A Master of Mazes Rating: NC-17
by MacWarning: Contains non-consentual sex
Pairing: Palpatine/Qui-Gon
Summary: An unfortunate meeting on Naboo between a Jedi Master and a Sith Lord.
Notes: Done as an answer to the Palpatine or Water buffalo challenge - you be the judge, is it bestiality? <grin>
Archive: to M/A and to our site only at this time, others please ask
Feedback: Please, I need to know if its a total piece of crap or just a partial one...
Disclaimer: George would never think of this, but Star Wars is definitely all his anyhow.
I am the Master of Mazes
I am the key to your future
I lie at the center of all shadows
I am the nature of your doom
Political parties were such a bore. Stupid, arrogant weaklings posturing, juggling for place as if there lives had any meaning. They were insects and it gave him some satisfaction to know he could crush them, each and every one.
Not that they would suspect it of course. He juggled and simpered and smiled with the best of them. None were worthy of his concern, certainly none were worth risking any of his secrets for.
Except...perhaps him. As much as he loathed the Jedi, as eagerly as he looked forward to the day when the last ones died at his feet, he did respect strength. That particular Jedi resonated with it, though, of course, it was Light Side strength. He was also one of those responsible for the death of his last apprentice and as such he warranted respect. And his interest.
He was so serene, so self-assured, so certain of himself and his abilities. What a pleasure it would be to watch that serenity crumble, to destroy that pride, to humble that self-assurance. It would take a very particular form of degradation to crack that veneer. Yes, degradation.
Perhaps, he thought lazily, the wine had softened his brain, or perhaps he felt in need of a challenge but whatever it was he couldn't resist following him out into the garden. Naboo was a pretty world if one valued such things and the architects of the Theed Palace had designed and constructed an intricate series of living mazes throughout the gardens. It had taken centuries to build them and they covered acres of ground.
Using that skill that he had to blend and be unnoticed, he moved casually after the Jedi outside, pausing at the cloakroom to collect his robe. On the outside it was a dull purple, but once turned the inside was black and the hood slipped over his head, putting his face in shadow. He slipped outside, following the Jedi's solitary ramble into the Maze, distracting anyone who might think to follow with some slight confusion of mind. After some minutes they had left all the other partygoers behind and sound itself was muted by the many layers of bush and hedge around them. The night was cool and quiet, star-scattered black sky covered them like a giant bowl and the wind moved the air quietly, a cool, clean touch on the skin.
The Jedi stopped, eventually, turned and looked about as if he suddenly realised how far he'd gone and that he'd gotten himself lost. Palpatine heard the quiet snort of self-amusement, sensed the shimmer of Force energies being drawn as a guide – and he smothered them abruptly, swallowed them in his greater darkness. He sensed the Jedi's surprised shock as the man stopped dead. He saw the pale glint of a face up and searching, heard the as-yet unalarmed voice.
"Is there someone there?"
Palpatine made no sound, drifted through the bushes more silent than air, drawing on a lifetime's training. He had never bothered with foolish Jedi practices, never learned the saber or the fantastic leaping, never bothered with their irritating philosophies. Yet those things he did, he did very well. Subterfuge, misinformation, misdirection and confusion. How to touch a weak spirit and turn it. How to corrupt and taint. Of those things he was the Master.
So he sent waves of misdirection towards the Jedi, shadowed images, strange sounds, confusing those sharp senses with a wash of input until the man spun in circles, pulling his lightsaber to face some unseen menace. He saw pits were there were none, heard voices calling him from paths that led to dead ends. Tried to leap above the maze only to find himself into green walls that tore at his skin and bruised him.
With each failure a little more of his control was eroded. When he sought balance, Palpatine unbalanced him with threat. When he pulled a communications device from his pocket the Sith Lord touched it with his dark power and it failed to function. The Jedi was caught in a web of dark fantasy and fear that fed on itself. His will was strong and although he had kept his head he was confused. Confusion was excellent. It led to fear. And from there to anger. Anger was the great tainter, the key to the door to darkness.
With all the reflected sensation he was projecting it was impossible for the Jedi to track him, though he knew someone was there. The flavour of the attack was impossible to hide and Palpatine didn't try.
He heard the Jedi laugh, a bright, challenging sound that drew him. "So, the other Sith is here. Come out and face me. Fight me where I can see you!"
Foolish, as if he'd face that bright blade unarmed as he was. Objects began flying through the air: large potted plants, stone seats, small bushes, they rained down on the man with holding the saber. At first he destroyed them easily, slicing them into pieces. Soon the pieces were flying back at him, more and more little bits raining down on him and he staggered, bruised and bleeding, turn and ran in desperation down the nearest passage.
Palpatine followed, floating over the bushes, distracting him as he tried to cut his way directly through the maze, maneuvering him back on himself with sounds and visions until he'd turned in a circle and was back where he started. Exhaustion began to set in finally and he staggered and nearly fell. When the other man stood, gasping for breath and trying to work out where his enemy waited, Palpatine moved close behind him and struck, striking the nerve junction of the throat to temporarily cripple but not kill.
The man fell in a heap of robes, his lightsaber dropping silent beside him. Palpatine slid down next to him and pressed his hand against the thick hair, sent wave after wave of dark energy into the brain, befuddling, crippling, causing such confusion that the mind was simply unable to control the body.
He knew that, In the darkened spaces between brush, with his cape drawn over his shoulders, his face was disguised as his voice and that even had the man been fully awake he would have found it hard to recognise him. Tentative still, as though touching a wild animal, Palpatine laid one hand on the rigid shoulder. He sensed the tension in each twisting, cramping muscle, the way frustration welled up, blotting reason and Light. It was a heady moment, to dominate such power, to hold a Jedi under his hand.
"I have subdued you, Jedi, with nothing more than my mind. How can you hope to defeat me when you cannot even find me?" His voice was a sibilant whisper, barely stirring the silence. "You are merely Jedi. I AM the darkness, the personification of the greatest power of all. Even your much vaunted Jedi skill will not help you now, Master Qui-Gon Jinn."
He sensed that the will was still unbowed and read other things about this man; his stubborn pride, his dedication, his affection for his Padawan, his almost fanatical purity of mind and body. So clean, so untouched. So...ripe.
"Always so in command of yourself," he whispered, as he stripped away the clothing, layer by layer, as he had worn down the man's defences. He kept him face down to lessen the chance of recognition and sensed the rapid heart beat as he pulled always the long robe and dropped it to the ground, followed by the layers of tunic and pants. The boot were difficult so he left them on, simply slid the pants down over the top of the boots and left them there.
He sat to inspect the broad back, running one hand across the warm width. The skin twitched under his hand and he could almost taste the growing fear and anger and frustration all bubbling together. It would be simple to just take and use him as he had so many others and he left would be left a victim with a certain degree of pride. But there were ways...ways to make thing worse for him.
Putting his hands on the sweat-dampened forehead he lifted Qui-Gon's head back and held it between his hands. His fingertips lay at the temples and he used his vocal powers to gradually insinuate himself into the Jedi Master's tired, stretched mind. Key phrases and tones of voice wove a pattern of hallucination as he poured his power into the mind under his hand. He stroked the pleasure centres of the brain with Force power and images of dark pleasure, fed the black germ that lay at the bottom of every spirit with things the Jedi could never have. His Padawan under him, begging to be used, crying out in pleasure at his touch. Reason told the man one thing but at that moment his reason was swamped by physicality.
He felt the body under him respond in spite of itself, the sexual chemistry reacting to the signals the brain was sending out to take and mate. Laying the Jedi's head gently on the grass, his lifted the slender hips and moved him, stroking him back and forth so that his tender, swelling flesh was caressed by the rough texture of the grass. Unintelligible sounds came from beneath him, moans and curses, choked cries, even sobs. He pushed backwards against the man holding him even as his hands twisted, digging into the ground, nails breaking as he tore at the soil and grass.
The Sith Lord brought the Jedi Master towards a shattering climax, sensed his mind swim with Dark pleasure at the forbidden lust he was caught in. Such fine, heady wine and he couldn't resist finally, slid his pale hand underneath, cupped the straining flesh between the man's legs, felt the penis bob and surge into his fist. Rubbing himself against the Jedi's ass he took his own pleasure as Qui-Gon orgasmed uncontrollably. His own orgasm was muted, restrained as everything he did, but nonetheless pleasant for all that. It wasn't often that he was able to mind-rape a Jedi Master.
Palpatine moved himself forward in preparation for a final twist of the mind under his hand. As he fed one deep, subliminal command into the very depths of the Jedi's mind he head a voice calling from not too far away. He swore and pulled back.
"It seems," he whispered to the Jedi, "that your Padawan has found you. Just in time. I'll leave you to his tender care. Yet I believe we'll meet again. And perhaps you will be more willing to serve me then."
With one last touch Palpatine merged into the shadows and vanished.
Obi-Wan found his Master lying on the grass and was shocked by the sight, unable to understand what had happened beyond the fact that Qui-Gon was hurt. He wanted to question him but even when Qui-Gon was tended to by the Medical personnel and returned to duty they never spoke of it. Yet he had felt the cool touch of a dark presence that night and though the Council had investigated, nothing had come of it. Whoever it was had managed to slip away undetected.
He knew something was wrong with his Master, but was unable to work out what it was. And that worried him.
Qui-Gon leant on the balcony overlooking the river, eyes unfocused. He'd found it difficult to relax since that night, had become nervous and unfocused, jumping at small noises, as nervous as a child. He felt a presence beside him and straightened, saw it was Senator Palpatine...no, Chancellor Palpatine now.
"Master Jinn, I hear you have been unwell? I hope you have recovered?"
Qui-Gon nodded slowly, caught by the gentle concern in the pale eyes. "Yes, thank you Chancellor. It was a slight injury, nothing serious."
"I am very glad to hear that. We cannot afford to lose such a valuable...servant..of the Republic." As one pale hand was rested on his arm he felt a surge of unexpected appeal. Very unexpected, for though the Chancellor was younger than him he had never previously paid much attention to him. Yet there seemed to be some sort of attraction between them, an almost magnetic linking.
For that reason, as much as for courtesy, he didn't turn away or reject the touch. They stood there together, looking out over the river, caught in the currents of the Force. The futures shifted and the balance tipped, very slightly, off centre.
He couldn't forget. The images followed him everywhere, especially when Obi-Wan was with him. His Padawan – soon to be knighted – laid out naked beneath him, writhing to his touch, impaled on his manhood as he thrust and thrust –
He knew Obi-Wan was hurt, couldn't understand the coldness, the way his Master avoided him. Avoided him because he was afraid of what he would do. Afraid that one night he would back the young man against a wall somewhere and taste him. Even the thought of it made his loins ache. He was aroused by the mere thought of him, and that frightened him most of all. He'd never known such a hunger. He thought he understood the cause, which made it no better.
The Sith. He lain under a Sith, been touched by one, used by one, roused to unholy pleasure by that cool touch. He'd tasted the Dark and it wouldn't leave him alone, no matter how he meditated. It followed him into his dreams. It haunted his waking hours, showing him pictures on the back of his eyelids. Desire was a constant taste at the back of his mouth.
They'd returned to Coruscant where Anakin had been taken for instructional training; the boy had a lot of catching up to do and teachers were assigned to assess him and guide his education. Qui-Gon was glad of it. He wasn't to be trusted with a child. He was beginning to think that Sith had done him irreparable damage. Yet every time he went to say something to Yoda or Mace something stopped him. There was always an excuse. Even when there wasn't one.
The Temple offered many places to go and think, to be alone. There were many Jedi, but it was a huge edifice, hundreds of levels, thousands of corridors. He'd gone to his rooms, collected the bottle of Alderaani wine he'd been given by some political admirer and taken it with him for company. He knew there was no escape in drunkenness but he thought it might dull the sharp edges of his fear.
Palpatine had arrived at the Temple to discuss an important function with the Jedi Council. He could have sent for them but, in truth, he'd wanted to come himself. He knew Jinn was there, had sensed him along that strange link they'd formed. As dangerous as it was he ached for another time in the man's company.
Using his position to blunt questions, he'd left at the end of the meeting on a supposed lone tour and ended up tracking Qui-Gon down through the Temple corridors. There was an open balcony that was being transformed into a garden – half-made, construction materials left about it was desolate and windblown and suited his mood well.
He saw the Jedi in a corner hunched into a bench, sensed he was asleep. He saw the empty bottle on the floor next to him and smiled. A drunken sleep, in fact. Delightful.
Standing before him, weaving his visions along the control he'd already established in that numbed mind, Palpatine gathered himself for another pleasuring.
Qui-Gon woke, feeling numb and slightly ill, and saw a figure standing in front of him. He blinked – the figure was dimly outlined but immediately familiar.
"Obi...Obi-Wan?"
"Yes." The voice was whisper but equally familiar. A hand came out, slid into his hair at the side of his head and the elegant features dipped towards him. He tried to back away, tried to speak but his mouth was smothered, a tongue slipped between his teeth, tasted him. He was being kissed with hungry passion and he returned it, squirming with pleasure at the wet heat.
Obi-Wan standing before him, pulled back and began undoing his robe and tunics, while he continued to stroke Qui-Gon's head.
"Qui-Gon. Do you want me?"
"Yes!" He hissed, unable resist.
"Show me how much you want me. Let me feel your touch." The tunic slipped open, a hand fumbled at the leggings and a semi-erect cock slid out. "Pleasure me, Qui-Gon."
The hand pulled his head forward, he opened his mouth and took the hot, velvety rod in. He closed his eyes, formed his mouth around it and pushed his head forward, sinking onto it, taking it deep into his throat. Obi-Wan groaned.
"Yes. Wonderful. Suck me, use your tongue. Let me feel you taste me."
Holding onto the hips in front of him, Qui-Gon worked the rigid cock, suctioned it, covering it with his saliva, tasting the pre-seminal fluid leading from the slit at the end. He moved back, slipped his tongue into the slit, hissed as the hands holding his head gripped his hair with punishing strength. He slid one hand inside his own leggings, stroking himself as he fellated the sturdy penis slamming against the back of his mouth. He didn't care who he was, where he was. He only cared for the moment - - -
Palpatine looked down in dizzy pleasure as the Jedi worked on his organ, sending shocks of pleasure into his groin. He held the vision of the man's Padawan being before him but it wasn't easy. Pushing slightly forward he angled himself deeper into the moist heat, watched the man's throat swell to take him. It had been a long time. Since that time with young Maul, before he'd gone to Naboo.
He was feeling as much pleasure in this act as Jinn was, saw the man's hand slide between his legs to stroke himself as his body reacted to the stimulation. He knew he should stop, it was very dangerous – but he was intoxicated by pleasure. Sliding back, he grabbed the Jedi Master's shoulders and pushed him around, bending him forward over the stone bench.
"Do you want me to fuck you, Qui-Gon?" he asked and the Jedi shook with eager anticipation.
"Yes...yes..." He squirmed forward, pulling his leggings down and Palpatine moved forward, spat on his fingers and pushed two of them inside the tight sphincter muscle. The man groaned, twitched at the sudden pain but he pushed until he'd made enough space for his organ. He held the muscle open and inserted his saliva-dampened cock inside, past the tight ring of muscle, into the anus, pushing with determined strength. Qui-Gon moaned under him at the pain as he was stretched, as skin tore and blood flowed but he continued pushing, edging in and out to gain the best angle.
Finally, he achieved complete penetration, complete possession. Resting for a moment, he took a breath, bent forward over the crouched man and began to pump in and out, driving himself harder and deeper. Qui-Gon cried out at each thrust that struck his prostate, caught between pleasure and pain and wanting both.
As Qui-Gon came in a convulsive climax that gripped Palpatine's organ and triggered his own flooding orgasm, the Sith leant further forward and removed the visions, let Qui-Gon see and sense what it was that had possessed him.
"You have had sex with a Sith, Jedi," he whispered as he saw the dawning horror, "and what's worse, you enjoyed it."
As Qui-Gon tried to pull away Palpatine pulled out and jerked the Jedi to his feet, slamming him forward into a wall with the full power of his Force strength, Held in a pool of shadow, manipulated by hands that seemed weak but were not, Qui-Gon was controlled and taken as hot pleasure slid down the unspeakable link between them. One of the pale hands stroked his face with possessive gentleness.
"You are mine now," the dark voice hissed even as the Sith pressed the nerve bundle at the Jedi's throat. Releasing the limp body to fall at his feet, he stepped away. He pulled his clothing together, tidied Qui-Gon's tunics and leggings and laid him along the bench as if he were sleeping. Not knowing quite why, he gent over and kissed the limp mouth. He licked the wide mouth with a sweep of his tongue, pulled away and walked off.
It had been a fine day's work.
When Qui-Gon finally woke and understood what had happened, he staggered to his quarters, washed himself until he was worn raw from the scrubbing – and then he sent a formal resignation from the Order to the Council and sent a private mail to Obi-Wan to apologise.
He looked at the flushed and damp face in the mirror and tried to recognise himself there. It was a stranger with his face.
You could have cried out, fought him, resisted. You didn't. Why?
At least he could be honest with himself, if no-one else. He'd done none of those things, because part of him had wanted it. That part wasn't Jedi and there was too much to ignore.
Before either the Council or a distraught Obi-Wan could investigate, he had packed his bags and left the Temple with no forwarding address.
Only one other person knew where he was.
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