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A Claiming





What happens next? His words echo through my mind, bringing many differing scenarios to light. I am surprised to discover that some of them I don't wish to happen, not to my Obi-Wan. "Well, I suppose that depends on your answer to my next question."

Silence answers me.

"Will you infiltrate the Jedi for us?"

"No."

How did I know he was going to say that? I tug him back against me, and whisper in his ear, "But you don't even know what we want you to do."

"The answer is still no. I will never do anything willingly for you, Anakin." He speaks calmly. Too calmly. I am not to certain what has happened, but I feel as though he has made some profound shift in his mind. I can't quite figure it out... but maybe I don't need to.

"But Obi-Wan, the Jedi will be destroyed, with or without your help. Why not just help us and save yourself a great deal of pain?"

"Why do you need me? Why not just kill me and destroy the Jedi without me?" His voice is still calm, but there is no mistaking the hope behind his words. He *wants* to die.

"Oh no my Jedi." I prop myself up on one arm and look down at him, running my fingers over his face. "No matter what happens, you will not die. If you refuse to help us in our work, then at least you can help me in my play." I slide my fingers around the back of his neck and lean over to kiss him. His lips are pressed together firmly and I take great delight in slowly forcing my way into his mouth.

Then he bites me.

I pull back quickly, tasting my own blood in my mouth. I look down and there is no mistaking the smug look on his face. I wipe the blood on the sheet and quickly Force-heal the wound. "So, you want to play rough, do you?"

His eyes continue to focus on some point in space, not reacting to my words at all. I grab his face, forcing him to look at me. Still his eyes do not meet mine. I shake him slightly. "You are mine. Mine. You belong to *me*."

He shakes his head with a small smile. "No, Anakin. You control my body, nothing more."

I narrow my gaze, how dare he. "I. Own. You." I hiss. Oh, how I long to wipe that look off his face.

"Never."

I pull back and slap him, watching in amusement as his hands involuntarily jerk, trying to protect his face. "Maybe all I own is your body," I concede, "But I intend to own it fully."

Not a trace of fear in his eyes. Not yet.

With a flicker of the Force I untie his hands. The moment he is free he grabs for me. With only a small amount of hassle I succeed in pinning him, sitting on his waist holding his hands above his head.

I bend down and kiss him fully, this time using the smallest application of the Force to keep him from biting me. I run my tongue over every inch of his mouth, claiming it, making it mine. I can feel him struggle beneath me and the desire to own him washes over me again.

I fight him, wrestling his wrists into the constraints already attached to the bed. It would be so easy to overpower him, Forceless as he is. But physically over powering my master, my former master, is so much more gratifying.

With my own hands now free I pull at his shirt, dragging it up until I can see his nipples. I lean down and bite one, hard. He makes a small sound and jerks away, but I don't let go. Slowly I bite down until there is blood on my lips. I then bring my face up to his and kiss him again, sharing with him the taste of his own blood.

Moving lower again I yank at his pants, smiling as they tear away. I wedge a knee between his thighs, wrenching them apart as his tries in vain to protect himself. Another knee and then I am kneeling between his legs, holding them apart as I contemplate the body in front of me. Mine. The word resounds in my head. Mine. This is mine.

Both my hands are busy holding his legs, so I slide into him with no preparation. He is incredibly tight and I can feel him tear as I push all the way in. In and out. Claiming.

By the time I come he has ceases struggling. Too painful I suppose. When I withdraw I can feel him relax, no doubt thinking that this is over for now. But it is not.

I slide off the bed and head into the enjoining room. There in the desk on the left is what I need. Grabbing the case I walk back into the other room and straddle Obi-Wan's waist.

Inside the box is my set of knives, given to me by my true Master when I completed my studies in the ancient language of the Sith. He told me that under normal circumstances he would carve a symbol of Power into my shoulder then. But tradition bowed to the necessity of my training remaining secret.

I pulled one out and drew the flat against the stomach in front of me. Obi-Wan looked at me once, then lay his head back and closed his eyes. Preparing a meditation to distance himself from the pain most likely. I draw the cold blade up and along his rib. This isn't about pain, as I'm sure he thinks it is. This is about making him mine.

Slowly I turn the blade and press it into his skin. Drawing it toward myself at a steady rate I watch his face. No reaction. I press harder, mesmerized by the splitting skin and the thin line of red that appears.

I lift the knife and move higher, now drawing deeper cuts across his chest. I frown with concentration, pressing in deep enough to leave a scar but no permanent damage. With one fluid stroke after another I bring to life the characters I have chosen for him. Symbols of Power, Beauty, and Entrapment. Lower, across his waist I draw darkness in it's various forms. Fear. Anger. Hatred. And lower still, along his right hip, my own symbol, along with my True name: Vader.

As I am finishing the last few marks I can feel him starting to fade from consciousnesses, and I am aware of the amount of blood surrounding me. His blood. Stepping away from the bed I wipe the sweat from my face, leaving behind streaks of red. I move to the head of the bed and look down into his face.

He is tired, both from keeping the pain under control and from the loss of blood. I contemplate continuing, pushing him until he breaks. Something in me whispers not to. Something tells me that if I do continue I may break him, but I will lose what I seek. I run my fingers along his blood and sweat covered face. Resting my hand at his temple I mentally nudge gently him into a deep sleep. "Sleep well," I whisper, and turn to go, leaving him alone and in the dark.

*****




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