Slave to Love

TITLE: Slave to Love, 2/7
AUTHOR: Ginny Powell
SUMMARY: A few weeks after Ep1, Obi and Anakin are visited
by strange dreams.
TYPE: Romance, het smut, with a mystery plot
RATING: NC-17, from page 1 (I am so proud of myself ;-)
PAIRING: Obi/OFC

WARNINGS: Explicit sex. Wait a minute, that’s not a
warning, that’s an incentive!

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own them, but I’m sure George Lucas’
Mommy taught him to share his toys, especially the pretty
ones. No Jedi were harmed in the writing of this fic; in
fact, several had a very good time.

CRITIQUE: I’m always interested in improving, so if you
spot something stupid, tell me. Or if you really like a
certain line, tell me. On or off list is fine.
wmginnypowell@yahoo.com


“I’ve been haunted in my sleep,
You’ve been starring in my dreams”
– Miss You, the Rolling Stones


“I keep my visions to myself”
– Dreams, Fleetwood Mac


Part II – Second Sending

Obi-Wan sat on the rug in the rooms he shared with Anakin
Skywalker, sunk deep in meditation. With the tiny part of
his conscious mind still available, he began to pull up an
image from the vivid dream of the night before, to examine
it dispassionately.

But before he could do that, he found himself standing in a
strange room. It was paneled all in wood, anlledlled with
the finest furnishings. And also with a throbbing evil,
which seemed to emanate from the door just in front and to
the left. As he noticed this, a man lunged through the
door, wielding a gleaming sword. The man was huge, both
burly and obese, but surprisingly light on his feet. Most
likely Corellian, but so hairy as to be almost mistaken for
a balding Wookie. He swung the sword at Obi-Wan’s head.

The Jedi’s light saber was instantly in his hand and
parrying the blow. Obi-Wan backed up, assessing the
situation. Yes, the Dark feeling was definitely coming
from the man. And something else, confusion – mental
illness? The look on the man’s face was certainly feral as
he continued to lunge at Obi-Wan.

Then there was another feeling in the room, like a candle
being lit in the dark. Both men turned toward the opposite
corner of the room, where a woman had entered. She stood
watching the fight with concern. Light Force energy pulsed
outward from her.

It was the woman from his dream.

Obi-Wan, taken aback, watched her for a fraction too long,
and suddenly the hairy man was upon him, his sword against
Obi-Wan’s neck, his breath rank in his face.

“You can’t have her, Jedi,” the man hissed. “She is mine
forever!”

“Don’t kill him, Juckolda, not like the others, please!”
The woman stepped towards them, distracting the man for
just a moment.

It was all the time Obi-Wan needed. He flipped backwards,
kicking out as he did so and connecting with Juckolda’s
jaw. The Jedi landed several feet away, light saber at the
ready.

But there was no longer any need. Thrown off balance by
Obi-Wan’s sudden move, Juckolda had fallen on his own
sword.

Obi-Wan rushed to him, feeling for a pulse, a breath, any
sign of life. But there was none. He turned to the woman,
who remained in her corner of the room, breathing heavily
with fr.
.

Which was quite attractive, as she was wearing only those
three scraps of cloth…

Shaking his head to help himself focus, Obi-Wan stood. “He
is dead.”

“Good,” the woman replied, though by the way she said it
she didn’t seem too happy about it. Come to that, Obi-Wan
wasn’t too happy about it, either, but what was done was
done.

“I am Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he said as he crossed the room to
her. She looked up and into his eyes for the first time,
and he swore he saw a spark of recognition cross her
features.

“Sekina,” she responded. And a slow smile grew across her
face, serving to make Obi-Wan even more aware of the aura
of attracting energy that swarmed around her.

“Do you have a last name?” he urged after a moment. Humans
usually did.

“No; should I have?”

“Never mind. We’ve got to get you out of here.” He wasn’t
really sure why they had to get out of there, but it seemed
the thing to say.

“I can’t. My transmitter.”

Staring into her eyes, Obi-Wan vaguely remembered Anakin
having had a transmitter, set to explode upon his escape
from his master, Watto. It had been removed by Temple
doctors just two weeks ago. There was still a scab on the
inside of his knee where he kept picking at it. But if he
still had it when he came to Coruscant…

“There must be a way to deactivate it. A coding device of
some kind,” he said, glancing around the room in the vain
hope that it was just lying out in the open. But if I look
into her eyes much longer, we’ll never find it, he told
himself.

“The Protector. On his belt.” Sekina pointed to the body,
but made no move to approach it.

Of course, he would keep it on his person, Obi-Wan
realized, moving swiftly to the body of the man. Juckolda;
Obi-Wan recognized the name in a sudden flash of
understanding. The man I ‘deliver’ her from, he thought.
Rolling the heavy body over, he found a small handheld
device clipped to a belt and removed it carefully, lest
that act trip some alarm. When he held it up, he found it
was pretty simple. There were three buttons marked in an
alien language which Obi-Wan recognized enough to translate
as arm, disarm, and explode. The very idea that someone
could put something like that in another person, he thought
angrily. And then to call it their Protector!

With a thought, he pushed the anger back down and continued
to examine the device. He recognized the fingerprint
analyzer pads; so only Juckolda could operate it. He
shouldn’t mind giving us a hand at this point, he thought.
Wincing at his own joke, Obi-Wan raised one cold hand to
the disarm button, pressed a finger on the pad.

Nothing happened.

“Shouldn’t it beep or something?” Sekina asked worriedly.
She had the most to lose if they didn’t do it right, after
all.

“Probably. Come here.” She didn’t move. “He’s dead, he
can’t hurt you any more,” he added soothingly. She still
didn’t move, so he stood up, walked to her, took her hand,
and led her back to the body. She did not resist. “It may
have to be in close proximity,” he explained, as he helped
Juckolda push the button again.

Still nothing.

“Where is your transmitter? Do you know?” Anakin had not
known, he recalled, and it had taken days to locate it inis kis knee.

“No.”

“Hold still.” And placing the device against her knee, he
pressed down Juckolda’s finger.

Nothing. Nor on the other knee.

Of course not, Obi-Wan sighed inwardly. That would be too
easy. “Only one thing to do, then.” And he began
methodically advancing the device up Sekina’s right leg,
pressing the button every centimeter or so. So she’s
ticklish, he noted as he passed on up across her hip, over
the string holding on the nether triangle of cloth, as she
shivered just slightly. She raised her arms and as he
passed up them, awkwardly lifting Juckolda’s body, she
watched him with those green eyes, so trusting and
welcoming. All the while, the energy that was her constant
companion tickled at his senses. He was sure, if he
checked, that their hearts beat out the same rhythm.

Down her left side and still nothing. Reaching her foot,
he considered for a moment where to go next. Her back
seemed less…tempting. He stood and thoroughly examined her
shoulders and spine. As with the rest of her, there was no
sign of a scar or dimpled flesh to mark an implant, no
blemish on the perfect, creamy skin…

Transmitter, find transmitter, he reminded himself. How
can I even think about touching her when I’m standing here
holding a dead guy by the hand? It’s got to be here
somewhere. But back, waist, hips, all clear. Next was the
gentle swell of her buttocks, covered only by two sheer
scarves, one pink, one pale green, slightly overlapping at
the center, but so easy to separate and…

“Ah-hah!” he exclaimed, startling them both, as a small red
light on the device began to blink slowly. He moved it up,
and it darkened. Down, and it blinked again. Further
down, and it blinked faster. On to the thigh, and it
darkened again. I can’t eve eve I’m saying this, he
thought as he said, “Bend over, please,” his voice almost
breaking.

She bent over. The scarves separated, as did her buttocks,
revealing… Look at the blinking light, Obi-Wan, he ordered
himself. Yes, there, the blinking is fastest there, on
that small, smooth piece of skin between… Just push the
button.

This time there was a beep, a very satisfying beep, and
Obi-Wan had dropped Juckolda’s hand and stepped back from
Sekina before the sound died away.

“Now let’s go.”

“This way.” Sekina led him through a maze of passages to a
hangar in which were housed several craft of various size.
Juckolda must have enjoyed flying. He wouldn’t say
piloting, for they were all surface craft. Closest to the
door was a skimmer of a type that Obi-Wan had flown before,
and he pointed it out to her. As he checked it over, she
went to a panel by the large door and pressed some buttons.
The door retracted into the ceiling. Outside was the
forbidding landscape of the previous dream.

“Head south,” Sekina said in his ear. She had come to sit
behind him on the skimmer, her knees brushing his back, her
arm pointing over his shoulder. He nodded, fired up the
engines, and moved out of the garage.

Skimming evenly above the flat earth at high speed, dodging
the occasional rock, their smooth ride was suddenly
interrupted by a wave of turbulence that threatened to
bounce them into the ground. Fighting the controls, Obi-
Wan managed to keep them aloft and pulled to a stop, their
skid turning them back to face the house.

It was no longer there. A cascade of dust and debris
rained from the sky behind them, flames reaching into the
space where the roof had been. Obi-Wan revved the engine
back up, turned on a dime, and sped away. No sense waiting
around for any other surprises Juckolda might have left for
them.

The featureless ground continued for some time. Then a
large rock formation rose up before them, shimmering in the
dry heat of the plain. Obi-Wan slowed, circling the rock.
Yes, there was the circle of green around the trickling
rock. The oasis of his dream. He came to a stop, eased
back on the blowers, let the skimmer settle to the ground.
They dismounted and walked to the rock, where the green
grass circle sat in shade. It was the perfect place to
pass the time while waiting for whatever transport might be
coming for them.

“I’m sorry Juckolda died, and that you had to see it,” Obi-
Wan said as they stepped onto the grass, where the shade of
the rock created a pocket of much cooler air.

“You have no need to be sorry, only proud,” Sekina answered
him, stepping in close. “My hero, you have delivered me.
Come and claim your prize.”

Obi-Wan looked down on her, realized the tableau before him
was exactly the same as the one from his previous dream.
And he knew how that one had ended.

No, not exactly the same, he suddenly sensed. The dark
presence over the horizon, which he had felt in the
previous dream, was now gone, replaced by a smudge of
distant smoke. So it had been Juckolda. He had changed
the outcome. So I can change what happens next, he
thought, looking down at Sekina. But do I want to?

“I require no prize,” he said as he took Sekina by the
shoulders and gently pushed her away. As he did so, he
realized he was still following the script; that was no way
to change things. I am a Jedi, he told himself, and a Jedi
would never claim a prize for doing their job, helping the
innocent. Well, perhaps innocent wasn’t the correct word.
But certainly Juckolda had been evil, and Sekina was good.
The Force was strong in her, and the Force could not be
wrong. Anyway, the point is…

But before he could think of what he wanted to say, Sekina
spoke.

“The transport will be here soon,” she said, stepping back
up against him. “We’ve naught to do but wait.” Her hands
began to roam his body, caressing his chest, his arms, his
shoulders. “Please, deliver me from the memory of
Juckolda’s touch as you delivered me from his slavery.”

So she was behaving just as before, also. If he remembered
correctly, this was where he was supposed to kiss her.

“Sekina, we’ve been here, done this before. But it doesn’t
have to happen. You don’t owe-”

“Yes, I remember,” she interrupted, and that tempting smile
was back on her face. “I pulled you to me, and you came,
and it was wonderful. And it will be again.” And she was
kissing him, drawing him down te gre grass, and they were
magically nude again.

Which reminded Obi-Wan that this was only a dream, after
all, and the reasons he had had a moment ago for changing
the ending seemed distant and meaningless.

And then they were rolling on the grass once more, their
limbs and tongues entwining, the glowing energy coalescing
around them. And he rolled her on her back and kissed down
her jaw, her neck. This time she did not stop him, and he
was able to make his way to her breasts and down her belly,
to explore the few parts of her which his earlier search
for the transmitter had not covered. As he reached the
soft brush of neatly trimmed hair at the juncture of her
thighs, and she spread her legs willingly for him, he
reflected that he now knew every inch of her, that she
would be indelibly etched in his mind for all time.
Lowering his head, he placed a gentle kiss on the folds of
skin that surrounded her openin
Se
Sekina gasped. “Oh, yes!” As Obi-Wan’s tongue began a
slow circuit, alternating quick flicks of the tip with more
solid licks, her hips bucked wildly. Sparks appeared in
the surrounding mass of golden light. I have indeed
changed the dream, Obi-Wan thought to himself; I’ve made it
even better. “I want you inside me, Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Please, now!” Sekina begged, and he could do nothing but
comply.

As he moved onto her, the golden energy formed a fog,
dragging across his skin like a caress. He realized then
that part of the energy was his, that is was pouring from
him in a torrent to gather with hers around their bodies.
As though our souls make love even as our bodies do, Obi-
Wan marveled. Then he thought no more, but only felt, as
he slipped inside her, and she was so warm, and wet, and
tight around him, and they were moving as one.

As before, his eyes stayed open, and this time he could see
the sparks form around his own head and arms, as well as
hers, and between their bodies as they both came. And once
again, as though each tiny spark was a star in a doomed
galaxy, the light imploded, then exploded, spreading out in
a wave with them as its center, blinding him…

“Master! Master Obi-Wan, are you all right?” Anakin’s
voice intruded as Obi-Wan came out of his trance with a
gasp. He looked around, confused for a moment, then down
at himself. He was surprised and then relieved to see he
was dressed, and suddenly grateful for the long lapels of
his over-tunic. “You were making weird noises, and your
eyes were moving like when you dream,” the boy continued.
“It wasn’t like any meditation I’ve seen. What was it?”

“I…I’m not sure,” Obi-Wan said, making his mouth work with
difficulty. His lips still tingled from… But that was
only in my head, wasn’t it? Forcing himself to focus on
the present, he looked at his Padawan, who hadarenarently
finished showering and changing while he had meditated.
Making his voice as commanding as he could, he said “I must
think on it. You go and play like I told you.”

“Yes, Master,” Anakin sighed dejectedly, and headed out the
door.

As soon as the door closed, Obi-Wan let himself fall onto
his back and covered his face with his hands. “Why is this
happening to me?” he asked the empty room. Not
surprisingly, there was no answer. He sat up, took a deep,
calming breath.

Think rationally, he told himself. You thought before that
it has been too long since your last date, and so it has.
For the last year, Qui-Gon was surreptitiously pushing to
get you ready for the trials, and then there was the
mission to Naboo, and…the reason I got Anakin as my
Padawan. No time for personal interests. While you can
mentally ignore that, your body does have its needs, and so
you neatly handled it with a dream. Or two. Problem
solved.

But why the fighting and killing of Juckolda? Anakin’s
dream, Obi-Wan remembered. Juckolda could certainly be
called a “big, hairy, ugly” man. I’ve just combined our
two dreams, that’s all. The power of suggestion, and I put
myself in a very suggestible state. Yes, that’s all it is.

Having thus calmed his fears for the moment, and in the
safe knowledge that he would not be meditating or sleeping
for many hours, Obi-Wan rose from the floor his normal,
calm self. He needed to get showered and dressed for a
scheduled meeting with Yoda.

The two met every week to discuss Anakin’s – and Obi-Wan’s
– progress. As Obi-Wan approached Yoda’s rooms, the dank
green smell leading him to it like an arrow, he felt as
nervous as a child. Will Master Yoda approve of me, or
scold me? he wondered. Stop that, he ordered himself as he
neared the door. You are a Jedi Knight, and he a Master.
He seeks not to punish or humiliate, but to guide. Accept
that, and let him help you. Force knows you need all the
help you can get.

The door opened as he reached it, the warm, moist air
roiling into the hallway. Obi-Wan stepped inside, and the
door closed behind him. Peering around in the relative
darkness, Obi-Wan finally located the little Master and
knelt before him in humility.

“Master Yoda.”

“Master Obi-Wan,” Yoda replied. He often used that form of
address now, as though by saying it over and over, the
young Knight might begin to believe it more fully. “How
fares your padawan, then, hmmm?” he got right to the point.

“Well, Master. He has almost completed construction of his
light saber, he passed the level nine-”

“No, no, no,” Yoda interrupted. “Of those matters I trust.
Inside him, I wonder, what is there?”

Obi-Wan sighed. “His fears sometimes consume him. I still
don’t think he’s made any friends his age. And last night,
he had a dream-”

“A dream, you say? What kind of dream?”

“He ran away from a fight. A fight with a much larger and
stronger man, who seemed to channel the Dark Side.” Just
like Juckolda, Obi-Wan thought but did not say.

“Hmmm.” Yoda considered a moment, his ears slowly
rotating, his eyes half-closed. “His fears wrapped up in
this man, I think. Beat him, he must.”

“That’s what I thought,” Obi-Wan replied, inordinately
proud that his understanding ran parallel to Yoda’s. “We
talked about it, and I put him through some meditation and
directed dreaming exercises. But we won’t know how it has
worked until he dreams again.”

“Yes, yes, good.” Yoda paused, but Obi-Wan could tell he
had more to say, and waited patiently. “More to it than
this, I see,” Yoda continued after a moment, his eyes
closed. “Clouded it is, like all concerning Anakin
Skywalker.” Again he paused. Then, “I too dreaming last
night.” The old Jedi was looking down at his feet, so he
didn’t see Obi-Wan’s startled expression. “Of light and
dark and ripples in the Force.” He looked up then, sensed
rather than saw what Obi-Wan felt, as the young Knight had
controlled his features. “You are dreaming, too.” A
statement, not a question.

“Yes, Master,” the younger Jedi responded, tensing for the
inevitable probing questions. But they did not come, as
Yoda instead smiled, or at least grimaced in a way that
usually indicated amusement.

“A mission you are needing, I think. Take your mind off
these problems, it will. You have heard of the Vigor?”

Obi-Wan blinked at the sudden change of topic, took a
moment to answer. “Yes, the new prototype.” Yoda waited,
so he elaborated. “The smallest hyperspace-enabled ship
ever built, complete with the most advanced weapons
systems. Ideal for covert operations. The technicians are
very secretive about details.”

“Interested, you sound.”

Obi-Wan smiled with a touch of embarrassment. Many times
he, and sometimes Anakin, had tried to sneak peaks at the
craft. From what little they had seen, it would be a joy
to pilot.

“Glad, I am,” Yoda continued. “For flying it you will be.
Anakin also.”

“Master?”

“Testing it requires. Not my specialty, I fear. But
suggested you two, I did. Leave tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Master. Anakin will love that. As will I.”

“Go and tell him then. Cheer him up, it will. See you
next week.”

Thus dismissed, Obi-Wan bowed and left, smiling broadly.

Behind him, Yoda settled comfortably on his bench and
promptly sank into deep meditation.

------

“The Vigor? Really? Cool!” Anakin exclaimed when he heard
the news that afternoon. “Where will we be taking it? Can
I fly it, huh?”

“Yes, you will be flying it, part of the time. And I don’t
know where we’ll be taking it yet. Actually, I need your
help with that. Here.” Obi-Wan handed his Padawan a
reader. “All the specifications for the required tests are
in there.” He’d dropped by the hangar earlier that day to
talk to the techs about what was required. They’d been
only as helpful as they had to be, envy bright in their
eyes. “I want you to study them and make me a proposal in
the morning. Say, two or three planets that would meet our
needs. Then we’ll choose one together. All right?”

“Yeah!” And with no further urging, the boy jogged off to
his room to study the specs.

Obi-Wan smiled, buoyed by Anakin’s enthusiasm. This really
was a good idea. They’d have to thank Yoda properly when
they got back. Offer to water his plants, or something.

Then the young Knight’s face fell. The afternoon and
evening seemed to stretch endlessly before him. He’d
managed to keep busy up until now – he’d already studied
the specs he’ven ven Anakin, worked out again, checked on
Anakin’s work with his other teachers. What was left to
do? He certainly wasn’t planning on meditating.

He glanced around the room desperately, and his eye fell on
a book on a table near the couch. It was one of Qui-Gon’s
favorites, “Classic Tales from the Valoric System.” One of
the many things of his Master’s that he hadn’t been able to
bring himself to dispose of yet. Obi-Wan was picking up
the book before he realized it, opening it to where a
bookmark still marked the last page Qui-Gon had been
reading before… But he wasn’t seeing the page. Instead,
he was hearing Qui-Gon’s low, dulcet voice, reading a story
from the book to a very young Padawan who didn’t always
understand the point of the story but wouldn’t even think
of breaking the warm spell that seemed to envelope them as
his Master read.

Obi-Wan slammed the book shut, his other hand going to his
face to stop the tears running down his cheeks from
dripping onto the fragile paper. He stood there for
several minutes, taking long shuddering breaths, fighting
to keep from sobbing out loud and alarming Anakin.
Eventually the fit passed. With a sniff, and one last wipe
of his red-rimmed eyes, Obi-Wan glanced again at the book.
Perhaps now that I’m a Master, the stories will make more
sense, he thought. Perhaps I can still learn something
from my Master. At least it can help me pass the time.
And settling onto the couch, he opened to the first page.

------

“Don’t stay up too late, I want to get an early start,”
Obi-Wan suggested. He was leaning on Anakin’s doorframe,
checking in as he went to bed himself. The boy had emerged
only once from his room all evening, to grab a hunk of
bread at dinnertime, and now sat before his terminal, on
which a star system glowed.

“I won’t,” Anakin replied without turning. “I just want to
get it right, you know.” His thin shoulders shrugged.

“I know. I can’t wait to see it in the morning. Good
night.” But Anakin was sunk back into his work, and didn’t
respond. With a bemused shake of his head, Obi-Wan shut
the door quietly and headed to his own room.

He undressed and slipped under the covers, then lay staring
at the dark ceiling. You have to sleep sometime, he told
himself. But there was something disquieting about the
dream, about the darkness around Juckolda and the light
around Sekina, about how he had killed the one and been
unable to resist the other. Reviewing the directed
dreaming techniques he’d taught Anakin just that morning,
Obi-Wan let himself drift off.

---End Slave to Love, Part 2: Second Sending---
---Continued in Part 3---