Stoicheia 4: Phosphorus

by Tem-ve H'syan (tem-ve@gmx.de)



Title: Stoicheia 4: Phosphorus
Author: Tem-ve H'syan tem-ve@gmx.de
Pairing: Q/O, Q/X (imagined)
Rating: R
Archive: my own site and MA

Notes: Not only is the my first Xanatos POV, it's also my first... *ducks*... songfic.
Mind you, the song is so obscure that it might as well be original poetry, and it's quite short, but a gorgeous piece of over-the-top balladry by the scary-voiced and lyrically gifted Peter Hammill (www.sofasound.com). Extra kudos for spotting the additional line from another of his songs that I slipped into the fic ;)

Across the ocean of the night
You turn and look into my eyes
Burn into my life.

Just like it's today, just like it's still bloody today and time hasn't moved on one little bit since then. Burn into my life. I've replayed that moment so many times in the last... oh, years. I can't be bothered to count. Since then... though I remember that all I could think at the time was that they were so blue, so impossibly blue as to be unreal. As if they had a glow to them, the glow of ghosts.

And yes, I have wished for that a number of times since then. Among other, wilder things.

Oh, it was innocent. So innocent. That was the beauty of it, one of the last moments of that beauty before I learned of better things. Bah, innocence. Jaded taste. Jedi drabs. I like myself in black, did I ever tell you that? Not bloody likely -- you never bothered to look at me when I squeezed myself into my dress blacks, did you, Master? As if I didn't exist outside of the tunics and the robe, as if all my head was for was to have something to attach the braid to.

What was in my head never got through to you. Not that I wanted it to, at the time. Force no... I was thinking good little Padawan thoughts, the thoughts of all the good little Padawans with irredeemable crushes on their Masters.

I used to watch you sleep, you know? No, you never knew. I may have been a sloppy student in selected areas (nowadays I wonder if I did that on purpose, to appear normal? Endearing? Gods.), but the one area I'd always been good at was shielding. And I used to watch you in your bed, sometimes several nights in a row, cataloguing your sprawl and the messy fall of your hair and the faint rumble of your snoring.

That night, you'd struggled free of the sheets again, like you did almost every night. You're a fitful sleeper, Jinn, do you know that? Always turning and tossing and twisting into ever more delightful contortions, moonlight harsh and silver on your heavy limbs, sheet clinging to you like a second skin... those glorious firm buttocks just half-hidden under the sheets, the crack just barely visible, a blurred brushstroke of deeper shade in the darkness. You were spread, and I was aching, aching to grab those strong upper arms and pin them to the mattress, aching to pour myself on top of you and absorb you, skin to skin, to weld myself to you. Animal desire isn't even beginning to describe it... it was far beyond animal desire. It was human desire, hard and precise and absolute. You and nobody else.

And you were to be mine.

I guess that set me apart from those pitiful Padawans even then. Force, even then when I knew hardly anything, I knew that the only way to satisfy yourself is to possess, to drag surrender from a body writhing in the agony of lust... Force knows I've lost count of how many nights I watched you sprawled on that bed, sound asleep, hair everywhere, arms and legs spread, and all it took was a little imagination and your hands and feet were bound where they were and your mouth was begging and screaming and your cock, oh, it was weeping. For me.

Of course it was your dreams that made you toss and turn, wasn't it? You never talked about them much (but then I never bothered to ask -- you'd only ask me mine, and I wasn't as adept at lying then as I am now), but you moved as in a fight some nights. Elegant of course. And horizontal.

And that night, it jolted you out of your sleep and into the real world, or at least halfway there. I watched as in slow motion, your broad shoulders rising, flexing, arms stretching. Hands balled into fists, then you turned over like some huge cat and stretched again, torturing me with the sight of your nipples, tiny and hard from the friction of the bedclothes.

And then you opened your eyes.

Now the moment's magical
But I keep my silence

Besides, I bet you saw right through me. You didn't look long enough to register your Padawan's awareness, and well-shielded as I was I must have been the Force equivalent of a fly on the wall.

You saw nothing with these eyes. I saw deep into you. I saw the world. And saw that I was not on the way towards owning that world.

But I would be. All it took was a change of path that looked so ridiculously obvious to me at the time that I'm amazed today that the good little Padawan didn't cry out loud at the revelation and scare you into wakefulness.

You could tell me anything you want,
you could tell me all your secret wishes;
only in our eyes, only in our eyes
we made the soul kiss

Oh, you would tell me, if I asked. You would tell me all that stuff about dedication to the Light and what wonders life as a Jedi contains. You might even believe it. Lucky you. I could not, not after that night. Funny that it should be your eyes, hm? What do you see when you look into your own eyes, Jinn? In the mirror? Do you see the yearning written there? The impossible strength waiting to be unleashed? Why did you choose the leash, Master, when even I, even as a mere Padawan (yeah right) saw the shortcomings of the path we were on? Or don't you want to see? Can't you?

In that case, one leash is no better to you than another. And I crave you to be leashed to me.

And we will never pass this way again
we will never know each other better;

I mentally started packing that night. Information, maps, plans for the future, plans that were mine alone, a future that was to be mine. A lightsabre is good for cutting leashes, you know? I never packed my Jedi drabs, not even in my mind. _Especially_ not there.

ships pass in the night
and in their wake they leave just phosphorescence.

It would have to do, for navigation. That blue glow. Until we meet again, that would have to do. False light, if you will, second-hand light, the memory of light, digested and spat out again by jaded electrons falling back to their accustomed places because they don't know better.

Did you really not know better than second-hand light, Master Jinn? Have they so dulled your mind as to turn your eyes into second-hand light... no. You will thrive in my hands, burst open like a hard bud (why is that such an exciting image to me? You're almost twice my age, and yet you're the virginal bud in some ways. In all the ways that matter) reaching for the sun with me. Reaching for the sun that is me. And you will be too, with time. If I let you.

You could tell me any lies you want,
it wouldn't change the way I feel about this;

Because -- I'm not going back to where I was before. Before I craved you, and through that saw the error of my ways, and saw, amazed, that you hadn't. It's so simple, Master. I'll show you, and you'll call me Master for it. It takes little more than a clear eye and the willingness to do away with prejudice. People aren't good. Well, not good in themselves. They can be good for someone. Such as me.

It won't take any pain, though I'll be happy to inflict it on you. Knowing your stubbornness, I'm inclined to let you simmer. Once you're in my power all it takes is a little time to let you realise it. Realise that my kind of power is the one that holds the universe together... but I don't see why that shouldn't happen over a few interesting days of protracted physical suffering... interspersed with moments of glorious limb-wrenching arousal... sugar and the whip for you, oh My Master, sugar and the whip. Applied lovingly to your skin. Until you scream, for more, for me, for shame. Until you see the first-hand light. It's not as pretty as your blue glow, but it's not as... dyed either.

In the harsh light of freedom I know that you cannot deny that you have wasted time. Just open your eyes.

only in our eyes, only in our eyes
we made the soul kiss
And we will never pass this way again
but we'll always feel each other's presence...

All right, it's not the training bond. I never allowed that in anyway, not into where my soul lay. But this remembered blue glow makes for a good tracking device, you know, Qui? Mind if I call you Qui, pet?

Actually, I guess you have a real bond now, huh? As real as it gets in the second-hand Light. And you know what? I pity the pup. That's what he is -- Temple-bred little Jedi pup, yapping and wagging his Padawan tail. At least he's broken you in for me, or re-broken you. Nice refresher to see you convulsing in ecstasy there... there will be more, you know? After a tiny bit of dog extermination. Believe me, he won't even leave a stain on your pristine beige carpet. Not even a trace in your memory, not after you've seen the real light. Sodomy, the lash, and sugar, my Qui-Gon. I know you want it.

ships pass in the night
and when we wake we're left with phosphorescence

Oh, when you wake, Qui-Gon. I want to be there when you wake, screaming your agony and your shame and your sheer groundbreaking lust as the hard light pours into you, pours into you from my body, conveniently enough.

That night, years ago, you didn't quite wake. You saw right through me with that faint second-hand glow in your eyes. Soon, so soon, you will wake. And you will see nothing but me, in the hard light.

And I'm dying to see how blue your eyes will be in that.

---The End---