Bound, by Glacis. An extremely alternate universe Kenobi / Maul story, rated NC17 for nonconsensual sexual activities, chained Jedis and aroused Hutts. Blame McGregor's wish to be Princess Leia (and repeated watching of Velvet Goldmine along with a run-through of Pillow Book for all … that … skin … I can't believe she painted his penis) for this one. TPM has a different pair of Jedi in it in my universe. No infringement intended, and TPTB would never do this to them anyway. More's the pity. First in the Chosen series.

Weary blue eyes tracked silently around and around the outline of the cryocrypt, searching vainly for an opening. A weakness. A crack.

Nothing.

A hard jerk at the collar around his neck pulled him off balance, propelling him against the base of the granite platform. Thick leather dug into the soft skin under his chin, and he straightened his back, taking as much of the strain off his throat as he could. A slobbery rumble approved of his posture. He didn't need to look down to know why.

Chains whispered at his ankle, his wrists, his throat. His eyes never left the cryocrypt directly across the room from his vantage point, even as a raspy tongue, dripping saliva with the texture of sticky sap, curled around his shoulder, laved his throat. The chain jerked him forward and the tongue left a sloppy trail down the length of his spine.

Obi Wan Kenobi, Jedi knight. Captive slave. Forgotten.

Forsaken.

The cryocrypt blurred at the edges but the tears didn't fall. He knew, in his gut, that the current stalemate could not continue much longer. He was on the verge of a breakthrough.

Or a breakdown.

Either way, it would be over soon.

The tongue-tip, thick as his forearm, slid under the back edge of his loincloth and began to push at his flesh. Slurping sounds pummeled his eardrums, and he concentrated ever more fiercely on the craggy features frozen, stilled, hung as an obscene trophy on the wall of a disgusting slug. The pain in his lower back faded away under the resolution in his mind.

Soon.

I will not forsake you, Master. I will not.

Yoda stared at the vista of stars spread out beyond his window. There was a ripple in the force, weak but insistent. It was familiar, but it couldn't be.

Qui Gon Jinn was dead, and his young apprentice with him.

Yet, yet, the signature was so close.

His eyes closed, and his entire face seemed to sag. The muted beep of his comm unit barely disturbed him.

"Yes."

"The analysis is complete, Master Yoda," came the technician's calm report. "The cruiser is legitimate. It is Master Jinn's craft. The remains were miniscule, but the only tissue evidence we could retrieve from the fragments were confirmed as genetic matches for Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi."

Yet.

"Certain, you are?" Of course. He could feel it. He didn't need the technician's verbal assertion.

As certain, he was not.

Staring back at the stars, he sent a thought to Windu.

The trade situation in Naboo is unstable, drifted into his mind. We must send a team. Yoda sighed again.

Master Noit'c and his Padawan Liepur, then, he responded mentally. The ripple shuddered, and Yoda's eyes popped open. Disturbed is the Force. Feel it you do, yes?

No. Windu sounded puzzled. There is some tension in the Senate, and turmoil along the Rim, but nothing out of the ordinary.

Ordinary, this was not. Yoda shook his head. Naboo, he instructed Windu, and turned his face back to the stars.

The future was obscure. The past, painful. The present, uncertain.

He missed Qui Gon.

The pages of prophecy were being rewritten, and it made his ears ache. Oddly enough, his heart felt lighter than it had in years, but there was shadow mixed with the light. It didn't bother him nearly as much as he felt it should. He also felt a persistent itch at the back of his neck.

He was missing something. Something important.

Unsettled, he was. He'd done all he could do, must accept his loss and move on.

And yet. Yet.

Darth Maul felt the disturbance in the Force before his shuttle was within hailing distance of Tatooine. He knew the taste of rage, hatred, frustration, lust, fear.

Not as this tasted.

It sparkled. Razor edges of broken diamonte, novae in the darkness.

An explosion of Light. Chained. Powered by love, and hatred.

It made his head spin. His palms slick with sweat. His horns itch. It tasted seductive.

Addictive.

The pilotdroid took care of the mundane tasks of clearance, docking, paying off port officials. The bribes were moderate, given that the locals didn't want to anger one of the Hutt's business partners.

They had no idea.

His glaring red eyes, fearsome black and red markings, and deadly attitude were more than enough to frighten the hordes of beggars away. They worked just as well on the palace guard. A sickly white tentacled being with sharp teeth and an obsequious manner bowed him toward the Hutt's throne room.

The taste grew stronger. Heady. Intoxicating.

He didn't hear the chamberlain announce him. He was too busy feasting on the source of the turmoil in the Force.

A young, male, Human slave strained against the Hutt's hold. Wheat gold hair hung in his eyes, clung to the sweat along high cheekbones, straggled against a sharp jaw, perfectly offset by a dimpled chin. His wide mouth was drawn into a grimace, but the rest of his face was perfectly calm. He stared away into the distance, seemingly impervious to the violation of his body.

His back was arched, the crown of his head flush against the heated bulk of the Hutt's belly. He balanced on the balls of his feet, compensating as best he could for the hands chained at the small of his back. His shoulders were pulled back by the chain at his neck collar, throwing his chest into relief, highlighting the thin gold chain glistening between his clamped nipples, tiny golden bells chiming with every move he made. The short leather loincloth, barely wide enough to cover his genitals and the curve of his ass, swung freely. His flanks were exposed to the lascivious gaze of the Hutt's criminal court.

He had a leather collar around his neck, holding his back in that arch. It wasn't the collar that riveted Maul's attention. It wasn't even the arrhythmic rocking of the young man's pelvis with each push from the slobbering Hutt. It was the thin line of woven hair twisted around the man's throat, directly above the collar and nearly obscured by the tooled leather.

The second collar. A Padawan braid. A Jedi knight in training.

The Sith lord froze in his tracks.

The man's face abruptly twisted into a snarl, and the disinterested pose broke. The Jedi's gaze swept once over his shoulder, raking the Hutt who was now licking his lips, then swung like a laser to the doorway.

Blue.

The Jedi's eyes were blue.

Fire.

He hadn't known the Light could burn.

Raucous laughter broke the spell. An indecipherable stream of babble came from the Hutt.

"Jabba the Hutt wonders if you find his slaveboy enticing, Darth Lord. Suggests you stop leering and begin negotiations before you find yourself in similar place."

Maul ignored the creature, tearing his eyes from the Jedi's face with an effort. Turning his back disdainfully on the Hutt, he looked up the wall, interested to see what had held the Jedi's attention so completely during the Hutt's activities.

A cryocrypt hung from the wall, behind a complicated maze of electronic and biotronic security devices, suspended above a pit filled with acid. The man imprisoned in it was large, muscular, and judging from the robes, a Jedi master. Maul thought of the braid, and smiled. An ingenious way of controlling the apprentice. He sent a tendril of the Force out along it, tracing the power pathways.

"No!"

He turned back to the young Jedi. The blue was burning even fiercer, heart of the hottest flame. "Why not?" he growled softly. The young man swallowed. The braid moved with his skin, and the Light fragmented around him.

"You'll kill him." A hint of plea beneath the defiance. Maul turned back to regard the cryocrypt. He could see it now. A killswitch. Any hint of tampering and the crypt would sink into the pit. The Jedi master would die in moments. Clever, indeed.

Turning back to the Hutt, he forced himself to ignore the Jedi and continued on toward the Hutt. Examining him closely, he saw a bubble next to the giant mouth. The disarm trigger. He smiled in spite of himself, and glanced back at the Jedi. So close, and yet so far. He would never gain access to that trigger. Never be able to save his master, or himself. Would stay in this hell forever, at the whim of the Hutt, until his body was no longer so beautiful, or the Hutt tired of him. Then he would die, as would his master.

The Light concentrated, and he knew without touching it that the Jedi knew exactly what he was thinking. There was anguish deep in those eyes.

It tasted as sweet as the wild emotions running through the Light. Maul closed his eyes for a moment to savor it.

He sensed the movement before it began, and his saber staff was in his hand, slicing mercenaries into pieces before he got his eyes completely open. Disarming his weapon almost lazily, he stared at the Hutt over the remains of the criminals who'd attempted to jump him.

"Shall we negotiate now?" he hissed.

Jabba stared at him, golden lights swirling in his eyes. Then he groaned something to his interpreter, and the pale alien turned back to him. "A gesture of good faith, and a reward for your valor."

Maul stared at him. It would be so easy to stuff the being's tentacles down his throat and feed him to his loathsome master. But Palpatine had given him strict instructions. Enjoyment aside, he had no real reason to slice the Hutt into mulch. Yet. "What?" he growled.

With a roll of his massive stomach, the Hutt pushed the Jedi toward him. The man used the Force to cushion his fall with the ease of long practice, compensating for the awkward lack of balance caused by his wrists being chained behind him.

"Fuck." This time when the Hutt rumbled, Maul understood him.

Staring down at the man on his knees amidst the blood and gore from the dead courtiers, Maul slowly lowered his hands to his belt. There was a certain appeal to the idea. The Jedi was attractive, in a clean, long-limbed, oddly innocent sort of way. Debauching innocence always appealed.

The shaggy head lifted, and the molten blue eyes stared up at him. He was caught. Light and Dark, strength chained, anguish tamped down to sear the soul to slag. The very perversity of the coupling sang to him, the closest he could get to extinguishing the Light without allowing that final mercy.

His leggings were lowered and he was kneeling behind the Jedi without further hesitation. The man's buttocks were slick with saliva, bruised and reddened. He was loose, but only near the surface. Further in, he felt like a virgin, tight and yielding only to force. Maul growled, low in his throat, and thrust hard. He could feel the Light coalescing around him, attacking him, repelling him. Failing, utterly.

Maul's world condensed to a single point of contact surrounded by a pulsating battle in the Force. His hands on the Jedi's hips, his pelvis crushing into the soft flesh, every slap of their skin together drawing a hiss from himself and a whisper of pain from the Jedi. Around them, within them, the Force fought as well, Light striking out at Dark, Dark eddying around the Light like ink in cream. Tendrils sparked, curled away, whipped back, melded in places and repulsed in others.

It was the most incredible climax he'd ever had. If he hadn't known the need to keep up enough guard to ensure no one tried to take his saber staff, he'd probably have passed out. As it was, he grunted, shuddered from horn to sole once, pulled out, and had his saber staff lit and ready before the first attacker hit.

The Light was still enmeshed with his Dark, and his movements were too quick for the eye to follow. All three beings were dead before their bodies hit the floor. Maul calmly switched off the saber staff and fastened his leggings.

The Jedi lay curled where he'd been taken. For a moment, Maul thought he had somehow killed the man. Then the long body moved a fraction, and dark eyes stared up at him through the bright fall of hair. The Light was back where it belonged, and below the Light, blue eyes vowed vengeance. Maul started to step forward, nearly tripping on a severed arm, when he was distracted by a strange noise.

The Hutt was laughing. The albino servant murmured something to him, and the Hutt nodded, then levitated himself painfully from the throne. He rumbled something at Maul, then rolled out of the throne room. Maul spared one last glance at the Jedi, who'd gone back to staring at the cryocrypt holding his Master, then followed the Hutt from the room.

Fun was fun, but he had business to conduct.

Obi Wan lay in a puddle of blood not his own, staring at his master. He felt as if his soul had been torn from his body, shattered and thrown back at him in shards that cut into him like knives. His mind skipped through memories, and he found himself back aboard their cruiser, preparing to leave Tatooine, lingering an extra day for his master to check on a slave boy in the town, who'd shown unusual abilities in the force. He'd argued as much as he could; they had a mission waiting for them, they'd be back this way soon. The boy could wait. His master shook his head, and made for town.

The night had come, and Qui Gon had not.

"Master?" No signal on the commlink. No reassuring presence in the Force. The Light was dimmed. His master was in serious trouble.

The boy's home had been shambles. A woman cried in the corner, bowed over the body of a small child. Golden hair was matted with blood and brain matter. The boy. No potential now, merely a shell with no spirit intact. The woman was hysterical, unable to help, incapable of doing anything other than rocking in place and keening over her dead child. Distracted by her grief, he'd not noticed the arrival of the guards until the first bolt of energy had coursed through his body. Numb fingers had scrabbled for the hilt of his lightsaber.

The second bolt took him into darkness. He awoke in hell.

His mind skipped again, and the Hutt's leering face filled his field of vision. "They're not coming for you, boy," was the sibilant translation. "Your cruiser had an accident. You were vaporized. You're dead."

Saliva scalding his skin like acid. A prehensile tongue wielded like a weapon against his body. His master, caught, within his view but out of his reach. Brave and stupid mercenaries had tried to rape him, and he'd thrown them from him with all the frustration he felt channeled through the Force. But he did not use the Force against Jabba.

Jabba could kill his master.

And take pleasure in the killing.

Then a demon had come, filled with the Force, but so alien. Dark. A black hole of energy, and he'd fought with all his strength, only to have it taken from him and used against him. His knees hurt, his back hurt, there was a fire in his gut to match the one in his mind. Focusing inward in a desperate attempt to regain his center, reaching out with the Light to try once more to reach his master, he was surprised to hear thoughts filtering through his mind. The cloying sound of Jabba came through clearly, and the smokier sound of the demon answered back. In the private antechamber behind the throne room, the Hutt was making the demon an offer.

No.

No!

His eyes turned toward the cryocrypt as his heart and mind cried out to his Master, and the germ of an idea took root.

"A gesture of good faith," the Hutt's servant offered on his owner's behalf. "The Jedi, our common enemy. One killed, other yours. Jabba the Hutt becomes bored, enjoys seeing you master Jedi. Reward to you. Offer of good will to your Master."

Maul considered, for a bare moment. It was tempting, and Palpatine would no doubt appreciate Jinn's death. The fewer Jedi masters to overcome the better. But as delicious as the apprentice had been, it was too dangerous to allow the young Jedi to live.

That wouldn't stop him from sampling the taste once more.

"I will give you my answer tomorrow," he lied through his teeth. "Tonight, we settle our business."

The Hutt's eyes gleamed at him. He rumbled something. The servant smiled slyly. "Jabba the Hutt thanks you for one more night of pleasure before he turns the boy over to you."

Maul shrugged, then gestured at the holocube. Palpatine's image, cowled in black, appeared. The negotiations began.

The Hutt could do as he willed tonight. Tomorrow, Maul would have the Jedi once more, then kill both the master and the apprentice. The waste was a pity, but so it had to be.

Kenobi was waiting, crouched by the throne, when the Hutt struggled back up on the granite block. He saw his own reflection in the swirling golden eyes of his jailer, and it would have frightened him, if he'd been capable of fright by that point. Blood streaked his body, along his face where he'd been pushed into the mess on the floor as the demon had raped him, along his legs, over his feet, along his chest and belly. His eyes were wild, but concentrated completely on the Hutt. He was ready when the chain at his throat was pulled.

Jabba spat an order at his body servant, and the man left, eyes lingering on the white flesh streaked with black, crimson and yellow fluids. Obi Wan ignored him. As the room emptied except for himself and his captor, he allowed himself to be raised level to the Hutt's face, managing not to flinch as the tongue, wide as his torso, slathered his skin, licking up the blood and sweat from his body. Moving as slowly and as sinuously as possible given his chains, the young Jedi arched into the Hutt's grip, spreading his thighs and rubbing himself against the slaver's grainy hide.

Spittle leaked from the Hutt's gaping mouth, soaking Obi Wan's shoulder, running in a slimy trail down his spine. The claws on his collar chain tightened convulsively, and he had to apply the Force directly to keep himself levitated and prevent asphyxiation. Swallowing against the constriction around his throat, Kenobi did the most difficult thing he'd ever had to do.

He relaxed.

His limbs flowed against the Hutt like warm honey, his hair brushed up against the reptilian face. He undulated slightly and felt the Hutt draw a deep, gurgling gasp of unexpected arousal. Manipulating the locking mechanism in his wrist cuffs with the Force as Jabba excitedly swabbed at him with his tongue, coating him in saliva, Obi Wan sprang the cuff locks and had both his arms down the Hutt's throat before Jabba realized what had happened.

Strong jaws tried to snap shut around the Jedi's neck and shoulders, but Kenobi concentrated the Force and kept the Hutt immobile, unable to call out for help, unable to free himself. Eventually, unable to breathe. As the swirling eyes clouded over, Obi Wan freed one fist from its resting place in the Hutt's glottis, and slammed the tip of the swollen tongue over the trigger embedded in the dead being's cheek. The sensor read the genetic code of the tongue and reacted immediately. With a crackle of destabilizing force fields, the cryocrypt glided silently to the floor of the throne room, safely past the acid pit.

Fighting the urge to vomit that had been twisting his gut since he'd first approached Jabba, Obi Wan extracted his other fist, with some difficulty, from the rapidly swelling throat of the Hutt. Running on instinct, he ripped the collar from his throat, ripped the ankle cuff from his leg, and flew to his master's side.

Closing his eyes and moving with the Light, he traced pattern after pattern of the energy fields that he had tracked so often in the eight months of his captivity. This time, he didn't stop when he reached the locked T-junctions. The acid pit was no longer a threat, and he burned through the locks with fierce joy. As the last junction opened, the crypt hissed with decompression, and Master Jinn's body was slowly uncovered.

Shivering.

Trailing shaking hands over the soaking limbs, Obi Wan sought to bring some warmth back into his master's body, enough to get the older man mobile. They didn't have much time. Guards would be here soon, and they had to be-

A growl stopped him in his tracks.

How could he have forgotten the demon?

Kenobi pivoted in place, feet planted widely apart, hands flung out to his sides. The demon hadn't activated his saber yet, that strange dual headed light saber he'd used to such good effect on the mercenaries earlier. Red eyes glared at him, and an eerie smile lit the black and red patterned features. Obi Wan didn't think, didn't plan, simply prowled away from his master, toward the demon, gathered his strength, and threw everything he had into an attack through the Force.

The wall he hit nearly rendered him unconscious.

Luckily, his own blow seemed to have the same effect on the demon.

Something broke free, deep inside Obi Wan, and desperation joined with the soul-deep need to escape. The air around him arced with electricity, and the throne room degenerated into a battle zone as sconces flew from the walls, chains spun like living snakes through the air, and chunks of granite whirled madly between the two contestants. It sounded like a tornado and felt like the end of the world.

With a final wild wail, the young Jedi called upon every ounce of repressed energy from so many months of living like an animal, and threw it all at the demon. A slice of the throne, the size of a hovercraft, crashed into the demon, pinning him down, slamming his head against the granite floor. There was a sudden pause in the screaming confusion.

"Padawan." The voice was raw, barely a whisper. Obi Wan turned on his heel, swaying as he stood, and stared at his master. Qui Gon looked near death, shaking, shivering. One hand strained ineffectively at the ground, trying to push himself up. The other clamped helplessly around his torso, trying to contain the shuddering that shook his body.

Outside, now that the whistling of the wind had stopped, Obi Wan could hear the mercenaries massing. No time. He looked over at the demon. Red eyes stared dazedly back at him, hatred and desire weaving between them in the Force that had become a killing zone. He looked back at his master.

No time.

Turning his back on the demon, Kenobi ran to his master. Wrapping his arms around the wet, shaking body, he heaved with what strength he had left, along with generous help from his last reserves of the Force. Slipping and falling, picking themselves up and staggering forward again, they managed to make their way through the side corridors. Qui Gon was getting steadier as Obi Wan got shakier. By the time they made it to the Hutt's private hanger, Qui Gon was doing the supporting and Obi Wan was barely hanging on.

Lights spun crazily in front of his face as he felt himself pushed into a soft chair, much too large for his body. There was the muted roar of engines, then the push of acceleration against his chest, pressing him into the soft cushions. As they tore free of Tatooine's atmosphere, Kenobi's eyes closed and the darkness lapped over his mind.

He dreamed of demons.

Darth Maul shook the last of the painful haze from his head and spat blood over the granite pinning him down. Drawing in a deep breath, he slowly shifted the weight from his body, and lay there, feeling every broken bone. He had failed, and his master would not be pleased. He could return, report his failure, and accept his punishment.

Or he could follow the Light that had meshed with his Darkness, and return to his Master, eventually, with a prize that would mitigate his punishment.

There really was no choice at all.

On to Chosen 2: Broken