by MonaR. (aka Mona Ramsey, aka Mona)

Fandom: Star Wars: The Phantom Menace

Pairing: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi

Series: Seventh in the "Colours" series, after "Blue", "Red", "Green", "Yellow", "Purple", and "Orange".

Webpage: the bare skeleton of one is at:

Rating: NC-17.

Warning: Explicit slash (m/m) content. *Dark*.

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: We're getting into spoiler territory; I'm sure everyone realizes by now what's coming next. Summary: Obi-Wan considers his final lesson.

{Well, it wasn't a *dead* sleep because I was dreaming - Batman and Robin were naked and doing things, and Alfred was there, too, and then Obi-Wan showed up and it all just got *weird*. . .}


by MonaR.

It seems only right, that after I took myself to the depths of Darkness, that my Master has made me clean again.

I am almost ashamed that the lesson took me so long to learn. Now, when I seek out the hordes of anonymous men in the dark streets of Coruscant and allow them to touch me, I feel almost pure, knowing that I am merely using them - their hands, their mouths, their cocks - to touch myself. I take my pleasure from them and revel in it, and when I receive their money I feel no shame. I used to run from them, throw my own coins at them, blindly, in an attempt to cover up my humiliation, but now I have been shown my mistake. My Master has taught me to appreciate my value. I keep those coins I am given, now - I have spent not one of them - and when I look at them, I know I am a rich man, in more ways than one.

Even though I live for those nights - more fleeting, now - when I may leave my rooms and seek out my pleasure, and re-affirm the worth of my sex, of even greater delight to me are the nights when my Master sends for me. When I find him in his rooms, kneeling before me, waiting, then my breath catches in my throat, and I know that I am to be allowed the use of my Master's hands for the night. His hands on my body - under my command - allow me the greatest pleasure that I have known, and every morning, when I still myself, and press my head against the locked door that separates us, I know that I have given him some of my pleasure, too.

Standing in front of this Council of men and women, it continues to amaze me how these Jedi know nothing of the Darkness. They haven't yet learned how to see it. I almost fear for them; this blindness will surely be their downfall. But they suspect nothing; we are here, receiving our orders, and none of them can possibly know what I am thinking - how the feel of my Master's hand on my shoulder has hardened me under the cover of my loose clothing and robe, how I am reminded of the sight of him, kneeled before me, head back, ready to do my slightest bidding.

They know nothing of the bite-marks that riddle my body - each of them precious to me, each with a story of its own. I could tell them the stories, if it would help them to understand, but I fear it would not. The scar hidden on my thigh is long healed; it no longer hurts me, but I still have the memories which make it as vivid as the moment that I truly branded myself my Master's whore. It was my moment of darkest despair, and from it has come such a suffusion of light as to be almost blinding. I have finally learned the true power of balance; these Masters call it defiance, recklessness, and we are punished for daring to pretend that there is more than one way to serve as a Jedi. They are short-sighted, and they will not be taught until it is too late. It frustrates me, but my Maser has learned to accept it. In time, he says, I shall accept it, too.


We are to be sent away, again. We work so well together that we are often sent off-planet on the most difficult of missions; it is both a reward and a punishment. My Master will never sit on this Council, nor would he want to, but he desires for me what he will not take for himself. I believe he is beginning to despair of my focus, however; he feels that I am becoming addicted to him, and that once I face my trials and am on my own, I will not be able to stay away from him as I must. I believe he is right; I also believe - although I have never spoken of it - that he is equally addicted to me.

The Jedi were given a prophecy, a long time ago: that one day there would be a Chosen One among us, one who would teach us the true measure of balance, and make us understand the power of the Darkness. My Master once believed that I could be this Chosen One: that he could teach me what he knew of the Dark Side, and I that I would learn even more than he knew about it. He despaired that I would disappear inside this lesson, and be lost - as his second apprentice, Xanatos - was, but I have learned how to use the Darkness without becoming lost in its power. It is the Living Force that is so difficult for me to understand - that Force which tells us whether each individual moment is to be used by the Dark or the Light. Even my Master does not always know for sure, and although I have surpassed the teachings of my Master, we both know that there is still a long way to go, and I *must* go on my own.

I am teaching him, now. I have learned some things about punishment and reward that surprises him. Sometimes, I forbid him my body, and make him watch me as I pleasure myself, all night; I make him stay still, and away from me, and allow him my scent and the sight of me, but not the feel of me. He is strong, my Master, but even he cannot hide his feelings from me when he watches me penetrate myself on my own fingers, watches me stroke my cock or rub myself against his bed, or his carpet. Sometimes I blindfold him, making him reach deep inside for the memories that the sound - and the smell - of me tell him that I move this way, or that, that I touch myself in this fashion, how my face contorts when I am coming, what silent words my lips are forming. He knows me so well, he can recite to me a litany of my sins as I perform them, even without the benefit of sight.

I have learned a little cruelty, too; sometimes, when I am very close, trembling on the edge of climax, I wrap myself in my robes and put on my boots and walk about the temple, nude except for these small coverings, and let those men I meet smell me and see me and wonder. Sometimes I speak to them, very naturally, and watch with pleasure as they are distracted by my seductive, over-bright eyes and shy smile. I have learned the hidden meaning of very small gestures; not one of those Masters has asked me why I hold my robes so tightly about my body, so clouded are they by the forbidden sexuality of my status beneath them. Not one of them has dared touch me, but I know that eventually they will. One day, one of them or more will go to my Master and ask his permission to take me as a partner; as my body is his, only he can give leave for it to be used by another. It is enough for me now to know that they want me, and are frightened by this want, so foreign to their usual needs. When I return to his room I stand very close to my Master, and tell him the names of the men that I have talked to on my walk, and of their reactions to me - the quickening of their hearts, the sweat on their brow, the trembling of their hands they seek to hide from me inside their long sleeves. I know that he knows all of this, but hearing it come from me, in my words, creates an ache in my Master's body that keens to my ears alone.

Sometimes I have him lie on his stomach, on the bed or the floor, and I pretend to fuck him. I make him react to me the way that he would were I truly inside him, make him call out his pain and his need and my name in the same breath. I make him tell me that I am his god and that he will have no other in my lifetime. I make him promise me things that can never be - that one day I will be strong enough to take his lust inside my body without having it destroy both of us, or that I will be allowed to touch him, to pleasure him myself. Such things are part of my own sentimentality, and when I lose my cruelty, I sometimes lose my mind, and begin to believe in what I am saying. It is only afterwards, when I am lying on his still-clothed body, when I can feel the rise and fall of his body, feel how my fluids have wet him through, only then do I know that this is what I am allowed, and I remember myself, and my place, once again.


We are being sent away. I must ready our things - it is my choice what we are to bring with us, my decision what will be the limits of our pleasure on this trip. It is never guaranteed how much time we will have together, but we have learned to use our time judiciously, to make ten minutes or ten hours of lust equally shattering. I know that my Master can make me come with a touch or the tone of his voice as he speaks my name; I know that I can raise his lust with a look. Soon, we may not *need* to touch each other to have one another; if we could learn that, *truly* learn it, then we would be free. Now, we are tied together with so many invisible bindings that if he were to die, I know my heart would stop beating.

I have not yet learned enough cruelty, but I know that one day, I shall. Only then, will I be free to leave my Master's side, and teach another all that I have learned.

The End