by MonaR. (aka Mona Ramsey, aka Mona)

Fandom: Star Wars: The Phantom Menace

Pairing: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi, [Obi-Wan/OMC]

Series: Third in the "Colours" series, after "Blue", and "Red". Unfortunately for us all, there are many colours.

Webpage: the bare skeleton of one is at:

Rating: NC-17.

Warning: Eplicit slash (m/m) content. *Dark*. Seriously, this is *not* pretty.

Archive: Yes to StarWarsfic, M_A, or anyone else who might want it.

Notes: I don't use betas. :( Any mistakes are solely my fault and the fault of my *#^&@ spellcheck. ** is used for emphasis, // for thought. Any weird characters should be hunted down and killed.

Spoilers: No.

Summary: Obi-Wan takes the next step.

{So, this seems to have taken on a life of its own. I've wanted to do a dark vision of these two for a while, now, but haven't had the idea of *how*, exactly. . .}


by MonaR.

It was different than I thought it would be, the first time, but I suppose that everyone says that. He was a boy a year older than me, and he kept kissing me the whole time, and he repeated "Don't be afraid" in my ear, over and over, with every thrust of his body into mine. I wasn't afraid, I was exhilarated - I felt captured and freed. I could feel the fear in him, though - at the time, I thought it was just fear of being discovered and 'punished'. Now, I think it might have been fear of me.

I teased him, I admit it, pushing at him with my body. There were Masters there, watching over us, and *one* of them must have known what I was doing, although none of them said a word. It wasn't just practice between us, not that day; I was taunting him, daring him with my body, pressing against him and letting him *smell* me. I wanted it, and that want came out of every pore. He kept looking at me, biting his lips, and I drew him in. He never stood a chance.

I ignored him when the practice was over, went to my friends and talked to them, laughing, as we made our way to the showers. He just stared at me, awkwardly, angry and tense and aroused, and then he disappeared. For a moment, I thought I'd failed, and he'd gone back to his quarters, or to talk to his Master. It had happened before with other boys once or twice, when I'd pushed too hard, and made them too afraid of me. I could feel my cock twitch in my trousers, and knew that I'd have to jerk off in the showers again, spend my seed down the drains in the floor, with my friends watching me without seeming to watch. Such a waste.

It wasn't until he pushed me against the sweating tiles, arm at my neck, body pressed up against me full-length, that I knew that I'd gotten him. A single nod of my head and everyone around us disappeared. I tried to turn so I could see him, but he wouldn't let me. He was stronger - angrier - than I'd anticipated. My entire body surged against him when he pressed his heated cock against my back. I could do nothing but nod when he asked me if I wanted it, daring me to say no. Funny that I couldn't lie to that stranger.

He felt like a fist as he pushed into me, the water dripping down over both of us. I searched the wall blindly, with just my hands, trying to find something to hold on to, but there was nothing. I bit my lip so I wouldn't scream and bring one of the Masters in; I could taste the copper tang of my own blood fresh and strong between my teeth. His hands were around my waist and I knew that they'd leave marks, too, but I didn't care. I wanted more.

I thrust back against him, taunting him again. He was so angry, it thrilled me, punching into my guts. I wondered if there would be blood from that, too, and I wanted to turn, wanted to climb his body and mount *him*, his cock in my ass, his arms holding me against the weeping tiles, his tongue in my mouth. I wanted to *see* him, watch him fucking me, but he wouldn't let me.

He seemed to know exactly what I wanted - a harder fuck, faster, *more* - so he deliberately held still, whispering in my ear. He wanted to hear it. I'd rather have died on the spot than give in, but he twitched inside me, and I nearly screamed it felt so good. He *had* me - I would have promised him anything, just to have him move again, for one more thrust - and then it happened.

I still don't know what it was that brought him out of himself - a noise, a movement in the room, a slight temperature change in the water that was beating down upon us. Whatever it was, it stopped him, gentled him, *frightened* him. The joy of it ended for me when I felt his fear; instead of concentrating on my own pleasure, I was suddenly faced with re-assuring him that it was all right, that it was what I wanted. I should have pushed him away and taken one of the others, but I was hungry, and so close: my cock felt like fire pressed up against the cool tiles of the shower room. I wanted to scream at him, curse him, kill him for ruining it for me. I held him inside me until he couldn't bear not fucking me - I knew it wouldn't be enough, but I *wanted* it. I deserved it - if not my own come, *his*.

There are no beatings in the Jedi Temple; there is nothing but admonishment and lessons, and the heavy weight of shame that pushes us all down into the dust, humbles us, restrains us. I have choked on that shame, and I *understood* his fear, intellectually, but the feel of him was so much to me that I held him close and would not let him go. When he finally left my body, the shock of such emptiness was greater even than the pain had been. The water-washed blood on my thighs was nothing to compare to the great, gaping wound his absence inside of me.

He left before I could even turn around, and I crumpled to the floor in a heap. I couldn't move - my legs were weak, my ass was empty, and I was still hard. I warned the others away with a glance and managed to dry myself off and dress. I don't remember the walk back to my quarters. I must have been a sight - dripping-wet hair, bruised lips and too-stiff stagger. But nobody stopped me - nobody saw anything other than a boy who'd lost a 'saber match that afternoon, slinking home to his Master.

I didn't ring the chime. I don't think it even occurred to me then that I was *looking* for punishment, something tangible to hurt me so I could stop hurting myself. He was awake in his bed, although his eyes were closed. It was his breathing that gave it away - it was too erratic for him to be unconscious. I curled against him, a thin blanket separating us, waiting for him to push me away like he always did, and send me to bed. He didn't even greet my brazenness with surprise. I wanted him to yell at me, hit me, punish me - *something*. I wanted him to ask me why.

I wanted him to *tell* me why.

He didn't say a word. His entire body was tense. I tried to kiss him, but he moved his head. He didn't raise a hand against me, didn't open his mouth, just moved his head away from my lips.

If I had known how to make him say yes, I would have begged him to fuck me. I opened my mouth, those words on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't. I don't think that he hated me enough to say yes.

I don't know how much he hates himself.


I am to be fucked tonight. He didn't tell me, but I knew. I cannot lie anymore, and it isn't enough for either of us. He can barely look in my eyes when I tell him how I am used, and I cannot come without him. It's become a joke, and neither one of us can hold on to it anymore. We *need* what these nights give to us; we need this edge of false Darkness.

I need him.

I know that I must look desperate to these men, but I don't care. Everything in my mind is screaming at me to get back, to tell him what I have done, in the hopes that *this* will be the night that I may watch him, touch him, lick his cold come from the floor in front of him. I have nothing but hope that anything will ever change between us; perhaps when I am dead, or he is. But that will be such a long time from now.

I choose without even seeing the man who is to be my night's destruction. I don't even speak - I cannot say the word, but I turn to the wall, push my trousers down around my ankles, and he knows. I am his prize. I don't want to see him. I don't want to know what he looks like. I tell myself that he has green eyes, but I don't know. They could be blue. I could be destroying myself and my own fragile sanity. I don't care.

The first thrust is gentle and I scream inwardly because it isn't enough. Doesn't he see? If it isn't enough, I will have to do it again and again until it is, and with every stranger's cock that enters my body, I will deaden myself more and more. I beat my hand against the wall and try to pull away, and this angers him. He pushes his full length into my body and holds me against the rough stone, impaled. I almost laugh, but it comes out as a sob, and he chuckles into my ear.

The pretty boy wants to get fucked.


There is more laughter around us, and for a moment I am actually afraid, before I remember who I am. I can fight them all off, I can let them win, I can take them all or none of them. I am in control, here.

I turn my head too fast and when his hand pushes against the back of it, holding me still, I scrape my cheek. Blood trickles down my face, and I am confused, for a moment. Another thrust grounds me to this place. I can smell men - sweaty flesh and cocks and the heady scent of pre-come. I want it to be over, so I can go back and fill my emptiness with my Master's presence, through a wall.

I am almost crushed by the next thrust. My fucker groans sharply in my ear and I realize instantly what has happened - he has been taken, as well. There is another inside him, and perhaps another and another, as many as this alley will hold, until we are all connected together. I laugh but I have no breath left in my lungs, and no-one hears me. I gasp, scraping my hands uselessly against the wall, trying to tell them that they are too much for me, but they don't care. We are all fucking, we are all being fucked. There are too many of us; it takes a full minute for my friend to thrust inside me, another for him to pull back again.

But he is excited, I can feel it. I have chosen wrong. If I had looked into his green eyes, I might have seen that he was meant to be taken, that he wore his badge of emptiness much like I do. He is a fake.

I am so tired, and my knees are raw from scraping against the wall in front of me. I collapse, held up by the thick cock inside my body, and the hand that is suddenly on my cock. I cannot even swat it away; I can feel all of these men inside me, and I just want it to be over. I want to open my eyes and be away from this dream.

But if I open my eyes, I cannot pretend -

I come without a thought, spraying against the wall. I have flipped the switch in all of us; the air is suddenly full of groaning, sweating, coming men. I end up on my knees, my bare ass wet and cold from sweat and the night air. Someone touches me with kindness, but I shrink away from it, afraid. I need to be away from here. I have to find my cloak. Before I am able to search my pockets and throw my money down, I am handed a coin by a man who grins at me and disappears into the shadows.

It isn't any type of credit I have ever seen before; the man must be an off-worlder. It is the colour of old brass, and it glows and gives off a small amount of heat. I can do nothing but stare at it.

Jedi aren't allowed to accept payment for what we do. I have a cache of pocket-money that my family sends me, and my Master gives me such funds as he feels I may need, but never before in my life have I earned a single credit by my own means. I clutch the credit all the way back to the Temple in my dirty fist. I don't even wash before I see him. I am sweaty and dirty and used-looking and my clothing is filthy; he can surely smell me even across the room.

I hold the credit out to him, wordless. He smiles at me, and open his arms. I am afraid, but he holds me, tenderly, and bends down his head so that his mouth brushes my ear. He says one word, over and over.


I awaken in the alley, alone, still only half-clothed, half-frozen, with the word that my dream-Master spoke so softly echoing in my mind as I pick up my scattered clothing and leave.


The End