Wicked Game

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“When the gods wish to punish us,
they answer our prayers.”

Oscar Wilde


They say the road leading to the seven levels of hell is paved with good intentions.

Striding down the deserted hallway towards Padmé’s room, I told myself my only intention was to talk, to make her acknowledge that the existence of our feelings couldn’t be ignored and dismissed so lightly. The cringe inducing romantic drivel I’d spouted earlier hadn’t made any impact so this time it would be plain words couched without the bad poetry and, more importantly, without the gentlemanly retreat.

The colorful tapestries hugging the smooth walls of the hallway were but blurred scenery to me; I could’ve been stalking along a sewer corridor for all the attention I paid my surroundings. All I could see before me was Padmé, her brow lifted mockingly at me in the afternoon sunshine, and I longed for that simple time when the story of her first kiss with Palo was the worst of my hurts. Beneath my skin jealousy flared anew, sharp and angry, it burned along with the force of the storm battering the walls of the retreat.

Oh yes, we would talk about a great many things.

I paused at the wooden door serving to bar me from my goal; half hoping it would be locked so I could safely vent some of my frustration on an inanimate object before facing the maddeningly stony façade of the girl so bent on throwing away our future together. But the old knob, worn smooth by thousands of hands before mine, turned easily and I swore under my breath as I was cheated out of a much needed release.

The heavy door swung slowly inward, the slight creak of the hinges thankfully lost beneath the steady howl of the wind; the storm proving to be my unexpected ally. For a long moment I just stood at the threshold and took in the dimly lit room. The first thing my eyes focused on was the large four poster bed with its rumpled linens thrown back in a disordered heap. Empty. No dark haired girl was resting her head on the pillow; no slender figure with sleep warmed curves lay within its embrace.

A wisp of spiteful satisfaction curled in my chest at the rewarding sight. So, the wrecker of my dreams wasn’t resting easy while I suffered and stewed in the misery of rejection. Good, I couldn’t help but think with an unflattering trace of malice. Why should Padmé sleep the sleep of the guiltless while I remained wide awake and aching with this unbearable need? Why should she escape the consequences of this unnecessary torment she insisted on perpetuating?

My eyes abandoned the empty bed, impatiently sweeping the interior, hungrily searching for the object of my desire; for the keeper of my soul. The tightness in my chest increased tenfold when at last I found her. One would have thought it days and not hours since I’d seen her last the way the breath stuck in my throat and my pulse rate soared unaccountably.

Padmé stood with her back to me, completely oblivious to my presence, the tempest raging outside holding her undivided attention. Determined to take advantage of her distraction, I started confidently forward only to stop in my tracks as I spied something draped casually over one of the fireside chairs. The scowl marring my face intensified instantly and my animosity jumped to the next level.

The black gown cascaded over the back of the chair, a siren song of discarded seduction. Who else has she worn that almost indecent dress for? The ugly voice chided me. The sight of leather and lace was all it took to make me forget my original purpose in seeking Padmé out. Before I realized what I was about I had the offending garment in my hands, the slick material of the bodice bunching as I twisted it in a vicious grip. Who wore something like this when they were determined to keep a love struck man at arms length? A jab of disillusionment struck my heart as I tried to come to grips with the woman Padmé had become. The paragon from my memory now seemed little better than a Coruscant tease – or worse.

The loud bang-crash of the balcony doors as they blew open under the onslaught of the elements covered the rest of my journey across the room. I followed Padmé’s struggle to push the doors closed without an ounce of remorse for my lack of chivalry. With a dispassionate gaze that belied my agitation, I took in the whip of her robe billowing out behind her, the slew of tiny petals swirling to catch at her wildly tousled hair, and the difficulty she had securing the doors, and waited for her to turn around.

Strong hands sliding down her feminine curves. Lips trailing along the curve of her neck. Another bringing out cries of ecstasy from between her parted lips.

Try as I might I couldn’t stop the hateful images of Padmé with another man from playing in my head like my own private holovid from hell. Sullen resentment beat in my chest, clouding my thinking with its dangerous poison. Jealousy was hardly an unfamiliar emotion to me - I’d lost count of the number of times I’d swallowed my bitterness as less skilled Padawan’s received glowing praise while my own efforts were barely remarked upon – but such feelings were insignificant next to the ghosts of her lovers past. The slights, every pompous snub suffered at the hands of my Jedi brethren, paled in comparison to these new and elusive specters I couldn’t see to fight.

Then make her forget. Erase those memories and take her, teach her what you’ve always known – she’s yours and always has been. The insinuating voice dripped with carnal hunger, playing like a soundtrack for the disturbing mental pictures continuing to whip through my mind.

Padmé.

I’d never had something that was solely mine in my entire life. Slaves owned nothing; the clothes on their back, their shelter, the very food they ate, all were their master’s property, and the Jedi Order forbade personal possessions - from Padawan to Master. I didn’t have one tangible thing to remember my mother by except for childhood memories that grew more and more blurred around the edges with each passing year. Padmé was to have been the one thing I could truly call mine. And now even that was tainted.

My conscience mocked me for the double standard of my thoughts. The rational part of me knew I was being grossly unfair, that my own past wouldn’t stand up under such scrutiny, but being rational wasn’t something I was good at when it came to Padmé. I was ruled by my passions and I’d learned to accept that about myself, despite, or maybe because of, Obi Wan’s constant remonstrations. It was this stronger part of me that was responsible for ferociously holding onto the dream of Padmé at all cost, and as outdated as the view was, as illogical, it was mine.

An all powerful hunger rose up like a beast abruptly awakened and my throat constricted so tightly I couldn’t seem to draw in enough life sustaining breath. The deeply rooted instinct to claim what was mine thrummed through me with such strength I knew it couldn’t be ignored if I were to stay sane. Padmé belonged to no one else and I would do whatever it took to wipe out every memory she had that didn’t center around me.

The gratifying shock on Padmé’s face when she finally turned and saw me standing in the shadows was almost worth the trip alone. Her eyes went as big as saucers and for just a second a flicker of real fear lurked there as she hastily backed up and her face blanched white. Even when recognition flooded her face, I could feel the nervousness and increasing unease rolling off of her in thick, smothering waves. I didn’t need the Force to know I’d knocked her completely off balance.

It was still a novelty to see Padmé’s composure so shattered. Like that day in the woods, gone was the in control senator who had stubbornly held fast to the moral high ground; in her place was someone all together different, a vulnerable girl ripe for the plucking. White hot arousal spiked through me and I hardened painfully. The base of power had shifted in my favor and though the guise of seducer was one I’d never found necessary to don before – after all, there was no need to seduce the willing – I was growing more and more comfortable with it. The role Padmé unwittingly cast me in was fast becoming something to savor, the power decadent and exhilarating.

Pressing the advantage, I soon had her pinned against the door at her back, throwing one verbal punch at a time to further disconcert her. When I finally took possession of her mouth, she didn’t know whether she was coming or going and the dark voice governing my thoughts ceased its taunting in favor of enjoying the sweet flesh beneath my hands.

From there it was almost too easy to maneuver her towards the cold bed she’d abandoned earlier. Silky smooth words of understanding carried her forward, unspoken seductive promises kept her from pulling away. I had caught her at the most opportune time and her defenses refused to rally for more than a few seconds at a time. Padmé could deny what she felt all she wanted but her body didn’t know how to lie. And I set out to prove it to her.


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It was her manufactured demure demeanor; the blush dusting her cheeks as if this was all new to her, as if she’d never been bedded before that provoked me. It hurt, gods how it hurt, that Padmé had made no attempt to deny she was familiar with bedroom politics. With little other choice, I took her lack of protest as the final evidence in the mental trial I’d been conducting every since I’d breathed in the lingering remnants of her fragrance in the stillness of my bedroom.

Tried and convicted; innocent no longer.

The affected virginal coyness, something she no longer had a right to, loosened something ugly deep inside my heart. Blushing was for the virtuous. My smile froze in place before twisting into one full of sour disillusionment. The instinct to lash out was all powerful and I couldn’t stop the words from flowing like verbal poison.

“I can’t say that it doesn’t bother me but you’re here with me now. And this time it isn’t about alliances or treaties, this is about us.” I said softly, unsuccessfully trying to hide my jealousy and pain beneath layers of condescending insolence. It was the same tone of voice which got me into so much trouble with the stuffy Temple instructors. It didn’t go over well with Padmé either.

In a flash the grudging look of trust I’d worked so hard to establish disappeared from Padmé’s face to be replaced by an expression that gave even me pause. The softness vanished, her mouth thinned out in furious indignation and an angry glint replaced the drowsy sensuality shining in her eyes just seconds before. Suddenly I was seeing the face that had defied the entire Trade Federation and dared to publicly chastise the Senate for its bureaucratic abandonment of her home world. It was the hated politician’s mask; the one that chose duty over love.

My own temper spiraled swiftly upwards. I’d only spoken the truth, hadn’t I? What right did she have to act the wounded party? No, I decided with an inward sneer, her reaction was just another of those games she was so adept at; the games which left me with an aching groin and my heart in tiny broken pieces.

Further thoughts came to a skidding halt when the heel of Padmé’s foot abruptly came down hard on top of mine in a vengeful reprisal, and a spasm of pain shot up my leg. Only the fact she was barefoot saved me from the possibility of walking with a limp for the rest of my life. I bit back the grunt of pain, but lost my hold on one of her hands when she wrenched it free in a self-defense move I recognized all too well. A technique gleaned from Panaka or Typho? I wondered automatically.

Distracted by both the idle thought and the suddenness of the attack, I barely had enough time to jerk back and escape having my head taken off by small but lethal flying fist. I managed to avoid the worse of the blow but in the process my thin thread of control snapped.

Damn it! That was it!

I’d tried telling her with heartfelt words how I felt about her, how I’d always felt about her, and all I’d gotten was crushed beneath the weight of her misguided sense of duty. I’d tried soft words of seduction and gentle wooing to convince her that what was between us couldn’t be shunted aside so easily, and all I had to show for that was a throbbing foot and a tender jaw.

Renewed bleakness dripped from my heart, the darkness folding itself into the black mix that was my thunderous mood. Obi Wan’s disapproving visage materialized as it often did when I was about to go against the Jedi code of gentlemanly behavior, but I shoved him back into the murky corners shadowing my mind. None of my Master’s lectures had ever addressed the topic of how to deal with a stubborn Naboo shrew and once more I found I had to improvise.

Talking and ineffectual words were for fools and politicians, I decided. Maybe she only understood actions; she’d certainly seemed to that day in the meadow. I was bone tired of all the useless debating and having to kowtow to polite behavior - it was time to show her what her mind still refused to acknowledge and what mine had known for a frustrating amount of time.

I tested my sore jaw and for my efforts was rewarded with a painful twinge. Sith! That really hurt! So, she wanted to play rough? I ground out a vulgar oath that would have gotten me in great trouble back on Coruscant and then I picked up the spitting little cat and threw her on the bed with a flourish. Her outraged squeal was extremely satisfying to my ears and I couldn’t help but let the smug taunt slip out. “Truth hurts, does it?”

She could lie to herself all she wanted but I’d reached the end of my tether. I was through with her games. I was through waiting for that longed for voluntary admission of love. And most of all, I was through suffering the incessant state of unendurable tension plaguing my soul.

A balcony drenched in afternoon sunlight. A kiss given and then snatched away, a dream crushed.

Twisted and bent maybe, but not destroyed. Like a mythical beast from a legend of old, the dream rose from the ashes of its funeral pyre and roared back to life. The word ‘destiny’ whispered to me. She’s yours, promised the dark voice, didn’t the Force tell you so years ago? Both my heart and my head cried yes!

Civility was a concept my mind no longer recognized and without further thought for anything save the immediate moment, I grabbed Padmé’s ankles and flipped her over before jerking her back down towards the foot of the bed. There would be no escape this time. A heavy fug of lust descended over me, fueled by jealous anger and the ancient primordial need to subdue and dominate; to take and have.

Make . . . her . . . forget . . .

The chant in my head was my mantra, the words beating in tandem with my pounding heart. Mine, I silently vowed. And before I was through she’d know it. In fact, before I was through with her, Padmé would be lucky to remember her own name let alone the names of the ones that came before me.

Take . . . her . . .

The dark hunger demanded to be assuaged and I told myself I had no choice other than to obey.