Thieves: An In-Channel PWP
By Rache & Maygra
Caution: NC17, for rape and violence
Notes:This came out of a little idle discussion of dungeons and architectural expansions (not to mention the tensile strengtht of silk) on #tpm the other night and then we dinked with it. We kind of liked the scenario so we dinked more. And...well, there was this plot thing...and Rache isn't happy unless it's complicated.
It started out as a simple PWP ...honest!
Thief 1: A Shattering of Darkness
Dawn crept through the city, grasping fingers lighting spires and doorways decorated for the Festival of Mother Night. Silken fabric, rich and vibrant against the earthen brick walls, swathed archway after archway, silent prayers for prosperity and joy. Qui-Gon leaned against the railing of his balcony, watching as the city turned bright.
He hated the light.
Blinking, he turned away. Night was better for him, for his needs. The cover of dark made it easier to slip into a room and out again, taking whatever he wanted. A quiet word, and the owner of the house fell into a deeper sleep, never waking as Qui-Gon picked the most valuable of his property and spirited it away.
Daylight was danger, with no comforting darkness to hide in, nothing to draw to himself and hide him from prying eyes. He would have preferred not to visit the city at all in daylight, but sometimes it could not be helped.
Sometimes, like today.
Palpatine's aide oozed insincerity as he told Jinn the news. "No laudnine until after Mother Night, Master Jinn. Governor Palpatine refuses to let the smugglers land. He says that the Jedi are coming to inspect us as part of our petition to join the republic." The man held out his hand for payment, despite the bad news. "He will let nothing stand in his way."
Qui-Gon had paid for the information, though it did him little good. He stared into the cavern-like darkness of his bedroom; despite his efforts, the voices were getting louder, and the laudnine was the only thing that he'd found that would shut them all out. They whispered to him, needling and poking at the back of his mind, enticing him, luring him back into his dreams...or urging him to slake his thirst on another.
His personal demons, constantly tormenting to choose the dark path.
And sometimes...he wasn't strong enough to resist.
He threw his robe onto the bed and picked up his clothes, pulling on the black shirt, black pants, and black boots. Festival clothes for Mother Night, he thought as he smiled grimly at his reflection. Not as if he cared.
What he had cared about was taking a hostage and trading him for a shipment of laudnine. One ship was all he asked, some way to quiet the sounds in his mind. Qui-Gon ran his hand over his arm before buttoning the cuff, feeling the marks where he'd slit his own skin so he could rub the drug in, giving in for a moment to the shame his dependency brought him.
A thief he may be, but that was an honorable profession. As long as he paid the guild's fees and stole only from those who had more than they needed, he maintained his self-respect.
But kidnapping...
He slammed his hand against the wall, barely feeling the pain. He didn't care, damn it. Governor Palpatine could rot in the deepest pit of hell as far as he was concerned; both of them would be meeting there, anyway. What mattered was the laudnine and taking it before the whispers drove him mad.
He buckled on his sword and knife, and picked up his gloves. The Governor's son was supposed to inspect the central courtyard today, to ensure that everything was set for the festival. He would grab the boy and drag him back here; Palpatine would have to give him the drug.
The voices laughed, and Qui-Gon gritted his teeth, ignoring them. Iska had once written out the formula for a potion that would supposedly control the craving; Jobi had read through it and told him that most of the plants in it were poisonous. If he took it daily, as Iska suggested, he would die.
Madness, death, or whatever he needed to do to get the drug; he didn't have much choice.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was supposed to have been simple, but the information that Rattle had provided was completely inaccurate. Qui-Gon fretted as he waited in the shade, drumming his fingers on his legs, watching the workmen assembling the viewing platforms. As his tension rose, the voices got louder, telling him not to wait.
He caught sight of a small group of seven, one of whom looked to be the right age for the Governor's son. The boy chatted easily with the group, then climbed up on stage to check the projection equipment. Blond-red hair, fashionably cut, he was dressed in rich festival clothes.
Qui-Gon couldn't make out the features from his vantage point, but it had to be Vree.
He stretched, his limbs tight from the long wait, then reached into the pouch for the cloth and the ampoule. He had to crush the ampoule under the boy's nose and get him to breath it for the liquid to work, but it would put him into a light sleep in seconds. A few quiet words and that sleep would be so deep that Qui-Gon could move him easily, without fear of waking him.
No muss, no fuss, and no fight. The voices were stronger whenever he fought, and without the laudnine, he didn't want to risk it. Even now the adrenaline racing through his system was making them stronger. He had to stop and take a deep breath, let them settle before he went on.
Qui-Gon grabbed a jug of water as he passed the catering area and walked casually over to where the boy was working on the panel. "Thirsty work," he said, talking a swallow. "Want some?"
The boy nodded, not even looking up from his work. Qui-Gon handed it to him, crushing the ampoule against the clay so it would break.
The boy drank and handed it back. Within a minute he seemed wobbly; Qui-Gon lent him a shoulder and escorted him off the platform.
No one even noticed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"He's not Vree."
Qui-Gon thought his heart would stop. "What do you mean, he's not Vree? He's the right age, he was with the inspection tour."
"Master..." Jobi looked at him. "Vree has brown eyes. And here..." He carefully unbuttoned the high collar of the festival shirt.
A numbered collar lay against the boy's skin.
Anger surged through Qui-Gon. Lost. His chance was lost. He had someone's play toy, rather than the governor's son. He clenched his hands into fists, then relaxed them again, trying to keep the clamor of voices at bay. "I'll take him to the cellar."
The boy stirred in his arms, but Qui-Gon ignored him. His heart pounded, his anger and disappointment were a wind screaming threw his mind. Revenge, the voices cried.
Kill the boy.
The image of warm blood ghosted over his hand and faded again. He froze midstep, trying to master his thoughts, set the dreams aside. He had to do something; his fingers ached to take that sleek throat in his hands and squeeze the life from it.
Sleek.
His cock twitched.
If not blood...sex had sometimes worked. And the boy was beautiful, a pleasure slave...it would not be something new.
He swallowed convulsively, his blood warming to the thought, and knew he was lost. He was too tired tonight to resist. The voices beat at him, eclipsing his own thought, demanding their appeasement.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Obi-Wan struggled as he was hauled into the cold, dark room and thrown into a corner. His heart pounded, and his hands trembled; he knew his life wasn't worth much at the moment. The black-clad man folded his arms across his chest and glared at him. "What am I going to do with you, boy?"
"Whatever my master pleases," Obi-Wan said carefully, hoping that the fact that he was property would stay the man's hand. "There's a fine if I'm damaged." He put his hand to his face and rubbed at the kohl on his cheek, smeared during his capture and itching like crazy now. He scratched it and sank into the darkness of his corner. He braced himself cautiously, looking for any opportunity to escape.
"I don't plan on damaging you, if you co-operate." The man stalked over and grabbed Obi-Wan's chin, tilting it up into the light. Bright blue eyes stared into his, fixing him to the ground as if he had been nailed there. Obi-Wan breathed slowly and carefully, trying not to hyperventilate as his face was tilted to the right, then the left, every angle examined. Large hands ran down his arms and his chest; Obi-Wan wasn't sure if he was checking for broken bones, or ...something else.
All he wanted was to stay alive. He would do whatever was necessary to ensure that.
At last the hand dropped, and the man loomed over him. "You are not who I was expecting," He spat the words out. "Who are you?" He pressed his boot into Obi-Wan's thigh, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough let him know how much it could hurt. "Or should I ask who owns you? "
"I'm a...city slave," Obi-Wan said steadily. "I was assigned to the courtyards today for the festival." He swallowed carefully, lifting his chin slightly, but the man held him firmly.
The man brushed at Obi-Wan's cheek, a soft caress after the boot-clad warning. "Well, whoever you were, it doesn't matter. You are mine, now." His voice rumbled, deep and low and threatening. "I just have to pay the fine."
Hands in his hair pulled Obi-Wan closer; he immediately wrenched away.
"No!" A city-owned slave he might be, but he didn't work the brothels or the pleasure houses. Twisting, he sought to reach the door.
The man grabbed him and shoved him back against the wall, taking both wrists in one hand, staring into his face, his chest pressed tight to Obi-Wan's body, restraining him. "Don't make me hurt you."
All Obi-Wan could smell was the man's breath, mixed with his own fear, and the slight scent of arousal that emanated from the man. For a moment he thought he saw a hint of compassion in the other man's eyes; Obi-Wan's own cock twitched in response, betraying him.
Compassion vanished instantly, covered by the cold light of obsession, and the hands that gripped him became even more demanding. Obi-Wan groaned softly, a reaction to the pain, he told himself. The power radiating off the man was exciting, erotic.
He hated himself for liking it.
"You are pretty enough for my tastes, I'll grant you." The man reached down and ran his hand between Obi-Wan's thighs, caressing his cock, feeling Obi-Wan's erection. "How many have had you today, boy?" He smiled, feral, like a desert cat, grinding his hand against the hardness there. His eyes locked on Obi-Wan's throat, and Obi-Wan thought his skin would burn from the heat of his gaze. "You won't need anything, will you?"
Obi-Wan tried to pull away, but the large hand around his wrists held him firm, and the hand between his thighs pressed cruelly as he struggled. Anger sprang up, and fear, pushing aside the arousal. He wasn't a virgin; he knew where this was going, and any excitement he'd felt drained away. He had to do something to get away. "I said I don't work the houses," he hissed and spat in the other man's face, hoping the shock would make the man drop his hands.
Just as he hoped, the spittle seemed to catch his captor by surprise, and he jerked, just enough for Obi-Wan to put all his strength behind getting his hands free. He shoved, only to feel the hard edge of the man's palm along his jaw.
The man hauled back and slapped his face again, and Obi-Wan felt his head connect with the stone wall. His vision blurred, then cleared again, but his ears still rung.
"Don't try that again," the man whispered, twisting him and shoving him face-first against the stone. "I can make this less pleasant for you, if I have to."
Obi-Wan dragged in a cautious breath, the man's voice echoing oddly in his ears. His vision blurred again, but he held his place, fingers digging into the stone.
He couldn't think of what else to do.
Whatever he needed to, he told himself. He would survive.
Pushing a shoulder back, he tried to look at his captor, his cheek pressed against the stone, seeing the hard, cold look in his captor's eyes and the set of his mouth. "Wha...what do you want?" he asked, brokenly -- he knew, but he needed time, time to set his mind to this course.
Hands ran up the length of his festival shirt, the silken caress making him shudder. He closed his eyes and breathed shallowly, trying to imagine himself anywhere but under that touch. Fingers ghosted along his neck, and under the collar of his shirt--
Gripping it, tearing it away, nails scraping along sensitized flesh, making Obi-Wan scream.
"What I wanted," the man said, "was the governor's son, Dathan Vree. What I got instead was you." He bit the back of Obi-Wan' neck, then blew on it. "I wanted a hostage and ended up with a toy." His voice hardened. "What do you think I'm going to do?"
Obi-wan shuddered. The feel of warm breath on his skin might have been pleasant if he had been able to choose this course. The room was damp and cold, but he shivered from more than the chill.
"Do you have a name...Master?" he asked, dropping his gaze. Play the game, do what he had to. At least it wasn't his first time.
A low, rumbled laugh greeted his hesitant words. "Qui-Gon Jinn," he said, "but Master will be fine." He pressed his groin against Obi-Wan's back, the hard length of him fitting neatly against Obi-Wan's ass.
"I am going to have you." He tugged at the waistband of the pants Obi-Wan wore, then fumbled at his belt. Obi-Wan heard the rasp of metal on leather and felt the tip of a blade tucked in to the waistband of his pants. "Don't move," the man growled, his hands trembling where they touched Obi-Wan's skin. "I would hate to cut you too deep."
Obi-Wan went totally, utterly still as the thick blade sliced through the fabric of his trousers, then sucked in a breath as the blade tip grazed his belly.
The fabric separated easily, falling like spilled water over Obi-Wan's hips, exposing his groin and then his legs as Qui-Gon cut again. The breath Obi-Wan had been holding exploded out of him as the hand still holding the blade gripped his genitals, the blade edge grazing his hip and leaving a thin line of red.
The man fondled Obi-Wan's shaft, sliding his hand down and around it. Obi-Wan could not stop himself from hardening under that knowing caress. The man grunted once, then slid the knife back into its sheath. He fumbled with the lacing on his pants and pulled out his own cock.
He slid closer, wrapping himself around Obi-Wan, his cock resting between the cheeks of Obi-Wan's ass. "If you want it wet," he murmured, "turn around and suck it. Otherwise, I'll take you just like this."
It was no idle threat. "Whatever pleases, my master," Obi-Wan said, in a voice he hoped was like those used by the brothel slaves. He pushed against Qui-Gon lightly, and the man eased his grip enough to let him turn. Carefully and slowly, Obi-Wan let his back slide against the wall until he was on his knees, Qui-Gon's hand tangled possessively in his hair.
With wide eyes, Obi-Wan watched the knife drawn out again. "If you bite or fight, boy, I can have you dying as easily as living," the man murmured in a low voice, an easy smile on his face that did not reach his eyes.
Still moving slowly, Obi-Wan wiped at his lips with the back of his hand, feeling the swelling at the corner of his mouth where he'd been struck earlier. Qui-Gon's cock hovered before him, erect and thick, flushed and hard. His hand shook as he reached out to grasp the shaft, eyes closing even as his mouth opened.
He wasn't sure if he hated this, or not.
What he expected fled his conscious mind as his lips closed over the warm flesh. He was still unwilling, but a daring dart of his tongue provided no disgust, exactly. It was...not repulsive. He took a breath and then lost it as the hand in his hair suddenly jerked him forward slightly.
"Don't pretend it's your first, boy," Qui-Gon mocked him, and Obi-Wan drew a breath through his nose, barely checking his instinctive gagging.
Lips and tongue moved around the thick weight in his mouth, and he had not forgotten the warning. Moisture from his mouth slicked the hot shaft, and the grip on his hair, while not relaxing, became more of a firm massage. His hand spread the wetness from his mouth along Qui-Gon's cock, and he heard a throaty chuckle above him.
He felt the man relax against him; Obi-Wan quickly glanced at the door.
Hands gripped his hair painfully. "I think not," the man murmured.
Obi-Wan let a startled cry escape as he was jerked forward, his own hands reaching up to try and wrest Qui-Gon's from his scalp. The full weight of his captor pressed him back again, knocking him hard against the wall with enough force to drive the breath from his body.
That blade, that shiny, lethal blade was pressed to his throat, Qui-Gon's face close to his own so that he could see the myriad shades of blue in the cold eyes. "Turn around," the man hissed, one leg pressed against Obi-Wan's groin. A sharp nudge sent pain spiraling upward through Obi-Wan's body, the promise of more if he failed to obey apparent in the rubbing Qui-Gon did with his knee.
"It's a waste of the city's resources to have you setting up tables and trestles for festivals. They'd have made back more than your price by chaining you to one of the brothel beds." That soft caress against his jaw again, and bitterly Obi-Wan found himself pressing into it, enjoying the gentle touch. "I would have been willing to pay coin for you myself."
The thought sent another shiver though Obi-Wan's spine, followed instantly by white-hot anger. He was worth more than this, worth more than anyone would ever pay for his services, whatever they might be.
Someday, he promised himself, he would be free.
His attention must have wavered. He was wrenched forward and turned, once more pressed face first against the wall. He tried to relax, knowing it would hurt less if he did, but it seemed an impossible task. He pulled his arms over his head to cushion himself against the cold stone. "Do it," he whispered. "I'm yours."
Obi-Wan's fingers once more clutched at the stone as he felt Qui-Gon press against him, the slick, hard length of his cock stroking once more between his buttocks. Another nudge and his legs parted as he struggled to regain his balance.
He heard the blade being replaced in its sheath.
Warm arms wrapped around him, enveloping him with their strength. "Relax, boy," Qui-Gon hissed against his throat. "It doesn't have to hurt."
Instead of relaxing, Obi-Wan tensed up even more, trembling under Qui-Gon's hands. The reaction angered him, pointing out how little control he had. Obi-Wan sucked in a breath, feeling the pounding of his heart against his spine.
His head was turned, and his swollen lips covered by Qui-Gon's, his mouth invaded by Qui-Gon's tongue. The kiss deepened sweetly, surprising him more, gentling him, and despite himself Obi-Wan relaxed, opening himself to the warmth.
Kiss, or no kiss, Obi-Wan was not prepared as the head of Qui-Gon's shaft thrust into him. Piercing pain shot through him, ripped up his spine, and through his brain. He pushed against the wall in panic, only to feel Qui-Gon's hard cock impale him more deeply.
As quickly as that he collapsed forward again, the other man's mouth leaving his. The sob that escaped him was wholly unavoidable, and suddenly it was only Qui-Gon's grip on his hair and around his stomach that kept him upright at all. He drew another ragged sob as he felt the other man pull back and press in. The pain was not as sharp as before, but it was still pain.
Slowly, the pain eased, his sharp gasps softening into mere pants of discomfort. Qui-Gon's hand slid down Obi-Wan's belly and stroked the soft, silky length of unaroused flesh. He cupped it and stroked it in time to his own thrusts, leaning ever more heavily against Obi-Wan's back. Obi-Wan felt Jinn's grip on the back of his neck soften to a near caress; he could hear the man almost humming as his body fell into the rhythms of pleasure. He toyed with Obi-Wan's body, playing with his cock and balls. He lifted, pressed up, changed the angle; Obi-Wan hissed as each new sensation ripped through him.
Qui-Gon chuckled softly and increased his pace.
Half dazed from an odd mixture of pain, fear, and resignation, Obi-Wan let his captor support him, forehead pressed to the cool stone. It took him long moments before he realized that the other man was trying to pleasure him.
It seemed odd.
Before he could make sense of it, he felt another sensation, this one electric and surprising, race along his spine.
"I told you if you relaxed it would be better," Qui-Gon almost purred against his skin, then there were no more words. He heard the quick harsh gasp, felt warmth deep within him, and the deep and straining pressure inside increased for a moment before Qui-Gon let all his weight press Obi-Wan to the wall.
For long moments they remained there, Obi-Wan unable to move with the weight against his back and the shock, and Qui-Gon dragging in great gulps of air, until he bestirred himself to move, pulling back a bit, just enough to free himself from the tight sheath of Obi-Wan's body.
When his captor stepped back, Obi-Wan did not move. It was not fear this time that kept him immobile, but the knowledge that if he did move, he would fall.
Qui-Gon reached down to gather up a bit of Obi-Wan's clothing, cleaning himself before casting the cloth aside. He gripped Obi-Wan's shoulder and turned him.
Obi-wan didn't want to look, but knew he had to. The madness he'd seen earlier was hidden no where in this man's eyes.
He had survived.
Obi-Wan staggered until Qui-Gon gave him a small push, setting his back to the wall. "And now, what to do with you, boy?" he said, half to himself.
It took all Obi-wan had to think, almost more than he had to speak. "If...if you send me back...like this...they will send me to the houses," he said. "I don't want to go to the houses." Not if every encounter is going to be like this.
"It's where you should be," Qui-Gon said evenly, watching him. "But I will give you a choice. You can go back to serve many, or I can buy your contract, and you can serve one."
The defiance fled under confusion as Obi-Wan stared at him. "Buy...why?" he said before even considering the offer.
The smile Qui-Gon gave was less cold than weary. "Because...this way, I only have to pay for you once."
Hardly time to think at all. One, or many? One who had taken him all unwilling, or many who would care even less if he were willing. He was a slave.
The hesitation seemed to make Qui-Gon impatient. "Back it is, then," he said.
"No! No...I'll stay," Obi-Wan said, almost falling again as he tried to stop Qui-Gon from leaving, shame flushing his features. "Better one than many."
"Yes," Qui-Gon said softly, "better one than many." He caught Obi-Wan's chin; his touch was not as cruel. "Don't ever displease me," he warned. "At the moment, my temper is not as it should be." He dropped his hand, his manner formal. "Do you have a name?"
Obi-Wan nodded. "Obi-Wan..."
Qui-Gon smiled, vanquishing the formality, and covered Obi-Wan's startled mouth with his lips once more. "That will do." Suddenly, he released Obi-Wan and stepped away. "With me then, Obi-Wan," he said and turned away.
Obi-Wan was quick to note that his new Master's hand never strayed far from his knife. Hesitantly, he gathered up his torn clothing, able to fashion only a loin wrap from what remained of his festival clothes.
He wanted Qui-Gon dead.
comments? Mail to: rachael@mediafans.org/maygra@bellsouth.net