Torn Apart

by Cajolerisms

Title: Torn Apart
Author: Cajolerisms (cajolerisms@yahoo.com)
Archive: Master_Apprentice, my own site (http://cajolerisms.wordpress.com/)
Category: Non-con, Q/O, Drama, AU
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: That scene? What scene? I don't see no death scene.
Summary: One must be sacrificed for the salvation of many.
Feedback: Ooh yes, give it to me baby. I love it. I kiss it. I bathe in it.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to George.

The client's envoy arrived earlier than expected, which was to be expected. All of his communications with the man had shown him to be nothing but cool, professional, and agonizingly punctual. Truth be told, he preferred working with this type rather than the smirking perverts who insisting on sampling his inventory themselves--less liability this way.

Still, he was nervous. New clients were always risky, especially with this sort of high-end product. This should be the last transaction of this cycle, providing enough money to pack up and move safely out of reach from the Republic.

The envoy looked younger than he expected, and was dressed in simple but obviously expensive clothes. He made his way up the ramp alone, which was unusual: no security detail, no cargo lift, and no cage.

"Ser Weesik, is the cargo ready?" he said without preamble. His voice was smooth and cultured without the crackle of encoded holo communiqués. "My employer is not a patient man, and this transaction has already taken longer than he likes."

"Good morning, Ser Lars," he replied. They both knew Weesik wasn't his real name, but it hardly mattered. The sooner he finished with this uptight errand boy, the better. "We're all set up for your final review. If you'll come this way--"

Weesik led the envoy to the main hold where the security scanner beeped in alarm. Weesik blocked him. "Sorry, but you can never be too careful."

The man fixed him with a steady gaze, considering. "No, I suppose not," he said after a moment. He pulled back his coat to reveal an impressive blaster and several knives on his belt, which he removed and handed to Weesik.

No wonder there's no security, Weesik mused. The blaster had some residue around the muzzle and the knives looked well-used. It was a classic power play, but one that Weesik tended to respect--just in case. He gestured for Lars to follow him into the holding area.

"I must warn you that I've had to have him restrained since our last communiqué," Weesik said carefully.

"Why is that?"

"He killed two of my guards last week."

Lars' expression, which had been coolly detached up until now, tightened. "I understood that he was incapacitated with a Force collar."

"And he still is. Problem is that Jedi can do a lot of damage even when they're cut off from the Force."

"Is the product harmed?"

"Nothing that would affect his value. I take care of my product, Ser Lars."

"We shall see."

They entered the viewing chamber where Weesik offered Lars a chair. On his instruction, two armored guards carried in the Jedi, struggling slightly beneath his weight before they strapped him onto the display rig. Weesik took pride in keeping his products' weight up. Clients paid top credit for healthy pieces that still had some fight in them.

Lars, though, was unimpressed. "You call that undamaged? What did you do to him?" he snapped, lips tight.

"It's just the control module on the collar," Weesik explained. "It scrambles the neural responses so his physical control is at a minimum."

Lar rose from his seat and peered intently at the Jedi through the blast screen. "You blinded him."

"Part of the module's features. For extreme cases, cutting off sensory input keeps them complacent."

"My employer has committed significant resources to secure this purchase," Lars said in a low tone. The glint in his pale eyes made Weesik very glad he had collected Lars' weapons beforehand. "What assurances do I have that the affects are not permanent?"

"The pulse wears off completely in about an hour. I'll turn it off now so you can see how he responds during the demonstration."

Weesik pulled the control unit from his pocket and held it for Lars to see. "You see you can control the neural pulse here, and this is how you turn it on and off."

In the holding area, the Jedi jerked suddenly and let out a low moan as his senses began to ebb back. "See?" Weesik grinned. "He's coming out of it already."

Lars said nothing. Instead, he returned to his seat and watched the Jedi appraisingly as he blindly turned his head to and fro, blinking in the light. Bound as he was on his back by his chest, thighs, and wrists, Lars really wasn't getting the best view.

In Weesik's opinion, this particular Jedi was the best specimen to turn up in years, and there had been a ferocious bidding war for him. Captured Jedi tended to be young and fought back viciously. Most of them got away. The others hurt themselves so badly in the attempt that their value plummeted. Those that weren't physically maimed turned out to be drooling meat bags, their brains fried beyond repair by various attempts to dampen their Force control.

This one was different. Weesik couldn't help a burst of pride as he engaged the display rig. The Jedi was pulled into a standing position, which better showed his formidable height and muscle tone. This one was a rare find indeed. He was old enough to be a Master, with grey appearing at his temples and lines at the corner of his eyes. Truth be told, he probably would have been gangly and awkward as hell in his youth, but his frame had filled out without bulking up so he had a very sellable athleticism on top of everything else.

To preserve his looks, Weesik had actually kept his prize piece under constant neural restraint since he arrived weeks ago. There was no point in risking any damage after all the trouble he went through getting a Jedi in such good condition. Releasing the restraint without tying him down first last week had been a huge mistake and had cost Weesik a buyer who was willing to pay even more that Lar's nameless employer.

But Lars didn't need to know that. The man still hadn't said a word, watching instead with his fingers interlocked in front of him like he was being shown a used freighter.

"Well?" Weesik prodded. "He's a fine piece, you can't deny that."

"Physically intact, at least," Lars replied. "Does he perform?"

"Very well, in fact," Weesik beamed.

The guards brought out the machine and, with some maneuvering with the rig, had the Jedi upright with his long legs pulled up and the phallus positioned beneath him.

One guard poured oil over the fuck machine and smeared the rest between the Jedi's legs. The Jedi jerked at the touch and let out a noise somewhere between a shout and a whimper.

"See, he's very responsive."

"Get on with it, Weesik," Lars said, fingering the ornate button on his coat.

The best thing about dealing with middlemen was they usually found this next part distasteful, or at least uninteresting, so it didn't last long enough to do any physical damage to the product and they didn't fondle themselves in front of him. So long as the product was functional and met all the criteria, Weesik could count on a nice clean transaction—as clean as it could get, anyway.

The machine hummed to life and extended, impaling the Jedi on its long, black phallus. The Jedi cried out, pulling against the bonds in a futile struggle to free himself. His fists clenched and chest heaved. The sinew in his arms and torso tightened as his hips, unbound for just such a reason, wriggled like a fish to pull himself off the machine.

Lars watched with a stony expression, his eyes darting back and forth from the look of anguish on the Jedi's face and his straining body.

"He is quite responsive," he said, seemingly to himself. "That much of his lower brain works at least."

"Oh, his mind is entirely intact, I assure you," Weesik replied. "The new control collars are light years ahead of the old versions."

Lars kept his view on the Jedi, who had calmed down from the initial invasion enough for them to continue. "The collar is included, yes?" he asked.

"Of course."

"Good. Continue."

He started on a low setting, letting the machine slowly fuck the Jedi. The product turned his still-unfocused eyes at Weesik, and growled.

"You see? His vision is returning and he has visual recognition. I recommend keeping the collar on this one at all times—he puts up a good fight."

To demonstrate, he dialed up the power to halfway. The machine rose and fell like a piston, setting a rapid pace. The Jedi shut his eyes and clenched his jaw. His body remained taut against the bonds, refusing to relax and accept the intrusion.

Soon the stimulus became overwhelming and the Jedi was gasping and pulling away again. Despite his defiance, however, his body began to respond.

"Your employer will love this one, I've no doubt. See how he's getting turned on without even being touched? This one's a real slut."

Lars frowned at him. "Prostate stimulus, Ser Weesik."

"Does it matter how he gets that huge cock up? There. You see why the price is what it is."

The Jedi's head fell back, his throat working as if gasping for air. The overhead light caught his face as it lolled to the side, revealing blue eyes wet with tears. His body slumped against the rigid metal scaffold, sagging into the bonds as the machine pounded relentlessly into his greased hole. His cock stood heavy and full against his stomach, dribbling the fluid being milking out of him by the thick black dildo.

Weesik watched Lars watch the Jedi, the color slowly creeping from the man's face. A solid businessman, he decided, though perhaps unused to dealing with slaves.

"I can put you in contact with my manufacturer," Weesik offered. "If case your employer is interested in getting a machine for himself."

"That won't be necessary, thank you," Lars said quickly.

Anything Weesik was going to say was cut off by a keening moan from the Jedi. Lars turned his attention back to the demonstration as Weesik, knowing what to anticipated, turned the machine to full power. The phallus surged to such an unrelenting pace that the oily thing itself became a blur of motion, sending the Jedi into convulsions. "No!" he protested weakly, his voice shaky as his body took over. "No, no, no…"

The entire length of the big man arched over the cold metal rig as he came, wailing like a beast. The Jedi's orgasm was spectacular, Weesik admitted. If he wasn't such a danger to keep around, he'd probably make double his value in holo sales.

"You can see why we use padded straps. Well, what do you say?" Weesik turned to Lars.

The envoy's attention was still on the Jedi, studying him as his whimpers died down. The guards eased the trembling body off the machine and laid him over the grate on the floor. He jerked slightly as they hosed him down, but was otherwise still.

Lars stood, straightening his coat. "Get him dried off. I have a transport lift for him."

"And the payment?"

"It will be ready when the Jedi is."

"Very good, Ser Lars."

Weesik watched Lars' ship disappear into the dark sky, glad to be rid of his cargo, but gladder for the credits weighing down his pocket. Already the guards and droids were dismantling his operation and packing up. A vacation was definitely in order.

Obi-Wan eased the ship into hyperspace and, free of the damned coat laden with surveillance sensors, made his way back to the medical bay. He sat by his master's bed, silent.

"Obi-Wan?"

He sat up immediately. "I'm here, Qui-Gon. I've got you."

Qui-Gon turned his head up to him, now fully focused and aware. He saw recognition in those beloved blue eyes that made Obi-Wan want to weep with joy. "I'm here," he said again. "You're safe."

"You found me," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "My knight."

The tears he had been fighting back did begin to fall then. "Of course I found you, Master. I'd tear the universe apart for you." So many months of searching, so many dead ends. Obi-Wan reached out a hand to touch Qui-Gon's cheek, as much to comfort as to ground himself.

Qui-Gon gasped at the touch, and Obi-Wan thought that he would recoil from the contact. Instead, to his infinite relief, his master leaned in with a sigh. "Missed you."

Obi-Wan leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead, a tender gesture Qui-Gon had done for him so many times in the past. He ended up resting his head there, letting his tears fall and mingle with the wetness on Qui-Gon's own cheeks. It had all been too much. The Council should have never asked his old master to take the mission. Qui-Gon should have never agreed to it. They were paying for it now, all of them.

"Anakin misses you," he whispered.

Qui-Gon was quite for a long time. "How is he?"

"Safe as he can be. He'll be glad to see you."

He pulled away slightly to meet Obi-Wan's eyes. Obi-Wan was sure everything he saw there was mirrored in his own-- the pain, the uncertainty.

"My Qui," he said, falling in until he could feel his master's breath on his. "There should have been a better way."

Once, Qui-Gon would have responded with conviction about doing what was right and following the will of the Force. Now, he lay still, breathing, until finally, "What do we do now?"

"We go home and get this damned collar off you," Obi-Wan said.

"That's it, then." It wasn't a question.

"Yes," he said softly. "Tomorrow will come. We are Jedi. What else can we do?"