Out Of Darkness-Possession
by BlackRose (lenoirrose@softhome.net

Series: Out of Darkness

Pairing: PxO

Rating: NC17

Archive: I doubt anyone wants to, but sure
WARNING: Chan, underage, DARK, angst, bdsm, SQUICK, did I mention
underage??? Read at your own risk!

Feedback: Yes please. ^_^ Heck, I'll even take flames for this one.

Summary: A lesson in control.

Disclaimer: George Lucas is god. I just slip in and play with the toys when he's
not looking.

OOD page:http://digitalmidnight.net/garden/ood.html
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Out of Darkness:Possession
Year of the Empire 1,458
Coruscant, Advanced Training Facility North
by BlackRose, 2000

The boy was beautiful when he cried.

It had taken most the night to wring the tears from him. Now they trickled, glistening,
down red flushed cheeks already beaded with sweat. The man watched, eyes steady, as he
flicked a fingertip out to catch one of the translucent beads - the boy flinched faintly, the
motion traceable only in the brief tightening of the long muscles in his throat.

Beautiful, and his tears tasted of salt and exhaustion and the thick heavy musk of need.
Palpatine sucked the taste from his finger slowly, eyes half lidded in contemplation as he
watched the boy quiver, a shiver shifting through the tautly strung body.

Gorgeous, desirable, and so very, very strong.

Three fourths of the night, long hours of his undivided attention, and only now did the
boy's strength falter enough to allow the tears in his swollen eyes to flow. And still he had
not moved, had not cried out. He lay across the sleeping couch, limbs stretched towards
the far corners, the dim lights picking out the rivulets of sweat across his slender chest.
Palpatine leaned forward, letting the warm exhale of his breath brush the swollen flesh of
one bruise darkened nipple.

The sob was muffled, half swallowed deep in his throat, a tiny, exquisite whimper that
gave voice to helpless sensation. Another tremor shook the boy's body, his breath sucked
through clenched teeth.

No cords bound his outstretched wrists. Nothing at all held him to the couch. Nothing, but
the desire of his Master and the determination of his own will.

The boy would put grown Sith to shame.

"Very good," he whispered, the words caressing skin. Two simple words offered as the
smallest of rewards, but they made all the difference. He felt the shift, the renewed
strength of will, flicker through the Force that wound heavy around them both. He drew it
in with a deep breath, savoring it. His own banked desire swirled languidly through his
nerves, swelling gently with each sharp spike of the boy's sensation. Two simple words,
fully earned, and the game might continue until the dawn.

Palpatine's own soft hum of pleasure was inaudible, scarcely breathed, as he lowered his
head once more and slowly drew the tip of his tongue across silken flesh.

Sweat and blood, sweet to the taste. The body beneath his hands jerked and tensed, a soft,
keening wail building in the chest only to be bitten back before it found release. He licked
gently across the pebbled tip of the boy's nipple, tasting the different textures of the flesh;
the hot flush of the throbbing bruises where the blood rushed so close to the surface and
the tiny indentations left by his own teeth, each drawing another surge, like flashfire, out
into the Force. When he lowered his lips to suckle leisurely the burst of sensation was like
a blast shockwave, thick enough to touch.

Palpatine drew away once more, listening to the boy's harsh breaths. "Shh," he soothed
gently, the light, spiderlike touch of his fingertips smoothing down sweat soaked ribs to
slip through the slick pool of pre-ejaculate upon the boy's stomach. The slender erection
that arched almost angrily upward trembled at the nearness of his touch, flushed a deep
painful red.

So much control in one so young. The boy would not move, would not cry out or find
release. He would collapse, unconscious, before he would allow himself to do so, obedient
to the last to Palpatine's command.

"Shh," Palpatine repeated. The boy drew a ragged breath, held and released it, then took
another. With each contraction of his lungs he bought himself another measure of control.
His gasps became softer, his heart beat slowed - only the tension remained, sunk deep into
the tremble of his limbs and the small, faint shifts of his hips. The Sith Lord smiled, the
expression curving across his thin lips. Shifting, he let the tip of his tongue flick lightly
across the tightly closed eyelids, gathering the salt of the slowly leaking tears. "Hush," he
whispered. "Not yet. I will tell you when."

The boy's breath broke on another sob, his hands twisting blindly in the covers of the
couch. "Master," he gasped, the pure tone of his voice worn ragged in its need. There was
no supplication there, no pleading; he knew far better than to attempt that. There was only
a breathless affirmation, an acknowledgement; the giving of absolute control.

Palpatine traced the dark line of the tattoo that stained the soft folds of flesh beneath the
fringe of the child's pale lashes, following the curving line of it across the smooth cheek
with his lips. He fancied he could taste it, something unknown and nameless, the subtle
imprint of himself upon the boy. His. Utterly and entirely his. He drew in a slow, open
mouthed breath, warm with the scent of the boy's skin, and felt the answering shiver in the
slender body.

He raised his hand, fingers wet with the boy's own fluids, to trace a trail across the curve
of one hip and down the trembling line of an outstretched thigh. The boy's skin was even
softer there, thin and fragile beneath his fingertips. He drew slow circles upon it, hearing
the catch of the boy's breath, a silent whimpered cry. Shifting, Palpatine reached lower,
fingertips barely brushing flesh.

The boy jerked slightly. White teeth were sunk deep into his lower lip, the scent of the
blood upon his chin fresh and sharp. His breath was out of his control once more, gasps
drawn falteringly through his clenched jaw. Palpatine lapped away the blood, following it
back to its source as he covered the lips with his own, their combined breath mixing warm
against his tongue. The boy's jaw was tense, rigid and trembling, but his body was caught
upon the final knife edge of passion and opened easily to the man's touch. Slick with sweat
and feverishly hot to the touch; Palpatine swallowed the vibration of the boy's cry within
his own mouth, silencing it.

When he leaned back the tears were joined by sound, tiny soft cries upon every breath,
each an admission of defeat as the tears fell faster. Beautiful beyond words. Palpatine drew
his hand away, sitting up.

The boy tried to bite back a muffled sob. The tension and pure need rolling off of him were
irresistible, the sweetest of drugs offered to an addict. Palpatine drew it in, savoring it, the
warmth sweeping his own veins with a flush of purely physical desire as the Force
between them crackled and hissed.

The cry as he shifted, his weight dipping the couch between the boy's legs, his hands
sliding slowly up the lean muscles of calves and thighs, was an unguarded, full-voiced
sound that brought a low moan to his own lips. It was like a shock down his spine, the
moment of actual connection, the boy's body trembling and hot around his own. It drew
forth no sound - the child's mouth was open but no noise came forth, trapped within the
airless gasps of the slender chest. Palpatine pressed one hand there, fingers splayed, feeling
the frantic beat of the heart beneath his palm. "Obi-Wan," he whispered quietly.

The silence before the coming of the storm, the boy shaking uncontrollably. Palpatine took
a slow breath, letting his own eyes fall shut for just a moment before he moved, sheathing
himself fully in the tight heat of the boy's body. "Now," he hissed, and the storm broke.

A wailing scream, drawn from a throat almost too dry to give it voice, loud enough to echo
from the walls. Physical release, too long denied, swept the boy like a convulsion, his back
arched, muscles locking as the orgasm took him. Palpatine caught his breath, awash in the
uncontrolled maelstrom of unleashed emotion even as the boy's spasming muscles triggered
his body's own response.

Sobbing, body wracked with waves of sensation so strong they were nearly pain, the boy
twisted, clawing at the covers. Palpatine caught his wrists, drawing him up easily. The
Force throbbed in every cell, snapping along his skin, the heady high of it making gigantic
sunbursts of the dim lights before his eyes. The boy collapsed against his chest, crying,
hands shaking and strengthless against his shoulders.

Palpatine let his fingertips smooth along the thin ridge of the boy's spine, sliding across
sweat slick skin that shivered and trembled with his every touch. A sliver of will touched
the lamps, an afterthought quenching each in turn, drawing the shadows down across them.
In the darkness, the air slowly cooling their bodies, Palpatine's whispered breath brushed
the soaked strands of hair across the boy's forehead. "Well done, my apprentice. That was
well done indeed."

Another shiver, the sound of the boy's sob breaking as it swept him. His voice within the
dark was raw and open, vulnerable, a near soundless whisper against the pulse that beat in
Palpatine's throat. A single choked word that said all that was needed. "Master."

[...to next stage]