Dedication : once again, to Christy, who is as generous as she
is kind. Friends of this caliber are rare.
Disclaimer: All Star Wars characters are the property of George
Lucas and no copyright infringement is intended in this story.
So there.
Once I was alive.
Then I had the misfortune to die under the fangs of a demon,
and in the process of dying, became what he had been--a
vampire. This happenstance of fate had not been my decision at
the time, but rarely do we get to choose the manner of our
passing and I have since learned that forgiveness is as hard a
principle to practice as any other. I dwell (if that is the
correct term) within the halls of the Jedi Council tower on
Coruscant, continuing my training and coping as best I can with
this altered fate.
I manage, thankfully, under the guidance of the Jedi Council
and the ever more watchful eye of my Master, Qui-Gon Jinn. He
(whom I loved beyond all reason and once worshipped in secret)
was directly responsible for my turning and now seems to take
it upon himself to keep me in this state of being. He nourished
me with my first taste of blood, a meal given in equal amounts
of raw fear and burning lust. Memory of that luscious feast
lingers with me still, especially now that nearly a month has
passed, and I have not fed since that night.
Why? Because I have been off-world, running weekly errands for
the Council and so my time with Qui-Gon has been reduced to
little more than a few public meetings here and there. The
Convergence of the Core Worlds is nearly at hand; all of
Coruscant bustles with activity and ceremony. Even the Senate
is caught up in a whirl of diplomatic and festive response to
this rare celestial occurrence. The planetary alignment of
Coruscant, Alderaan, Abregado-rae, Chandrila, Kuat and Ralltiir
is expected to portend a great and glorious future for the
Republic.
In the meantime, I hunger. The shuttle is slow and creaky; I
try to doze and ignore the other passengers sharing my return
to Coruscant. None of the faces are familiar: a few droids, a
female Wookie and her cubs, a tired old man, face draped by his
dark cowl. The Force ebbs around me, as if sucked away by the
coming Alignment. I feel my fangs pressing into my lower lip,
the sharpness of their tips delicately cutting the skin. Ahh
Qui-Gon! Who knows when we shall have time together again? I
wonder if he can sense my need, and on that thought I drift
off, licking away the beads of blood welling in my mouth.
The city is in celebration, and the Council has given the Jedi
and their padawans a holiday. Throngs crowd the streets. As I
enter the main tower, it is empty and silent except for the
cleaning droids who hum along the carpeted halls, and hover at
the windows, washing them. I ride the elevator and trudge to my
room, deathly tired, unable to maintain any serenity in the
face of my growing hunger. I press my palm to the lock and
stumble in, catching a scent of steam.
Steam? Senses alert, I close my eyes and sniff, trying to
catch more from the still air of the room. Definitely steam.
And soap, the deep green stuff from Vendabi made from moss and
ferns. Using it is like submersing yourself in a forest glade.
I look towards the bathroom. More sensory imput comes flooding
through: I can hear water, sloshing almost musically, and a
voice humming a tune over and over.
I fall to my knees. The image is clear to me, even through the
closed door only a few feet away. Qui-Gon is bathing. He is
sitting in the tub, intently scrubbing a shoulder with the
Vendabi soap, washing away the sweat of a lightsaber practice
session. His greying hair is unbound and the ends are getting
darkly wet as they dip into the water. I can sense his
thoughtful mood, and under it, a tinge of desire so tightly
reigned in that it barely registers. That skin, so brown where
the sun touches it, so pale where it stays covered. Rising to
my feet, I glide soundlessly to the door and push it open.
He looks up at me, unsurprised. I can feel my entire frame
beginning to shiver at the sight of him, and a rush of the
Force sends deep ripples over the surface of the bathwater.
Qui-Gon glances down at this display and shakes his head.
"Control, Obi-Wan."
I make no reply; I cannot as my eyes mist over with red and I
battle hard with the twin desires that surge through every
fiber of my being. Only when I meet my master's steady stare
can I begin to regain myself. He watches me, no outward sign of
fear in those clear blue eyes. I calm myself and he approves,
setting the soap aside, rising from the water, magnificent
animal that he is.
He is big, and rawboned, a towering presence of a man with
unexpected grace in his movements and power radiating from his
body. Unconcerned with his nakedness, he flexes his shoulders
back and rolls his head. Even still, I can hear his quickened
breathing and the sound of it thrills me. There is desire
there, building up behind that serene mask of his. I hand him a
towel, letting my fingers touch his in a soft brush. The Force
fairly crackles between us. He drapes the towel low around his
hips.
"Your turn, padawan," he indicates the tub behind him with the
shrug of a shoulder. Impatiently I tug away my clothing,
letting it drop to the rug in a careless pile; I understand the
game all too well: Bath first, feast later. The water is still
hot, and I wince as it lightly scalds me when I step in. My
legs are pale--my entire body is pale, all color bleached away
by my death. As I drop down, a sigh escapes me and I realize
how much I need this brief moment of comfort. Settling in, I
pick up the still-wet soap and begin to work it between my
hands, creating a fragrant lather. Qui-Gon drops to one knee at
the edge of the tub, watching me intently. I grin,
half-expecting him to order me to wash behind my ears.
"Take your time, Obi-Wan. There's no need to rush anything,"
he rumbles gently. I lay back to duck my head under, not
bothering to hold my breath. Through the quivering water I can
see Qui-Gon above, looking down at my face. My braid drifts up,
like seaweed, and he takes it in his hand, pulling it gently,
bringing me up to the surface again like a fisherman reeling in
his catch. Perhaps I am just that.
Sitting up, I'm tempted to spit water at him, childishly, but
it would ruin a fine moment. Instead, I shake my head and let
water fly in tiny drops everywhere. Qui-Gon snorts, and moves
to rise, but I'm faster. And stronger. Like a flash of
lightning, my hands fly up, seizing his elbows. I yank.
Off-balance, my master rocks for a moment and falls forward
into the tub. Water sloshes and surges in huge waves, soaking
the rug, the walls, the dry towels sitting in neat piles on the
sink, but none of it matters, oh no.
My mouth is on his, our tongues sliding across each other in a
wet tango of a kiss. We're under what's left of the water, his
broad chest pinning me down, his flat stomach pressing on mine.
Qui-Gon's hair billows around his face, and I can sense his
lungs starting to burn, but still he keeps kissing me. My needs
can wait; I push him to the surface. He raises his face,
sucking in a deep unwilling breath, as if merely humoring me,
and his knees bracket my hips as he sits up.
I am still under the water. Tauntingly, I crook a finger at
him, beckoning my master to dive down and kiss me again. He
locks his gaze with mine and even through the sudsy filter of
the bath water I can see a touch of guilty pain flash in his
eyes--Qui-Gon will never forgive himself for making me a
vampire.
I sigh, letting a few bubbles rise from my lips, and run my
hands up his strong, lean thighs, hoping to distract him from
his anguish and return him to the spell of my need. It works I
think, as he leans forward, dropping his face into the water to
press a kiss on my submerged visage. My my--something else is
pressing on my stomach now, and I'm fairly sure it isn't the
handle of his lightsaber. I slide my hands up his hips, yanking
away the sodden towel. For the first time in a long while, I'm
enjoying a sense of power. I know that using the Force, I could
lift us both out of this tub if I wanted.
Qui-Gon has other ideas, though. I feel his hands glide under
my shoulders to raise them up from the water. My face breaks
the surface again, and rivulets stream down my spiky hair as I
smile up at him. He bends closer, letting his beard tickle my
cheek as he whispers,
"The water is getting cold."
Was it? I hadn't noticed, not with a monolith of a man sitting
on my stomach, his erect cock throbbing lightly between my
nipples. My smile widens and my fangs distend, revealing
themselves. Qui-Gon reluctantly climbs to his feet, hauling me
up from the tub with one strong arm. He is wonderfully warm,
still radiating heat as we both clamber out of the puddle
that's left of the bath. I claim a towel only moderately wet
and dry myself quickly. Qui-Gon has wrapped himself in my
robe--it barely reaches his knees, and the sleeves ride up his
forearms, but I'm too full of lust to laugh as I follow him out
of the bathroom and into my tiny living quarters.
"Sit," he tells me in an absent-minded tone of voice. I drop
onto the edge of the bed obediently, wondering what he has in
mind. He is behind me, suddenly slipping his right arm over my
shoulder. Heat from his body permeates through to my spine, and
I arch back; his left arm slides against my side. Qui-Gon
presses the soft flesh of the inside of his right elbow against
my mouth. At the same time, his left hand drops to encircle my
hard cock, stroking it slowly in one long glide. A gurgle
escapes my throat. My master's lips are on my ear, his tongue
lightly tracing a pattern on it.
"Concentrate, Obi-Wan. Take your sustenance and pleasure in
the same moment." He growls. His hot breath sends shivers down
my ribs, and once again my vision fades to red. With a moan, I
sink my fangs deeply into the crook of his elbow drinking in
quick gulps as the blood gushes. Poor Qui-Gon--I dimly sense
him mastering the sharp pain caused by my enthusiasm, but for
the moment, I am too caught up in the ambrosia of his blood to
care. His pulse becomes my pulse as I drink; his life surges
into me, heating the cold marble of my stomach.
As I drink, I can feel my master stroking my cock, gliding his
big hand in sensuous strokes up the shaft. Apparently there is
enough of the slick Vendabi soap left on his palm to do this,
and my feeding frenzy is becoming seriously distracted by his
knowingly erotic touch. I swell in his hand; with a sharp gasp,
I pull away from his elbow and my stomach tenses. In my ear,
Qui-Gon gives a soft sigh, letting me thrust up against his
palm while his own cock presses urgently against my back.
The pleasure leaves me breathless, but I refuse to let it
overwhelm me just yet--I've wanted this night for ages, and I
intend on making it last as long as possible. Blood trickles
down my chest as I realize that Qui-Gon is still bleeding from
my bite. Forcefully, I reach up and pull his arm from it's
embrace around my collarbones, kissing the punctures, healing
them with a flick of my tongue. Qui-Gon nuzzles me gratefully,
long hair cascading over my shoulder, and I know my moment has
arrived.
Before he can react, I spin myself out of his grasp, pulling
him with me to the center of the bed, which creaks in protest
to my impetuosity. Startled, he's flat on his back amid the
tangled sheets, looking up at me with gravely amused eyes. I
let the Force lift me, and manage to hover over him. I'm sure I
must look ghostlike in the starlit room. Outside the sound of
the celebrating crowds several floors below is faint, and
sweet, like applause for my little trick. Only my braid dangles
down as I shift to a horizontal position. Qui-Gon is trying
hard not to smile, but the hint of it is there. I try to
imitate his voice as I announce,
"Live in the moment . . . feel the Force."
For a second he says nothing, and then,
"Obi-Wan, if that is your pathetic impersonation of me,
you deserve to be spanked."
Lazily he reaches up and catches my braid once more, guiding
downward this time into the encircling lock of his arms. The
second his flesh touches mine we are in a tangled frenzy of
slick openmouthed kisses. My hands stroke and touch him from
broad shoulder to lean flank marveling at the artistry of his
body. My master's beard tickles my chin, my throat, my
shoulders. I cannot get enough of the taste of his skin.
Frantically our cocks are pressing together, sliding and
rubbing hotly as they pulse in unison. Finally Qui-Gon grabs
the hard muscle of my ass and groans; the burning wetness of
his semen gushes between our stomachs. Within seconds, I too,
am there, my colder seed mingling with his as I sigh from the
depths of my soul.
We sleep. We wake and make love again. Several times
throughout the course of the night in fact, talking and sharing
a contented silence at times.
I asked him why? Why were we lovers now and not before? Was it
pity? Was it guilt? These fears had been gnawing at me since my
death and I needed the answers though I feared them. Qui-Gon
stroked a finger in the cleft of my chin and spoke slowly.
"My blood can keep you alive, little padawan, that I know. I
can only hope that my body will keep you from the Dark Side.
Life without love is the way of the Sith."
Now I am watching him sleep, and my envy of his living
condition doesn't burn as much within me anymore. The edges of
my anger are blunted, like glass dulled by the sea: replaced by
other, murkier emotions. If I was alive, it might be something
akin to love.
Whatever it is, I need it. I sense it in the Force.
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