Archive: MA, WWOMB, anywhere else please ask first
Category: Angst
Rating: R-ish?
Summary: My Muse decided that it was Obi-torture day. Who am I
to argue?
Feedback: yes, please!
Warnings: The themes addressed in this story may be
uncomfortable for many of you. If this is the case, I urge you
to read it anyway. All is not as it seems.
Obi-Wan lay awake in the darkness and stared at the slow play
of moonlight against the wall. His breath sounded harsh in the
stillness, but he forced himself to remain calm.
He could feel the other presence in the doorway of his room,
watching him. Obi-Wan held himself very still, trying to feign
sleep. His heart was pounding in his chest.
Slowly, the presence moved into the room. Obi-Wan tensed, and
he squeezed his eyes shut against the sharp pang of terror that
spiked through him. *No,* he pleaded silently, fighting back
the harsh sting of tears. *Please. Not again.*
The presence settled onto the edge of the bed beside him,
dipping the mattress heavily under its weight. "Obi-Wan?"
The voice was little more than a whisper, but it was loud in
the shadow-born silence of the room. Obi-Wan did what he could
to ignore it, and pretended he was asleep.
"Obi-Wan?" Louder now. A large hand fell onto his shoulder,
fingers sliding under the edge of the sheet where it covered
him. The presence bent low over him, and there was the soft
brush of hair against his cheek.
There was no use pretending any more. Obi-Wan opened his eyes,
and his vision was blurred by unshed tears. "Please," he
whispered.
"Hush, my love. It will be all right."
The presence spread out behind him, warm figure molding against
his. Obi-Wan could feel the heat of that body through the thin
sheet that separated them, and the burning rod of the other
man's arousal was hot against his backside.
Obi-Wan fixed his attention unwaveringly on the pattern of
moonlight on the wall in front of him as those large hands
peeled the sheet away from his body. He shivered as he was
slowly exposed to the night air, and he could hear the other
man's breath quicken as the planes of his body were revealed.
"You are so very beautiful," the man whispered. There was a
reverence to his voice that made Obi-Wan squirm uncomfortably.
"So ungodly beautiful."
Hot, open-mouthed kisses were dropped onto the curve of
Obi-Wan's shoulder, trailing down the length of his arm.
Callused palms slid over his chest, teasing the skin around his
nipples, and moved down to scrape nails lightly across the
sensitized skin of his stomach. Obi-Wan arched involuntarily,
refusing to move his gaze from the wall in front of him.
"Want you," the voice panted in his ear, and the solid heat of
the man's erection slid sinuously between Obi-Wan's thighs.
Hands gripped Obi-Wan's hips, pulling him back against the
other man's groin. "Need you."
Obi-wan gasped as his flaccid penis was engulfed in the grip of
those large hands. Perhaps his Master mistook the sound for
passion, because he began to work at Obi-Wan's flesh, bringing
it expertly to aching arousal. Obi-Wan closed his eyes again,
his fingers digging into the mattress beneath him.
It was strange, how he never seemed able to equate his
generous, capable Master with this man who came to him during
infrequent nights, wanting to use his body for the release of
his prurient passions. It was something that Obi-Wan had
difficulty accepting, that these men were one and the same.
The harsh grunting behind his ear was growing more intense now,
and the steady slide of skin against skin was making it
impossible for Obi-Wan to distance himself from what was
happening to him. Despite his efforts, the tears slipped free
of the prison of his lashes to slide down his cheeks, and he
buried his face against his pillow, not wanting Qui-Gon to see
it.
He wanted to be everything for his Master, wanted to serve him
in every way that it was possible for him to serve. It would
hurt Qui-Gon if he knew how very difficult this was for his
Padawan.
*But he already knows,* a small, intrusive voice at the back of
his mind whispered. *He knows. It's why he keeps coming back to
you. It's what turns him on. He wants to see you cry...*
Then all thoughts were gone as Obi-Wan's climax rushed towards
him, and Qui-Gon tensed with an ecstatic shout, nuzzling his
face into the back of his Padawan's shoulder, hands convulsing
almost painfully around the smaller man's body. Obi-Wan came
with a wracking sob as he felt the hot splash spread out across
his stomach, and his body sang the song of the darkness between
them.
He opened his eyes slowly, still trembling from reaction, and
pulled his knees up to his chest. Absently, he wiped the tears
away from his cheeks. It was very dark.
There was the barest outline of a door in front of him, the
faintest scratch of silver suspended in the darkness. There
were sounds of battle coming from outside. It was faint yet,
but it was coming closer.
*Where am I?*
Slowly, Obi-Wan crawled forward to the door and traced the
outline of it with his fingers. The floor was cold and hard
under him, and there was a faint thrumming that he could barely
detect when he pressed his palm against it.
A ship, then. But where was Qui-Gon? A dark feeling of dread
passed through him as he contemplated the door, and he wanted
very much to just huddle here in the darkness until this
nightmare went away. But he had to find out what had happened
to his Master.
Trembling, he clawed his way up the wall until his hand found
the release plate by the door. After taking a shaky breath to
steady himself, he pushed it.
The door hissed open with a soft puff of air against his face.
He winced in the sudden brightness of the corridor that
stretched away in front of him, and it was a moment before he
could get up the nerve to venture out into it. The sounds of
fighting were much louder now.
Forward then, one step after another, and the feeling of
foreboding increased until he was literally shaking in
suppressed fear. There was something very wrong here. He stayed
close to the side of the corridor as he neared the junction
ahead of him, practically hugging the wall as he approached the
corner. Hesitantly, his heart hammering in his chest, he ducked
his head around to see what lay beyond.
Qui-Gon was engaged in a vicious battle with about a half dozen
Gamoreans, who were laying into the brawl with all of the
enthusiasm that their race was known for. The green light of
Qui-Gon's saber hummed as it sang through the air, but none of
his blows seemed to be hitting their mark. The Gamoreans
laughed and jeered as they pressed him back, their own wicked
blades cutting through the air. Qui-Gon was bleeding from a
number of open wounds, and his face was a mask of carefully
concealed pain as he fought for his life.
Obi-Wan stared, unable to believe what his eyes were telling
him. All at once, Qui-Gon stumbled on his wounded leg, and his
eyes met Obi-Wan's across the expanse of the hall.
The look of utter contempt and hatred on the man's face shook
Obi-Wan to the core. Obi-Wan clutched at the edge of the
junction wall until his knuckles ached, but it did not erase
what he saw. A moment later, the Gamoreans moved in for the
kill, and the cry that Qui-Gon made as the blades sliced into
him was something that would haunt Obi-Wan's dreams for as long
as he lived.
"No!" Obi-Wan darted forward, heedless of his own danger, and
dropped to his knees by Qui-Gon's side. Distantly, he realized
that the Gamoreans had disappeared, but his entire tear-choked
focus was centered on the huddled form of his Master.
"Get away from me!" Qui-Gon's voice was little more than a
whisper, but the venom in it was impossible to miss. His eyes
flared with a curious mixture of pain and scorn.
"Master." Obi-Wan felt as if his heart were being ripped from
his chest. That Qui-Gon would ever turn such eyes on him was
almost more than he could bear. "Master, please. Let me help
you."
"No!" Somehow, Qui-Gon found the strength to push him away.
Fury radiated out of him like shards of broken glass.
Weakening, his head fell back onto the floor. "I called for
you. Begged for you. But you panicked. You ran away to let me
fight them alone."
Obi-Wan cringed as if he had been struck a physical blow. "No,"
he whispered. "Never..."
Qui-Gon ignored him. "Each time the blades pierced me, I cursed
your name. Together, we could have fought them. Together, we
could have been victorious."
Obi-Wan was shaking now, unable to stop the sob that tore
itself from his throat. "Master, please..."
"Leave me," Qui-Gon said, and it was little more than a sigh.
His eyes were fastened on the ceiling above him, but there was
no focus to his expression. His life was fading fast, even as
his blood seeped out of him onto the cold metal of the floor.
"Leave me to die as I have fought. Alone."
With a heart-wrenching cry, Obi-Wan surged to his feet. Half-
blind with the shame and bitter rage that coursed through him,
he stumbled backwards until his back hit the wall. Then, in an
anguished flurry of pent-up energy, he turned and fled down the
corridor, his boots pounding out a frantic rhythm on the
deckplates under him.
"No," he panted as he ran, his mind rebelling against the shock
of what had just happened. He found himself repeating the word
like a mantra, as if it could somehow erase what he had seen.
"No, no, no, no..."
He stumbled as the toe of his boot caught in a tangle of
ground- hugging vines, and he pitched forward face-first into
the undergrowth. Shaking his head to clear it, he pulled
himself up onto his knees and looked around in surprise.
He was surrounded by dusky trees and trailing green plants, an
eerie landscape of alien jungle that filled him with an innate
sense of foreboding. Stars winked coldly down from the midnight
blue sky above him. The soil under his hands was moist and
dark.
"Hurry, Padawan."
A strong hand latched onto his arm, pulling him unceremoniously
up to his feet. Obi-Wan gaped as he found himself staring into
the earnest face of his Master. "Qui-Gon," he breathed,
struggling to understand what was happening to him.
"*Now*," Qui-Gon said, and there was a deep and lurking fear in
his eyes. His voice was sharp. "They're coming!"
*I am going mad,* Obi-Wan said to himself, reeling from the
impossibility of seeing Qui-Gon alive when he had just watched
the man die at the hands of the Gamoreans. But his legs had no
compunctions about obeying his Master's order. He was already
racing through the underbrush, ducking to avoid the low swing
of branches that hung across the trail.
Qui-Gon's fear was infectious. Obi-Wan's heart hammered in his
chest as he struggled to keep up with his Master's
longer-legged stride. He stumbled once and went down, but he
was up again in a heartbeat. Qui-Gon was already several
lengths ahead of him, and he called out in terror. "Master!"
Qui-Gon whirled to face him, his eyes wild. "Hurry, Padawan.
They're coming! They're right behind you!" Then he was off
again, his lithe form ducking nimbly into the darkness between
the trees.
Obi-Wan fell again, scraping his palms painfully against the
bark of a tree. His ankle turned under him, and he bit back a
pained cry, eyes searching frantically for his Master.
"Qui-Gon," he whispered, unable to believe that Qui-Gon had
left him alone. The leaves on the branches around him shivered
slightly in the chill breeze, but of Qui-Gon there was no sign.
There was a rustling in the brush behind him. Obi-Wan surged
forward with a terror-filled cry, his ankle burning whenever
his injured foot touched the ground. The inhabitants of this
planet were notorious for their primitive religious practices,
and he knew that if he was captured, his death would not be
pleasant. Doubtlessly, it would be several weeks before they
would allow him to die.
"Master!" he screamed, as his ankle gave out on him, and he
landed on his hands in the dirt. Feverishly, he pulled himself
through the undergrowth, clawing his way forward with the
mindless frenzy of a hunted animal. "Master!"
Then hands closed over his legs from behind, pulling him back.
Obi-Wan flailed, screaming, his heart breaking as he hoped that
Qui-Gon at least had been able to get away...
He was falling. Wind screamed by his ears as the darkness
closed around him, and he curled up into a tight ball of misery
as the fear exploded through him.
"Obi-Wan," his Master's voice said in his ear.
Obi-Wan shrank away from the knowing voice. "No more," he
whispered. He felt strangely empty inside, as if his tears had
carved out some great hollow space within him. He let himself
relax into the wild careening flight of his descent, almost
looking forward to the point at which his body would strike the
ground, and the pain would end.
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon's voice said again. There was desperation in
it. "Come back to me, love. Don't give up."
"No." But even as he whispered his denial of the words, he was
struggling to break his fall. Twisting in mid-air, he reached
out for the fragile ledge of his sanity, and clung to it with
every ounce of purpose that he possessed.
"I love you, Master."
The moment the words were out of his mouth, he knew that he
shouldn't have said them. Qui-Gon's eyes seemed to turn inward,
and the expression on his face darkened.
Qui-Gon sighed. "I was hoping that this kind of childish
infatuation would have passed you by, Padawan. It is something
I would have expected of a lesser Padawan, but not of you."
Obi-Wan flushed darkly. "But Master..."
"Return to your studies, Obi-Wan. I don't want to hear anything
further on this matter."
Obi-Wan watched in disbelief as his Master turned and walked
away. It had taken him the better part of two years to get up
the nerve to tell Qui-Gon how he felt about him, and to have
his feelings so callously disregarded was a crushing blow. How
could Qui-Gon be so cruel?
A shimmer of a memory tickled at the back of Obi-Wan's mind. He
had been traveling with his Master to mediate in the political
succession of Alta Vayarna. There had been a conflict between
the opposing parties, and Qui-Gon had gone to speak to the
Ryariim faction while Obi-Wan stayed behind to converse with
the Driielma. He had been going to his quarters, exhausted
after a long day of negotiations, when he had found someone
tampering with the air vents at the end of the hall.
Lifting his hands to his head to ward off the sudden spike of
pain that lanced through his skull, Obi-Wan stumbled backwards
to fall on the couch. The breath whooshed out of him at the
impact, and when he was finally able to force his eyes open
again, he found Qui-Gon standing over him with a distinctly
displeased expression.
"I gave you an order, Padawan," Qui-Gon said, his voice laced
with carefully pitched ire. "I said you were to return to your
studies."
Obi-Wan shook his head, unable to speak. Tears of pain leaked
down across his cheeks as the pressure in his head increased.
He had gone up to the figure at the end of the hall, asked him
what he was doing here. This was the diplomatic wing of the
Driielman embassy, and there shouldn't have been any visitors
here. The figure had turned on him, a huge, hulking brute of a
man, dark purple skin looking mottled in the dim light of the
corridor, pale horns glinting at the top of his smooth-domed
head. Obi-Wan remembered the eyes more than anything, points of
black fire in the gloom.
The eyes...
With a gasp, his eyes focused once again on Qui-Gon. "You're
not real," he whispered.
The look on Qui-Gon's face turned contemptuous, then mocking,
but Obi-Wan refused to back down.
The pain in his head increased again so that he had to bite
back a scream of agony, and he curled up into himself over the
arm of the couch, sobbing. "Master!" he cried, and this time
there seemed to be an answering brush of comfort against his
mind.
The world shattered around him.
When his eyes blinked open again, he saw that he was lying in
what could only be a hospital. There were various banks of
equipment against the far wall, beeping quietly, and there was
an antiseptic smell to the air that was reminiscent of healing
wards everywhere. Beside him, a small window looked down over a
golden garden.
Slowly, he was able to focus on the figure bent forward over
the edge of his bed. After several moments, he recognized the
relieved and anxious face of Qui-Gon.
"Master?" he said, and his voice was little more than a dry
croak, as if it had not been used for quite some time.
"Shh." Qui-Gon smoothed the hair back away from his face and
helped him to sit up a little against his pillows. Once Obi-Wan
was comfortable, Qui-Gon reached for a small cup of water at
the bedside and held it to his lips. "Drink slowly," the older
man cautioned, and Obi-Wan obeyed.
Qui-Gon allowed him only a few sips before the cup was taken
away, but even that was liquid ecstasy on his parched throat.
Drained after even this small effort, Obi-Wan sank back against
the pillows. "What happened?" he said quietly.
Qui-Gon's grip was tight around Obi-Wan's hand, while his other
hand straightened the sheets absently around his Padawan. "What
do you remember?"
Obi-Wan thought about it. "We were on Alta Vayarna. I was going
back to my quarters, but I saw someone at the end of the hall.
He was doing something with the air vents..."
"He was planting a bomb," Qui-Gon said darkly. His hand
smoothed over Obi-Wan's brow, easing the tremors out of him.
"You intercepted him. He attacked you, and then fled. He was
picked up by the Driielman authorities three days ago."
"Three days!" Obi-Wan sat up in shock, but Qui-Gon determinedly
eased him back down against the pillows. "I was unconscious for
three days?"
Qui-Gon nodded, and there was a wealth of weariness in his
eyes. "It was a psychic attack, Obi-Wan. He attacked your mind.
I've seen cases of it before, and it's only very rarely that
the victim ever regains consciousness. Even then, there is
generally very little left of the victim's mind."
Obi-Wan shuddered as he remembered the nightmares that had
plagued him, and immediately, Qui-Gon's arms closed around him.
"Is it really over?" Obi-Wan whispered, clinging to his
Master's strong form.
"Yes, love. It's over." Qui-Gon's voice was harsh with emotion.
His lips pressed against the side of his apprentice's neck, and
Obi-wan sighed in rapture at the feel of it.
"I want to go home," Obi-Wan said, burrowing into the warmth of
his Master's embrace. Subdued shivers were still wracking
through him, but they were diminishing now.
"We will, my love. I promise." Qui-Gon pulled back just enough
to kiss him lightly on the forehead. "As soon as you're well
enough to travel."
Obi-Wan let himself relax then, trusting that the presence of
his Master, his lover, would shield him. Carefully, as if he
were something fragile that would break with the slightest
mishandling, Qui-Gon helped him slide back under the sheets and
rest his head comfortably on his pillow. Obi-Wan was pleased to
note that Qui-Gon's grip never loosened on his hand. Feeling
safe and protected and loved, Obi-Wan slowly drifted off to
sleep.
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