Series: The 5th in 'Night's Secret, Knight's Shame'
Warnings: 1. Due to recent (ongoing?) discussion I feel I must
warn that this story contains A/O. If you don't like
Anakin/Obi-Wan slash, your delete button is there for a reason
2. This story contains some non-con elements. 3. This story
follows canon. You know that thing that didn't happen? Well, it
happened.
Summery: A week has passed from 'Meditations' and Anakin's
getting horny.
Disclaimer: Pop Quiz: Who owns Star Wars? (hint: not me) A:
George Lucas. And do you really think I could make any money
off of this?
Feedback: Someone's still with me? By all means let me know.
Any and all forms of feedback are appreciated greatly.
It's been one week. Seven days, seven nights.
The days are no different from before. We get up. I go to my
classes. We eat together, talk together, spar together. Even if
we were being scrutinized by the Council themselves, they would
not have cause to suspect a thing. I am very pleased.
The nights have only differed by one thing. Every night he asks
me if I require him. Always in the same expressionless tone,
always with the same downcast face That one small thing is the
only fruit I have harvested from my victory. For until that
moment, he is as he was, always the perfect Master. He is calm,
serene, and even stern when the occasion calls for it.
I think I have waited long enough.
It's been one week since Anakin raped me.
One week of wondering when it will happen again. I now know
that Anakin wants more than just my body. If that was all he
wanted, he would have taken it. No, I fear he is up to
something far more sinister. I must be watchful.
He has been a model Padawan in public, the same as he has
always been. In private I actually find myself missing his
company. Not that he's not there, but I miss the man I used to
know. I miss the man who would joke over dinner and rub my back
after hour long meetings. I miss the comfortable silence of
just sitting in a room with someone. I still sit in the room
sometimes, but the silence is not comfortable. Often now we eat
a quick, silent dinner, I ask the question, then retire to my
room for the night.
The man I now share my quarters with I avoid contact with. Once
or twice, late at night I lie in bed craving simple human
contact. I never had much of a chance to make friends whilst I
was a Padawan, Qui-Gon was the Orders' top active negotiator.
Sometimes we would only be on Courasont for a couple of weeks a
year. I had friends, yes, but we were not very close.
After I was Knighted and given Anakin, suddenly I had a Padawan
that required enormous amounts of attention. All Padawans do,
but Anakin was always special. He was struggling to catch up to
his yearmates in training while being far ahead of them in
experience and raw power.
He was a bright boy, though often lonely. He felt so far behind
that he spent all his time desperately accumulating knowledge,
and not socializing. The other children avoided him. After all,
he was 10, very young for a Padawan. Most Padawans wouldn't
play with someone that young, and most initiates are slightly
jealous of anyone who is a Padawan.
That was 15 years ago. As Anakin grew up he made some friends.
But he was never fully accepted as 'normal.' He did not have
the same background of being brought up in the crèche.
Many of his classes were far above his age level, some were
even Knight courses that he had special permission to join.
Anakin was my friend more than my student, and I was more of a
guide than a Master. It is that betrayal, the betrayal of a
friend, that hurts the most. I think that my friend Anakin is
still in there, somewhere, and I wish I could talk to him. Ask
him what made him choose this path. I am starting to think that
there was something, is something, influencing him. Perhaps it
is foolish to believe this, but it is more comforting than the
alternative; that the man I knew never existed, that he was
just a sham, a mask put on to deceive me.
No, I believe that there is some good in him. There has to be.
For if there is not; my life is worthless, my suffering
meaningless, and the Republic doomed.
I can feel him. He is deep in thought, returning from yet
another budget meeting. My pulse quickens as I wonder just what
I should like to do to him tonight. Should it be a slow, sweet
seduction, leaving him in despair and confusion? Or a long hard
fucking, letting him see just who is in control here? I think
some of my more... exotic... ideas can wait a bit. Besides,
most of those require special supplies that I don't currently
have on hand.
As I am thinking this I feel his presence getting closer and
closer. Soon he is here.
"Good evening, Anakin." he calls as he walks through the door.
"Good evening." Dinner is done so I put it on the table. We eat
in silence. When he is finished Obi-Wan excuses himself and
goes into his bedroom to deal with paper work. I finish more
slowly, then clear and wash.
After I'm done, I sit on the couch as I normally do, and set to
work on a paper for my philosophy class.
It is almost an hour later that he comes out of his room. I
pretend to study the datapad in front of me.
"Do you require me tonight?"
Oh, the sound of his voice sends shivers down my spine. I can
hardy wait to hear it scream in passion. And if he will not cry
out in passion, he will in pain. I pause briefly, as if
considering. "Yes." Now I rapidly bring up shields around our
quarters.
His face changes not one bit as he absorbs my response. "What
do you require?"
"Strip." I watch him carefully as he walks over to the couch.
He sits down. Undoing his buckles his carefully removes his
boots and socks. He stands back up again and removes his belt
and sash. Then his tunics, one layer at a time, neatly folding
everything and putting it in a pile on a nearby chair. Next are
his leggings and now he stands before me, completely at my
mercy.
I study him carefully, as I didn't really get a chance last
time. But he doesn't even blush. He's determined to hold on to
that Sith-cursed Jedi serenity. He won't, I promise myself. I
will break through that calm. "Turn around." I command.
He does. "Stand next to that wall... feet apart... further...
further... there, good. Now lean over slightly." He does,
bracing himself with his arms against the wall. I get up off
the couch and stand next to him, "No, don't touch the wall." I
pause as he balances himself. "Now spread yourself, let me see
you."
He does, his hands moving around to grab himself as his feet
shift, trying to keep balance. I run my finger down the crack
and back up again. I can feel the muscles contract as I touch
them. "Very nice. I can't wait to bury myself right here." As I
speak I tickle the outside of his opening with the tip of my
finger. "But first..." I leave the room, grabbing the lube out
of my bedroom. At the door way I pause, just standing there,
looking at him. I can feel his apprehension at being left alone
in his current humiliatingly vulnerable position. I wait
another second to allow the feeling to build, then walk back
over to him.
"Okay, now brace yourself against the wall with one hand." I
place the lube in his other hand. "Prepare yourself."
I can feel the shame rolling off him as I sit back down on the
couch, ready to watch. His calm is gradually disappearing,
actually faster than I had thought it would. I don't think he
expected this. He was prepared to be a passive object, not a
participant. I file this thought away for further consideration
at a later date. Meanwhile he has managed to open it and is
smearing lube on his free hand. He reaches under himself and
places his finger at the opening, then pushes inside.
As I watch the finger move in and out I discover a problem. I
want to see his face. I can feel his emotions, but I want to
see them with my own eyes. "Stop." I command, as he is about to
have a second finger join the first. He freezes. "Come over
here." He withdraws the finger and moves to stand next to me.
"Sit down." I pat the other end of the couch. He sits. "Now
continue." Understanding dawns in his eyes, and he awkwardly
shifts himself so he can do so, pulling his knees up. Reaching
down, he reinserts the same finger, then a new one.
I watch him avidly for a minute or so, alternating between his
face, which is once more perfectly calm, and his fingers
disappearing into the widening hole. Soon I can't help it, I
have to touch him. I reach out and stroke the leg closest to
me. He looks startled, as though he didn't expect the contact.
I gently grasp his ankle and pull it up, forcing the knee to
his chest. "Stay like this."
I remove my hand and quickly strip. Kneeling down on the couch
between his legs, I take a minute to glance at his face. It is
still serene, despite the awkward position, the fingers he's
shoving up himself, and his just starting to harden cock. "You
can stop now." He withdraws his fingers and I surge forward,
hooking his knees with my elbows as I push forward and enter
him in one smooth movement.
Thrusting in and out I lean forward and seal my mouth on his. I
thrust my tongue into his mouth, claiming him. He is mine.
Mine.
With a shout I climax, then collapse on him. I look down to see
if he came, but he's not even all that hard. I look back up at
his face. It is still calm, but there is a tiny, infuriating
look of triumph in his eyes. I narrow my gaze, glaring at him.
So, he thinks he's won? Thinks he can beat me?!
Infuriated I draw my hand back and slap him full across the
face. Then again. And again. Over and over. He finally cries
out, raising his arms to protect himself. "So, you don't like
the pleasure I give you, little Master? Well, why don't we try
pain." As my punches begin to land hard on his ribs he finally
starts to fight back. I let him, feeling that small spark of
anger in him slowly grow until his eyes are ablaze with the
heat of it.
When he is fighting me with his full strength I stop, pinning
his arms above his head. He continues to fight against me. When
he realizes all I'm doing now is holding him, he stops. "So,
not quite the perfect Jedi we'd like to be, hmm?" I bend
forward and run my tongue along his ear in-between words. "Can
you imagine what Qui-Gon would say if he saw you? Angry? I
don't think he'd be very pleased." I bite down hard on his
earlobe, then wash it with my tongue. "What would he say if he
saw you with another lover?"
"You. Are. Not. My. Lover." The words come from between clench
teeth. Ah, so I'm getting through. Finally.
"I'm not? I love you. You're beautiful." As I say this I move
down his body, nipping and sucking, making sure to leave plenty
of marks.
He doesn't answer. I glance up at him. He has shut his eyes,
the trice-damned mask of serenity back on his face. Enraged I
grab him and shove him to the floor. Looking down, I see the
marks I made on his body. I want them to stay there. I want him
to remember what happened here. What I did to him. "You can
heal the ones on your face and hands," I practically snarl,
"But leave the rest. And I will check." Turning, I storm into
my bedroom, uncomfortably aware that this is one battle I have
lost. I will not lose tomorrow's.
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