Archive: m_a please, and anywhere else my little bird can find
a roost - just let me know where she lands
Category: Angst, BDSM, Hurt/Comfort, First-Time
Rating: NC-17
WARNINGS!!: This story contains graphic depictions of
nonconsensual sex and nonconsensual S/M, so if this kind of
thing squicks you, then pray thee do not venture down this
beaten path (no pun intended)
Summary: Obi-Wan goes undercover as a sex slave in order to
find a governor's missing son
Disclaimer: Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon, and the Star Wars universe belong
to George Lucas. This story was written for the sheer joy of
creation, and I am not making any money off of it. All other
characters and the story itself is (c) Rushlight, 1999.
Feedback: Please! I kind of went out on a limb with this one,
so I'd appreciate your letting me know what you think of it.
Author's Notes: After reading Kass & Kate's "Disobedience,"
I couldn't get the image of Obi-Wan as a prurient sex slave out
of my mind. The story just kind of took off from there.
"What do you see when you stand in the dark, and the demons
come?" -In the Line of Fire
Governor L'rell was a large man, with the softly golden skin
and (Obi-Wan thought) strangely beautiful dark eyes that were
representative of his race. Other than that, he could almost
pass for human. He had a bit of a paunch around his middle, the
result of too sedentary a life, but he still looked fit for a
man of his age.
He had gone to the Senate first, of course, but after several
weeks they were still debating on whether or not his problem
constituted an act of retaliation by the Council. It was
something that Obi-Wan had noticed before, and wondered at: how
could such a diverse conglomeration of individuals ever put
aside their differences long enough to come to an agreement on
anything? Once, when he was younger, he had asked Master
Qui-Gon this very thing. The response had been immediate and
touched with an edge of wry humor that he really hadn't
understood at the time - "That, my Padawan, is the definition
of politics."
He believed he understood it now.
Desperate, Governor L'rell had taken it upon himself to make a
visit to the Temple of the Jedi and plead his case. Succinctly,
he explained how his son M'kal had been kidnapped by a rival
faction in his government and sold into Red Temple slavery.
"Red Temple" referred to the thriving flesh market on his
homeworld of Arambula, a semi-legal economy that in reality
provided the financial backbone for this unassuming Fringe
world. Thus, the government was reluctant to battle the slavers
openly, even though they officially frowned on the practice of
selling slaves. Unable to find help among his own people, he
had turned to the Republic for assistance.
Without the consent of the Council, the Jedi could not take
sides in any political dispute. They could, however, embark on
a mission of mercy to rescue one frantic governor's child.
Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were selected for the task and had taken
off at once in a high-speed freighter for the far-off planet of
Arambula.
The main problem before them was how to locate M'kal in a world
that was literally thronged with Red Temple slaves, and they
discussed it at great length during the uneventful voyage.
L'rell's only input was that he was fairly certain his son was
sold in Nhil-Rhar, the primary auction block for the Southern
continent. There just hadn't been enough time for him to have
been taken anywhere else. His own spies had confirmed this,
adding that his child had been purchased the day of his arrival
there, although they didn't know by whom.
"It was probably Arvala," L'rell said, sounding resentful. "He
owns most of the business in that part of the country."
It was Obi-Wan's suggestion that he go undercover as a slave
himself, to scope out the auction houses and brothels. Qui- Gon
objected heatedly, as Obi-Wan pretty much expected he would,
but he held firm. "Two Jedi, wandering openly through the city
and asking questions, will not accomplish anything," he said.
"A single Jedi, masquerading as a slave, will be all but
invisible."
"Then let it be me," Qui-Gon pleaded, his distress evident.
"With all due respect, Master," L'rell spoke up, "you are too
old to attract the same kind of buyer as M'kal." His eyes
flickered over Obi-Wan appraisingly. "Your apprentice is very
beautiful. He will fetch as handsome a price as my son
undoubtedly did." There was bitterness in his tone.
Although Qui-Gon was still unconvinced, Obi-Wan began to
prepare for the mission. L'rell explained to him how the Red
Temple was organized, showing him maps of Nhil-Rhar and the
surrounding cities, describing the customs and practices that
defined life on Arambula. Obi-Wan attempted to imitate the
lilting accent that was most common in the South, but L'rell
stopped him. "Your offworld accent makes you seem more exotic,"
he said. "Just be yourself, and it'll be enough to seduce any
buyer within a hundred parsecs."
Such comments made Qui-Gon distinctly uneasy. He wasn't sure
why this mission bothered him so deeply, but he could not shake
a lingering dissatisfaction that bordered on outright anger at
the thought of it. Obi-Wan was acting selflessly and with calm
determination; he should be praising him instead of sulking
like a jealous boyfriend.
He sat apart from them for the better part of the voyage,
wrapped up tight in his cloak and his thoughts, watching Obi-
Wan with narrowed eyes. Obi-Wan, for his part, ignored the
scrutiny and concentrated on his conversations with L'rell.
His apprentice really was quite beautiful. It was something
Qui-Gon had never consciously noticed before, but now it was
all he could think about. The way the light touched him,
shifting as he moved, pooling in the soft blue-green of his
eyes. The quiet whisper of his robes, combined with the
controlled grace of that tiger-lean body, could doubtlessly be
construed as erotic by those whose minds were bent to notice
that sort of thing. Add to that the alluring half- smile that
so often graced the handsome face, the moist fullness of his
lips, the-
Whoa. Qui-Gon sucked in a deep breath, closing his eyes. It was
only natural for a Master to want to protect his Padawan, but
this was getting out of hand. Of course, his resistance to this
mission had to stem from an understandable desire to keep his
Padawan from a potentially hazardous situation.
What else could it possibly be?
They came to Arambula much sooner than Obi-Wan would have
liked. Despite his bravado in suggesting this course of action,
he was deeply frightened. Qui-Gon's brooding silence throughout
the voyage hadn't helped any, and his Master's unfathomable
stares made him nervous. But he really couldn't think of
another way to go about this, not if they wanted to rescue
Governor L'rell's son. And despite his obvious disapproval with
Obi-Wan's decision, Qui-Gon had no other ideas to offer.
It wasn't as though Obi-Wan had never had sex before. In fact,
it was a pastime that he enjoyed very much, given the right
partner. But the thought of selling himself into sexual slavery
was rather intimidating. Of course, he had the vast resources
of the Force at his disposal if he ever decided he'd had
enough. He would never truly be in any danger at all. He
reminded Qui-Gon of this as they fell out of orbit and coasted
down toward the governor's private mansion. Even so, he
wondered if he were really trying to reassure Qui-Gon, or
himself.
He had passed up his Jedi robes in favor of a loose-fitting
tunic and trousers. It seemed to be the traditional costume for
those being brought to the auction blocks, both functional and
cheap for dealers who truly did not want to spend a great deal
of money on their wares.
L'rell introduced him to one of his servants upon landing, a
tall, sharp-featured gentleman by the name of Kanda. It was
Kanda who would be taking him to the auction block, he was
told, because he was newly employed by the household and had
little chance of being recognized as one of L'rell's people. As
an aside, out of Kanda's hearing, L'rell added that he had once
been a slaver himself, and so knew the market better than
anyone here. Obi-Wan was not comforted by this.
There really weren't that many preparations to make. L'rell and
Qui-Gon would search the city for signs of the men who had
kidnapped M'kal, with the intention of seeing that they found
justice for their crimes. Obi-Wan would work the inside of the
loop and find M'kal himself. It was a seamless plan and
proposed no obvious flaws, but still Qui-Gon was restless and
on edge. Obi-Wan resigned himself to having his Master's
disapproval, not quite sure what to do about it.
He left at dawn the next day, the bright Arambulan sun coating
the hills and forests with a thick, reddish glow. It would be
about a half-day's drive to the city, and then the auction
would take place in the mid-afternoon. Kanda herded him
brusquely into the waiting hovercar that would take them to
Nhil-Rhar, while Qui-Gon and L'rell piled into a second one,
ready to follow at a discreet distance. His Master had changed
into clothes with a distinctly local look about them, so that
he might not be so easily recognized as a Jedi: loose pants
that accentuated his long legs and a full-sleeved tunic that
spilled over his narrow hips, cinched at the waist by a leather
belt. His hair was loose around his shoulders. Obi- Wan found
the sight strangely breathtaking and had to force himself to
look away.
//Good-bye, Padawan,// came his Master's voice in his mind,
sounding mournful.
//Bye,// he returned, comforted by the brief contact. //I
promise I'll be careful.//
As the hovercar sailed smoothly down the long drive and the
mansion was lost from view behind them, he heard one final
admonition.
//See that you do.//
Stupid. Stupid, foolish, inexcusable lack of judgement to even
consider letting Obi-Wan talk him into this. What kind of a
Master was he, to allow his Padawan to place himself in this
kind of jeopardy? Obi-Wan had absolutely no idea what he was
getting himself into.
And I just let him go.
The crowds of the Nhil-Rhar marketplace surged around him,
disorienting him and fraying at the edges of his already too-
volatile temper. At the center of the square, directly in front
of him, a heavily polished wooden platform rose above it all,
where various slaves were being displayed for the viewing
pleasure of the assembled crowd. They were all unclothed, each
of them looking lost and frightened and alone, attended by
scowling dealers who kept them in place with muttered threats
and sharp blows, demanding obedience.
Qui-Gon had an innate dislike of slavers. He believed very
strongly that every individual deserved the right to make their
own choices, to choose their own destiny. However, until the
Republic took the time to issue a formal law against it, which
would alienate several member worlds and would therefore
probably never happen, there wasn't a whole lot that he could
do about it.
He was dreadfully frightened for Obi-Wan. He could tell through
the bond they shared that his Padawan was relaxed and at ease,
although a trifle nervous about what awaited him. Qui-Gon
clenched his jaw at this display of naivete - he had been to
worlds where cruelty to slaves was not only allowed but
encouraged; he'd seen the things that men were capable of.
There was no guarantee that his Padawan would find a kind
master, or that any of this would help them find M'kal.
The fact that they had no other choice didn't make it any
better.
A collective sigh passed through the crowd then, as a new round
of slaves was brought up to the platform. Qui-Gon recognized
Kanda and immediately tensed. The former slaver held one end of
a long lead, the other of which was attached to the neck of the
figure that trailed after him. This person was covered from
head to toe in a long, brown robe, his face concealed in the
shadows of a deep cowl, but Qui-Gon immediately recognized the
long strides and easy grace of his apprentice.
Kanda gave the lead a gentle tug, causing his trophy to trip a
little over the last couple of steps. Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed;
was that really necessary? Obi-Wan followed without complaint,
however, and took his place on the stage. There were six others
there with him, similarly cloaked and hooded, only one of them
an offworlder like Obi-Wan. One by one, they were disrobed
before the eagerly waiting crowd.
Kanda slipped loose the ties that held the cowl closed at
Obi-Wan's throat with deft fingers and pushed the hood back off
of his head. Qui-Gon was impressed by the calm, evaluating look
in his apprentice's eyes. Quick as thought, Kanda unfastened
the front closure of the robe, and the material slid down the
young man's body to pool at his feet.
Qui-Gon stared. He had seen his apprentice naked before, many
times throughout their long association together. It wasn't
anything that he had ever really thought about before. But now,
seeing the elegantly sculpted muscles and planes of that hard
body, he felt a stirring inside of him that defied explanation,
and he had the ridiculous urge to look away, as if that would
somehow make it easier on Obi-Wan.
He wasn't the only one who was staring. He realized suddenly
that his bond with his Padawan had been clamped down to the
barest trickle of awareness; Obi-Wan was blocking him.
Doubtless, he was uncomfortable with being so blatantly
displayed before the crowd, although his face showed no emotion
whatsoever. He was trying to keep his true feelings from
Qui-Gon.
//Just a word, Padawan,// Qui-Gon sent to him. //Just one word,
and it will all be over.// Obi-Wan didn't even look at him.
There was a stirring at the edge of the crowd, and a tall,
imposing-looking man stepped up to the platform proper. He was
broad-chested, with a mane of thick blond hair and a curling
beard that almost touched his chest. Immediately, the dealers
on the stand pulled at their leads, forcing their charges to
fall to their knees. Obi-Wan knelt gracefully, seeming to sense
that he was required to do so before Kanda could urge him. His
hands folded quietly in front of him - a meditative posture.
"That's Arvala," L'rell said, dark eyes narrowed where he stood
at Qui-Gon's side. The Jedi Master had almost forgotten he was
there. "Every so often, he'll visit the block to look over the
new acquisitions. Kind of like a farmer looking over the new
head of cattle that his lackeys are proposing to buy." There
was no friendliness in his tone.
The slave lord's eyes seemed to be fastened on Obi-Wan, even as
he talked briefly with the other dealers on the stand. Obi-Wan
returned his gaze coolly, hands resting lightly in his lap,
looking utterly serene. Qui-Gon had to bite his lip to keep
from calling out; did that boy have any idea how irresistible
he was? He seemed to rise above the chaos and greed surrounding
him, untouched by it, transcending it in a way that suggested
he was the one in control here. Was that what L'rell had meant
when he said that any potential buyer would be seduced by him?
Had he always been this way? Why had he never noticed it
before?
His thoughts froze as Arvala moved toward his Padawan. There
was something predatory about the way he advanced on him,
something that suggested he was not used to having his will
defied. Obi-Wan showed no trace of fear as the man stopped in
front of him, looking down at him without compassion, as if he
were appraising a new piece of furniture. Rough fingers touched
Obi-Wan's cheek, tilted his chin up so the big man could look
full in his face. Obi-Wan met the hard gaze calmly, accepting
the touch without flinching.
Qui-Gon tried to remain detached from the scene playing out in
front of him, but his heart was pounding. Obi-Wan's thoughts
were completely blocked off from him, leaving him no clue as to
what his Padawan was feeling.
Then Arvala leaned down, twining his fingers firmly in Obi-
Wan's hair, and pressed his lips to Obi-Wan's. Qui-Gon watched,
fascinated, as the man's coarse blond beard scraped against his
apprentice's cheek, reddening it slightly. Obi- Wan's eyes
drifted shut; still there was not a hint of emotion leaking
past his mental shields, although a muscle in his neck twitched
once before going still. Qui-Gon could see that Arvala had his
tongue in his apprentice's mouth.
Abruptly, Arvala pulled away, releasing him. Obi-Wan swayed a
moment, looking slightly bewildered, then caught himself. His
lips were swollen and moist, his face and neck flushed with a
light blush of color. It was the most beautiful sight that
Qui-Gon had ever seen.
A murmur of appreciation rippled through the crowd. Apparently
Arvala had finished with his inspection, because Obi-Wan was
being led off the stage with two other slaves while money
changed hands. Qui-Gon had to force himself not to run after
him. //Obi-Wan,// he called, desperately.
//I'll be fine, Master.// The mental communication sounded
broken, hollow without the emotion that usually accompanied it.
Then he was being covered once again in the sweeping folds of
his robe, and Kanda handed his lead over to another man.
Qui-Gon watched, heartsick, as he was led away through the
crowd.
And then he was gone.
The hovercar brought them to a towering, gothic-like structure
at the far end of the city. Obi-Wan took the time to meditate,
trying to get his treacherous emotions under control. It had
been harder than he'd thought it would be, putting himself up
for sale like that. In fact, it had been well nigh impossible.
He could still feel the eyes of the crowd on him, coolly
predatory. It made his skin crawl.
At least he was semi-clothed again. He took in his surroundings
with interest as he was led inside the building, impressed by
the sweeping archways and fluted columns that lined the front
courtyard. There was a peacefulness to the way the
golden-leafed trees of the garden leaned over him, showering
the ground in shimmering petals. He breathed deeply,
appreciating the sweet scent of the blossoms. He shared a
glance with the young man next to him, who had also been bought
at the auction this morning. He was golden- skinned and
shadow-eyed, his delicate face taut with apprehension.
A sharp tug on the lead at his neck enticed him to stop gawking
at the scenery, and he was led deep into the building down a
long, winding hallway. The decor here was simple yet elegant,
not overstated in any way. The man who escorted him didn't once
look in his direction, or even acknowledge his presence here.
He may very well have been invisible, or at least some kind of
exotic housepet being taken for a walk. The thought amused him
greatly.
The room at the end of the hall was open to the sky. In its
center, a tall tree raised spreading branches to couch the
chamber in welcoming shade. It was surrounded by a circular
stone bench, which in turn was surrounded by many smaller stone
tables and chairs. There was a low chittering of birdcall
coming from somewhere up in the branches.
There were several other people here, lounging on the benches,
enjoying the serenity of the small, stone garden. Obi-Wan's
eyes fell immediately on the only offworlder in the place, a
tall human woman with a cascade of long, black hair. She was
smiling at him. He gave her a tentative smile in return.
"What's your name?" she asked him, as he stopped in front of
her.
"Obi-Wan," he replied, still hesitant. No one else was paying
any attention to him.
"I'm Dany." There was a kindness in her deep gray eyes that he
liked immediately, although he was loath to trust anyone here.
Her face was too sharply defined to be considered actively
beautiful, but her small, slightly upturned nose gave her an
impish look that was somehow even more appealing. She was
young, maybe twenty-five, certainly no more than a couple of
years older than him at best.
"Are you going to take him?" His escort sounded impatient. Dany
gave him a sideways glance and nodded.
"That is what they pay me for, isn't it?" she said.
The escort grunted and then handed her the lead. Without a
word, he turned and stalked off, leaving Obi-Wan wondering what
in the worlds had just happened.
"Come sit with me," Dany invited, and it truly sounded like an
invitation and not a command. Obi-Wan moved with her to one of
the small tables and sat down. He was surprised when she
reached across the table to remove the leather collar from his
neck and, coiling up the length of the lead, set it aside. She
seemed amused by his reaction. "These are mainly to insure that
new trainees don't panic and bolt before they make it here to
the citadel. You're not going to attack me or anything now, are
you?" A dimple appeared in her left cheek when she grinned at
him.
"No." He looked around, feeling rather lost. The other two
slaves that had come in with him were being turned over to the
care of others as well. "Who are you?"
"I'm your handler. Every new trainee has one. It'll be my job
to see to your physical needs and training, and to insure that
you adjust to your new life with a minimum of anxiety."
"My 'handler?'" he said incredulously. "What am I, a piece of
livestock that needs to be kept under control?"
She was silent for a moment, as if considering how best to
respond. "We're big on control here, Obi-Wan," she said at
last. "Either you have it, or you don't. Once you understand
that, the rest is easy."
He considered that for a moment, before being distracted once
again by the low chitter of birdsong. It was all so peaceful,
so calming. "Was it your idea to have this meeting here? Not
very subtle, I have to say."
She laughed. "It's kind of a company decision. A lot of the new
trainees that come in here are at their wit's end, so to speak.
They've been taken from their homes and their families,
everything that's familiar to them. They're scared, and they're
desperate. As handlers, it makes our job easier if we have a
neutral place to introduce ourselves in."
"And this doesn't bother you?" he queried, meeting her gaze
levelly.
Her smile faded, although she didn't look away. "It isn't
exactly as if I have a choice, Obi-Wan. I don't have any more
to say about being here than you do. If I can make the
adjustment process easier for you, well, then at least I'm
doing something, aren't I?"
He didn't know what to say to that. Part of him still chafed at
the very idea of slavery, even though it was a world he had
willingly immersed himself in.
"What do you say we go find you something to eat?" It was an
obvious effort to change the subject. "You've got to be hungry
after such a long day. Tell me, were you mistreated in any way?
Are you hurting anywhere? I give a mean massage, and if you'd
like, I can draw you a bath later. We've got tons of hot water
here, not like in the outlying villages."
He nodded absently, barely aware of what she was saying. This
wasn't what he had been expecting at all. Somehow, that made
the shock of captivity even more difficult to come to terms
with. He sent a brief thread of reassurance to his Master, then
quickly closed down his mental shields again. He was feeling
very confused and alone right now, and it would only worry
Qui-Gon if he knew the depth of his student's inner turmoil.
Maybe it won't be so bad after all, he thought, as he
allowed Dany to lead him from the room.
Maybe.
Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan's presence in his mind for only the barest
of seconds, but the comfort of that brief touch was
extraordinary. He smiled in relief as he caught the sense of
peacefulness, of serenity, that flowed through him, coupled
with the slightest hint of disorientation. So he was confused
about his new situation; that was to be expected. But other
than that he seemed to be doing well, and that was all that
mattered to Qui-Gon.
He looked up at the tall building that he and L'rell were about
to enter. It was three stories high, its facade polished to a
high silver shine. The sign over the door identified it as the
"Hot Spot." Qui-Gon did not think, judging by the name alone,
that it would be a place he would enjoy visiting.
L'rell's spies had suggested that the men who had sold M'kal
worked through a pimp named Trelaf, who oftentimes frequented
this establishment. And while they had loose general
descriptions of the perpetrators - there had been two of them,
one tall and dark, the other shorter and fair-haired - it
wasn't a whole lot to go on. Qui-Gon was hoping that a discreet
investigation would turn up some more clues.
The inside of the club was loud and grungy, the lighting kept
at an almost intolerably low level. There had to be some kind
of forcefield across the doorway, because as soon as he stepped
in, he was assaulted by a cacophony of sound that only after
several minutes did he recognize as the chords of a local
heth-band. It set his teeth on edge and vibrated his eyeballs
in his head, but he did his best to ignore it as he followed
L'rell further into the building.
The main room was filled near to bursting with dozens of wildly
gyrating figures, caught up in the frenzy of a wild dance that
he couldn't even begin to fathom the nuances of. About half of
them were from off-world, and the occasional tentacle or
branched eyestalk showed above the heads of the crowd.
L'rell moved to the counter against the back wall, carefully
keeping to the edges of the dance floor, practically hugging
the wall to keep from being swept into the wildly thrashing pit
of young dancers. Qui-Gon erected a temporary Force- shield
around them to fend off the heedlessly reckless bodies.
Having successfully navigated the dance floor and arrived
unscathed at the bar, L'rell leaned over toward the droid
bartender and asked for Trelaf. The droid directed them to the
second floor, where they found Trelaf engaged in plying his
sundry trade. A few terse words with the Mynarxian, and they
were shown to the common area where his employees rested
between tricks. These were primarily offworld types who had
chosen to sell their bodies for uses that the Red Temple slaves
generally were not trained for; they tended to be as exotic as
they were expensive. L'rell began the process of interrogating
them for information about the identity of M'kal's kidnappers.
Qui-Gon wondered what could possibly entice a sentient creature
to live its life like this. He thought about his Obi-Wan -
my Obi-Wan? - being held in a place like this and felt
vaguely sickened by the image it presented him with. His
Padawan was so innocent, so inexperienced when it came to the
evils that the universe had to offer. Of course he had stepped
into this willingly, with his eyes wide open, but he still had
no idea what was in store for him.
//Be strong, Obi-Wan,// he sent, with little hope of receiving
a reply. His apprentice's mind was firmly closed to him.
With an effort, he turned his attention back to the alien
whores in front of him, trying to sort through the information
they were eagerly offering - something about L'rell threatening
to take away their visas had convinced them to be unusually
forthcoming. Despite their apparent amiability, however, he
sensed an aura of danger about them that kept him on his guard.
//Be safe, Obi-Wan.//
Obi-Wan slept poorly that night. He had his own sparsely
furnished room in a long, dormitory-like hall of slave
quarters. It was small, but the privacy it offered was
unexpectedly welcome. He still felt nervous and on edge, even
though his "handler" seemed to be honestly interested in his
welfare. He had passed up her offer of a massage last night,
and only at her teasing insistence could he bring himself to
eat dinner. Then, claiming fatigue, he had asked to retire
early and was shown to his room. Only there did he feel
relatively safe.
There were dozens of slaves here at the citadel, each of them
in the training phase of their initiation. Most of them were
Arambulan, but he did spot the occasional offworlder among
them. They walked the halls with downcast eyes, led by their
individual handlers, clothed in nothing but the admiring looks
that followed them. There was something unaccountably tragic to
the way they accepted their fate.
Dany came for him a couple of hours after dawn the next
morning. He was already awake, lounging back on his small bed
and gazing through the slit of a window at the courtyard below.
Of course it wasn't big enough for anything larger than a Setti
eel to fit through, so it provided little in the way of a view.
The sharp rap of a knock at the door roused him, and he had to
grin at this attempt at courtesy. She'd locked the door when
she brought him here last night, so he'd had little choice but
to remain here at her will. Of course, locked doors were small
obstacle to a Jedi, but he was perfectly content to remain
where he was for the time being.
"Good morning." Her smile was welcoming as she stepped into the
room. She was dressed today in an outfit similar to the one
Qui-Gon had worn, except that the deep green of her tunic had a
decidedly feminine cut to it. It was tied at her narrow waist
with an even darker green sash. "I hope you slept well."
He shrugged. "As well as could be expected, I guess."
She nodded, understanding. "It'll get easier, once you have
time to adjust." She'd brought him a tray of poached eggs and
toast, with a full tumbler of dark blue juice. The sight of it
was not at all appealing to him, but once again, she insisted
that he eat. "We have no desire to see you grow weak from
exhaustion and hunger," she said with a wry smile. "So eat.
It's my reputation on the line if I let you faint during our
exercise today."
He acquiesced then, and she handed him the tray as he leaned
back against the headboard of his bed, drawing his knees up in
front of him. "'Exercise?'" he queried, as he started to eat.
She nodded. "Your training starts today. Now, I don't want you
to be afraid. I'll be right there with you. Some of the
initiates find it a little rough, but if you keep calm and do
exactly as I tell you, you'll be just fine."
He wasn't sure whether to be comforted or not by her gentle
warning. In either case, her words sent a thrill of dark
emotion running through him that he couldn't quite identify,
and he hid his confusion by taking a long swig of his juice. It
was surprisingly good. "Is this the Red Temple?" he asked at
last, eyes taking in the pale walls around him. "I heard it
mentioned when I was brought here to the city."
"No, the Red Temple isn't really a physical place. It's more of
a euphemism for the slave market itself, from the citadels to
the brothels to the privately owned harems. You'll come to
understand, once you've been here a while."
After he finished eating, she took the tray from him and set it
aside. "Okay, now, the first thing we have to do is get rid of
that robe."
He stared at her blankly.
She smiled encouragingly, and he realized that this was the
first step of his training. The thick fabric of his cloak had
been like armor for him up until now, keeping him somewhat
apart from the other slaves in the citadel, at least in his own
mind. To give it up would be to bare himself in more than a
physical way.
"Dany. . ." he began, trying to explain this to her, but then
he fell silent. He could tell by the compassion in her eyes
that she already knew what it was she asked.
This was ridiculous. If he couldn't do this simple thing, how
could he expect himself to go through with the rest of it?
Bracing himself, he shrugged out of the coarse fabric and let
it slide down his shoulders. He sat there, holding himself
rigid, refusing to meet her eyes.
The smile she favored him with was warm and approving. "That's
good, Obi-Wan. You're doing fine." She gestured toward the
half-open door. "Are you ready?"
He realized that she wanted him to go with her, naked, out into
the halls of the citadel. The thought made him blush furiously.
"Would it be easier if we used the collar again?" she asked
mildly. "I can go and get it, if you'd like."
There was surprising gentleness in the offer. Maybe it would be
less difficult for him with a physical reminder of his
submissive status. Yet even the thought of it was humiliating.
"No," he said stiffly, glaring at her. "That won't be
necessary."
She did not take offense at his tone. Together, they moved out
of the room and down the corridor. Obi-Wan kept his eyes firmly
affixed to the floor in front of his feet, refusing to look at
anything around him. In his mind, he recited all of the calming
litanies that he had ever been taught, drawing on the strength
of the Force to calm his rapidly pounding heart. He almost
laughed at his distress; he could fight mercenaries and
terrorists and all kinds of murderous nasties without a second
thought, but walking naked through the halls of this place was
making him fall completely apart.
It was more than his nakedness, though, he realized. It was the
fact that he was a slave, and the gazes he felt raking down his
hot skin were coldly calculating in their approval of him. He
was very glad suddenly for Dany's presence at his side.
They came to a broad, low-ceilinged room with a darkly carpeted
floor. It was empty except for some loosely scattered robes
hanging against one wall. Dany stopped and looked at him
cautiously. "How are you holding up?" she asked.
"I'm fine." It wasn't exactly true, but what did it matter? It
wasn't as if he had a choice in any of this, anyway. The
thought was oddly comforting somehow.
He could tell that she wasn't fooled, but she chose not to
comment on it. "We've got a few minutes, so I want you to
listen to a few things that I have to say." She dropped down to
sit cross-legged on the thick carpet, motioning for him to join
her. He did. The carpet tickled the bare skin of his ass. "Here
at the citadel, we really only have one lesson to teach -
submission. It is the duty of every slave to submit to his
master. Do you understand that, Obi-Wan?"
He hesitated, the obvious answer freezing on his lips. Of
course he knew that it was a slave's duty to submit, but
did he really understand what that meant?
She took his silence as a negative and nodded her approval.
"Always be honest with yourself, Obi-Wan. Don't be afraid of
your feelings. It's okay to be afraid, to fell lost or ill-
treated or alone. You're a slave, and your destiny is not your
own." She sounded sad when she said it. "But never forget that
you are a person of worth, no matter what happens to you. Just
do your duty, and no one can ever take that away from you."
Before he could think of an adequate response to that, the door
to the room was opening, and three men stepped inside. There
was a coarse look about them that made Obi-Wan tense
immediately, even as he took in their unkempt appearances and
met the sharp hunger of their eyes. His heart suddenly felt
like it was in his throat, and for a moment he found it hard to
breathe.
Dany's light hand on his knee steadied him. She beckoned for
the men to come closer, then turned back to Obi-Wan. "Remember
what I told you," she said quietly, holding his gaze steadily.
He realized he was shaking.
The first of the men came up to him - he had a bright shock of
reddish-brown hair - and Dany slid back a few feet, still
holding his gaze with her own. He took comfort from her
presence as the man's heavy hand touched his hair, stroking
gently. Then, without warning, the hand balled into a fist and
hit him square in the side of the head.
He reeled, taken completely off-guard, and fell hard to the
floor, barely managing to catch his weight on his hands. His
head was spinning. He heard coarse laughter coming from the
other two men as their red-haired compatriot reached down and
pulled him up by his hair. Rough lips pressed against his ear,
and then a low voice was whispering to him, cutting through the
fog in his brain. "I'd suggest you give your attention to me
and not your handler, little bitch." Obi-Wan cringed from the
scathing amusement in those words.
Then a brutal hand was pulling determinedly at his cock, and
his hips bucked involuntarily under the sudden stimulation. The
hair at the back of his head was still being held in a
vise-like grip, bringing tears to his eyes, and he quickly
determined that struggling only made it worse. He was
terrified; never in a million years had he ever thought it
could be like this, so savage, so cold. He was completely at
the mercy of these men, and the thought sent him spinning into
a mindless panic.
His hoarse cries went completely unheeded. The other two men
were on him now, pawing at his trembling body, one of them
leaning in to steal a wet kiss. He jerked his head away
abruptly and earned a stinging slap across the face for his
trouble. Dany's voice spoke in a caution that he couldn't quite
hear, and another hot kiss fell on his cheek, his nose. He
squirmed away from them, hating the feel of hot breath on his
face. He was painfully erect now, as the hands that stroked him
to life teased the skin and sensitive folds around his balls.
Then he was being shoved to the floor, his chest and knees
scraping against the stiff carpet. He cried out, searching
frantically for Dany. With a sob, his anguish poured from him
in a torrent of words. "No, Dany, please, I can't, I thought I
could do this but I can't, I can't. . ." He was babbling, and
although he knew he was babbling he couldn't seem to stop. He
struggled ferociously, whipping his body around, trying to
squirm out from under the hurting hands that held him. A
rocking blow hit him across the head, leaving him dizzy, and he
kicked out reflexively, his foot connecting with something that
screamed in pain. Vicious fingers caught in his hair, pulling
his head back, baring his throat to the leather lash that was
looped around his neck. Coarse laughter as his hands were
wrenched behind his back, his wrists bound together with the
opposite end of the same lash. His struggles were less violent
now, as his movements were restricted by his bonds, and he
shied away as strong fingers pinched painfully at his ass.
"Easy, Obi-Wan. Easy, love. Come on, now, shh. . ." Dany was on
one knee next to him suddenly, smoothing back the
sweat-dampened hair at the side of his face. Her cool, gray
eyes were an anchor to him. "That's it now, just relax. . ."
"It hurts," he whispered, tears burning in his eyes. The
leather bit cruelly into his wrists and throat, chafing across
the slickness of newly drawn blood. He ached everywhere from
the blows they'd rained on him.
"I know it does, love." There was sympathy in her tone. "Just
relax, and it'll all be over soon." She continued to smooth his
hair with her palm, murmuring soft encouragement, and he found
himself quieting under the hypnotic rhythm of caresses and
words.
Now that he was semi-quiescent, his attackers settled down to
the serious business of using his body for its intended
purpose. Their hands on him turned sensual, exploring every
part of his smooth flesh that they could reach. Obi-Wan closed
his eyes, focusing on Dany's softly spoken words, and tried to
fade away from what was going on around him. His erection
throbbed painfully where it was trapped between his stomach and
the carpet.
Then he felt the weight settle down across the backs of his
thighs, and his eyes flew open in a panic. Immediately, Dany
was in front of him, her gaze holding him. "Look at me, Obi-
Wan," she whispered, cupping his face between her hands. "Just
look at me. That's it. It'll be all over in a minute, and then
we'll head back to the commons. A nice, hot bath, think about
how good it'll feel, all that hot, fresh water, and then a
massage, it'll be wonderful, Obi-Wan, just hang in there. . ."
Her softly spoken words couldn't be loud enough for anyone to
hear but him. They became the world to him, the sole focus for
his trembling sanity, and he gladly gave up all pretense of
control to the gentle timbre of her voice. He kept his eyes
locked to hers, tasting the bitter salt of the tears that slid
down his face. She smiled at him encouragingly.
When the first cock pushed into him, his body bucked in violent
protest. It hurt, oh gods, it hurt, despite the lube that
covered it, and he sucked in his breath as the pain spread
through him. Dany's voice faded to an incomprehensible buzzing
as he thrashed madly under the weight of the man who raped him.
Hands closed on him from both sides, holding him down. He could
hear Dany yelling now, telling them to be careful, but it meant
nothing to him. All of his attention was focused on the cock in
his ass, and the sharp, searing pain that was even now
beginning to melt away.
How easy it would be to give into his humiliation and rage, to
tap into the latent Force around him and throw all of them as
far away from him as he could. He could practically see the
expressions on their faces. There was absolutely no reason why
he had to give in to this indignity, this injustice, not when
he had the power to-
Unbidden, Qui-Gon's voice appeared in his memory: Power is a
double-edged sword. As you grow in your skills as a Jedi, you
will find that the temptation to misuse that power never goes
away entirely. Be certain, whenever you use it, that it is for
the common good.
Something inside of him howled at his Master's teaching,
denying the calm truth behind those gently spoken words, but he
was bound as ever to his Master's will. He whimpered under the
onslaught of rampant greed and choking lust that surrounded
him, invaded him, and tried to remember that he was doing this
for a reason. To deny that would be to condemn an innocent to a
fate that he was only beginning to understand. And that he
could not do.
After they were finished with him, they left him lying there,
bruised and spent. Dany came up to him slowly, without saying
anything, sitting back on her heels next to his shoulder and
giving him time to recover. When she felt he was ready, she
pulled a little knife from her belt and cut him free. Still, he
did not move.
"Come on, love," she said softly, drawing him gently to his
feet. He followed her, unresisting, as a shawl of palest down
was draped around his shoulders. It felt deliciously soft next
to his fevered skin.
He was barely aware of it when she steered him back towards the
common area where the slaves were quartered. His thoughts were
still swirling in a state akin to shock, trying to come to
grips with the reality of this frighteningly sensual world.
Conflicting emotions surged through him, a morass of feelings
that he couldn't begin to put a name to.
He had submitted. He had done his duty as a slave, and he had
submitted. What more could possibly be asked of him?
"Don't worry about them," she told him fiercely, strong hands
rubbing skillfully into the protesting muscles of his back.
Despite himself, he felt himself relaxing as the heat of the
oil spread through his body. "They're low-born. Arvala uses
them for training sometimes, but I can all but guarantee you'll
never see them again. You did very well this morning."
"Why?" he gasped out, almost delirious as the pleasure of her
touch worked through him. His eyes were tightly closed.
"Why does Arvala use them? Or why did you do so well?" She
sounded amused.
"Why does he use them?" he clarified, trying to rein in his
blissfully rampant thoughts.
She worked her thumbs into a particularly tight area at the
base of his neck, and he groaned softly. "They're useful," she
replied simply. "He doesn't use them on every slave, but on the
defiant ones they seem to be particularly effective."
That made him raise his head in protest. "I'm not defiant."
She smirked at him, as if sharing a deep secret. "Oh, but you
are. If you could only see yourself."
"But I've done everything you asked me to!" He could not leave
it alone.
"Yes, I know. And I have never seen such a dignified, graceful
way of submitting in all the years that I've been here." She
shrugged. "I wouldn't worry about it too much. After all, it's
my problem to deal with, not yours. I'm the one responsible for
seeing that you're trained properly."
"How long will I be here?" His head sank back down onto the
folded pillow of his arms.
"Not more than a few weeks, I'd say. You're too pretty to hang
around this place for long. He'll be moving you to the palace
before long, I'll wager. Tomorrow we'll move out into the city
and work the brothels for a bit. It's good experience, and
it'll earn the master some coin besides."
For some reason, the thrill that passed through him at the
thought was suspiciously unlike fear. He shifted uncomfortably.
He still ached inside where those three men's cocks had stroked
him.
She let him nap for a while that afternoon, and afterwards he
was pretty much free to roam where he would. He used the time
to get a feel for the vastness of the citadel, and even struck
up conversations with a few of the other slaves. They were all
recently acquired, just as he was, so they had nothing to offer
in the way of finding M'kal. Obi-Wan wasn't disheartened,
however. If they were indeed going to go out into the city in a
few days, then he would have plenty of opportunities to locate
the governor's wayward son. Even if he had been purchased by
someone other than Arvala, he should be easy enough to locate.
That night, he crawled gratefully into his bed, exhaustion
rolling over him in great, slow waves. Apparently he was more
tired than he'd thought after his long day. Dany smiled as she
helped pull the blankets up to his chin, and leaned down to
touch her lips lightly to the skin above his eyes. "Good-night,
Obi-Wan. Get lots of rest tonight. You'll be working hard
tomorrow, and we won't be coming back here for a while."
He was already drifting off as he heard the door close,
accompanied by the light click of the lock being engaged. He
barely had the presence of mind to send a tendril of contented
thought to his Master before falling asleep.
"Sure, I know him. His name is Emil Marr." Argentyna was a
tall, whip-thin Deltian, her skin an unbroken shade of silver
like liquid mercury. Her metallic hair seemed to float around
her narrow face in a perpetual state of fluid motion, bizarre
and distracting in a surprisingly sensual way. She was dressed
in a strange costume made entirely of slowly moving light which
covered her like a shimmering curtain, alternately revealing
more or less of her body as she moved.
"Where can we find him?" Qui-Gon asked, with just a touch of
impatience. It had been nearly a week since he'd first come to
Nhil-Rhar, and he was more than a little worried about the lack
of communication from Obi-Wan.
He and L'rell had visited just about every free-run brothel in
Nhil-Rhar, following the trail of an increasingly ghost- like
chain of information. Everyone they talked to seemed to know
someone who knew someone who knew someone who might know who it
was that sold M'kal at the auction that day, but this was the
first time anyone had been able to provide them with anything
as concrete as a name.
Argentyna shrugged. "He stops by here on occasion, but he's
small time. I'm not sure where he gets the money to afford me,
really." There was no boasting in her tone, just a cold
statement of fact. "If you really want to find him, I'd try to
find that guy he's always hanging around with. I don't know his
name, but he has some pretty particular tastes. Our matron
barred him from ever coming in here again, after what he did to
one of the girls. You might try checking out some of the Temple
houses; they probably wouldn't be as particular about how he
treats their commodities."
Obi-Wan spent some time in the brothels then, where his nights
were spent face-down on an endless series of different beds,
oftentimes with his wrists tied together over his head. For the
right amount of coin, any stranger could use him. It was
strangely comforting in its own way, because it didn't require
him to think; as long as his body was made available to them,
they had no interest in obeisance. Dany stayed with him through
all of it, offering encouragement and advice, and it wasn't
long before he settled into the routine of it.
His days were spent looking for M'kal, and snatching what sleep
he could. At least he was allowed to wear his brown robe when
he walked the streets of the city. Dany never left his side,
and he guessed that she was there as much to keep him from
running away as she was to train him. It said something
interesting about the trust she had in him, that she would let
him walk around uncollared.
He got to know some of the other slaves in the city, and there
was a strange camaraderie between them that he couldn't quite
explain. Tall, thin Lilith, dark Nychelle, quiet Lyruth, the
broad-chested K'vain. Many of them had been here for years, and
nothing seemed to phase them. The night that Nychelle was set
upon by a particularly amorous lover, her wounds so severe that
she had to spend the next three days in hospice, Obi-Wan had
flown into a blinding rage. The others, however, merely
shrugged it off as the hazards of the job. Their calmly
accepting stoicism horrified him more than anything he had thus
far experienced.
It frustrated him that he could find no sign of M'kal. Oh,
there were those who remembered seeing him, but it was close to
a month ago that he had last been spotted in the brothels. No
one knew what had happened to him. Obi-Wan was struck by a
sudden fear that he had been sold to a new master in another
city, or even off-planet, but the stories he heard seemed to
suggest otherwise. There were endless comments made about
M'kal's dark, soulful eyes, his smooth limbs, the quiet,
smoldering eroticism of his voice. Many of the slaves professed
undying love for him, much the same as many of them seemed to
be in love with Obi-Wan himself. Even some of the customers
expressed disappointment at the loss of their favorite bedtoy,
although Obi-Wan was quickly becoming a favorite in his own
right. He had regular customers now, who asked for him by name.
He hated lying with these people most of all.
No, the master would never have given away such a valuable
slave. M'kal was still here in Nhil-Rhar, somewhere. He was
still puzzling on where else to look when Dany told him they
had to leave the brothels and return to the citadel. It was
time for the next phase of his training to begin.
The "Hunted Lord" was just a pleasure house, like a hundred
others that they'd visited over the past couple of weeks, but
there was something darkly disturbing about it that Qui-Gon
picked up on as soon as he stepped through the door. Maybe it
was the decor - a chilling combination of rough-cut stone walls
and hanging leather, with an uncomfortably inadequate amount of
lighting - or maybe it was just the curious change in the Force
that he sensed coming from inside. It didn't feel like
any of the other brothels he'd been to thus far, although he
could detect the same aura of eroticism and raw sexual energy
coming from within.
They were met at the door by an eight-foot-tall Gamorrean, who
called them "sir" and asked politely to see their credit
vouchers before allowing them inside. Qui-Gon's hand itched
suddenly for the lightsaber that was nestled at his back,
hidden beneath the concealing folds of his cloak.
The Master of the house was a tall, whip-thin Arambulan named
Abetos, whose skin was a darker gold than any of the other
natives that Qui-Gon had seen thus far. His gaze flickered over
them coolly, appraisingly, when L'rell asked if he knew the
identity of the man who often accompanied Emil Marr. Qui-Gon
sensed immediately that he did know, and that the
gentleman was a customer who frequented his establishment quite
often. Of course, this meant that he would not be willing to
help them, and Qui-Gon ground his teeth in frustration.
While Abetos graced them with a sufficiently ambiguous reply,
one of the slaves came up to him with downcast eyes, falling to
his knees before his lord owner. Qui-Gon saw that he held
something in his open hands, proffering it like an offering.
"Please, Master," the young man said in a soft whisper, the
sensuality of those two words giving Qui-Gon a slow thrill. His
golden skin seemed touched by an almost supernatural luster,
making him glow, a vision of exquisite beauty.
Abetos hesitated, then touched the silken black hair of his
slave's head in a gesture of unmistakable tenderness. He
glanced at Qui-Gon and L'rell, a slow smile pulling at the
corner of his lips. "Would you excuse me for a moment,
gentlemen?"
L'rell murmured an acknowledgment, but Qui-Gon's eyes were
fixed on the patiently waiting slave. Abetos took the item that
was being offered him, and with some degree of shock Qui-Gon
realized that it was a whip.
The dark-haired slave moved to a waist-high wooden bench and
leaned himself sensuously against it, revealing the soft curve
of his back and the dark cleft of his buttocks. Taking his
weight forward on his locked arms and arranging his feet a good
distance apart to balance himself, he waited in breathless
expectation.
Qui-Gon was just as breathless, his eyes glued to the scene
unfolding in front of him. Abetos played the length of the long
whip between his fingers for a moment, as though examining it
for flaws, and tapped its handle against his thigh a couple of
times, testing the resiliency of it. It was apparent to Qui-Gon
that he had done this many times. The slave waiting for him
began to tense as the seconds drew out and nothing happened,
unable to fight the slow rise of anticipation.
That seemed to be what Abetos was waiting for. Without warning,
he uncoiled his wrist in an almost leisurely fashion, and the
whip snaked out to lick at the young man's shoulder. The
slave's muscles stiffened, and a low moan was wrung from him,
his hips driving forward into the low table. Sweat glistened on
the golden skin of his back.
Qui-Gon stared at the narrow line of bright red blood that
appeared on that smooth skin, exactly where the whip had
touched him. Incredibly, he could sense the passion pouring off
of this young man - he actually liked what was being
done to him. This realization brought a low moan to his own
lips, which he cut off immediately. Even so, he couldn't stop
himself from imagining Obi-Wan being held to this task,
enduring the pain of the whip, his beautiful body shimmering in
the light. Liking it...
Abruptly, he turned and stalked out of the brothel, his
thoughts a swirl of confusing and conflicting emotions. He
didn't look back.
Obi-Wan had believed, at other times in his life, that he knew
what terror was. Those memories seemed laughable compared to
what he felt now. There was a musky signature to the air down
here, an overwhelming combination of sweat and semen and
leather and pain that set his head to spinning. He had to lean
against the wall for support, sucking in great lungfuls of air.
"I cannot do this," he pronounced firmly, and realized he was
shaking.
"Of course you can." Dany's hand on his arm was cooling. "It's
just another part of your training, no different from anything
else."
"No different-!" He choked off the words, enraged without
knowing why. "What can this possibly have to do with having
sex? That, I understand. The giving of pleasure, I understand.
But this. . ."
"And how do you know what to expect if you don't already
understand it?" she countered slyly, watching him.
There was no response he could make to that. How could he
explain to her what his Jedi senses felt behind that closed
door? All of the terror, all of the fear, all of the pain and
lust and twisted desire that sane men felt only in nightmares
was seething in that chamber, pressing up against the door like
some unspeakable beast trying to get out. It horrified him,
even as it called to him. Come join us, it seemed to
say. Come join in our games, for you are one of us.
He took a horrified step back, and only Dany's grip on his arm
kept him from turning tail and bolting back up the stairs. He
was nearly hyperventilating.
"Calm down," she told him sharply, and there was real concern
in her eyes. "Come on, Obi-Wan, work with me now. You're strong
enough for this; I know you are. Come on, love, you know I'd
never let anything bad happen to you. Breathe, Obi- Wan. Come
on, now. . ." Once again, her calm words soothed him. It didn't
seem to matter what she was saying; just the sound of her voice
was enough to lend him strength.
He forced himself to remember why he was here. He thought about
M'kal, lost and scared and alone, being forced to go through
this same "training" without any sensitivity to the Force or
Jedi-honed survival skills to set him free if he desired it.
His only hope was that someone might find him and pull him out
of this waking nightmare. Obi-Wan was, quite literally, his
last and only chance for freedom.
That thought decided it for him. Taking a deep, shuddering
breath, he drew on the Force for courage. For a Jedi, there
is only peace. When he was sure that he'd gotten himself
under control again, he turned back to Dany. "Let's get this
over with."
She seemed taken aback by his sudden change in composure, but
didn't question it. Tugging gently on his arm, she said, "Come
on, Obi-Wan."
He obeyed, moving with her down the hall to the small, black
door that marked the entrance to what was commonly referred to
as the Pit. His iron control lasted all the way until the door
opened and he stepped inside. Then the full horror of the place
hit him, and he felt the unmistakable instinct to run, run as
far and as fast as he could. But by then the door was closed
behind him and he knew without trying that he would not be able
to open it.
The Pit was a mausoleum of pain. Obi-Wan's fevered glance took
in towering wooden supports hung with dangling chains, broad
tables where dark bodies writhed in captive torment, high
platforms where the torture was a spectacle for all in the room
to see. No windows, no doors except the one he had come
through. Leather-clad overseers loomed over it all, doling out
punishment or reward as their moods led them. The air was
filled with the sounds of harsh cries, panting breaths, the
sharp, wet cracking of whips hitting tender flesh. Obi-Wan's
nostrils flared as he took in the scents that swirled around
him. So much terror, so much pain ... and yet ...
And yet through it all there was a sinuous, unifying thread. It
took him a moment to identify it, and the realization took his
breath away: pleasure. The pleasure ran through the pain and
through the fear until it became a part of it,
indistinguishable one from the other. He shook his head in
furious denial, disbelieving. How could this be
considered pleasurable? And yet ... and yet ...
Dany was watching him carefully, keeping silent, letting him
drink it in. He really didn't know what to make of it all, and
as he was enveloped by the sensory overload of the place, he
realized that there comes a point at which the mind just is not
capable of feeling any more fear. A dreamy sort of lassitude
stole over him then, as he understood the vital truth behind
the Pit: no choice. Nothing he could do would possibly make any
difference to the outcome of this evening, so there was really
no point in doing anything at all. They would have what they
wanted from him, whether he willed it or no. For the first
time, he realized just what it meant to be a slave.
"This way, Obi-Wan." She pulled on his arm, drawing him further
into the room. He followed, unresisting, swooning under the
chorus of deep moans, passionate cries, voices crying out for
one kind of release or another. It was just too much to focus
on, and he kept his gaze firmly rooted to the floor in front of
his feet as he walked. It was a wooden floor, highly polished,
highly ... sensual ... in its deep amber shine. His mind was
curiously blank.
They stopped suddenly, and Obi-Wan looked up to see two of the
overseers standing before him. They were bare-chested, their
bodies crossed by an X of thick leather straps, their legs and
hands similarly clad in soft, black leather. There was
something terrifying about them, but at the same time exciting
in a darkly erotic way. Obi-Wan shook his head, upset by the
conflicting emotions that churned inside of him. What was wrong
with him?
Dany was giving them curt instructions, which they seemed to
accept readily enough. Apparently handlers held a higher place
on the totem pole of power than overseers did, at least when it
came to trainees. The thought comforted him somewhat; if Dany
was in control, then maybe everything would be all right after
all.
Then the two men turned to face him, and the spell was broken.
The fear returned like a blow to the stomach. "Dany..." he
pleaded, taking a half-step backwards, but then strong hands
were latched onto his arms, pulling him forward. He couldn't
stop himself from struggling, but his enraged movements seemed
to go completely unnoticed by his captors. He was forced to his
knees between two sweeping pillars, his hands shoved
passionlessly into leather cuffs that hung from either side. He
fought like a wild thing, managing to land a savage bite in the
back of one of those large hands, and earned a fierce blow
upside the head that left him reeling - "Watch out for the
face!" he heard Dany order sharply. He tasted blood in his
mouth, but whether it was his or his attacker's, he couldn't
say.
He knelt there, arms spread to either side, chest heaving with
heated breaths. The cuffs were cinched tight around his wrists,
but the soft leather did not cut into his skin. He tugged at
them futilely, feeling wretched and exposed, hating the feel of
it, hating the men who had bound him here, hating Dany, hating
himself. How easy it would be to use the Force to spring open
his bonds, to confuse his tormentors enough for him to make a
clean escape. For one wild moment, he was going to do it, just
end it all here and now.
But that would hardly help M'kal, now would it? He took a deep
breath to steady himself, surprised to find that his cheeks
were wet with tears. For the first time, he noticed that Dany
was kneeling in front of him. She gave him a little, knowing
smile.
"It's hard, isn't it?" she said. "Letting go."
He didn't understand what she meant, couldn't think past the
fear that surged through him. But despite it all, his cock was
rampantly erect. He didn't want to think too hard about what
that might mean.
He whimpered, the only sound he seemed capable of making, and
she laid her hand against his cheek affectionately. "Poor
Obi-Wan," she murmured. "This is so hard for you. Just focus,
love, and let it all go."
Let what go? he wanted to scream at her, but he kept
silent. The leather-gloved hand of one of his overseers ran
over his head, an almost tender gesture. His entire body was
trembling uncontrollably.
He sensed the blow coming before it landed, but there was
absolutely nothing he could do to prepare himself for it. The
narrow tail of the whip hit him diagonally across the shoulder
blades, raising a thin stripe of purest pain, and his vision
whited out for one bright second. His fists clenched as a moan
was pulled from between his lips.
"Don't anticipate," Dany told him, sounding very far away.
"Just try to relax into it. Don't forget to breathe. You're
doing great, love..."
He was crying. He'd barely recovered from that first heart-
stopping stripe when another one landed, opposite from the
first, and then another fast on its heels. His body bucked with
each crack of the whip, cringing futilely from each new blossom
of pain. "Dany!" he screamed, frantic to find some release from
it, but she only shushed him kindly, smoothing back his
sweat-slickened hair. He pulled away from her furiously.
The blows began to fall in a pattern across his shoulders and
back, gentler now, but the pain of them still rang through him
with every touch of the whip. He ground his teeth together and
squeezed his eyes shut against the power of it, tears leaking
out between his eyelids and down his face. Dany did not try to
touch him again. He gasped as the tail of the whip licked at
the small of his back, his hips jerking forward convulsively.
He found himself moaning deeply in the back of his throat, in
time with the steady blows as they fell on him, his body moving
in a strange sort of rhythm under the hits. The pain burned
inside of him, filling him, incinerating everything that he was
in its heat until all that was left was this weak, trembling
shell.
The first time the whip hit his ass, he howled, but it didn't
stop it from happening again, and again. He cried out,
struggling in the bonds that held him, begging in a voice he
barely recognized for them to stop, oh gods, just please
stop...
They didn't stop. If anything, the whip bit harder now, making
his hips thrust forward with each strike in a bitter parody of
the sex act. He threw his head back, his mouth hanging open,
unsure if he was making any sound or not anymore. He was lost
in the blinding flashes of pain that enveloped him, cradling
him in its fiery embrace and claiming him as its own.
Then, without warning, it was over. He barely had time to draw
a shuddering breath before he felt something hard and blunt
push against his lips. His eyes flew open as leather- clad
fingers clutched at his skull, holding him steady as a thick,
hot penis was shoved into his mouth. He tried to pull back, but
then there was a second body behind him, kneeling down on the
backs of his calves and holding him fast. He groaned as a
second cock was pushed into him from behind. This one was slick
with lube and slid in easily, although the pain of that rapid
filling stunned him breathless.
The hands against his head held him motionless as the first
cock hammered into him, raping his mouth with cruel abandon;
the force of it bruised the back of his throat with each wild
thrust. Other hands circled around him from behind, pinching at
his nipples, the soft flesh around his ribs. An unshaven cheek
rubbed animal-like against the side of his face, breath hot and
rasping in his ear. His body rocked with the fury of the cock
pounding into his ass, each violent thrust touching a part of
him inside that sent a charge of pure electric pleasure to his
own swollen cock, even as that sweat-slick body chafed against
the tortured skin of his back. He moaned, completely delirious,
as the pleasure and the pain swirled together inside of him
until he literally could not tell one from the other. Oh,
gods, he thought desperately, I'm going to come...
The orgasm hit him like a shock wave, making him scream, even
as his mouth was filled with a swirl of salty liquid, and the
fingers around his head tightened beyond the point of pain. A
moment later, the overseer at his back found his own release,
clutching at him spasmodically for one breathless moment before
finally dropping away.
He hung there from the cuffs at his wrists, feeling used and
spent and terribly lost. He still hurt, but it didn't seem to
matter anymore. After a moment, he could feel the cuffs being
released, and he fell forward, too numb even to think about
stopping his fall. Dany caught him before he hit the ground,
wrapping her arms carefully around his shaking body and
pressing a light kiss to the side of his face. "Come on, love,"
she said quietly, hoisting him up onto his feet. "Let's get out
of here."
Yes, he agreed silently, although there was surprisingly little
passion to the thought of it. Let's get out of here.
Half-carrying his weight against her body, she led him slowly
back out through the door and up the stairs, leaving the Pit
and all of its torments behind.
He didn't look back.
On the morning of his twentieth day as a slave, Obi-Wan said
good-bye to the citadel for good. He was being moved to
Arvala's personal residence now, at the master's own request.
Dany didn't seem surprised at all; in fact, she told him there
had been little doubt in her mind where he would be sent once
his training was completed.
"Is this it, then?" he asked, feeling strangely ambivalent
about the news. "Am I on my own now?" Okay, so ambivalent
wasn't exactly the right word to describe it. More like scared
as hell.
She grinned at him. "So eager to be rid of me, are you? No,
I'll stick around for a while yet, help you get the feel for
what's expected of you. I'll be there to answer any questions
you may have, and do what I can to make sure you're
comfortable. Arvala's really the best master you could ever
have, Obi-Wan. He's very big on the handler/trainee bond."
Arvala's residence was a palatial building of rose-white stone,
sprawling at the top of a tall hill just south of Nhil-Rhar.
The drive leading up to the palace was flanked by towering
trees, their branches interlocking overhead to form a long,
green tunnel through which the sunlight shone in intermittent
golden shafts. Obi-Wan craned his neck to look up through the
window of the hovercar that carried him and Dany to their new
home, straining to see every detail of this wondrous place. It
helped him not to think about what was going to happen to him;
he honestly did not know what to expect now, and this
uncertainty left him faintly breathless with trepidation.
The car drove on, heedless of his fears.
"Here you go, love. That's it."
He had to smile at the way she spoke to him, like he was a wild
stallion that was ready to buck and run at the slightest
provocation. The analogy wasn't entirely inaccurate, he
realized - his heart was thumping at what seemed to be several
times its normal pace, and his entire body was strung with
nervous tension. He'd been at the palace for less than a day,
and already he was being summoned to the master's rooms? Dany
assured him that this was highly unusual, and a great honor.
Most slaves languished in anonymity forever, without ever
drawing the attention of their lord and owner. But he was
different; he was special. He still couldn't decide if this was
a good thing or not. It irritated him that her careful flattery
was beginning to please him.
The master's bedchamber was a large, elegantly furnished room
with a towering ceiling inlaid with sweeping murals of men
intertwined in various sex acts, their perfectly rendered faces
frozen in expressions of such shameless abandon and rapture
that he felt his cock stir at the sight of it. He couldn't take
his eyes off of the painting as he was led into the room; it
personified the very spirit of the Red Temple, that elusive
combination of lust and power and rampant eroticism that he was
only beginning to understand. There was a haunting beauty to
it, expressive in every detail of that perfectly drawn
rendering. He had to tear his eyes away.
Dany had him sit on the edge of the large, canopied bed. He
obeyed her reluctantly, still tense with fear and anticipation,
but she stood close to him and touched the hair over his eyes,
twining the short strands through her fingers until he calmed
somewhat. He couldn't help it; after all they'd been through
together, was he finally learning to trust her?
"You'll do fine, Obi-Wan. There's no reason to be afraid." He
could see the pride in her eyes, and he wondered fleetingly if
his being summoned here would reflect favorably on her skill as
a handler. Surprisingly, the thought brought no bitterness with
it. Maybe he'd finally begun to accept his role in all this.
Maybe.
The wait was not long, and she stayed with him through all of
it. He was enormously grateful for that, even as he seethed
against the need for it. It was her job to keep him calm, keep
him docile ... in short, to insure that he behaved like a good
little slave. There was real humiliation in that, but there was
comfort in it, too. As long as she was with him, he knew that
he would be protected and cared for.
Then the door opened, and Arvala came into the room. Obi-Wan
found himself staring, his breath catching in his throat.
Arvala was a large man, well-muscled, the subdued golden tone
of his skin glowing warmly in the soft light. His hair was
light blond, unusual among the proportionately dark-haired
Arambulans, his strong face half-hidden behind the shadow of a
curling beard. Obi-Wan remembered the feel of that beard
scratching against his face when the slave lord kissed him on
the auction platform.
Dany dropped to her knees in front of her master, touching her
forehead to the floor in the ritual posture of obeisance.
Obi-Wan wondered for a moment if he was supposed to copy her
gesture, but she gave him no sign to do so, so he stayed where
he was.
Arvala chuckled deeply. "On your feet, girl. That's all well
and good for public displays, but I'll have none of it here.
Not from my best handler."
Dany obeyed, casting a wry glance in Obi-Wan's direction as she
did so. Apparently she was well used to her lord's
idiosynchrasies.
"So what have you brought me today?" Arvala turned to look at
Obi-Wan then. There was something predatory in the way he
stared at him, something undeniably erotic in the way his eyes
slid over the younger man's oiled skin, drinking in the sight
of him. Obi-Wan felt his cock shiver in response to it. He
shifted restlessly under the intensity of that dark gaze,
remembering suddenly that he was well and truly naked. Funny,
the things you could get used to, and how natural they could
seem after enough exposure.
"His name is Obi-Wan, sire." She gave him an encouraging smile.
For a long moment, Arvala just looked him over appraisingly, a
hungry sort of longing creeping into his eyes. "You can leave
us now, Dany," he said at last.
Obi-Wan felt a stab of pure, mindless terror at those words.
Dany was leaving him? He'd grown dependent on her always being
there for him, encouraging him, comforting him, holding him
during the long nights when he couldn't stop the tears from
coming. She'd become an integral part of the mechanism that
allowed him to put up with the reality of his slavery, to keep
his sanity in a world where everything that he was seemed to
belong to everyone in the world but him.
In retrospect, he considered the fact that this was exactly why
Arvala had asked her to leave. She gave him a stern look as she
moved to go, as if reading his thoughts. Obey, that look
said to him. Submit. Remember your training.
And then she was gone, and he was alone with this frighteningly
large and powerful man. The mural on the ceiling seemed
suddenly ominous, suffocating. Drawing on the Force, he willed
his rapidly pounding heart to settle down to its usual rhythm
and met his lord's gaze as calmly as he was able.
Arvala chuckled approvingly. "Brave little pet." There was real
tenderness in those words. Obi-Wan tensed as he came near, but
held himself still as one large hand reached out to catch hold
of his chin. The blunt thumb rubbed at his cheek absently. "Do
you have any idea how beautiful you are?"
The question seemed to be rhetorical, so Obi-Wan kept silent.
Conflicting emotions waged a bloody war inside his head: fear,
pride, despair, embarrassment, lust, indignation, and ... a
desire to please this man who was his master. This last
surprised him somewhat. Why should he care if he gained
Arvala's approval or not? Just do his duty, and then he would
be free to continue his hunt for M'kal. There were plenty of
harems here at the palace to search through.
Arvala took a step back and began the slow process of removing
his clothes. Obi-Wan guessed that members of the lord's
personal harem would be well-trained to do the undressing for
him, but he was willing to make allowances for a new
acquisition. Obi-Wan was grateful; he wasn't sure he could
remember how to deal with a buckle or a recalcitrant button in
his current state of distress.
Finally, Arvala stood naked before him. Obi-Wan stared,
entranced by the sight of hard muscles under smooth, golden
skin. He longed to reach out and touch the sculpted contours of
that chest, to see if it truly was as silken as it looked, but
he didn't dare. Arvala's cock was solidly erect, rising up out
of a nest of golden hair. Obi-Wan realized suddenly that he was
just as hard, and a bittersweet ache was radiating out from his
groin in slow pulses.
"I can smell the fear in you." Arvala's voice was gentle as he
moved to sit next to him on the bed. His hands lifted to touch
Obi-Wan's face, fingers fluttering lightly over the younger
man's quivering lashes, trailing down his cheeks. Obi-Wan
closed his eyes, trembling. "You don't need to be afraid of me,
pretty pet. I'm not going to hurt you. I promise you that."
It wasn't fair. Obi-Wan had grown used to the endless
procession of faceless strangers, the lustful desires and cruel
hands that sought to use his body for their own prurient
pleasures. He'd managed to distance himself from all of it
quite nicely, separating himself from the reality of it as if
it were happening to someone else. He'd suffered hard blows,
beatings, been tied and gagged and filled and used, and none of
it had touched him. But he had no defense to raise against
this. He could feel his armor unraveling, and tears burned
behind his closed eyelids.
"Master," he whispered, feeling for a moment as if he were
speaking to someone else, "how can I please you?"
Arvala breathed a shuddering sigh and leaned forward to capture
his slave's lips with his own. Obi-Wan responded instantly,
feeling his lord's tongue push into his open mouth, claiming it
as his own. He moaned in the back of his throat as strong hands
pushed him down onto the bed, and then the hard body was
covering him, igniting the flame of ardent passion inside of
him. He writhed with the sheer pleasure of that contact, unable
to keep still, and at last gave into the temptation to touch
the silken skin above him. His hands glided over the smooth
contours of shoulders and spine, sweeping down to knead the
soft flesh of his lord's buttocks. Arvala drew his head back,
hissing through his teeth, lustful eyes raking over Obi-Wan's
face with unconcealed hunger.
"Serve me, my pet," the master said, his voice harsh with
arousal. He kissed Obi-Wan once on each eyelid, touching
lightly with his tongue.
Obi-Wan pushed Arvala back gently, surprised when the slave
lord allowed him to lay him down against the mattress.
Emboldened, he bent his head to lick at one darkly golden
nipple, smoothing his hand over the light hairs above his
master's stomach. Arvala arched under him, a groan issuing from
deep in his throat as if it had been pulled from him against
his will. It was the most erotic sound that Obi-Wan had ever
heard, and he closed his lips over the enticingly erect nipple
to stifle his answering moan. He nipped once with his teeth
before beginning to suck at the tender flesh, his hand moving
down to stroke at Arvala's heated cock. The body under him
shivered violently under his touch, and he moved to the other
nipple, giving it equal attention before sliding his lips down
the slopes of ribs and stomach to lap gently at the shallow
depression of his master's navel.
"Oh, yes, pet," Arvala hissed, barely coherent through the
shudders of passion that devoured him. His fingers clenched in
Obi-Wan's hair. "Yes..."
Obi-Wan took the hard length of his lord's penis into his
mouth, consuming it utterly. Arvala cried out at the contact,
his body arching, and Obi-Wan suckled at the hot flesh
greedily, closing his eyes against the riot of emotions that
surged through him. His whole world had narrowed to this man's
cock and the pleasure he could give it; he was bound entirely
to its will alone, and despite this truth, he felt freer than
he ever had in his life. Only here, in this special place, did
he begin to understand what Dany had been trying to teach him:
Control ... either you have it, or you don't. Once you
understand that, the rest is easy...
Rough hands grabbed his shoulders and pulled him away abruptly,
dragging him up and laying him face-down against the pillows.
Before he could even gasp in shock, Arvala's large body was
pressing down onto him from behind, its not inconsiderable
weight driving his erection into the soft mattress. He
whimpered, suddenly afraid, but then his body was being
caressed and stroked as the older man murmured soft endearments
in his ear. Arvala's coarse beard rubbed against the side of
his face, stinging slightly, but even that was comforting to
him.
There was a brief shuffling as the slaver reached for something
next to the bedside. "Relax, beautiful pet," Arvala whispered
to him. "That's it, just relax..."
Obi-Wan felt the tip of the man's penis push at the opening to
his anus and tensed involuntarily, fists clenching in the
sheets to either side of him. But there was something cold and
slick covering that thick cock, and he realized with relief
that it was well-lubed. It still burned when it stretched him,
but it moved slowly as it filled him, giving his body time to
adjust to its presence. He breathed in and out shallowly,
staring hard at the filigreed patterns of the headboard, and
then it was over, the full length of that throbbing organ
encased within his body. He moaned, completely caught up in the
feel of it.
Arvala started to move within him then, and Obi-Wan's world
exploded in a cascade of silver light. He writhed with
pleasure, heedless of the pleading sounds he was making, aware
only of the fact that he wanted more, needed more, would do
anything for-
He came, the force of his orgasm bringing his thoughts to a
screeching halt. He cried out, peripherally aware that Arvala
was shuddering over him in his own release, those huge, strong
hands clenching vise-like on his hips. It hurt, the strength of
that grip, but he didn't care. He wanted it to hurt, anything
to add to the sensations ebbing through him, anything his
master wanted to do to him, anything. He sighed deeply, his
eyes drifting closed. "Master," he whispered, in deep
contentment. "Master."
He fell asleep then, curled up in Arvala's arms, but it was
other arms that he dreamt of, and other hands that he longed to
have smoothing back the hair around his face in the aftermath
of their passion. The longing sang through him, even as he
didn't understand it.
He slept.
"Emil Marr?"
The fair-haired young man glanced around with lazily blinking
eyes, his pupils dilated in the grip of what was undoubtedly a
very expensive designer drug. Two local beauties lay sprawled
across his lap, more naked than not. They looked warily up at
Qui-Gon as he approached.
"Eh?" The slave dealer looked slightly bewildered. His eyes
focused on Qui-Gon with effort, and he pulled himself hurriedly
upright, paling visibly. "What do you want?"
Qui-Gon was very much aware of L'rell standing behind his left
shoulder, simmering with barely concealed rage. In contrast,
Qui-Gon was cool and sharp as ice. "We have reason to believe
that you participated in the kidnapping of M'kal L'rell, son of
the governor of the Nyitiian provinces."
Emil Marr became so white that he looked almost transparent. "I
... I don't know what you're talking about." He licked his lips
nervously.
L'rell took a slow step forward, the halted motion seeming
almost to be the precipitate of a full-scale attack. The
younger man shrank back visibly. "Tell me," and the big man's
voice was laced with tightly reined fury, "did you use my son
before you sold him?" There was no response. "Did you?" This
last was fairly shouted out.
Emil cowered, his resistance crumbling. "Yeah, all right, we
did. Do you have any idea how sweet that kid was? Kanda said no
one would ever know, they'd never find out it was us..."
The rest of his words blanked out as Qui-Gon's ears were filled
with a dull roar. His mind latched onto that one word and was
rebelling against it in an agony of furious denial. Kanda?
Kanda had kidnapped L'rell's son? Kanda, who had sold his
Padawan into slavery and knew that he was a spy sent to locate
M'kal?
L'rell was already calling for security to come and arrest Emil
Marr. It was ironic that kidnapping was against the law on
Arambula (at least when the victim was a wealthy governor's
son), but the selling of slaves was not. Qui-Gon was barely
aware of the ruckus as the slave dealer was taken away.
//Padawan,// he sent, his mental voice a soft breath of urgent
warning, traveling down the length of their bond. //Padawan, he
knows. He knows. You have got to get out of there,
now.//
There was no response. In growing horror, he tried again,
groping for the familiar presence of his student's mind. It was
there, its dimensions easily familiar to him, but its feelings
and responses were still blocked off. Abandoning all courtesy
and protocol, he gathered his thoughts to a fine, sharp point
and punched through that wall, breaking down his apprentice's
privacy shield.
Nothing happened. Obi-Wan's thoughts were still only a faint
buzzing at the back of his head, barely noticeable. There was
something terribly unnatural about Qui-Gon's inability to reach
them.
Without bothering to explain himself, he reached for L'rell and
pulled the bigger man with him out onto the street, where their
car was waiting for them at the curb.
Obi-Wan knelt on the floor of Arvala's private study and waited
for his lord to acknowledge him. Arvala was seated at his desk,
fingers tapping idly at the console in front of him, seemingly
unaware of the naked man who waited patiently for him to finish
his work.
Patience was a virtue that Obi-Wan was well acquainted with, it
being one of the basic tenets of the Jedi Code. He sat back on
his heels, settling himself comfortably, and let his eyes roam
over the room around him. Arvala had a fondness for
antiquities, which was evidenced in the d,cor he'd chosen for
his private sanctum. Deep shelves of paperbound books lined the
walls, the titles he could make out revealing it to be a rather
eclectic collection. The nut-brown bulk of a grandfather clock
nestled in one corner of the room.
Arvala leaned back in his chair and stretched, the joints in
his back popping audibly. Obi-Wan turned his attention back to
his owner, admiring the way the smooth material of his shirt
slid over his sculpted muscles.
Finally, Arvala looked down at him, one hand moving to stroke
Obi-Wan's cheek. Obi-Wan bent his head into the caress, his
eyes closing. Arvala chuckled. "Pretty pet," he said teasingly.
"I've half a mind to keep you confined in my chambers and not
let the rest of the palace lay eyes on you at all."
Obi-Wan stayed silent, accepting the praise.
Arvala's thumb moved to brush lightly across the sensitive skin
under his ear, and Obi-Wan could almost hear himself purring in
pleasure. His world had been reduced to pure sensation, pure
gratification, and every touch of his master's hand delighted
him. It was something he would never have believed possible
before becoming a part of the Red Temple, that something so
simple could bring him this much joy.
Arvala's next words, however, froze the happiness in his
throat:
"I know you are Jedi."
Slowly, Obi-Wan lifted his eyes to meet his master's
unfathomable gaze. There was no challenge there - only a
statement of fact, and nothing more. His mouth was suddenly
very dry. "My lord?"
A small smile pulled at the corner of Arvala's lips. "You are
Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Padawan and ambassador to Arambula through
the intercession of Governor Torella L'rell of the Nyitiian
provinces. Your mission here is to locate and free the
governor's only son, M'kal." His fingers played idly with the
long braid at the side of Obi-Wan's head, amused by the stunned
expression on the younger man's face.
Obi-Wan felt as if the world had dropped out from under him.
//Master,// he called out, plaintively, and was taken up short
by the complete lack of response that came back to him.
Disbelieving, he threw down the privacy shields that he had so
painstakingly erected around him these past few weeks. To his
horrified amazement, it made absolutely no difference at all.
His bond with Qui-Gon was barely detectable, the faintest
whisper in the back of his mind.
"Your food has been drugged since you first came to the
citadel," Arvala said matter-of-factly, as if reading his
thoughts. "It's a chemical agent which inhibits manipulative
control of the Force. Your sensitivity should be unimpaired,
but I'm afraid you're quite incapable of acting on it."
The slow shock of horror slid rapidly into full-scale terror,
as he realized that Arvala's evaluation of the drug's
properties was right on-target. He could sense the Force all
around him, but he could not tap into it. It was something that
he would have noticed much earlier, if he'd ever come out of
his self-imposed exile long enough to try and use it. With a
sudden burst of anger, he yanked his head back out of Arvala's
grip.
He could see the slight tensing of the other man's shoulders,
as if he were anticipating an attack. For a brief second, he
actually considered it, but he knew he would be no match for
Arvala in a test of physical strength. And even if he succeeded
in overpowering the slave lord, what then? He was trapped in
the heart of this palatial stronghold, which was crawling with
the slaver's guards and lackeys, miles away from Nhil-Rhar,
with absolutely no way to contact his Master for help.
His panic must have shown in his eyes, because Arvala regarded
him with a small degree of pity. "So proud, aren't you? I
wonder if you would have given yourself to me so willingly last
night if you'd known that you were truly helpless?"
Obi-Wan flushed at the memory. "What are you going to do with
me?"
"You will enter training to join my personal harem
immediately." There was a weight of inevitability to the words.
"I'll allow Dany to remain with you for a time; I understand
you've grown quite attached to her. It won't be a bad life," he
added quietly, eyes searching Obi-Wan's upturned face. "There
are worse fates that could have been yours in this universe."
"My Master will come for me." His voice was very quiet.
"I know." He sounded sad. "But until then, you still belong to
me. I'll try to head him off, plant rumors that you were sold
off-planet, but I have no doubt he will eventually track you
down."
"And if I choose not to serve you?"
"My dear boy," and here he chuckled softly, eyeing his slave
with fond regard, "you've never had a choice."
Obi-Wan was moved into Arvala's harem that very morning. There
were only eight other slaves in this most exalted of positions,
an unspoken testament to how sparingly Arvala added to his
collection. For some, it may have been considered a great
honor.
It almost didn't surprise him to see that one of them was
M'kal. He recognized the boy immediately from the holos that
L'rell had shown him, and also from the descriptions he'd heard
on the streets of Nhil-Rhar. M'kal was nineteen, barely a man,
with shoulder-length black hair and eyes of darkest jet. His
skin was smooth, seeming to glow from within with a deeply
golden luster. The narrow planes of his back were crossed with
deep scars, no doubt a legacy from his time in the Pit. Obi-Wan
felt his own scars itch at the sight of it. How was it that
these imperfections in his otherwise perfect beauty made the
boy seem even more desirable?
Dany had not come with him; perhaps Arvala had warned her that
the newest addition to his harem would be feeling rather
peevish today, and she'd do best to give him some space.
Obi-Wan was grateful for this, at least. He didn't think he
could face her in the light of his newly recognized captivity.
Arvala had been right about that much; while he'd believed he
was the one in control, submitting had been almost easy. But
now that he was lost to the harsh reality of his servitude,
everything had changed. Everything inside of him rebelled at
the fate that had been chosen for him.
Even so, he couldn't help but remember the tenderness in
Arvala's eyes as he had taken him last night, the low murmur of
his voice, the soft touch of his big hands. Part of him had
enjoyed the freedom of being so utterly possessed, consumed in
the heat of a fire that he could not control.
He sat alone in the common area of the slave quarters all that
day, and no one bothered him except to offer him his meals.
When he refused to eat, they very calmly held him down and
administered a hypo of unknown origin against the skin of his
neck. He guessed it was the Force-inhibiting drug that Arvala
had told him about, all efforts at camouflage abandoned now.
He learned from M'kal that it was Kanda who orchestrated the
kidnapping. Doubtlessly it had also been the former slaver who
betrayed him to Arvala. The revelation brought surprisingly
little bitterness with it.
That evening, he was summoned to Arvala's chambers again. He
thought about resisting, but there was really no point to it.
As a recalcitrant slave, he would be punished severely, and
someone else would be called on to see to their lord's
pleasures tonight. Maybe M'kal.
He padded quietly into the master's bedchamber as the guard
held open the door for him and fell gracefully to his knees in
front of the bed. Arvala was already sitting on the edge of the
tall mattress, waiting for him. Obi-Wan kept his eyes on the
floor.
For a long moment, there was no sound but the slow sigh of
their breathing. Then Arvala said, "I want you, Obi-Wan
Kenobi."
Obi-Wan looked up at him in surprise. "My lord?" he said, not
understanding.
Arvala smiled, and there was a wistfulness in his expression
that, insanely, made Obi-Wan feel a touch of pity for him.
"I've wanted you ever since I first laid eyes on you. I want
your affection, I want your love, I want your mind and your
thoughts and your heart and your soul."
"My lord," Obi-Wan replied, very quietly, "I cannot offer what
is not mine to give." His response startled him somewhat.
But Arvala nodded. "I know. I knew it last night, even though I
tried not to see the truth of it. You gave yourself to me so
wholly, so completely, and yet ... at the heart of things, you
still belong to someone else."
Obi-Wan tried to puzzle out the implications of this, and his
thoughts skittered stubbornly away from the only answer that
made any sense.
Arvala was speaking again. "If I cannot have what I want from
you," he said, "would you at least offer me your body tonight?"
Obi-Wan met his gaze evenly, reading the vulnerability in those
exotic, dark eyes, and felt a shiver of longing pass through
him. Perhaps his heart and soul did indeed belong to another,
as a part of him had always known, but tonight his body sang
with a need that refused to be denied.
"My lord," he said, with perfect deference. "I am yours."
"Do you truly believe that your apprentice is still here in
Nhil-Rhar?" L'rell seemed hesitant about disturbing the Jedi
Master's meditation, but the need to speak his mind had
obviously come to a head. Refusing to back down in the face of
the dark glare Qui-Gon cast in his direction, he continued. "I
mean, my spies tell me that Obi-Wan was sold to a trader from
Lataxian VI; he could be halfway across the galaxy by now."
It was a possibility that Qui-Gon refused to consider. If it
were true, he might never see Obi-Wan again, for the galaxy was
large and filled with places to hide those who had fallen into
its cracks. The slave trade throughout the Outer Rim had been
in existence for decades now, and its masters were well-used to
the nuances of concealing their acquisitions from those who
sought to find them.
But it was more than a sense of denial that kept him here on
Arambula. He could still feel Obi-Wan in his mind, small and
lost and achingly distant, his thoughts cut off from his Master
by whatever drugs he had undoubtedly been given. It was
entirely possible that Arvala had rid himself of such a
dangerous commodity at the earliest opportunity, but something
in him refused to believe it.
It was the look that he had seen on Arvala's face when he first
saw Obi-Wan on the slave platform. There had been blatant
desire in those black eyes, evident in the fierce
possessiveness with which he kissed Obi-Wan, there in plain
view of the entire city. Kissing him, tasting him, marking him
as his own.
Twenty-one days. In twenty-one days, his Padawan could have
been taken anywhere in the known galaxy. The thought filled him
with a biting sense of despair, but his mind kept returning to
that kiss on the auction platform. No, Arvala had not given
Obi-Wan away.
"Governor L'rell," he said, thinking it through carefully,
"does Arvala have a private residence anywhere close to Nhil-
Rhar?"
The main hall of Arvala's palace was lined with towering ivory
pillars, their fluted columns revealing a taste for
aestheticism that was echoed by the green-veined marble of the
floor. Open windows along the west wall let in the light,
illuminating every corner of the vast chamber.
Qui-Gon's booted heels clicked sharply on the shining marble as
he made his way into the room. He was still dressed in
Arambulan fashion, with the long tunic, dark pants, and leather
belt that he had grown accustomed to over the past several
weeks, but he had elected to wear the identifying length of his
Jedi robe. His lightsaber hung from his belt in an obvious
statement of authority.
Judicious use of what Obi-Wan laughingly called the "Jedi
mind-fuzz" had gotten him past the front guards, and now he
wondered at how he would go about finding Arvala. He had little
hope of stumbling across Obi-Wan without creating a scene that
he very much wished to avoid. After all, they had come here to
Arambula without the consent of the Senate, and engaging in an
altercation with one of the planet's leading citizens would not
reflect favorably on the Jedi at all.
His senses detected the lone figure at the end of the long hall
before he actually came into view. He recognized the
blond-bearded figure immediately and came to a deliberate halt
in front of the largely muscular man. He inclined his head
politely, eyes glittering from deep within his cowl. "Master
Arvala," he greeted with calm deference. "I believe you are in
possession of something that belongs to me."
The slave lord favored him with a wry twist of his sensual
lips. "I had rather hoped it would take you longer to come to
me, Master Jinn."
It did not surprise him that Arvala knew his name. Kanda would
doubtlessly have been very thorough in the information that he
sold to him.
"I knew that you would not have parted from him," he said
quietly.
Arvala nodded, understanding bright in his eyes. "So you're the
one," he sighed, with irritating ambiguity. "He is quite a
lovely creature, isn't he?"
Qui-Gon, while offended by the casual degradation of the
remark, could not bring himself to disagree.
Almost visibly shaking off the mood of melancholy that had
fallen over him, Arvala turned to one of the cleverly hidden
archways that led deeper into his stronghold and gestured idly.
A robed and hooded figure stepped silently into the room, hands
clasped together inside the full sleeves, bare feet scuffing
softly against the cold marble floor. Qui-Gon felt a surge of
elation rise in him, not needing to see the smooth features
hidden inside the cowl to know who it was that approached him.
So graceful, radiating serenity and beauty even through the
concealing covering of the slave- robe.
"Obi-Wan," he breathed, voice tight with relief and wonder.
The cowled head lifted, the blue eyes filling with a sudden,
joyful light before iron control clamped down and muted it to a
dull haze. "Master." There was a new note of reverence to that
simple word that made Qui-Gon's knees go weak under him.
Qui-Gon felt enormously relieved to have Obi-Wan with him
again. A shared glance with his Padawan answered the question
that hovered on his lips. "There is one other item of business
that stands between us," he said, eyeing the slave lord
purposefully.
Arvala's eyes narrowed. "You mean to destroy me, don't you?"
Qui-Gon shook his head firmly. "That is not my intention. Name
your price."
Immediately, Qui-Gon sensed that Arvala would refuse. He
sweated the outcome of the slaver's inner deliberation, not
knowing what he could do, legally, if he refused to give up
M'kal.
The dark eyes hardened; the gaze turned away. "You ask too
much, Jedi." The words were cold.
Before Qui-Gon could form a reply, Obi-Wan swept past his
shoulder, taking a fluid step toward his former lord. He had
drawn the hood back off his head, and his eyes were piercing as
they fixed on Arvala.
"Please," he said softly, his voice pitched low to carry just
the distance between them.
Something in Arvala seemed to melt at that quiet plea, and his
expression softened. After a moment's hesitation, he nodded and
said, "I will let M'kal go free." Just as a small sigh of
relief touched Qui-Gon's lips, he added, "If you stay with me
in his place."
Obi-Wan looked stricken. Qui-Gon felt his heart constrict,
seeing the pain in those crystalline eyes. "Arvala-" he began,
threateningly, but the slave lord cut him off with a gesture,
not taking his eyes from Obi-Wan's.
"Let your apprentice make his own decision, Master Jinn.
Unless, of course, you do not trust him to do so."
Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed in anger. Arvala had just given him an
ultimatum - either let Obi-Wan decide whether to give up his
freedom in exchange for a stranger's, or decline his right to
chose, thus claiming true mastery over him. Either choice would
leave a bitter taste in his mouth, because he knew what choice
his warm-hearted Obi-Wan would eventually make.
"No," he said quietly.
"Master Jinn-"
"I said no."
There was a dangerous undercurrent to his words that made both
men turn and look at him. His hand was resting on his
lightsaber, fingers lightly stroking the shaft.
"I challenge you, Arvala," he said, in a tone that brooked no
room for argument. "I challenge you for the right to own M'kal
L'rell."
If anything, Arvala looked intrigued. "Why should I agree to
such a thing? I already own the boy."
Qui-Gon immediately understood what the slaver was driving at.
Oh, but he was a clever one. "What else do you require?" he
asked, forcing the words out through grinding teeth.
Arvala smiled. It looked particularly wicked on his suddenly
cherubic face. "If you win, you get to have the boy. If I win,"
and here the smile broadened, just slightly, "I keep him ...
and your apprentice."
Qui-Gon's eyes moved to Obi-Wan, who nodded. "Very well," he
said, with more than a little reluctance. His eyes never left
his Padawan's.
As the challenged party, Arvala chose ceremonial swords for
their weapons. Qui-Gon took his sword carefully from the slave
who brought it to him. It was long and well-balanced, the
silver blade decorated with whorls of delicate filigree, the
hilt covered in a fine gold mesh. Its weight was unfamiliar in
his hand, and he took a few practice swipes with it, testing
its responsiveness.
They would be fighting in the great hall. Already, several
members of the household were gathering to witness the contest,
both slaves and freemen. Qui-Gon's eyes found a dark-haired
human girl amongst the growing crowd, whose gray eyes were
focused intently on his Padawan.
"Friend of yours?" he asked, as Obi-Wan took his robe from him.
Qui-Gon wisely chose to leave the matter alone and turned his
attention to the challenge that lay before him. The only rule
that Arvala had stipulated was that he not use the Force to
help win his victory, and once his word was given, he was bound
by it. This would be a test of purely physical skill.
They both moved into position, and Obi-Wan fell back to stand
at the edge of the crowd. Qui-Gon spared one final glance for
him, wincing at the brave determination on that young face. //I
will not fail you, my Padawan.//
Obi-Wan nodded, understanding the unspoken message even though
the drugs he'd been given prevented him from hearing it. I
know, Master.
Then Arvala was standing in front of him, and all of Qui- Gon's
attention was riveted on the slave lord. The look in the man's
eyes was wary, but controlled. He lifted his sword in a
strangely courteous gesture, touching the flat of the blade to
his forehead and bowing slightly forward at the waist. Not
knowing how to respond to that, Qui-Gon answered with the
salute he would normally have given a partner at the beginning
of a saber training match.
The hall had gone deathly quiet. Arvala gave a small, tight
smile, his black eyes glittering with what almost seemed to be
amusement. Then he moved.
Qui-Gon raised his own sword more from instinct than readiness,
but his opponent was already moving away again, a flutter at
the periphery of his vision. Gods, but Arvala was light on his
feet for such a large man. Qui-Gon spun, searching, fingers
tightening around the hilt in his hand. Then Arvala was closing
in again, but he was ready this time. Swords met with a harsh
clang, and Qui-Gon felt the force of the blow clear up to his
shoulders. Gritting his teeth against the pain of it, he
pressed the confrontation, forcing Arvala to take the defensive
as he swung again and again. The slaver met each of his blows
with irritating ease.
Qui-Gon fell back a pace, more wary now. Whatever else he may
be, Arvala was a master swordsman. He took solace in the fact
that the slaver also seemed to be more cautious now. Their eyes
met across the expanse of floor between them, waiting,
watching. There was no other sound in the room other than their
harsh breathing.
Then Arvala was attacking again, and Qui-Gon reacted with pure
reflex as the multitude of blows rained down around him. His
opponent's sword flashed with lightning speed, feinting and
lunging in the same breath, then drawing away to come from a
completely unexpected angle. Once, the fine blade clipped his
leg, and he shied away, hissing in a pained breath. Arvala did
not slow, and Qui-Gon forced himself to ignore the wound, using
the Force to staunch the light trickle of blood that warmed his
leg. It was only a scratch, but it annoyed him to no end. This
was ridiculous. He was a Jedi Master; he would not be bested by
a decadent slave trader on a corrupt, backwater world.
Suddenly deciding he'd had enough of defending himself, Qui-
Gon purposefully left himself open to the next attack and
stepped into it, catching Arvala completely by surprise.
Smoothly, Qui-Gon cut through his defense and reached out with
one leg, tangling his foot with Arvala's and pulling the
slaver's legs out from under him.
The slave lord fell with a crash and rolled smoothly out of the
way of the sword that arced toward him. Cat-quick, he was back
on his feet, but he had lost his center now, and he fell back
before Qui-Gon's carefully enraged blows. Qui-Gon hounded him
steadily, fighting for every inch of ground that he gained,
seeing the sweat stand out on Arvala's face.
A few minutes later, it was all over. Qui-Gon's precisely aimed
blow took the sword right out of Arvala's hand, and it fell to
the floor with an echoing clang of hard metal, ricocheting
across the breadth of the hall. Arvala stared at him,
wide-eyed, apparently very much aware of the sword point that
hovered just inches below his chin.
"Do you yield?" Qui-Gon asked, with lethal softness.
Arvala hesitated, and for a moment, his eyes were lit by pure,
unadulterated rage. Then his anger drained away, and he nodded.
"Well met, Master Jinn," he said, rubbing at one aching
shoulder. He smiled wryly.
Slowly, Qui-Gon lowered the blade of his sword to the floor.
Instantly, the hall erupted in an explosion of sound as the
spell was broken, and the onlookers all began talking at once.
Qui-Gon ignored them, his eyes searching for one brown-robed
figure amongst the press of bodies.
"Master," Obi-Wan said, eyes shining with pride and happiness
as he made his way towards him. Qui-Gon grinned, basking in the
light of his Padawan's approbation. A moment later, however,
Obi-Wan's gaze moved to his former lord, and the joy left his
eyes as if it had been drained from him. He looked suddenly
uncertain.
"You're free to go now, Obi-Wan." Arvala's voice was soft. He
stood just inches away from Obi-Wan's shoulder. Then, even
softer still, "Go to your Master, pet."
Obi-Wan gazed up at him, his eyes filled with turbulent
emotion, lips parting slightly. Before he could speak, Arvala
was reaching out for him, crushing him to his chest in a
desperate embrace, all but devouring his mouth under his own.
Qui-Gon watched, tensing, but to his immense surprise, Obi-Wan
allowed it.
"I cannot bear to lose you," Arvala whispered in his ear,
holding him firmly. "The thought of it fills me with misery. So
tell me," and now there was a note of self-deprecating humor in
his voice, "who is truly the slave, and who is the master?"
Obi-Wan stepped away, and Arvala reluctantly let him go. "My
lord," he said formally, then stopped, uncertain. Not knowing
what else to say, confused by the emotions that churned through
him, he turned slowly away from this man who had been his
master and moved to take his place at Qui-Gon's side.
M'kal was brought to the Jedi Master then, in the presence of
the dark-haired girl that he had noticed earlier. Qui-Gon
immediately felt his apprentice tense beside him and understood
that he knew this woman. Giving him the privacy he seemed to
need, he drew M'kal aside for a private conversation,
ostensibly to see for himself if the boy was unharmed.
Obi-Wan waited for Dany to come to him, unsure what to feel
towards this sprightly female who had been at the heart of
nearly all his experiences within the Red Temple. She stopped
in front of him, regarding him calmly from her cool gray eyes.
"I guess this is good-bye."
"Nice of you to come send me off, after everything you've done
for me." He was ashamed of the bitterness in his tone but
couldn't seem to stop the words from coming out. "Did you know
that he was drugging me? Did you know I was really a Jedi?"
She shook her head, though it didn't seem to be in denial of
his accusations. "He never told me what the drug was, and I
never questioned his order to give it to you. And no, I didn't
know you were Jedi, but I knew you were special in some way.
Different."
He closed his eyes, amazed that her compliments could mean so
much to him even now. "You could come with us, you know," he
found himself saying. "My Master will pay for your freedom, if
I ask him to. You can leave this place, go out on your own, be
your own person again."
He sensed her refusal of his offer even before the words left
his mouth. When he opened his eyes to look at her, she was
smiling sadly. "He'll never let me go, Obi-Wan. You, he gave up
because he knew your Master would take his palace down around
his ears if he refused. M'kal, he gave up for love of you. He
will not part with a third slave. And even if you could
convince him. . ." Her gaze moved away from him, taking in the
others around them. "I'm needed here, Obi-Wan. I'm ... useful.
My job is to help make slavery easier on those who have no
choice in their fate, and I'm good at it. How can I give that
up?"
He felt unexpected tears sting his eyes. "Why does it have to
hurt so much?" he whispered, not quite sure what he was
referring to.
But she seemed to understand. "It's because you've learned
something new about yourself, and it's changing you." And then,
thoughtfully, "But that's all knowledge ever really does, I
suppose."
He wasn't sure he understood, or even that he wanted to. The
Red Temple had left scars on him that went deeper than just his
skin. It was difficult ... unexpectedly difficult ... to let
go. "Bye, Dany," he said, somehow finding it within himself to
smile. "And ... thanks."
L'rell was waiting for them in the hovercar at the end of the
drive, anxiously awaiting the outcome of the confrontation that
took place inside. Only Qui-Gon's uncompromising insistence had
convinced him to stay there. When he saw the two Jedi stepping
out of the palace with the third, smaller figure held
protectively between them, he jumped out of the car with a look
of pure happiness radiating across his broad features.
"M'kal!"
M'kal ran to his father, who swept him up in a bone-crunching
hug. L'rell clutched him tightly, as if he would never let go
of him again, his voice rough with emotion as he apologized,
over and over, for letting this happen to him. M'kal, while
obviously happy to see his father, seemed subdued, almost lost.
Looking back over his shoulder, he shared a long, knowing look
with Obi-Wan that Qui-Gon could not decipher.
They returned to L'rell's mansion then, and there was a huge
banquet prepared to celebrate the return of M'kal and to honor
the two Jedi. Qui-Gon suffered through the praises of L'rell's
family and friends with good grace, even though he truly just
wanted to leave and put his memories behind him. This had been
a trying mission, in more ways than one, and it had been
particularly hard on his Padawan. Obi-Wan, for his part, was
uncommonly reserved throughout the meal, relying on his Master
to make conversation and accept the endless tirade of thanks
from their well-meaning hosts.
It was almost nightfall by the time they were ready to board
their ship and return to Coruscant. The governor swore his
sincere thanks for Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan's help in bringing his
son home, and pledged the full support of his position in the
Arambulan government for anything the Jedi might have need of
in the future.
The entire household turned out to see them off, and then the
boarding hatch of the ship closed behind them, sealing them off
at last from the well-intentioned worship of the Arambulans.
Qui-Gon breathed a heavy sigh of relief as the silence of space
surrounded them. Obi-Wan was unusually quiet as they pulled out
of orbit and started to make their way out of the solar system.
Once they were safely beyond the system's boundaries, they made
the jump to hyperspace.
Almost against his will, Qui-Gon's eyes moved to take in the
sight of his young apprentice. Obi-Wan looked uncomfortable in
his newly donned Jedi attire. Except for a few terse words
during take-off, he had been completely silent, skillfully
avoiding his Master's questioning gaze. There was an edge to
him that hadn't been there before - the scars of experience, a
loss of innocence, perhaps? To Qui-Gon, this made him even more
appealing. He was struck by the sudden thought that maybe his
Padawan had been happy in his servitude to Arvala.
The thought sparked a chord of jealousy and desire in him so
strong that it took his breath away. It was as if he had been
waiting his entire life to come to this epiphany - that he
wanted his apprentice, that they'd become so close over the
years that mental and spiritual intimacy was no longer enough
for him. He longed to touch that smooth skin, not as Master to
student but as man to man, and ease the emotional turmoil that
Obi-Wan was so obviously wrestling with. More than that, he
longed to possess his Padawan in a way that left him breathless
with arousal at the very thought of it.
But Obi-Wan had been harshly used these past weeks, forced to
submit to the desires and whims of strangers with no thought to
his own dignity or right to chose. To express such feelings to
him now would be criminal; the last thing he needed was to be
made aware of the emotions that stirred deep in his Master's
heart. He had doubtlessly had enough of masters during his time
in the Red Temple. They would return to Coruscant and, Force
willing, put all of this behind them. Qui-Gon's feelings, no
doubt inspired by the things he had seen and experienced during
his stay on Arambula, would fade back to their proper
dimensions in time.
So he kept himself safely away from his Padawan, ostensibly to
keep the boy from reading the desire that he could not quite
keep out of his eyes whenever he looked at him. In truth, he
did not want to torment himself with visions of that lean,
sensual body, a body that he knew was forever beyond his reach.
The freighter was more than large enough for two passengers who
didn't desire to have any undue contact with each other, and
Obi-Wan made no effort to search him out.
Eventually, his sense of duty called him to go out in search of
his Padawan. Obi-Wan was obviously suffering, having just
undergone the most traumatic experience of his young life, and
Qui-Gon's behavior was rife with selfishness to abandon him in
his time of need. He was angry with himself for doing so. It
would be entirely inappropriate for him to reveal his newly
discovered feelings for his apprentice (and the darkly
provocative desires that went with them), but it was just as
inexcusable to shut him out like this. Surely there must be a
middle ground where they could meet, Master to Padawan, and
discuss the demons that raged between them.
"Obi-Wan, look at me."
His apprentice was sitting in a low chair on the recreation
deck, knees pulled up to his chest, gazing out an open portal
at the stars as they streaked by. He turned his head at the
sound of his Master's voice, his expression coldly unreadable.
The drugs he'd been given had worn off completely by now, but
his privacy shield was firmly back in place.
"Yes, Master?"
Qui-Gon hesitated, wondering how best to proceed. He decided
that bluntness was his best weapon at this point. "Are you
sorry that I took you away from Arvala?"
It worked; the weapon struck home. He could see Obi-Wan's
carefully constructed wall of stoicism crumble under the
impact, his eyes widening as his jaw fell open in surprise.
"No, Master!" he said, rather vehemently.
"Then what troubles you, Padawan?" He let the vehemence creep
into his own voice, the concern. The love.
Obi-Wan's eyes flashed; he looked sharply away. "I could not
have stayed with Arvala," he said, the words coming from him
reluctantly. "Not that ... there wasn't a certain appeal to the
life that I lived there." His cheeks flamed at the admission.
"Then why don't you wish you had stayed?" Qui-Gon asked gently.
For an endless moment, he didn't think Obi-Wan was going to
answer. Then, with a shuddering breath, Obi-Wan replied,
"Because my place is here with you."
Those sea-blue eyes turned on him with the full force of their
inimitable personality, and Qui-Gon caught his breath in shock.
It was all there - all the love, all the trust, all the
selfless devotion that had always made up their bond together,
but it was amplified now by the tender ache of unfulfilled
need. He knew suddenly that his feelings for Obi-Wan were being
returned, passion for passion, and that Obi-Wan believed it was
a love that could never be.
"Obi-Wan," he said, hoarsely, and saw the surprise flicker
across his apprentice's eyes as he read the nuances of his
Master's mental contact and realized that his feelings for
Qui-Gon were reciprocated. Qui-Gon watched in fascination as
Obi-Wan's full lips parted in a moist exhalation, the surprise
fading into the dark blue of deepening desire.
Well, this certainly wasn't what he had meant to have happen.
"Obi-Wan," he started, then stopped, distracted by the emotion
in those crystalline eyes.
The shadows of Obi-Wan's experiences in the Red Temple still
raged in him, but there was an undercurrent of forbidden desire
stroking through it, filling the young man with shame even as
it pulsed through him in a thread of desperate need. There were
tears in his eyes.
Qui-Gon sensed instinctively that only one thing would exorcise
the demon that had taken root in Obi-Wan's soul. Tentatively,
he reached out one hand and touched his Padawan's face, tracing
the path of his tears. Obi-Wan closed his eyes under the
caress, a slow shudder passing through his tautly held frame.
Almost as if it were against his will, he turned his face into
Qui-Gon's hand and kissed the tips of those long fingers.
The tender plea implicit in the gesture took Qui-Gon's breath
away, honing his desire to a silver-fine edge within him. How
long had they had these feelings for each other, he wondered,
before their experiences in the Red Temple made them willing to
acknowledge them? A shiver of raw need worked its way through
him, and he very deliberately pulled his hand away from
Obi-Wan's inviting lips. Obi-Wan's need sang to him through
their bond, telling him in no uncertain terms that he wanted
this. The caution with which Qui-Gon had shielded his own
desires burned up in its heat.
So be it.
"Obi-Wan," he said quietly, but with unmistakable force. He
barely recognized his own voice. "Take off your clothes."
Obi-Wan's eyes grew wide as he looked up at him. "Master?" he
queried, sounding lost.
"You heard me." So quiet, that voice.
Incredulous, Obi-Wan moved to obey, feeling as if he were in a
dream. Off came the Jedi robe, sliding sinuously down to the
floor at his feet. Then the boots, and the belt, then the pants
and tunics, followed by his underclothes. It felt right,
somehow, to stand naked in front of his Master, his every
secret revealed. He stood tall, hands at his sides, eyes on the
floor in front of him, waiting. Waiting. That it was his Master
who looked at him, commanded him, filled him with equal parts
excitement and fear.
Qui-Gon stood still for a long minute, drinking in the sight
before him. He was quite certain that nothing in all the galaxy
could be as beautiful as his Padawan's naked, willing body. The
fact that it was bared willingly, for him alone, brought a low
moan to his lips. He ached to touch that strong body, to use
it, to bring an end to the bittersweet longing that surged in
both of them. But he held himself in check with effort. There
were other, darker needs that needed to be seen to first. For
both of them.
"Turn around."
Obi-Wan obeyed, and Qui-Gon's lips parted in a soundless
exclamation as his eyes fell on the pattern of vivid pink scars
that crossed that smoothly muscled back. His mouth went dry at
the memory of a similar line of purest red rising as if by
magic against perfect skin. His hands twitched at his sides.
"Stand against the wall," he said hoarsely. "Lean your hands
against it."
Again, Obi-Wan did as he was told without question. Planting
his hands on the wall at about shoulder height, he leaned his
weight against them, displaying the sensuous curve of his
shoulders to full advantage, his head hanging down between his
arms. Qui-Gon took in the sight hungrily; did this man have any
idea how absolutely erotic his every motion was? Now the light
fell warmly on that heavily striped back, glistening on his
soft skin, accentuating every curve, every perfect line. The
lean muscles quivered slightly.
He could feel the need in Obi-Wan, a greedy, painful need. It
burned like fire under his skin, threatening to consume him if
it wasn't fed. Qui-Gon touched his hand to the back of one
smooth shoulder, smiling slightly as Obi-Wan jumped at the
contact. Slowly, he slid his hand down his Padawan's - his
lover's? - spine, until his fingers cupped one cheek of that
taut, beautiful ass. He squeezed gently, and a moan escaped
from Obi-Wan's throat.
"Please, Master," Obi-Wan said, unable to keep his voice from
trembling. He pushed his hips back into Qui-Gon's hand.
"Please." This last was barely a whisper.
Qui-Gon nodded, acquiescing. Taking a step back, he swiftly
shed his own clothes until he was as naked as his Padawan. His
erection was hotter and harder than it had ever been in his
life, and his breath was coming in sharp pants of barely
subdued excitement. He was well and truly lost to himself now,
but it didn't seem to matter. He would gladly give up all
claims to Jedi stoicism and control if it meant he could drown
himself in this exquisitely beautiful body, and the exquisitely
beautiful soul that went with it.
He reached for the supple leather belt that sat under the pile
of clothes at his feet, feeling its heavy length in his hands.
It almost seemed to writhe as he held it, a living thing,
begging to be used. He folded it once around his knuckles,
hiding the metal buckle in his fist. The end of it trailed
nearly to the floor.
Obi-Wan tried not to anticipate, tried not to tense as he heard
the unmistakable shifting of weight that preceded the blow, but
he did it anyway. The belt hit him with a touch like fire, and
he cried out, more from ecstasy than from pain. He threw his
head back, spreading his fingers to take more of his weight
against the wall.
"Again," he whispered, so softly that Qui-Gon might not even
have heard him.
"Again?" He could hear the hesitation in his Master's voice,
the fear, but also a note of desperate longing.
"Again, please. Another." He could hardly believe that he was
standing here, naked and begging his Master to whip him. But it
felt so right; he had dreamed of this even before he knew that
it was what he truly wanted, truly needed. Even down there in
the Pit, when everything in him had fought so savagely against
it, he had known. Perhaps he'd always known.
The next blow caught him across the backs of the thighs, and he
choked off a scream, his whole body tensing. Then another lash
hit him across the shoulders, and he felt the hot splash of
tears slide down his face. Another swipe across his ass,
licking at his tight, hot crevice, and he was whimpering
suddenly, unable to stop the torrent of sounds that escaped
him.
"Again!" he cried, sobbing.
The blows fell in earnest then, one, two, three in quick
succession, taking his breath away. His Master was very strong,
and each strike of the belt felt like it was flaying his flesh
from his bones. The pain blazed through him as the blows rained
down, filling him, threatening to consume him, but at the same
time completing him in a very specific way. He felt a
connection with Qui-Gon then that he had never before imagined.
The rapid blows came to an end then, and Obi-Wan gasped as he
felt Qui-Gon's arms fold around him. The other man's chest
rasped across his newly tortured back, but even that pain
calmed him, giving him a sharp sense of focus as his Master's
lips fell to his neck and shoulders in a cascade of tender
kisses, his long hair spilling over Obi-Wan's shoulders. "I'm
sorry," the bigger man whispered, his voice rough. "Oh,
Obi-Wan, I'm so sorry. . ."
Obi-Wan wasn't sure exactly what he was apologizing for - for
beating him, for wanting him, for needing him, for being his
Master, for bringing him to Arambula and letting him lose
himself inside the Red Temple. Perhaps it was all of these
things. This insight into his Master's pain was almost too much
for him, and he turned around abruptly, enfolding the man in
his arms and meeting his mouth in a hungry kiss.
They moved as one toward the low couch underneath the viewport,
keeping the physical contact between them, Qui- Gon's tongue
stroking hard and deep inside his mouth. There was something
uniquely Qui-Gon about his Master's taste that set
Obi-Wan's nerves on fire. He'd dreamed about this, lying in
Arvala's arms. His Master, who owned him, who completed him,
who filled all the dark and lonely places in his soul.
Carefully, Qui-Gon rolled him over onto his back, wringing a
small gasp from him as his newly won stripes touched the rough
cushions. Qui-Gon hesitated then, but Obi-Wan pulled his head
down and kissed his mouth firmly, unable to stop the low groan
of need that issued from him. He felt Qui-Gon smile slightly,
and those long hands began to move over him again, as if his
Master sought to memorize every inch of his body through touch
alone.
One finger flicked at the tight entrance to his body, and
Obi-Wan arched, hissing through his teeth. "Master, please," he
said, folding his arms around Qui-Gon's neck and burying his
face in his Master's long hair. His body fairly shook with the
strength of his desire.
"Your choice, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon whispered to him, his voice
thick with arousal. It seemed dreadfully important to him that
he make this distinction. "Your choice, always yours. Tell me
what you want."
For a moment, Obi-Wan couldn't speak through the sob that rose
in his throat. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, feeling tears
slide down his cheeks, and inhaled the sharp- spice scent of
his Master's hair. "You," he breathed at last, the word falling
from him in a deep sigh. "I want you, Master."
A tremor passed through Qui-Gon then, and then his finger was
pushing deep into Obi-Wan's body, taking the younger man's
breath away. At the same time, he bent his head to meet his
apprentice's mouth in a savage kiss. Obi-Wan writhed beneath
him, returning the kiss with equal fervor.
Oh, this was rapture. Qui-Gon added a second finger, and then a
third, feeling Obi-Wan's body hum like a finely tuned
instrument beneath him, and there was pain then, the
stretching, but he could feel Obi-Wan drink it in like fine
wine. Strange, how he seemed to crave this, even as he feared
it, but equally strange was the way Qui-Gon's own fear mingled
with his need to do this to him. He lowered his head to
Obi-Wan's neck, tempering the pain with soft kisses, and
Obi-Wan groaned, his body trembling and twisting in his arms,
begging for more.
His own need flared brightly within him, and he abruptly pulled
his fingers from Obi-Wan's body, ignoring the gasp of protest
that accompanied his action.
Suddenly, Obi-Wan was pushing him back against the cushions,
giving voice to a low growl of need that made Qui-Gon shudder
in erotic appreciation. Before he was quite aware of what was
happening, he was lying flat on his stomach with his Padawan
stretched out possessively over him.
"Obi-Wan..." he gasped, but then his apprentice bent to meet
his mouth in a brutal kiss, stealing his breath away. Obi-Wan's
hips ground into him from behind, his erection sliding
lengthwise between the cheeks of his ass, and Qui-Gon moaned
into that hot mouth, his thoughts skittering away from him like
confetti in a whirlwind.
Strong hands moved under him to grasp at his own throbbing
cock, and Qui-Gon trembled as they stroked at him, lifting his
hips up off the couch in a voiceless plea. The hands were not
gentle, but they were thorough, and within seconds he was
sweating and moaning and begging for more.
//Anything you want,// Qui-Gon said with a groan, opening
himself up completely to the turbulent emotions that surged
through his apprentice, crackling like fire under his skin.
//Anything ... all the anger ... all the hate ... just pound it
into me ... please ... I'll take it all ... just use me,
Obi-Wan ... let yourself go ...//
Obi-Wan made a strangled cry and buried his face against Qui-
Gon's neck, his body giving one last, desperate shudder before
he slid his cock into his eagerly waiting Master. There was no
lubrication, but Qui-Gon felt the subtle shifting of the Force
that Obi-Wan used to ease his entrance.
And then there was nothing but the hot-slick-powerful movements
of his lover within him, possessive, demanding, unwilling to
accept any compromise. Qui-Gon pressed back to meet each
powerful thrust, powerless against the onslaught of emotion
that poured into him, through him, lifting him up into a tender
embrace of light that left him gasping, stunned at the sheer
magnitude of feeling that his apprentice held for him. And
despite all that had been done to him, all the abuse that he
had suffered, the only thing that this young man wanted to give
his Master was ... love. Qui-Gon felt tears slide down his
cheeks, and he threw down the last of his mental shields,
letting Obi-Wan feel the love that he felt for him in return.
It couldn't last, although they both wished it would go on
forever. They were one mind, one body, one heart pounding in a
frantic rhythm that demanded their release. The orgasm hit them
both simultaneously, and they screamed in one voice, shuddering
as the climax of their love overtook them.
When Qui-Gon came back to himself, he realized he was lying
limply across Obi-Wan's trembling body.
Carefully, Qui-Gon lifted his weight off of his Padawan and
rolled onto his side. Obi-Wan moved with him until they huddled
together, chest to chest, their arms and legs folded tightly
around each other. Qui-Gon pressed a kiss to the top of his
Padawan's head. Eyes the color of blue flame gazed up at him,
full of absolute love and trust. He bent to brush his mouth
across those kiss-swollen lips, sharing the breath between
them.
Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of deep contentment. "What do we do
now, Master?" he murmured, his breath warm against Qui-Gon's
lips.
Qui-Gon hesitated, wondering how best to give the reassurance
that his apprentice craved. Taking this step together had
brought to an end any previous conception of their
relationship, and it was a frightening thing. They were in
uncharted territory now, but somehow he knew that he and Obi-
Wan would navigate it with ease, buoyed by the strength of
their love for each other.
"We go home," he said at last, tightening his arms around his
apprentice and giving a little, possessive nip to his ear.
He felt Obi-Wan smile, the tension leaving his body, and he
snuggled in close to Qui-Gon's warm bulk as if they had been
made to fit together like this, so perfectly complementing one
another. Qui-Gon's eyes fluttered closed as he felt the need
for sleep steal over him, listening to the sound of his
beloved's breathing settle into the same slow rhythm.
It was amazing, how much brighter the future could seem with
the love of one young Padawan.
Fin.
"I must also have a dark side if I am to be whole." -Carl Jung
(Okay, now you have to have a reaction to this. Please direct
all comments to Rushlight at n_sanity75@hotmail.com) <g>
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