Archive: MA and my fic lj: http://www.livejournal.com/users/fra_hulettaes
Pairing: O/other, O/Q
Summary: together in any reality, in any incarnation.
Disclaimer: I don't own or have rights to work in this material. That's never stopped me before. No harm meant. Just playing with the boyz.
Warning: non-con, slavery
Notes: written for Karitawyr for the jedi_santa challenge. Beta's by randomalia and dragonkal to whom I owe so much for such great insights. All mistakes remaining are mine.
"There are five left. Not counting that one." Laurinda pointed to the ragged bundle leaning into the corner. "He's too old. Put him in the temple cell. I'll take the last five with me." The slave nodded and herded the last few towards the waiting transport.
Obi watched the slave lead the other children out the door then fixed his eye on the shape in the corner. The clothes were rotted and grey with age but a tuft of russet hair peeked out from the head wrap. He caught his breath. Please, this time let it be him, he thought.
Laurinda Musi had her back to him. He knew her. As a matter of fact, he knew that she knew him. Well, of him. She was the one responsible for his grainy image being plastered all over every port in the system. Bitch. He spared her just that much thought before he raised the blowpipe and shot a dart in her neck. He did it with great satisfaction.
The drug would take only a few moments to knock her out and then she'd be unconscious and paralyzed for hours. And when she woke, her awareness would come hours before her physical control. He relished the thought of her suffering, unable to move or speak.
A few breaths later she was a grey lump on the floor before the desk and Obi was halfway across the littered and filthy room.
"Obbin." He knelt and parted the wrapping around the little face. His heart stopped. It was Obbin but his little face was a litany of abuse. He wanted to cheer and scream all at once.
"Come, little one. Let's get you home." He muttered endearments and nonsense words as he hefted the small body and swept back through the blackened opening from whence he'd come.
He'd calculated this to the last detail. Spent a year going over plans, paying for bogus information, wheedling, cajoling and plain old lying and stealing. He'd managed to rescue eight other 'Obbins' before finding the real one and free a few dozen others to boot. He was good at it. A skill he didn't want. A skill he never even imagined existed before Obbin was taken.
At fifteen, he'd become a stranger to himself and no doubt he would be to his family as well.
The crack to the back of his skull was a dull and painful surprise that lasted only until the blackness swallowed him.
Obi dragged an eye open, then the other and looked blearily around the grey room. As before he lay on the floor, hands still tied, his body heat slowly dissipating into the synthsteele. He shivered and tried to move but his shoulders ached from the awkward angle of being tied and he was dizzy from the blow to his head.
After a time an image flickered to life on the wall across from him. Laurinda smiled and his stomach turned.
"Obi. It's good to see you awake. You gave us a bit of a scare. You've been out for nearly three days. But all is well now, I see." She smirked. "I had thought you might like to know what is going to happen to you. Wouldn't you?" Her head tilted and she raised an eyebrow. He scowled at her and shouted something obscene, only the sound from his mouth was no more than a quiet squawk. His stomach flipped and panic ripped through his system; he looked wide-eyed and angrily at the monitor, sure she could see him.
"Yes. Your voice, lovely as it was, has been, shall we say, neutralized." She sighed dramatically. "It detracted from your price, by quite a bit, but your lovely skin and the size of your cock still brought a very good price. I'm quite proud of my bargaining skills."
Obi shook with fury and struggled to his feet, still mouthing words though they only whispered into the stillness of the room. Laurinda's face took on an ugly cast as she laid out Obi's future.
"You have cost me quite a bit, little thief. So, I've decided to take what you owe me out of your flesh. I've sold you to the temple brothel on Bellenor Prime. Don't be upset now, Bellenor is a lovely planet, alive with greenery and well settled. Alas, it is quite far from your home system, but I think you'll find that being alive is far more important than being near home, ne? And to ensure your good behavior, I've found a place for, Obbin, is it? At the temple as a student."
Rage and shame rocked through Obi and he dropped to his knees, still screaming his soft gasping scream. Laurinda smiled.
"As long as you obey the rules and become a good little whore, Obbin shall remain safely with the Brothers. But," she held a finger up menacingly. "If you run, or fail to please, your little rat brother will be sold to the temple to take your place."
Obi struggled to his feet, every fiber of his being bent on killing that hateful figure. He made a running start and leapt, brought both feet together and crashed feet first into the monitor, then fell heavily to the ground, amid a shower of crystalline shards, feet still kicking.
It was with the profoundest of relief that Laurinda delivered her cargo to the Temple on Bellenor Prime. The Grande Matre was delighted with Obi in the flesh, much to his consternation, 'ooh'-ing and 'ah'-ing over the curves of his form and the length of his hair and cock.
The Temple had long ago lost any vestige of its former spiritual practice; its brothel's success as a business proved much more promising for the community than the former adulation of mere gods.
Laurinda felt zero regret over this. Her seeming countless hours replacing stolen merchandise, not to mention the frustrating time spent paralyzed by the thief's poison, quickly erased any sense of sympathy she might have entertained. Had she been the sort to entertain sympathy.
Obi took the opportunity to scowl meaningfully at Laurinda as he was bustled through the doors leading to the inner court of the temple.
Laurinda waved gaily, and hoped never to see the little shit again.
He'd been washed, inside and out. His attempts to wiggle, wriggle and slip away were met with solid, well placed blows to his back, ass and legs.
After which he'd been combed, shaved and oiled, once again, inside and out.
He'd lost his gag reflex to an exotic fruit, and gained nipple rings, still tender and pink. He learned to sit, stand, walk, dance and lie down.
He'd spent hours kissing first his keeper Tie and then his teacher, Lan.
The first time Tie's tongue ventured into his mouth, Obi panicked and bit him. Tie's hand was huge and thick and the blow sent him rolling off the long, low sumptuous bed. Obi could just hear Lan's voice through the ringing in his ears. He was pleading with Tie but the frantic words became softer and then the door slammed.
He was beaten from neck to knees, front and back with a flat leather strap, and left on the cold stone floor for the rest of the day. Later he found out it was to have been until the next day, but Lan had finally wheedled his way back into the room and helped Obi walk to the healers' ward, where he was packed with bacta.
The healers tut-tutted at his condition, scolded Lan and stared stark anger at Tie, who was oblivious to their collective dissatisfaction. He merely leaned his long menacing body against the wardroom door and watched intently as Obi was cleaned and his wounds dressed.
Lan finally managed to drive them out and spent the night stroking a cooling cloth across Obi's face and neck.
He'd been there for just under a month.
Not quite a week later, after his wounds and nipples healed, Lan began training Obi to receive a man.
The first night, after Lan bathed and oiled him, he drew out a lacquer box of carved jade phalluses graduating from small to impossibly large. Obi gasped, belly tightened with fear, head shaking, wishing he could say no. No. No. No. His backward progression across the bed was stopped by the solid weight of Tie's chest and belly.
He was nothing but a doll in the giant's hands as Tie wrapped an arm around him and settled him squarely in the middle of the bed, thighs spread.
"Obi, hush now." Lan drew the third smallest phallus from the box and set it to warm in a pan of heated oil and smiled a sly smile. "Tie, put the cuffs on him." He stroked light fingers from the inside of Obi's knee to just short of his balls as each of his wrists was fastened to the bed posts. "Come now, Obi. Look at me." He took Obi's chin in hand and brown eyes met ocean blue. "You will enjoy this, I promise. Let go now. Breathe."
And so it went. The ancient jade phallus had entered him, its heated surface soothing the initial burn and the rounded nodes filling him with odd sensations. The tool narrowed at its base and long after Obi felt full to bursting, it finally seated inside him, his guardian muscle closing around the narrowed end leaving only the dragon-headed handle showing.
His breath was gusting in and out, his thighs shaking at the odd feelings from the phallus and from Lan's continued caresses and from being tied and invaded and taken and having no say, literally, in his own life any longer. Hot tears of futility filled and overfilled his eyes, dripped down his cheeks and into his ears.
He wore that phallus every night for a week. The next week the one larger. And weeks later he was surprised that it did feel good. And he didn't cry anymore.
By the end of a year, he had learned how to learn what they wanted.
Periodically he'd get a tablet vid of Obbin, now growing and seemingly healthy, and he'd be reminded of how much worse things could have been.
He kept them, neatly stacked and wrapped, in a low, flat lacquer box inlaid with characters from ancient Bellenorian myths.
He lived in a state he called, 'one day'. He could stand anything they did to him because, one day, he'd escape. One day, he would be strong enough to fight back.
One day, maybe, soon.
But then there were too many one days. One day, in the evening as he and Lan prepared to sleep, Tie did not join them. Obi set the fingers of one hand on Lan's arm and raised an eyebrow, and Lan told him that he didn't need Tie anymore. That he'd become one of them.
Obi felt punched, the wind suddenly gone thin in his chest.
Not so many one days later, he began training for the T'inin Nan. The first sacrifice. The time was coming when he'd be given in the great temple chamber to his first worshiper.
"Obi." The lush voice of Lan caressed his ear. Obi threw the blanket over his head. Morning was his least favorite time.
Lan's warm hand ran the length of his back, warm and well known and tender.
He rolled towards Lan, drew the cover from his face and looked into warm topaz-brown eyes. Lan was stunning. Once the greatest of the temple's whores, he'd retired and begun training the next generation, of which Obi was the first.
Lan would tell Obi stories in the dark or in the wet steam of the baths about the temple and its denizens. Sometimes funny and sometimes heartbreaking. Obi had become attached to Lan's smooth deep cultured voice as a substitute for his own.
He knew there was something wrong with that, but he temporized that falling for a voice at this stage of things was a small price compared to his larger life problems.
And he never tired of watching Lan's long, graceful body in motion. Whether dancing or walking or just sitting he was breathtaking. Obi felt short, squat and ugly by comparison though when he tried to express his self-doubt, Lan had spent an entire afternoon mapping Obi's perfection for him.
That was one of the few memories he treasured, laying on the low sumptuous bed they shared as Lan stroked and kissed and spoke a quite litany of pleasure over every part of him. How his skin was smooth and creamy, nearly transparent as the eggshell cups they used for tea. And how his eyes were shaped like the eyes of the great cats of the northern plains, angled, slanted pleasantly and the color of the ocean shot with gold.
He'd gasped and sighed, the most noise he could make and when finally, Lan had let him come, he'd tried to sob, wanting so desperately to make a noise and hearing only the soft puffs of air that passed through his lips.
Now, nearly two years after his arrival at the Temple, Lan looked the same, no lines added, even with all the trouble Obi gave him. Obi raised an eyebrow, the closest he could come to a question.
Lan looked at him slowly, eyes traveling over his face, fingers raised to comb softly through his hair and smiled.
The great double jade doors opened with exaggerated slowness to the dim incense filled room lit with streaks of sunlight. Hangings of bright orange, cranberry and deep purple draped the walls and bays, reminiscent of its time as a place of worship; even a few of the grand stone heads still filled corners of the room.
On a raised dais, where the bands of light met, was a bed; huge, square and low to the ground. At its corners were the carved pillars, each an embodiment of the elements as described by Bellen in the great book. Their by turns fierce and tender faces were a grim caricature of life's vagaries.
According to the T'inin Nan, Obi was dressed in sheer toga of black veiling, wrapped around his waist, and then gathered and slung over his left shoulder. His hair was combed to a shining russet fall and he'd been scented with the oil of Nan, Bellenor's most precious fragrance.
He stood in the doorway, Lan holding one of Obi's outstretched arms and Tie the other as they waited for the scribe to join them.
Across the dais in the wall opposite, the man to whom he'd be given stood in the doorway, flanked by the Grand Matre and a younger man Obi did not recognize. All three were robed in the corresponding dress, low waisted, wide belted skirts, narrow at the top and sweepingly full at the bottom, slit up the front of both legs.
Obi gave them a cursory glance, all that he was permitted, and then dropped his eyes, as he'd been taught.
The narrow side door opened and the scribe, a sensuously dressed woman of middle years carrying the box of inks, came in. Her each movement was a study in careful grace.
Lan gave Obi a quick smile and both parties entered the temple and stopped just short of the bed. The bed's covering seemed to be so much layered soft linen, the colors of falling leaves, a beautiful counterpoint to the hard jade of the carved pillars.
Tie dropped his left arm as Lan led Obi to where the scribe sat at the end of the bed, where the man to whom he'd be given joined him. The scribe stood and Lan carefully unwound the shoulder piece of his toga, letting the end drop into a puddle at this feet.
The wet kiss of the brush made him flinch as the scribe drew the characters of sacrifice on his belly. Her long curling strokes creating the ancient characters were as much a ceremony as the letters themselves. After the final flourish, she stood and turned her stool and prepared to scribe the characters of acceptance on the man's thighs, one sweeping character per thigh.
When the act was finished, the characters would smear and mark each of them with the proof of their act, the smudges a symbol of the hand of god upon their bodies. Or so the Book of Bellen said.
Incense was burned anew, the arched windows fully revealed as Obi was laid on the bed. Tie sat behind him, knees spread with Obi pillowed between as Lan arranged each layer of the toga into its ornate configuration revealing Obi's legs and groin.
Obi stared at the odd parade of creatures painted on the high arched Temple ceiling and wondered how many other whores had lain exactly here and been grateful for something to look at instead of their own trepidation.
There was rustling and movement below him on the bed, and Tie moved Obi's arms around his own knees, trapping his hands at the wrist, one in each of his massive hands. He didn't quiver; he'd been handled enough to be used to being moved and adjusted, though the hands on his hips nearly spanned their circumference.
He knew the man was large, and while he did not dread the prospect, he was sure he'd feel this quite a bit more than any of the phalluses he'd been stretched with. And there was something about a phallus attached to a man, the hot, weighty reality of it that unnerved him.
His hips were lifted and settled on the long stretches of the man's upturned thighs, the words of acquiescence murmured, and without further ceremony, he was pierced to the core by the man's blunt, meaty erection.
Breathless, he shivered, panting and gasping. Oh, gods. He wanted to wail and call out, opened his mouth and eyes as the man was finally seated against him, filling him. Too much, too big, he wanted to shout, all the while knowing Tie would surely beat him for such a reaction.
He strained to remember his training, opening himself, pushing towards the invader, arching his back, struggling to please and yet to find relief.
Obi could feel sweat beading his brow and watched in fascination as the man reached out to smooth the dampened hair from his forehead. The moment gave him time to relax, his body releasing into its trained responses. He watched the man's face as he began to thrust.
He was nothing like the other men who'd come. He was large but graceful and though he was older, he was so vital, he seemed so alive. The feeling nearly crackled off him. Obi's cock, until now lost in the anxiety of the moment, responded to his observations with a will.
"Release him." The man growled at Tie. Tie looked for permission from the Grand Matre and released him at a nod from her aged head. The man slid his arm under Obi and lifted him up until he straddled the huge lap, impaled at a different and agonizingly pleasurable angle.
He was awash in sensations, split wide by the girth of the man's cock, thighs stretched impossibly wide over the man's lap he lost himself and looked up squarely into the man's face. Obi had no room in his awareness for words. The man's face was open to him, his eyes bluer then Obi's own, hair like a spun web but more than that, somehow the man, how he felt, shivered through Obi.
It was like being wrapped in a large warm blanket. Suddenly he just knew this man, Qui- Gon. Qui-Gon Jinn was his name and he was known by Qui-Gon in the same instant. And the knowledge rocked him, shook his mind and remade it all in less than an instant.
He wandered effortlessly through the slipstream of Qui-Gon's thoughts and marveled at the depth and strength of them. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that Qui- Gon was seeing him as well, knowing his pain and frustration of the last year, but it was a dim residue on his wide eyed wonder at being so fully contained in the mind and heart before him.
He could feel Qui-Gon begin rocking his hips and he joined in, a smooth counter point to the long drag and draw of Qui-Gon's cock inside him. He wrapped his arms around Qui- Gon's neck and they touched lips in a deep and utterly open kiss, tongues caressing each other.
Sensations, both Qui-gon's and his own, flowed between them, looping around, feeding from each other. Obi felt gorged on it, full to bursting, overfilled, riding his own and Qui- gon's pleasure up and in and down and deep and away.
He awoke in a strange bed in a room with grey walls and the rumble of engines shimmying through him. Shock jolted him back two years, to the heart tripping agony of realizing his mistakes and knowing suddenly he was on the wrong side of the gap.
A scream ripped his throat and to his utter amazement, sound came out, loud and scratchy and long unused but sure and true and it knocked him back onto his heels, hands clasped quickly over his mouth.
"Obi?" Qui-gon called. Warm hands and arms closed around Obi and he felt the rush of that remarkable connection as Qui-gon swept his shaking form into a hug. "Hush now, hush. You're here with me. I've got you." Qui-gon continued his litany of assurances but his outward comforts were small compared to the headlong fall into what Qui-gon had called their 'bond'.
Many hours passed, Obi could only measure time by the stiffness of his limbs, and they were stiff, before he felt calm enough to chance walking around on the ship. Qui-gon's ship.
He drank tea, the first cup since his time at temple, and ate a small meal and heard the whole of the story of his and Obbin's rescue.
Xanatos was warm and gentle when they met and Obi was profoundly glad for the shapeless tan tunic and leggings Qui-gon had lent him, even when it was clear that Xanatos was not Qui-gon's servant but former student. He vowed to himself never to be so vulnerable, so naked, before anyone again.
All the time they walked the ships corridors, Obi stayed close to Qui-gon.
In fact, they managed to be within touching distance for the entirety of the trip to another 'temple'.
The Jedi Temple on Corusant.