directed at himself,
and at the one who had dared to lay hands on his Padawan.
When he opened his eyes again, he found Obi-Wan looking at him
warily, as if bracing himself for an expected explosion.
Immediately, Qui-Gon's anger fled. He reached out to Obi-Wan,
and the younger man moved smoothly into his embrace. Qui-Gon
held him tightly, pressing his face against the top of that
bristled head. "Oh, Obi-Wan," he sighed, rubbing his hand in
soothing circles over the younger man's back.
"You're not mad at me?"
The tentative apprehension in the words was painful to hear.
Qui-Gon hugged him tightly. "No, my heart, I'm not mad at you."
"I thought for sure you'd be mad at me."
Qui-Gon laughed quietly, pressing his cheek possessively
against his student's hair. "It's not you I'm angry with,
love."
"Then who?" Obi-Wan pulled back slightly to look at him,
although he didn't remove himself from his Master's embrace.
Qui-Gon smoothed his fingers over the younger man's cheek,
giving an affectionate tug to the slender braid. "I'm angry at
myself, Obi-Wan, for not noticing this sooner. And I'm angry at
the one who did this to you."
Obi-Wan swallowed visibly. "It's not your fault, Master. Please
don't blame yourself. I'm sorry-"
Qui-Gon touched his fingers to Obi-Wan's lips, stilling the
words. "Hush, Obi-Wan. It's not your fault, either." The
younger man's lips were soft as rose petals under his
fingertips. He sighed heavily. "We are going to get through
this."
Obi-Wan nodded and leaned in close to Qui-Gon's chest again,
tightening his arms around his Master's ribs. Qui-Gon held him,
stroking soothingly at the back of that smooth neck, and tried
to get his rampaging emotions under control.
"Why did you call me that?" Obi-Wan asked suddenly, his voice
rising from the front of Qui-Gon's robe.
Qui-Gon blinked, dragging himself back to the present moment.
"Call you what?"
"You called me 'love.'" His voice was tentative, as if he was
hesitant to bring attention to this fact.
Qui-Gon felt his heart seize. "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan. I didn't
mean to make you uncomfortable."
"You didn't." He snuggled backwards until he was leaning
against the back of the couch, almost sitting sideways in
Qui-Gon's lap. His eyes were intent as they met his Master's
gaze. "I'm just wondering why you called me that."
Qui-Gon smiled slightly, straightening the slim braid against
his Padawan's chest. "It can't be any secret that I feel deeply
for you, my Padawan. I suppose our current situation simply
brings those feelings to the fore."
"So you do love me?"
Obi-Wan's eyes were strangely intent. Qui-Gon could do nothing
to disappoint the tender hope he saw in them. "Of course I love
you, Obi-Wan." His hand, for some reason, was still toying
absently with the end of the younger man's braid.
"I mean, really love me. As more than a Padawan?"
Qui-Gon couldn't help but laugh shortly at the earnestness in
Obi-Wan's expression. "You are asking all the hard questions
today, aren't you?" His humor quickly faded, however. Taking a
deep breath, he let it out slowly and said, "Yes. I do love
you, Obi-Wan. As more than my Padawan."
He was half-afraid that such an admission would wound the
younger man, but instead, he was rewarded by the bright shine
of happiness in his Padawan's eyes. The smile Obi-Wan gave him
was both shy and delighted at the same time. "I love you, too,
Master." The words were proffered shyly, like a gift.
Qui-Gon felt a tug in his heart as he took in the sight of the
tender openness in his Padawan's expression. His finger traced
along the line of Obi-Wan's jaw, bringing out a subdued shiver.
He smiled. "There will be time enough to discuss this once
you're feeling better, love. Whether you realize it or not, you
are vulnerable now, and I will not take advantage of that."
"You could never take advantage of me, Master." Obi-Wan
tightened his arms around Qui-Gon again, leaning his head down
against the older man's shoulder. His breath was warm against
Qui-Gon's neck. "I know I'm safe with you."
Again, Qui-Gon felt the ache move through him, but it was
lessened now, more sweet than bitter. He hugged Obi-Wan
tightly, awed by this man's strength, his resiliency. Not
everyone would be able to bounce back from such a terrible
experience, or find it within themselves to give in to love.
"May I sleep with you, Master?" Obi-Wan asked tentatively,
without loosening his grip on Qui-Gon's torso. "I don't ... I
don't want to be alone tonight."
Qui-Gon sighed, inhaling the sweet scent of his Padawan's hair.
"Of course you may, Obi-Wan." He would have insisted on
spending the night with the young man regardless, just to
insure that there were no further attempts at self-punishment,
even if it was only to sit in the chair beside his Padawan's
bed while he slept.
They held each other for a while longer, and then they moved
into Qui-Gon's bedroom together. Obi-Wan was endearingly shy as
he slid underneath the sheets, and Qui-Gon was hesitant to
impose too much on the younger man's newly discovered desire
for intimacy. A slight touch on Obi-Wan's arm, however, caused
him to dive into Qui-Gon's arms with surprising urgency.
Qui-Gon immediately moved to hold him, tightening his grip
against the shudders that wracked through that lean frame.
"Don't let go of me, Master," Obi-Wan entreated, shivering
inside his Master's embrace.
"I won't," Qui-Gon promised firmly, trying to soothe the
tremors out of that body as best he could. "Shh, now. It's all
right. Just get some sleep."
"Don't leave me. I don't want to be alone."
"You aren't. Shh, love. I'm here."
Slowly, Obi-Wan seemed to relax bit by bit in Qui-Gon's arms,
and Qui-Gon continued to murmur soothingly to him, stroking his
hair and the curve of his back. What must it have been like for
Obi- Wan, he wondered, having to deal with this terrible
uncertainty night after night, alone in his room save for the
darkness that surrounded him? Qui-Gon fought back another
vicious stab of guilt. I didn't know.
Eventually, Obi-Wan calmed enough for them to both find sleep,
although there was a residual tension in him that never
entirely dissipated. He lay with his head pillowed on Qui-Gon's
chest, arms and legs wrapped tight around his Master's body,
while Qui- Gon held him, and murmured to him, and told him that
he wasn't alone.
Obi-Wan was surprised how much better he felt now that he was
sleeping in Qui-Gon's bed. The nights didn't seem quite so dark
anymore, or so all-consuming. It didn't even bother him at
first that he no longer had the privacy to pursue his rituals
of pleasure and pain; it just didn't seem to matter, with
Qui-Gon by his side.
And Qui-Gon loved him. This thought never ceased to give
Obi-Wan a thrill of amazement. Hearing his Master call him
"love" was one of the most erotic things that Obi-Wan had ever
experienced, even though Qui-Gon refused to give in at all to
the attraction between them. Hearing that word on his Master's
lips was even more titillating than the pain.
But the truth was, Qui-Gon still wasn't aware of the depth of
his Padawan's perversion. For that was how Obi-Wan saw himself
now, as the dark desire for physical pain never entirely left
him. He had hidden from Qui-Gon the depth of his need,
revealing only the deepened chafing at his wrists. Qui-Gon had
promptly healed these small wounds, with Obi-Wan's permission.
It had seemed to bring his Master some small degree of comfort.
The need continued to grow in him, however, until Obi-Wan
finally accepted that something would have to be done about it.
He still felt shamed, for reasons that he couldn't even
precisely recall anymore, and that feeling of unworthiness was
spilling over into the rest of his life. In time, he would
begin to doubt his love for Qui-Gon, and the possibility that
that love could be returned. The thought terrified him more
than anything else he could contemplate.
No. Something needed to be done, to exorcise the ghosts within
him. And it would require more than the small hurts he had so
far managed to inflict on himself. The thought made him squirm
with a mixture of fear and reluctant arousal.
There was only one man that he could possibly turn to for
assistance in this situation. As terrifying as the prospect
was, it was time to confess to Qui-Gon the darkness that
swirled in the depths of his Padawan's soul.
Tonight. Obi-Wan shivered where he lay by Qui-Gon's side. The
morning sun was just touching the edge of the windows, filling
the room with a slow swell of burnished light. He closed his
fists, sighing at the bright sting of pain when his nails
pressed into his palms.
Tonight he would make the leap and bare his soul to Qui-Gon.
He only hoped that Qui-Gon would be there to catch him when he
fell.
Despite the fragile understanding that had risen between them,
Qui-Gon was completely unprepared when Obi-Wan came to him that
night, asking his Master to give him the pain he needed.
"Please, Master."
Qui-Gon stared at his Padawan in ill-concealed dismay, feeling
the numbness of shock move through him. The younger man was
lying beside him in his bed, head propped up on one hand, eyes
shining earnestly out of his pale face. He looked frightened,
but determined. Qui-Gon found himself completely incapable of
forming a coherent response to the fervent plea.
"Master," Obi-Wan said again, his voice lowering to a hoarse
whisper. He trembled slightly, but he never moved his gaze away
from his Master's eyes. "Please, Master, you're the only one I
trust to do this for me. Please."
"Oh, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon barely recognized his own voice. He
reached out to cup his Padawan's chin, running his thumb
smoothly over the line of his jaw.
Now he could see the tears brimming in the younger man's eyes.
They clung like jewels to his long lashes, refracting the color
there. Obi-Wan's breath felt strangely cool against Qui-Gon's
hand. "You aren't going to do it, are you?"
"Obi-Wan..." Qui-Gon had to stop and wrestle his emotions into
order, struggling for the serenity that he knew he needed in
order to deal with this situation. He should have gone to the
Healers when he had first learned of his Padawan's obsession,
but he'd been so sure that they could deal with this problem on
their own. "Obi-Wan, why would you ask such a thing of me?"
The tears glimmered in the lamplight, but didn't fall. "Because
I have no one else to turn to. No one who might understand."
Qui-Gon felt a stab of pain, chased swiftly by a burst of
anger, again, at the beast who had done this. "Obi-Wan," he
said, tightening his grip slightly around the younger man's
jaw, "you have nothing to atone for. Nothing. Do you hear me?"
Obi-Wan shook his head. "You don't understand." This was barely
audible. His gaze turned vacant, looking inward into memory.
"He hurt me," he said at last.
Qui-Gon felt another tearing pain lance through him. "I know,"
he said quietly.
There was silence for another couple of seconds, and then
Obi-Wan added, "He also made me feel pleasure."
Could there be anything more painful than this? Qui-Gon felt as
if his heart were cracking open, and he wanted nothing more
than to slide forward and put his arms around his wounded
apprentice. But he didn't dare.
"You have nothing to be ashamed of, Obi-Wan." It was impossible
to keep the undercurrent of quiet rage out of his voice. He was
furious at the creature that had put his Padawan through this
ordeal, had degraded him to the point where he would feel the
need for such an emotional outlet. "None of what happened to
you is your fault. There is no need to punish yourself for it."
"I don't want to punish myself." He seemed surprised that Qui-
Gon would suggest such a thing. "I just want..." For the first
time, he looked away from his Master's eyes. "You don't
understand," he repeated, sounding listless.
"Obi-Wan..." Qui-Gon was at a loss for words. He had avoided
talking to the Healers about this matter because he did not
want this problem attached to his Padawan's permanent record.
Having to suffer through the rape was bad enough; there was no
reason to wound him with the repercussions of it. Now Qui-Gon
was beginning to doubt the wisdom of that choice.
"Please, Master." Obi-Wan wouldn't meet his eyes, but he was
determined to make this one final plea. It angered Qui-Gon,
irrationally, to hear him beg.
"I can't, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's voice was soft. "I'm sorry. I
can't do this for you."
Obi-Wan took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. "Are you
going to tell the Healers on me?"
"I want to do what's best for you." Qui-Gon was torn. "I don't
want to see you get hurt, love."
Obi-Wan's expression hardened at the familiar endearment. He
lay carefully back against the pillows, turning onto his side
so that his back faced Qui-Gon. The line of his spine was
stiff. "I understand, Master."
"Obi-Wan, please..."
"Good night." The light flicked off with a subdued brush of the
Force, and the shadows came rushing in gleefully to envelop
them.
Qui-Gon lay there in the darkness, feeling the unrestrained
hurt wafting off of his apprentice, and thought to himself that
he had never in his entire life felt more helpless. Or more
alone.
Qui-Gon glanced up as the front door opened, trying not to look
as if he had been waiting up. He could not stifle the faint
sigh of relief that passed his lips when he saw Obi-Wan slip
into the apartment and shrug out of his robe, hanging it next
to the door.
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said in subdued greeting, setting his book
aside as he rose from the couch. "You're late." His reflexive
smile froze, however, when he saw the stiff way in which his
Padawan moved. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, Master." Obi-Wan's voice was cold. He refused to
look at Qui-Gon as he started toward their room at the end of
the hall.
Qui-Gon felt something suspiciously like fear stir inside of
him. "Obi-Wan." The sharpness in his voice brought the younger
man up short, but he did not turn. Qui-Gon stepped up behind
him and laid a gentling hand on his shoulder, massaging lightly
with his thumb. "Obi-Wan, I wish you would talk to me."
"I believe we've already had this discussion, Qui-Gon."
There was something wrong with Obi-Wan's voice, a strained
quality that made Qui-Gon's brows draw together in sudden
apprehension. He realized suddenly that Obi-Wan's shoulder was
flinching, ever so slightly, away from his touch. Feeling numb,
he pulled his hand away.
"What have you done, Obi-Wan?" He could not contain the low
note of horror in his voice. Obi-Wan kept his eyes downcast as
Qui- Gon moved around in front of him, but there were dull
spots of color staining his cheeks as his Master's gaze raked
over him.
The chill inside of Qui-Gon deepened as he reached for his
Padawan's hand. Obi-Wan submitted to the tender inquisition
without a word, keeping his gaze attached to the floor in front
of his feet. Qui-Gon's heart thudded painfully in his chest as
he carefully pulled up the length of his Padawan's sleeve.
Blood. Thin, parallel cuts decorated the inside of the young
man's arm, disappearing under the concealing fabric of his
sleeve. Qui-Gon's vision blurred as he stared at them, his
breath catching painfully in his throat. He felt dizzy, and he
actually swayed as he stood there, while his mind tried
frantically to deny the evidence of his senses. His eyes
followed the cuts up the length of that smooth skin, lingering
over each tiny wellspring of blood, until they vanished under
the worn sleeves and he was staring at the tunic-covered curves
of Obi-Wan's rounded shoulders. He could only guess at the
wounds that might lie underneath his Padawan's robes.
"Good gods, Obi-Wan." He hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but
the anger was welling up in him now, unstoppable. "Who did this
to you?"
Obi-Wan shrugged stiffly. "Does it matter?"
Qui-Gon's hands were shaking where he held onto the younger
man's arm. "You hired someone? To cut you?"
"He whipped me, too." Obi-Wan's voice was completely without
inflection. "May I go to bed now, Master? I really am very
tired."
Qui-Gon felt as if the floor had tipped under him. He wanted to
scream at Obi-Wan, shake him, force him to break free of the
damnable shell of equanimity that had fallen over him, but all
he could do was stand there holding onto his apprentice's hand,
tracing the long patterns of blood-wounds with his eyes. His
fingers tightened against his conscious will.
"You're hurting me, Master." This was the softest of whispers.
Sickened, Qui-Gon released his hold on Obi-Wan's arm and
stepped back a pace, tears stinging his eyes. His heart ached
in a way he had never thought possible. "Obi-Wan..."
"Good night, Master." Obi-Wan made to move past him, but
Qui-Gon stood in his path, refusing to let him go. Obi-Wan
halted obediently, his gaze fastened on the large window beside
him, waiting for his Master to speak.
It took a long moment for Qui-Gon to get his rampaging emotions
under control. Finally, he took a steadying breath and asked,
"Did you get what you needed?"
Obi-Wan glanced at him in surprise, and for the first time that
evening, Qui-Gon was able to see the way the light refracted in
the silver-on-blue surface of his eyes. Just as quickly,
Obi-Wan glanced away again.
"No."
Qui-Gon felt a stirring of pity. A moment later, it was chased
by a rush of heat. "You said that I was the only one you would
trust to do this for you."
A slow shiver passed through Obi-Wan's frame then. "You said
no."
And what was I supposed to do? Qui-Gon wanted to shout
at him. He should have gone to the Healers at the first signs
of trouble, before this had the chance to grow so out of
control. But he had been so sure, so very sure that they could
solve this problem between them, without outside intervention.
He did not want this to impact on his Padawan's chances of
becoming a Knight, no matter how much the situation may warrant
it. But there didn't seem to be anything else that he could do.
Or was there?
As inevitable as it was, the words still caught in Qui-Gon's
throat. The silence stretched uncomfortably between them, until
Obi-Wan looked as if he was going to resume his interrupted
retreat to the bedroom.
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said softly, feeling the defeat wash through
him in a bitter wave. He waited until Obi-Wan looked at him
again before he said, "The next time you feel this need, I
trust that you will come to me instead of hiring a stranger."
Poignant relief rose up in Obi-Wan's eyes, which was quickly
tamped down. Qui-Gon felt a twinge of sadness at his Padawan's
suddenly vulnerable expression.
"You mean you-"
"I will do what I must to give you ease." Qui-Gon hadn't meant
to cut him off so harshly, but he could not bear to hear the
words spoken aloud. His voice softened as he said, "Let's get
you ready for bed now. I believe you have a physics exam
tomorrow."
Obi-Wan nodded. He allowed Qui-Gon to lead him into the
bathroom, where Qui-Gon began running lukewarm water into the
tub. Obi-Wan refused to meet his Master's eyes as Qui-Gon
stripped the robes away from his body and threw them into a
tousled heap on the corner of the floor.
Qui-Gon kept his face impassive, but inside he raged at the
damage that had been done to his Padawan's flesh. The scores
from the whips were angry red welts that looked obscenely
bright against the paleness of the younger man's skin. Qui-Gon
desperately wanted to do a healing on the deepest of them, but
he knew instinctively that such an overture would not be
appreciated. He contented himself with leading Obi-Wan by the
hand into the bathtub, and the younger man sat in the warm
water without protest.
The water turned immediately pink as it lapped up against Obi-
Wan's traumatized skin. He winced slightly at the contact, but
made no overt protest. Qui-Gon soaked a washcloth and dribbled
water down over the slopes of his Padawan's shoulders,
crouching by the side of the tub, and he was soothed by the
ease with which the wounds ran clean. It truly wasn't as bad as
he had feared, and he began to breathe a bit easier.
Obi-Wan kept his eyes downcast throughout his bath, and he
acquiesced without protest when Qui-Gon urged him out of the
tub. Qui-Gon dried him carefully and then led him into their
bedroom at the end of the hall. The moon was just rising, and
it filled the room with a gilding of silver, hazy and
indistinct against the shadows. Qui-Gon immediately flipped the
light switch against the wall, filling the room with yellow
light.
Obi-Wan crawled wearily under the covers, still not meeting his
Master's eyes. Qui-Gon stood for a moment looking down at him
before perching lightly on the edge of the bed. Obi-Wan's eyes
finally moved to gaze up at him, and the subdued turmoil in
them was terrible to see. Qui-Gon was certain that the pain he
saw was not entirely physical.
"This ... person ... you hired to do this to you," Qui-Gon
said, letting his gaze drop away. He slid one hand very lightly
over the back of his Padawan's arm. "Did he...?" He trailed
off, unable to bring himself to finish the question.
But Obi-Wan understood him perfectly well. "Yes," he answered,
in that completely expressionless voice that Qui-Gon was coming
to loathe. "It was a part of his payment."
Qui-Gon winced, unable to counter the flicker of dark jealousy
that rose in him. It would take time to deal with all the
ramifications of this encounter. That Obi-Wan would feel the
need to whore himself in order to experience what his Master
would not give him... Guilt tore through Qui-Gon, stealing his
breath away. It was a moment before he could speak again.
"Never again, my Obi-Wan." The words were soft, yet firm, and
he accompanied them by a light brush of his fingers across
Obi-Wan's brow. Obi-Wan nuzzled into the caress, his eyes
falling closed again with a quiet sigh. For the first time that
evening, the tension left his lean frame.
"I'm sorry, Master." Obi-Wan's voice was a gentle puff of air
against Qui-Gon's hand.
Oh, the ache was unbearable. "You have nothing to be sorry for,
my Padawan."
A pause. "Yes, Master."
Qui-Gon sighed, giving one last affectionate caress to the hair
at the side of his Padawan's head, and then he stood up from
the bed. "Good night, Obi-Wan."
There was no answer, as he had half-expected. Obi-Wan's body
looked crumpled and broken under the thinness of the sheets.
The coverings clung to his lean body like a second skin,
outlining the curve of his buttocks and the muscles of his
thighs. Qui-Gon forced himself to look away.
Without another word, Qui-Gon changed into his sleep clothes
and slid into the bed behind Obi-Wan. He took care not to lie
too close to his Padawan, sensing that his presence would not
be overly welcome tonight. There were wounds all around, it
seemed, and not all of them were of the physical kind.
He could not bring himself to shut off the light, despite that
fact that its comfort was solely symbolic. It brought him some
measure of comfort as he lay waiting for sleep to claim him,
and he chose to believe that it brought reassurance to Obi-Wan
as well.
Qui-Gon could tell by the look in his Padawan's eyes when the
night had come for him to make good on his promise.
He was filled with disquiet that evening, as if he had known on
some level that tonight would be the night his resolution was
called into play. He watched with a sense of growing dread as
Obi-Wan approached him, and he set his book aside with a slow,
shuddering intake of breath, captivated by the shimmering
entreaty in his Padawan's eyes.
"Master," Obi-Wan said to him, faultlessly formal. He bowed
slightly at the waist, keeping his eyes respectfully lowered.
"Yes, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon's voice was strangely vacant. He wiped
his suddenly sweaty palms across the front of his tunic.
Obi-Wan hesitated. There was an enormous amount of tension
strung through his lean frame, apparent most visibly in the
hard line of his shoulders. "Please, Master." His voice was so
low that Qui-Gon had to strain to hear it. "You know what I'm
asking you. Please don't make me say it aloud."
For a long moment, Qui-Gon couldn't say anything, and then,
"Why, Obi-Wan?" He leaned forward, pierced by the subdued hurt
he saw in his apprentice's eyes. He reached out one hand to
touch Obi- Wan's high cheekbone, trailing his fingers around
and under his jaw. Gentle pressure forced the younger man to
look at him. "Why do you need me to do this? You still haven't
explained it to me."
Obi-Wan shivered, pulling his robe tighter around him. His gaze
slithered to one side, as if he found it painful to meet Qui-
Gon's eyes. "Isn't it enough for me to tell you that I do need
it?"
"No." Qui-Gon's voice was firm, even as his insides quailed.
"If I am going to torture my apprentice, I would at least like
to know the reason for it first."
He felt Obi-Wan stiffen. There was a smoldering anger in the
younger man's eyes when he turned back to look at him. "I will
go elsewhere for this if you will not assist me. I have done so
before." The cool dignity in his voice was chilling to hear.
Qui-Gon kept his face impassive under the sting of the blatant
barb, but oh, how it hurt. "No," he said sharply, giving in to
a brief surge of anger. "You will not." Despite his bravado, he
wasn't sure what he could do to stop Obi-Wan from finding his
nameless lovers in this fashion, short of confining him to
their quarters until he was knighted. Softening his tone, he
added, "But I would very much like you to confide in me,
Obi-Wan."
For a long moment, Obi-Wan said nothing in reply, and Qui-Gon
steeled himself for the moment when his Padawan would turn and
walk away, disappearing from his heart and his life forever. It
was entirely possible that Obi-Wan would request a new Master
over this; there were too many ill emotions flowing between
them, too many forbidden desires. Qui-Gon had to clench his
teeth against the sudden wave of panic that rose in him at the
thought, and he realized, with frightening clarity, that he
would be willing to do anything, anything at all, to insure
that this wouldn't happen.
Obi-Wan only looked at him with his wide, solemn eyes, and
finally Qui-Gon dropped his gaze away in defeat. "I love you,
Obi-Wan," he whispered hoarsely.
Now Obi-Wan moved forward, a single step, two, and rested his
palm against Qui-Gon's cheek. He leaned in to kiss his Master
lingeringly on the lips, and Qui-Gon sighed against him,
tasting the sweet nectar of his Padawan's kiss. It was
something that he had forbidden himself to so much as long for,
so soon after Obi- Wan's violent claiming, but he was not
surprised by the ease with which his body betrayed his wishes
now. A banked heat rose in him at the touch of his Padawan's
lips, the slow tease of the younger man's breath against his
mouth. Time seemed to slow as they kissed, and the world
narrowed to the space between their bodies.
"I love you, too, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan whispered against the older
man's lips. His hand was still cupped over Qui-Gon's cheek, and
he petted it lightly, eyes wide and guileless as they gazed up
into his Master's face. "That's why I need you to do this for
me."
Qui-Gon leaned forward until their foreheads touched, and he
fought for a moment to get his breathing under control. He was
going to do this. He was really and truly going to do this.
Against the dictates of the Code, the Council, and of his own
conscience, he was going to do this thing, solely because this
man had asked it of him.
Obi-Wan seemed to sense the admission of defeat in Qui-Gon's
stance. He moved back a pace, a seductive shadow, and urged
Qui- Gon with his eyes to come with him.
Qui-Gon followed with a dull sense of foreboding as Obi-Wan led
him into their bedroom at the end of the hall. The sun was just
dipping behind the cityscape of Coruscant's horizon, coloring
the looming buildings outside the windows with a sickly sheen.
Qui- Gon shivered, feeling suddenly cold, and watched with a
curious sense of detachment as Obi-Wan dropped to his knees
beside his bed and pulled out a low, narrow box from
underneath.
For a moment, Obi-Wan just knelt there, staring down at the box
as if he found it distasteful, then he palmed open the small
lock with a resigned air. Reaching inside, he pulled out a
handful of narrow leather straps and set them on top of the
bed.
"What are those?" Qui-Gon's voice sounded unnatural in the
stillness, and he swallowed convulsively, trying to relieve the
sudden dryness in his throat.
"Restraints." Obi-Wan's voice was matter-of-fact. "You'll have
to tie me down. It could be dangerous if I flinched at the
wrong moment; some of these can cause serious damage if they
hit me in the wrong places. My spine, for example. You'll have
to be very careful of my spine."
Qui-Gon felt dizzy for a moment as Obi-Wan pulled out a long,
slender whip from out of the box and laid it next to the
restraints. "And you let a stranger do this to you?"
A shudder passed through Obi-Wan's frame, and his head bowed.
After a moment, he said, "It was not a pleasant experience."
The low words held the ache of regret in them, and Qui-Gon's
heart lurched within him.
"Obi-Wan..." He trailed off, not knowing what he was expected
to say. The fact that his Padawan had somehow gone out and
purchased these items, unbeknownst to him, and then stowed them
underneath their bed in anticipation of this very moment
sickened him, and it reminded him of how very little control he
had in this entire situation.
"Are you ready, my Master?" Obi-Wan said, ignoring the unspoken
words. When he looked up at Qui-Gon, his eyes were unnaturally
bright.
Qui-Gon felt a slow shudder work its way through him. Obi-Wan
looked so vulnerable, kneeling there, the need seeming to shine
out of him in bright, shimmering pulses of light. He seemed so
fragile suddenly, so lost. Qui-Gon wasn't quite sure that he
was capable of carrying through with what Obi-Wan required of
him, but he knew, without hesitation or conscious remorse, that
he was going to try.
"Obi-Wan," he said again. This time, Obi-Wan heard the
resolution in his voice and bowed his head in mute acceptance
of it.
"On your feet, Padawan," Qui-Gon said, and although he spoke
softly, there was a new note in his voice that hadn't been
there a moment ago. He saw the fragile tremor that moved
through Obi- Wan's body as he moved to obey.
Slowly, Qui-Gon moved forward to stand in front of his
apprentice. Obi-Wan kept his eyes downcast; the lamplight
gilded on the younger man's lashes, brushing them with a
dusting of gold. Qui-Gon was struck by the unavoidable impulse
to touch those long lashes, and he let his fingertips brush
across them with a touch that was so slight it almost wasn't
there.
"Look at me, Obi-Wan."
Obi-Wan obeyed. There was fear in his eyes, and trust, and
need, and a distant, heartfelt longing that shook Qui-Gon to
the core. He slid his fingers down the edge of the young man's
jaw to cup his chin in one hand, lightly tracing the lines of
his mouth. Obi-Wan's lips parted in silent wonder, his
expression turning somewhat stricken under the gentleness of
his Master's touch.
"If we are going to do this, I want there to be no secrets
between us." Qui-Gon leaned in to kiss that seductive mouth,
and he felt his desire stir as those soft lips opened to him,
the barest flicker of a tongue striking like quicksilver
against his own. Obi-Wan leaned forward against him, and
Qui-Gon pulled back enough to brush his lips across each
trembling eyelid, marking them as his.
"No secrets," he repeated, smoothing one hand down over the
curve of the younger man's shoulder to slide across the skin
that could just barely be glimpsed at the V of the white tunic.
Obi-Wan shivered, but made no move to remove himself from his
Master's touch. "Can you promise me that, Obi-Wan?"
"Master," Obi-Wan said on a sigh, his hands clenching at his
sides. There was a deep furrow of agitation between his brows,
but he did not open his eyes.
"Tell me, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon traced the line of Obi-Wan's jaw
with his lips, smiling at the almost inaudible gasp that he was
rewarded with. His hands dropped to Obi-Wan's waist, where they
began to unwind the fabric of the younger man's sash. "Tell me
what you fear. Tell me what troubles you as you lie awake at
night, hungering for the pain."
He rubbed his cheek against Obi-Wan's as both sash and belt
fell to the floor at their feet, and he felt the subdued warmth
of tears against his skin. Turning his head slightly, he kissed
them away, tracing the delicate tracks they made with his
tongue.
Obi-Wan's hands closed convulsively over Qui-Gon's arms. The
strength of his grip was almost painful, but Qui-Gon made no
remark on it. He only continued to kiss the younger man,
lightly, soothingly, as his hands eased the tunics back off of
Obi-Wan's shoulders, exposing his skin to the air.
"I feel ashamed," Obi-Wan said at last, nuzzling his nose
against the side of Qui-Gon's neck. He did not loosen his grip
on the other man's arms.
"And what shames you, my love?" Qui-Gon pressed slow, soft
kisses against the warm curve of shoulder, of throat. Obi-Wan
tipped his head back slightly, his breaths deepening. He made
no reply to Qui-Gon's softly voiced question, and Qui-Gon
nipped lightly against the sensitized skin at his collarbone,
earning a strangled gasp. "Do you want me to stop?"
"N-no." Obi-Wan stumbled over the word, his fingers tightening
around Qui-Gon's arms. His tunics were piled on the floor next
to his sash now, and Qui-Gon ran his hands smoothly over the
bared skin just above the waistline of the younger man's
leggings, pulling the willing body even tighter against him.
"Please..."
"Tell me." Qui-Gon cupped Obi-Wan's face in his hands, pulling
him back far enough so that he could look down into the younger
man's eyes. "Please, Obi-Wan." He traced his thumb over a high
cheekbone, trying to relay the force of his concern, his desire
to have this mystery cleared up between them.
Obi-Wan stared, enraptured by whatever it was that he saw in
his Master's eyes, and then he let out his breath in a wafting
sigh. Averting his gaze, he said in the faintest of whispers,
"I wanted him to fuck me."
Qui-Gon hesitated, unsure as to how to react to this latest
revelation. "I'm not sure I understand, Obi-Wan."
Obi-Wan still could not look at him. "He ... touched me," he
said haltingly, his breathing harsh. His fingers coiled tightly
around Qui-Gon's arms again, as if he were afraid that his
Master would leave him when he heard what he had to say. "He
made me feel ... things. I couldn't ... I couldn't stop him."
He was crying now, a steady, silent stream of tears that seemed
somehow the more painful for their lack of intensity.
Qui-Gon tried to hold back his own biting rage at the reminder
of what had been done to his Padawan. "There's no reason to
feel ashamed for that, Obi-Wan. It wasn't your fault."
But Obi-Wan shook his head, hardly seeming to have heard him.
"He ... he made me feel those things, and there was nothing I
could do to stop him. Then when I realized he was going to fuck
me, I knew that it was going to hurt. And as terrified as it
made me, as much as I was repulsed by just the feel of him on
top of me, all I could think was 'yes, finally.' Because
if he hurt me, I couldn't feel that kind of pleasure any more."
Qui-Gon closed his eyes in silent mourning. So this was what
had begun his Padawan's love affair with pain. Forced into a
delicate dance of pain and pleasure, he had turned to the pain
for solace, and the pain had taken him in. His Padawan's dark
desires hadn't been a punishment after all, but an exorcism.
Gently, Qui-Gon brushed his lips across Obi-Wan's mouth,
inhaling deeply of the tremulous breath that was expelled
against his face. "Do you still want this of me, my love?" he
whispered, nuzzling against that warm skin. "I will do it if
you ask it of me, but I tell you that you have nothing to be
ashamed for, to atone for. There is nothing that creature took
from you that cannot be regained."
The smile Obi-Wan favored him with was both grateful and
saddened. "There was nothing he took from me that was not
freely given. A part of me had to have had those urges already,
for me to respond so eagerly in captivity. I think ... I think
he only awakened something that was already there." He turned
slightly, reaching behind him to lift one of the slender
leather straps from the bed. He trailed it down the length of
Qui-Gon's arm, leaning in to kiss him lightly as he placed it
gently into the older man's hand. "Love me, Qui-Gon," he
whispered, his breath warm and seductive against the other
man's lips. "Love me the way I need you to love me."
Qui-Gon's hand clenched around the narrow strip of leather
until the edges cut into his palm. So much pain already, so
much suffering, and it was the greatest of ironies that only
pain could help put things right again. His eyes narrowed as,
with a determined burst of Force, he erected a temporary
Force-wall around their apartment. Neither sound nor Force
would escape these quarters until he willed it.
He could tell by the deepening cast to Obi-Wan's eyes that his
Padawan could sense what he had done. Without bothering to
remark on his actions, he said only, "Take off your clothes,
Obi- Wan."
There was the faintest of hesitations before Obi-Wan obeyed
him. Sitting back on the edge of the bed, Obi-Wan pulled off
his boots and lay them aside next to his fallen tunics. His
bare torso was bronze-gold in the subdued glow of the
lamplight, the skin stretched taut over firm muscles, and
Qui-Gon took a moment to admire the subtle beauty of his form.
Obi-Wan was grace personified, an effigy of seduction. Just the
sight of those muscles sliding together under golden skin made
Qui-Gon's desire increase to an almost fevered pitch within
him.
Qui-Gon's eyes traced the faint, ruddy lines of the young man's
past punishments, and he felt an unanticipated wave of jealousy
wash through him. He could feel the darkness in the emotion,
but he clung to it regardless, knowing he would need the
strength of it if they were to do what they both knew needed to
be done. He wanted nothing more than to take this young man in
his arms and soothe the hurt out of him with words of
reassurance and slow, sweet loving, but he knew that such an
overture would not be appreciated at this point. Now was the
time that he had to be strong, to be what Obi-Wan needed him to
be. Even if it ripped his soul away in the process.
Qui-Gon's hand traced the sloping curve of his Padawan's naked
shoulder, feeling along the line of one nearly healed scar that
tracked backwards over the slope of the shoulder and down onto
the younger man's back. "How dare you allow another to touch
you?" he said in a low voice, startled by the words but unable
to hold them back.
Obi-Wan gazed up at him in open amazement, but a moment later
his eyes darkened with lust. "I-I'm sorry, Master." He sounded
honestly repentant.
"Remove your clothes, Padawan."
There was no hesitation now as Obi-Wan obeyed him. He stood up
from the bed and shed the remainder of his clothing, meeting
Qui- Gon's gaze with a shiver of trepidation and deep-seated
need. When he was completely bared to Qui-Gon's avid gaze, he
stood as tall as he was able and moved his glance to the wall
beside their bed. His breath was taut, and Qui-Gon could sense
the wave of mingled anticipation and desire and fear that rose
off of him.
Qui-Gon followed his Padawan's gaze, and he immediately
understood what had caught the younger man's interest. There
was a heavy portrait hanging on the inside wall of the room, a
passive array of colors and textures meant to depict the white
beach of some foreign world. It had been a gift from some
resident noble or other, in reward for the services that the
Jedi had done for his people. Behind the portrait was a large
hook which had, in turn, housed a variety of different trophies
over the years since Obi-Wan had become Qui-Gon's Padawan.
It was a sturdy hook, deep-seated in the wall, and it would
withstand quite a substantial force of pressure. Qui-Gon's fist
tightened around the strip of leather in his hand. The opposite
ends of it were studded with metal clasps, so that they could
be strung around into narrow cuffs. He hated the feel of it
against his palm, hated the symbolism of what it represented,
both to him and to his Padawan.
Feeling numb, he draped the clinging leather over one arm and
moved forward to remove the portrait from the wall. The surface
behind it was hard and smooth, and when he ran his hand over
it, he imagined it felt vaguely warm to the touch.
Mechanically, he reached up to drape the leather restraint over
the hook, making sure that it was secure and arranging it to a
height that would be comfortable for his Padawan. The thought
almost made him laugh aloud.
When he turned back to Obi-Wan, he was struck by the full force
of the desire in his Padawan's eyes. It seared the breath from
him, making him dizzy; no matter what else he may believe about
this evening, there could be no doubt that Obi-Wan wanted this,
from the very center of his being.
Qui-Gon watched in silence as Obi-Wan stepped up against the
wall and lifted his hands over his head, fitting his wrists
precisely into the cuffs of leather that dangled there. He did
not look away from his Master's eyes as he did so, and Qui-Gon
believed that he could feel the physical touch of the charge in
the air between them.
Responding to the unspoken demand in his Padawan's eyes,
Qui-Gon moved forward and ran his hands lightly over those
extended arms, drawing forth a subdued tremor in the younger
man's quiescent form. When he came to the rough abrasion of
leather at each narrow wrist, he strung the tongues of each
strap through the opposing clasps and then cinched them shut.
His breathing was harsh and irregular as he did so.
"Make sure they're tight," Obi-Wan instructed him, staring
intently into his Master's eyes. There was the faintest quiver
of fear in his voice, but it was underlaid beneath a throaty
growl of pure arousal. "If they're too loose, they'll chafe the
skin right off of me."
Qui-Gon shivered, but obeyed. He saw Obi-Wan wince as he
tightened the cuffs, but he did not let it deter him as he
pulled the leather taut. Trailing his hands back down Obi-Wan's
arms, he smoothed his palms across the tantalizing layer of
red-golden hair that coated the other man's chest, smiling at
the subdued hissing of breath that his Padawan made as
Qui-Gon's fingers passed over his nipples.
"I want to make love to you," Qui-Gon whispered, bending to run
his tongue around the rim of one darkened nipple, teasing the
tender nub into hardness. His fingers splayed across his
Padawan's ribs.
"You are making love to me," Obi-Wan told him, tipping his head
back slightly as the sensations coursed through him. He arched
his back slightly as Qui-Gon moved to the other side of his
chest. "Please, Qui-Gon. I need-"
"I know."
Marshaling his courage, Qui-Gon stepped away from his trembling
apprentice and reached for the whip that lay behind him on the
bed. It felt heavy in his hand, and he tightened his fingers
around it convulsively, watching in mute fascination at the way
the sinuous tail of it coiled against the floor at his feet. He
couldn't believe he was actually preparing to do this.
Subdued movement to the side of him caught his attention, and
he glanced up just in time to see Obi-Wan turning to face the
wall, his bound wrists crossing over his head as he exposed his
back to Qui-Gon's avid gaze.
The world seemed to fall away from Qui-Gon at the sight of that
smoothly muscled back, and his eyes blurred as they traced the
evidence of the last time his Padawan had sought this form of
absolution. Obi-Wan's breathing was heavy, and the line of his
shoulders was taut even though he was making a visible effort
to calm himself. He glanced back over his shoulder with eyes
gone dark with lust.
"I love you, Qui-Gon," he whispered.
Qui-Gon struck out with the whip. He barely heard the startled
yelp of pain that escaped his Padawan's lips; his focus was
consumed by the thin line of red that had opened up across the
plane of the younger man's shoulder blade. Qui-Gon watched as
Obi-Wan's hands twisted to grasp the straps that held him,
giving him added support as he let out his breath in an
explosive sigh.
"That's it, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan urged. He bowed his head to rest
his forehead against the wall, bracing his legs under him. He
was breathing heavily. "Just let it all go." His voice lowered
so that Qui-Gon couldn't even be sure the younger man was
speaking to him at all anymore. "Please, Qui-Gon. Please..."
Qui-Gon felt a wave of unreality wash over him. Oh, how easily
this kind of power could become seductive, to hear his
apprentice beg in this way. The thought brought a reflexive
flash of self- castigation, and Qui-Gon lashed out a second
time, almost without thinking. Obi-Wan cried out again, the
shout ripped hoarsely from his throat as he writhed under the
cutting blow. The first stripe was suddenly mirrored by a
matching wound on the opposite side of the young man's
shoulders. Qui-Gon stared in fascination as the blood appeared,
dark against the pale skin, opening the thin wound to the air.
Qui-Gon hesitated one last time, reluctant to cross over the
brink that he could sense looming in front of him, but then
Obi- Wan was looking over his shoulder again, his expression
pained but pleading, tender in its aching need. He smiled
softly, meeting Qui-Gon's gaze steadily with his summer-blue
eyes, and then there was no turning back for either of them.
Obi-Wan arched into the blows, muscles straining under each
torturous kiss of the whip, and the air was filled with the
somehow melodic sounds of his harsh cries. They increased in
intensity as Qui-Gon increased the force of his blows, and he
grunted with the effort it took to keep up the punishing
rhythm. Tears blurred his vision as he continued to beat his
uncertainty and fear into his writhing apprentice, but each
lash fell with unerring accuracy, until Obi-Wan's hoarse cries
turned into screams and echoed in the room around them.
Something sang in the air between them, a subtle understanding
that Qui-Gon couldn't even begin to comprehend in his current
state of mind, but it called to him, drawing him and Obi-Wan
together in the moment, in the pain and lust and love of their
joining. He felt a sudden spike of rage at the unnamed
assailant who had woken up these needs in his apprentice, and
his next blow fell with a fury that alarmed him. Obi-Wan
screamed, writhing under the force of his Master's rage. The
rage broke against the sound of his cry, shattering under the
impact, and Qui-Gon felt its pressure within him ease slightly
with each blow that fell against his Padawan's naked back.
And that was, after all, the truth that eluded him - that this
was something they both needed, and the strength of the guilt
Qui-Gon felt over this only fueled the fire within him. He
pounded that uncertainty into his Padawan's body with each
heavy stroke of the whip, and Obi-Wan absorbed it without
protest, willingly taking in the brunt of Qui-Gon's fury, his
guilt, his desire, his pain. And it was an absolution of
sorts, a cleansing, as one by one the negative emotions burned
to cinders between them, until there was nothing left but the
pain.
Pain, and something else. Qui-Gon at last dropped the blood-
soaked flail to the floor, his breaths coming in shuddering
gasps as he fought to regain his equilibrium. Obi-Wan was
sobbing quietly, his backside covered by a seething mass of
open wounds. His weight hung limply from the cuffs at his
wrists, and Qui-Gon moved forward instantly to release him.
Obi-Wan's body fell back bonelessly into his arms, and for a
moment Qui-Gon's heart seized as he thought that maybe he had
gone too far, that he had taken more than Obi-Wan had the
strength to give. But Obi-Wan's eyes opened with a weary smile
as he held the young man close against his chest, being careful
not to touch the newly won stripes that crossed the young man's
shoulders and back, wrapping around the sides of his ribs and
down over his buttocks. Gods, Qui-Gon couldn't help but
think, feeling somewhat desperate. Had he truly done all of
this? He kissed his Padawan lingeringly on the lips, seeking
assurance that he had done the right thing.
"Love you," Obi-Wan murmured, nuzzling forward into the side of
his Master's neck. His breath tickled over Qui-Gon's skin,
giving the older man an involuntary shiver. The younger man's
body was still trembling in reaction to the trauma that had
been inflicted on it, and Qui-Gon was achingly aware of the
wave of barely constrained desire that rose from the both of
them, mingling in the cool air.
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, sighing softly. He ran one hand over
the back of the younger man's head, and he bent to kiss the
side of that beloved face, sighing against the pulse of heat
that was rising in him.
Desire was not lessened by the passage of the pain between
them. Instead, it seemed heightened by it, roused to a fevered
pitch, and it did not cool as their bodies moved together,
searching for something they could not precisely define.
Tongues met in a frenetic dance as Qui-Gon's clothes were
stripped away from his body. He wasn't even sure whose hands
peeled the clothing away from his heated skin - his? Obi-Wan's?
It seemed all the same to him. He hissed as his back was
pressed up against the hard wall, and Obi-Wan moved like turgid
silk against him, pressing the breath from him, adamant in
their mutual desire for further intimacy.
There was no time to stop and consider the ramifications of
what he had already done. He could only imagine what Obi-Wan
must be feeling - beaten, aroused, with salt sweat stinging in
the newly won blood-wounds on his back. The thought made
Qui-Gon's head spin, and his head fell back against the wall as
Obi-Wan suckled at his throat, hands moving over his Master's
body in ruthless exigency.
"Gods," Qui-Gon gasped, feeling the world shiver around him. He
ran his hands down Obi-Wan's sides, feeling the tautness of
muscle, the softness of smooth skin sliding under his palms
like silk. Teeth and tongues clashed in a frantic duel, and
Qui-Gon believed he could feel reality breaking slowly apart
around him, until nothing mattered aside from the acquisition
of this beautiful body, the scent of it, the taste...
His Padawan, whom he had just beaten senseless with a whip that
was now drenched with the younger man's blood. Who had just a
short time ago been brutally raped by a remorseless adversary
who used the Force as a weapon in pursuit of darkness.
With a groan, Qui-Gon pushed Obi-Wan's hands away from him,
clasping the freshly bruised wrists in his large hands and
moaning low in the back of his throat when Obi-Wan continued to
rub his body against his, straining for the completion that
mocked them both. "Obi-Wan," he said, harshly, but Obi-Wan was
beyond hearing.
Deliberately, Qui-Gon turned his back on the younger man and
crossed his arms over his head against the wall. He felt
Obi-Wan pause, felt the slow-blooming shock as the younger man
recognized the symbolic representation of what his Master was
doing - Qui- Gon was baring his back to him in the same way
that Obi-Wan had bared himself to the whip for his Master,
offering himself up to his lover without regret or remorse,
sharing everything that he was with this man that he loved.
There was a heartbeat's pause, and then Qui-Gon felt a
tentative kiss brush whisper-soft against the outside edge of
his shoulder blade. His breath turned tremulous under the
unexpectedly tender caress, and he sighed heavily as Obi-Wan's
hands smoothed slowly across the skin of his back, gauging the
heat of the arousal that burned in him.
"Do it, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's voice was soft, less of a command
than a plea. He sighed again and rested his head forward
against his folded arms, feeling Obi-Wan's gaze rake over his
skin with the heat of a physical touch.
"Force around us, I love you." Obi-Wan's voice was hoarse. He
stepped forward, and Qui-Gon could feel the hardness of the
other man's erection press insistently against the crease of
his buttocks. Obi-Wan's hands moved reverently over his
Master's body, petting at the smooth skin, mapping its contours
as if he had never in his life laid eyes on such a prize. His
cheek rested flat against the hollow between Qui-Gon's shoulder
blades, and Qui-Gon felt the warmth of tears against his skin.
Very carefully, Obi-Wan lifted his Master's hair away from his
neck and pressed his lips against the pulse at the side of Qui-
Gon's throat, his breath hot as a desert wind against his
Master's skin. Qui-Gon closed his eyes as the younger man's
hand slid over the curve of his hip, pulling him back away from
the wall slightly so that his weight rested fully on his arms.
The posture was achingly vulnerable, but Qui-Gon acquiesced
without protest, his heart pounding rapidly within him.
Yes, he wanted to say, but couldn't. His voice was
trapped somewhere inside of him, along with his breath; he
couldn't breathe, couldn't think of anything except the fact
that this was how Obi-Wan had been taken, with this kind of
raw, aching need. The pain of this realization ripped through
him, rending his soul and his thoughts with bestial fury, but
underneath the agony was the knowledge that this was Obi-Wan,
his Obi-Wan, his light, his faith, his reason for life, and
there was nothing he had ever wanted more than this joining
between them. He tried to relay the eloquence of these thoughts
in the arch of his spine against the other man's bruising
weight, and the low, incoherent sounds he managed to force out
between his tightly clenched teeth as his lover's fingers
stroked into him.
Symmetry. When Obi-Wan at last abandoned the preparations and
thrust forward into his Master's willing body, there was pain
in it, and fury, and a violent mourning for an innocence lost.
Qui- Gon let out a searing cry, his fingers scrabbling
helplessly against the wall as he was impaled, and his back
arched under the weight of the other man's passion, sweat and
tears pouring from him in equal measure. Obi-Wan's hands moved
over him, surrounding him, supporting him amongst the flood of
emotion that wracked through him, begging inexorably for
release.
The pain never entirely left him, but Qui-Gon found it
sublimated by the pleasure, until each rocking cadence of his
Padawan's thrusts brought a burst of brilliant rapture rushing
through every nerve ending in his body. Obi-Wan's hands moved
inexorably over Qui-Gon's cock, squeezing the hard flesh into
submission as he pounded relentlessly into his Master's ass.
Qui-Gon gave a ragged shout against the pressures that were
building in him, his body thrashing in his lover's grip, until
finally the universe splintered into bright shards of ecstasy
around him.
The agony Qui-Gon felt was somehow heightened by his climax,
but as he and Obi-Wan made love together he felt as if they
were rising up above the pain, transcending it, as if it in
truth held no power over them.
And then there was nothing but the love.
Epilogue:
There is a fragile line between light and dark, success and
failure, pleasure and pain.
The Code teaches us to view the world in shades of black and
white, but it is only when you draw close to the defining lines
that you can see the edges are blurred. In all the years that I
have lived, both as a Jedi and as a man, I have never
understood this truth so dearly as I do at this moment.
We have given in to anger, our hatred, our fear. There are some
who would say that we have turned, if they knew of the paths we
have followed. Perhaps they would be right. Perhaps there is no
way to recover what we have lost, but I would never surrender
what we have gained.
We lay here together, in the darkness, clothed only in the love
that we bear for one another. The scars of your suffering are
readily visible on your flesh, dark red against the deepening
gloom that surrounds us. To some, the wounds would be a symbol
of our failure as Jedi, our failure to keep to the paths of
light. But as I gaze into your eyes, your head braced upon my
chest, I cannot believe that this is so. I believe that pain
can be an absolution, and that it does not have to lead us into
darkness. We have transcended it, and we are the stronger for
it.
I am not sure where we will go from here, or how these
revelations between us will affect our lives. Perhaps we are
already a part of the dark now, shadow creatures doomed to
follow this path that we have chosen - but I doubt it. You feel
too good inside the circle of my arms, the love between us too
fresh and vital. In any case, whatever path we choose will be
taken together.
You fit so perfectly inside my arms, your body molded to mine
with such perfect trust. No matter what happens to us now, I
know that we are absolved in our love.
I kiss you again, unable to resist the lure of your soft lips,
and you smile as you snuggle against me, your body warm and
vital inside the circle of my arms. How had I ever lived
without this nectar, this breath of life that is your love
within me?
I can see the weariness in your eyes. Sleep, my love. Sleep,
and let me stand this steadfast vigil against the dark. You
have nothing to fear as long as I am here, to hold you, to
cherish you, to share the tender longing of the breath within
you.
And if, at the end of everything, you are destined to fall prey
to the darkness, then at least I can make you this promise, my
love.
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