Title: The Geonosian Menagerie

Author: NoobianRose

Pairing: Obidala

Rating: M, Adult, NSFW, bordering on PWP . . . What can I say, I know my audience. :P

AN: This is cracky. I got the idea for it after seeing “50 Shades of Grey” earlier this year and thinking about our heroes being chained up in the Geonosian execution arena. So that should give you an idea of what state my mind was in. Lol. OH! And the epilogue to the story is a mash up of two conversations – one from the recent past and one from the present. The conversation from memory you’ll find italicized.

This fic, such as it is, is dedicated to Sir Christopher Lee. Without the gravitas and charm he brought to the role of Count Dooku, the story – and its delightfully twisted subject-matter – could not have existed. I thoroughly enjoyed writing the Count and hope I did both character and actor justice.

The containment field in which he’d been held, which blocked the Force from his mind and body, suddenly shut down. He fell, rather unceremoniously, to the dirt, his knees hitting the sandy floor with a force that seemed to exceed the height at which he’d been held. Obi-Wan Kenobi couldn’t be sure how long it had been exactly; long enough to memorize every nick, groove, and imperfection on the walls of the circular room that Dooku’s droids had brought him to. The better part of an afternoon, perhaps? Maybe a day?

The revolving magnetic shackles that had held him securely in place were particularly irritating. It was almost as if he’d been placed on display, like a living trophy. But whether it had been for the Count’s amusement or for the interest of the Geonosians he couldn’t be sure. Either way, it seemed his captors had grown bored of the spectacle he provided – up there, spinning in circles. He was now being moved – hard fingers, encased in chitin, heaving him to his feet, and roughly pushing him out into the hallway beyond.

The Jedi watched his captors closely, looking for any kind of edge or weakness that he might later exploit, should he find the opportunity to escape. The two Geonosians were taller than he stood, with long muzzles and large bug-like eyes. Their long, slender frames were covered in bony, protective ridges with long multi-jointed limbs to match. The eyes looked vulnerable, as well as the many joints in their arms, legs, hands, and feet. He’d have to watch their wings, though. Large, almost leathery looking things of iridescent green and yellow – those wings could turn the tide of any physical fight Obi-Wan may want to pick. And there were the guns they carried too, of course.

The strings of clicks and cries they made – speaking to one another – were wholly alien and unfamiliar to his human ears. He couldn’t ascertain where he was being taken or why. He was fairly certain though that the pair kindly escorting him now were little more than drones, soldiers really, only following the orders of the hive’s leaders. Thankfully, the journey was a relatively short and rather unremarkable one, down a dry, stuff hallway and into an adjoining room.

Harshly, insect arms, clamping like vices around his biceps, threw him forward, the darkness embracing him like a cool, thick fog. The Jedi may have felt blind were it not for the most important of his six senses – now mercifully returning to him. Obi-Wan quickly focused his thoughts and cautiously stretched out with the Force. It whispered back that he was in a cavernous room. The space was not so large as it was hollow – carved in the rock by Geonosian hands. It felt much the same as the one he’d just left, except this room was taller.

Pushing the energy forward, he felt something else. Something he did not expect. “Hello,” a voice called from the darkness, “Is someone there?”

The tone was strong and confident, but he sensed more tinting the seemingly innocent inquiry. It was a woman, he knew that much, though he could not tell the species based solely on her usage of Galactic Basic. He took a deep breath and re-centered himself, searching for the source of the voice. There was something else, something almost familiar about the . . . “Senator Amidala?” he asked the darkness, a sense of urgency suddenly growing inside his gut.

“Master Kenobi?!” the woman exclaimed, her relief nearly palpable.

What was she doing here? She was supposed to be with Anakin on Tatooine. ‘No,’ he thought, with no small amount of frustration, ‘she was supposed to be on Naboo – where she would be safe.’ With Dooku indeed responsible for the assassination attempts on the Senator’s life, Geonosis was the last place in the galaxy she should be. And yet here she was.

The Jedi got to his feet, brushing the dust he couldn’t see from his hands and knees. A moment later he began to move, feeling for her in the black. The closer he got, the stronger her energy became. “Obi-Wan?” he heard her say, the domed ceiling looming above their heads making her small fearful utterance sound as if they were only inches apart. “I am here,” he answered calmly, the unexpected use of his first name giving him a strange moment of pause, “Making my way to you now.” He heard her sigh in response, the loud sound echoing harshly against the earthen walls like the breaking of a wave.

The farther he walked, foot by slow, methodical foot, the more persistent the torrent of emotions she was radiating became. He sensed the fear, yes, but also confusion, trepidation, and failure. There was hope, too, simmering just underneath, hope that perhaps his presence may prompt some brilliant escape, no doubt. ‘We are, both of us, prisoners, My Lady,’ he thought sadly.

Obi-Wan blocked the rising tide with his power, quieting her mind as he had done his own, therefore silencing the unwanted distraction it brought. If they were, indeed, to find a way out of their current predicament, they would both need clarity and focus. “Thank you,” she said evenly, the energy that had felt warm orange moments before now cooling to bright green. ‘Well that’s a start, anyway.’

Reaching out, alert fingertips brushed soft fabric. A small gasp, surprised by his sudden touch, told him that he’d reached his destination. He inexplicably felt awkward – worried about inappropriate contact, wondering where he might be touching her. Though such a trivial thing should hardly matter at such a moment, somehow it still did.

“It’s my stomach,” he heard her breathe softly, the exhale on her words gently kissing his parted lips.

How she managed to answer his unspoken question, he didn’t rightly know. But he quickly removed his hand out of respect, just in case. “Apologies, Milady.”

“It’s okay. They—they’ve chained my hands above my head. I’m against some kind of stone pillar.”

“May I, Senator?” he asked, hoping she would understand, “We may not have much time.”

She agreed, quickly guiding his hands with her words in the darkness. They traced the length of her cloth-covered arms, finding her hands at the summit. The skin he found was cool to the touch from being suspended aloft and were bound as described, by thick durasteel binders held at length by a heavy chain. The links stretched upward, higher than the Jedi could reach to unhook them from the pillar.

~~

Padmé released a breath that she didn’t even remember holding – suddenly lightheaded with the unconscious effort. She waited with nervous excitement, the hope of rescue now overshadowing her fear of Count Dooku and whatever he may have planned. She didn’t know what had brought Obi-Wan to her, whether he had been brought by their captors or had freed himself, but she was grateful. The young queen that still lived inside her instantly felt safer knowing that her Jedi protector was near.

She couldn’t see him clearly, his undefined outline no more than a shadow in the darkness before her eyes. But she could feel his closeness, could feel him pull upon the chain keeping her bound, testing it for weakness. Based upon the small, irritated grunt she heard (and her continued suspension), however, none could be found. “No luck?” the lady asked carefully, already knowing the answer.

“I’m afraid not.”

She thought a moment, the urgency in her beginning to rise. “What of your Force power? Could you break the chain?”

“Possibly,” he replied, “Though I may end up shattering your wrists as well as the cuffs.”

She thought again, her cerebral gears turning almost as hard and fast as Master Kenobi’s must be. “My belt,” she realized, “Obi-Wan – Goddess, I’m an idiot – I’m wearing a utility belt. There’s a small metal lock-pick in the pouch on my right side.”

He dropped his hands from the chain, the darkness forcing him to feel his way past her middle to the belt around her waist. Strange to have him touch her at all, much less so closely. It was hardly inappropriate, but . . . still felt awkward. “I’m surprised our Geonosian hosts didn’t remove your things before chaining you in here,” he remarked, quickly searching the pockets on her right side.

“I don’t know,” she conceded, “Maybe they just didn’t think escape was possible – especially chained up.”

Having found the small tool, Obi-Wan began working on the lock of her binders. Meanwhile, Padmé’s mind continued on the transport it had boarded. “Me with my belt, you free to use your power. That’s . . . strange. They had to expect us to try, right?”

The movement above her head stilled momentarily. “Perhaps they did,” he considered. Something about the quiet, resolved way in which he said that worried her.

“Indeed we did, Senator.”

The voice belonged to Count Dooku, and hearing it ripped the hope from her heart.

Padmé winced, eyes blinking rapidly against the sudden intrusion of light into her widely dilated pupils. The light surrounded them, sconces widely spaced on the walls now illuminated by a burst of bright white, slowly dimming to a soft yellow glow. When her sight sharpened, eyes adapting once again to their surroundings, a face came into view, one she’d come to know and trust. She’d known Obi-Wan was close, but her sense of proximity had blurred within the disorienting darkness. Now she could see, suddenly she could feel, every inch that separated them from complete contact.

Obi-Wan, facing her, not a foot away, regarded her with the same surprise she felt herself. His thoughtful blue gaze, hinting at green, searched her face. He scanned the features that he must know after a decade, but now seemed almost mystified by.

“My humblest apologies,” the count taunted, from the single doorway at the room’s edge, “I seem to have interrupted something. Leaving so soon?”

Something stirred within Obi-Wan’s eyes then, at hearing the mocking voice of their captor. In anyone else, anyone other than a Jedi, she would have called it anger. She’d seen it in the padawan – in the little boy who’d just lost his mother – but never thought to see it in the master.

And in the space of a moment it was gone, released into that mystical unknowable “Force” like so much irritation. Only then did her protector turn to face Count Dooku. “Let her go,” she heard the Jedi say.

A heavy sigh. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.” Dooku said, “There are certain interested parties who wish her to remain.”

‘Gunray,’ Padmé thought bitterly, ‘Why so coy, Count?’ Everyone here now knew that Dooku was in league with the Trade Federation.

“Please . . . You can still do the right thing,” Obi-Wan implored, a familiarity in his tone that she did not understand, “I know you don’t want a war.”

“War,” Padmé whispered in shock, helplessly pulling against the chain that still held her. What could he mean by that? She knew that this was about much more than a contract on her life. It went beyond political advancement or a decade-long vendetta. But the tension now stiffening Obi-Wan’s spine spoke to something more far-reaching than anything she could have imagined. And if the Jedi was worried, then so was she.

“Indeed, there may be a way to avoid further bloodshed. Guaranteeing the release of you, the senator, and your apprentice,” she heard the count reply, “Providing, of course, that you both cooperate.”

“I’ve already told you that I will not join you, Dooku.”

The Count spread his hands before him in a gesture resembling helplessness. “If only it were that simple, Obi-Wan. But no. Our hosts, I’m afraid, will require far more from you than I would have asked.”

“The Geonosians,” he said, “whose gracious hospitality we are all currently enjoying, fancy themselves quite the patrons of the combat arts. Now, normally, they would place you in the arena and let you be torn to pieces by their pets. But I have negotiated a better deal for you both.”

“You wish us to fight?” Padmé shouted, the unexpected exclamation forcing both men to turn and acknowledge her.

The older man chuckled lightly, throwing her a patronizing smile that, under normal circumstances, she would have slapped right off of his smug, aristocratic face. “My dear lady! Of course, any contest between yourself and Master Kenobi would be no contest at all. If he even agreed to fight you which, we both know, he would not. Either way, it would not make for very good sport.”

“Out with it, Dooku,” the Jedi at her side spat, his growing irritation evident.

Padmé watched the Count’s lips slowly peel back away from his long teeth, feeling her stomach turn in prompt response. She suddenly felt very cold, a sense of foreboding settling over her like a little black raincloud. “Very well, Obi-Wan. What I have negotiated on your behalf is a spectacle of a somewhat . . . intimate nature.”

The Jedi Knight took a step backward, closer to her, a physical show of protection that blocked her view of the room. “Intimacy?” he asked.

Another low chuckle. “Well . . . I do not wish to be indelicate.”

“No more indelicate than the ‘spectacle’ you have in mind,” he returned flatly.

“It needn’t be as horrible as you expect. For the entertainment, and curiosity, of the Geonosians and their guests, you and Senator Amidala will engage in sexual relations. After all parties are satisfied that their respective interests have been met, you will be free to go. Refuse this show of generosity and all three of you, your apprentice included, will be placed in the execution arena and fed to the beasts.”

Padmé bit her tongue, just short of drawing blood. She was angry, furious that he would suggest something so utterly degrading – though somehow she doubted that this was about simple, base entertainment. Nevertheless, she was a respected member of the Galactic Senate, not a toy for the Geonosians’ tawdry amusement. And he was Obi-Wan Kenobi, a powerful and prominent Jedi Knight and . . . well . . . he was Obi-Wan.

She’d wondered once what it would be like to . . . But that was years ago.

Dooku stayed quiet, soaking in their reactions, clearly reveling in their shocked silence. “I’ll let the two of you discuss. When you’re ready, you may either begin or refuse.”

“What of the bonds, Dooku?” Obi-Wan called after the man as he turned to walk away.

“She won’t need her hands, will she Master Kenobi?”

A sickening smile was evident in his voice as it faded behind the thick metal door, the sound of the lock clicking securely into place echoing through the room. She swallowed harshly, forcing down the bile that slowly crept up her esophagus and burnt her throat. This all felt so surreal, like a dream, or like some grim news feed – a cautionary tale about meddling in things one shouldn’t.

And it would have been right. She should be on Naboo – sitting safely in her house in the lake country, hiding like a coward from her enemies. At least that’s what Chancellor Palpatine would say, or the Jedi Council, or even Obi-Wan if he’d ever turn around. She wished he’d just get it over with; chastise her deservedly and move on so they could work on getting themselves out of this . . . unsettling predicament.

~~

The odds of getting themselves out of their current predicament seemed dim, indeed. Obi-Wan weighed all of the options available and quickly arrived at one inevitable conclusion: Dooku’s choices were the only ones they had. Escape was impossible, as they were clearly being watched – scrutinized even – though the method was unclear. Even if they were to escape the room, all that awaited them beyond that metal door was a Geonosian hive – a massive maze of tunnels filled with drones, all possibly armed. Too much for a lone Jedi Knight and a single Galactic Senator, even one so capable as Padmé.

And volunteering Senator Amidala and Anakin for the arena seemed risky at best . . . deadly at worst. Rather than be torn to shreds by wild animals before help arrived, better to keep everyone alive now and stall for more time.

He rolled his eyes. ‘Rationalizing the necessity for sex with a beautiful woman,’ he thought dryly, ‘Jedi through and through, Kenobi.’

Clear in his purpose, he turned to share his thoughts with his fellow prisoner. Her head hung low, posture slumped against the pillar to which she remained chained, as much as those bonds would allow. He stopped short, suddenly leery of facing her. What could he say? What would she want to hear? No doubt she would wish to hear some kind of encouragement, that everything was going to be alright but . . . he wasn’t even sure of that himself. It saddened him to tell her that he couldn’t protect her from this.

“I’m so sorry, Obi-Wan,” she said quietly.

He was about to offer what reassurance he could, not quite understanding what she had to apologize for, when he caught movement at the corner of his eye. There were shadows moving on the wall at the back of the room. Turning, looking up, he saw several outcroppings carved into the rock. They were dark, hollow, lining the circular room in a neat row. What he’d first believed to be just another holding cell upon his arrival seemed now to be something else entirely.

There were figures in the darkness, beings walking within the very wall-face. They took seats, looking out from their elevated places at him – at Padmé. The holes, the outcroppings, were windows and this was some kind of strange observation room.

It was a menagerie . . . and he and Padmé were the exhibition.

Most of the individuals filing in to watch the expected spectacle were unknown to him – Geonosian elites by the look of their long, fleshy mandibles and gilded ornamentation – but then: Poggle the Lesser (Archduke of Geonosis), Nute Gunray and Rune Haako (Leaders of the Trade Federation). He also saw a few principal members of the Banking Clan and Techno-Union, both rumored but never confirmed to have Separatist leanings. ‘More than rumor it seems.’

Lastly, he saw the white hair and aristocratic posture of Count Dooku. The man walked past several of the other spectators, stopping directly in front of Obi-Wan and Padmé. He took a seat at the center of the others, speaking in whispers too low to hear from the ground floor.

Obi-Wan turned his attention back to the senator. He knew what he believed to be the best course of action but, with time growing short, convincing her of the same may be difficult. “My Lady,” he said carefully, “I know this is . . . awkward, but we must decide on a course of action. Before one is decided for us.”

She straightened, her expression blank and unreadable. “I don’t think we really have a choice. Do you?”

He drew close, her chin tilting up to meet his eyes. “I would never hurt you. Nor would I ever force you to do this if you did not wish it. Never, never would I take that from you.”

Her face softened, and she released relieved sigh. “I never thought you would but . . . hearing you say it is reassuring.”

“Of course . . . But Senator, while I will do what I must to protect you, you must know also that even if you – if we – do this, I cannot guarantee that . . .”

Knowing brown eyes drifted left, focusing intently on a spot above his shoulder. “They won’t waste this chance,” she said with deadly certainty, “Gunray will kill me anyway. He’ll demand it. No matter what the Count promised us.”

‘Her insight serves her well,’ he thought with a sad smile, a trait he’d always admired in her.

“But what of you,” she continued, scanning the faces of the viewers above with increased resolve, “If we do as they ask, will they keep their word to keep you safe? Release you and Ani, unharmed?”

“I cannot be sure,” he answered honestly, “though indeed he may.” Just what Dooku was planning was anyone’s guess. But the Jedi sensed that there was more to it than this gratuitous exhibition. And that he was worth far more alive to the former Jedi than he was dead.

“Let’s hope you’re right, Master Kenobi. Very well. I agree to Dooku’s terms. But I think we should ask for something in return. An . . . insurance policy.”

Obi-Wan raised a puzzled eyebrow and listened to the pragmatic woman’s idea.

“Master Kenobi,” the Count’s voice, artificially amplified, boomed menacingly through the domed space, “Has a decision been reached? Will the two of you entertain here? Or will you provide a more violent spectacle outside in the arena?”

He looked to his fellow captive, who nodded in the affirmative. “We accept your offer,” he called up to the waiting spectators, “however . . . in bowing to your demands, we feel we have earned the right to make a few of our own.”

As expected, his statement broke the silence of the crowed and a flurry of nervous, interested whispering rolled over them. “Quite the negotiator, Obi-Wan,” Dooku said, his low voice betraying his irritation, “We will hear your . . . request.”

“First, you will unlock the senator’s bonds then bring in a more comfortable piece of furniture on which to . . . entertain our hosts.” Obi-Wan resisted the sudden and rather undignified urge to spit in disgust.

“No,” the man said flatly, “Unfortunately the confinement and position is a large part of the interest for the Geonosians.”

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. That was rubbish. Dooku wanted them to be uncomfortable. He wanted them shamed and utterly humiliated. The Geonosians had nothing to do with it.

“However,” Dooku amended, “once you have finished, I will release the bracers and have you both taken somewhere more comfortable to rest before your release. Anything else?”

Obi-Wan took a breath. “I demand that you release my Padawan. Once he is safely aboard a transport – either mine or the Senator’s – and cleared to leave the planet, she and I will proceed.”

Dooku chuckled lightly. “And why would the Geonosians release such a valuable hostage?”

“As a show of good faith, Count,” Padmé called out from behind his back, “You don’t need him for what you have planned here. His presence has no bearing.”

“Besides,” she added smoothly, “If Master Kenobi and I do not meet the expectations of our hosts, then you still have two prominent figures of the Galactic Republic to execute. But prove to us now that your word is not hollow.”

He could almost see Count Dooku’s tactical mind at work as it mulled over the senator’s measured argument. Beneath a composed exterior the pieces on his mental chessboard were being moved every direction and back again, calculating each scenario and how this new development may impede – or perhaps further – his ultimate goals. A moment later, the former Jedi pivoted to his left, exchanging a quick, and quiet, word with Poggle the Lesser. The Geonosian uttered something, a series of tones and clicks, incomprehensible to Obi-Wan but apparently understood by Dooku, who then turned his attention back to his waiting prisoners.

“Very well Senator, Master Kenobi,” he said at last, “The Geonosians have generously agreed to your request. You will be provided with proof via live holo-feed of Padawan Skywalker’s release and escort to the Jedi Starfighter that you, Obi-Wan, arrived in. I trust this is sufficient?”

~~

The next few minutes felt like a lifetime. Padmé and Obi-Wan watched from their observation habitat a projection of Anakin Skywalker. The young man was roughly pushed from his cell. He was placed in binders (which he could probably have broken easily if he really tried) and blindfolded. He struggled against his captors as they pulled him from the caverns and to a small red Jedi Starfighter.

The padawan’s master was worried. Padmé could tell by the slight furrowing of his brow. And, watching the young man continue to resist all efforts to get him to leave, she understood why. ‘Go. Ani please! Just. Go. Get help!’ she silently pleaded, praying that he could somehow sense her will and wishes.

At last Anakin complied, climbing into the ship and sliding the cockpit shut. Just before the craft took off, however, Padmé caught a glimpse of the young man’s face. The anger, the white-hot hatred she saw burning in his bright blue eyes, ironically froze her blood to ice. She’d seen that look before, when he’d returned to the Lars moisture farm carrying his mother’s dead body – when he’d confessed to her the atrocities he’d committed. There was darkness inside of him, a darkness that had the power to drive the light completely out.

She’d wanted to help him fight his many demons. She’d hoped that her presence, possibly her love, could protect him from that darkness. But . . . maybe it was too strong for her. Seeing him now, Anakin ignorant to those watching him, she wasn’t sure she had the power. And, turning her head to look at Obi-Wan, she could tell that the master carried the same worry (and hope) that she did. “Anakin. No,” he whispered. It was only because she was so close that she heard the small plea at all.

When Anakin’s ship lifted from the ground, the holo-stream blinked out, leaving Padmé and Obi-Wan alone with their audience. She looked up at them, searching the varied and altogether unfamiliar faces. Well, unfamiliar but for Count Dooku and her Nemoidian enemies. The anger she felt looking at Gunray’s smug, aquatic face turned quickly to dread. The Trade Federation leader suddenly fixed her with his large, alien eyes. He looked irritated, angry as he looked at her, more than likely wishing for Dooku to end this charade now and just kill her.

The pit she felt forming in her stomach only grew larger as she realized that, in fact, all eyes were now expectantly set upon her.

The gravity, the heavy burdening weight of what she – what they – were about to do, for the simple, sick pleasure of a bunch of spectators, hit her like an oncoming mass-transport shuttle. It was all so abstract before, nothing more than a concept, as she and Obi-Wan (her soon-to-be-lover) planned their next move. She’d negotiated for Anakin’s release and she would do whatever she could to save Obi-Wan. But now that the time seemed to be upon them, Padmé couldn’t help but feel . . .

“Don’t be afraid,” a gentle voice said. The Jedi turned to face her. His eyes were kind, his demeanor calm and controlled. It was an uncharacteristic reaction at such a moment, for anyone but him. “Padmé,” he said, making sure he had her complete attention, “I will do my best to take care of you, even here.”

She let loose a nervous chuckle. “Is that some kind of Jedi euphemism?”

He smiled, the kind of rare smile that reached his eyes, amusement lighting the green within the blue. “I suppose today it could be. Though that’s not what I meant.”

“I figured,” she replied, reciprocating a smile she didn’t feel.

Padmé rested her head back upon her stone column, staring up at her metal shackles. The blood was having trouble reaching her long-extended arms. She could barely feel her fingers anymore, and an experimental wiggle only brought an uncomfortable tingling in the immobile digits. ‘I can’t believe there are people in the galaxy who actually pay to have sex like this.’ She shook her head at the absurdity of it.

“I know this is difficult,” he said, drawing her attention again, “But there is nothing to fear in this.”

She felt her anxiety begin to rise, her breathing becoming short and shallow. Padmé knew they were watching, even this small exchange with her friend was now under painful scrutiny. “I feel so exposed, so vulnerable. I don’t like being at someone’s mercy like this . . . not even yours.”

“You need not fear me, Padmé.”

It was strange to hear her first name from his lips, like he was speaking from a dream. “I’m not afraid of you, Obi-Wan,” she said honestly, “Intimidated, maybe, but never afraid.”

Obviously intrigued, the Jedi raised an eyebrow, fighting the smile she could see in his eyes. “Intimidated?” he pressed, closing the already small gap between them by inches, “I find it difficult to believe that you would be intimidated by anyone.”

Padmé struggled to hold his gaze. His attention, and the low, sultry timbre of his voice, making her feel uncharacteristically bashful. “You’re not ‘anyone,’” she answered quietly, suddenly unsure of her own voice. She was blushing, the heat spreading lightly across her cheeks. Though her innocent statement was true, it felt strange to say it to him. He couldn’t possibly understand what she meant. Teenage crushes had no place here, not with so much at stake.

She felt him catch her wayward chin with a crooked index finger. He forced her to turn, forced her to look at the one spot she’d wished to avoid. His blue eyes were narrowed, curiously searching hers. “I never thought to see you blush. Not for me.”

His fingers slid softly from her chin, tracing the line of her jaw. The touch sent a chill down her spine, and she gasped lightly, her hungry lungs seizing with the sudden absence of breath. Each new inhale forced her chest up, her breasts now rubbing against the cloth of his robes. They were so close now, his body impossibly close to hers. “What could warrant such a blush, I wonder.” His touch traveled down her neck, chasing the heated path of her deepening flush.

“I used to think about you,” she whispered, “When I was young you . . . made an impression.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes registered surprise at her admission, darting to her lips in an instant as she licked them. She was suddenly more aware of him, aware of his body, than she’d ever been. With surprise, she saw the light pink now tinting his cheeks. She could feel the temperature at her front, warming from their proximity. She could smell all the places he’d gone on his mission: freshly brewed jawa juice, sea-salt and rain, sand and earth. And she could sense the tension lurking beneath his veneer of calm – the perfect balance of deadly power and control.

“I never knew that,” he said, his fingertips sliding smoothly up her jaw, thumb tracing the outer line of her bottom lip, “And I’m . . . quite flattered to hear it.”

She was telling him things she’d never voiced aloud, things that she was embarrassed for him to know. How many times had she wondered what it would be like to be close to him? How many times had she wished to see him looking at her with the kind of openness, the kind of growing interest that she saw now? This newfound honesty, newfound intimacy between them felt far more natural than it should. It was far more real, far more exciting than it had any right to be.

Obi-Wan dropped his hand, her face instantly cooling without his touch. He looked at her somewhat expectantly, searching her eyes for something. “Obi-Wan?” she asked in a breathless whisper.

He smiled, the twinkle in his eye setting off the butterflies in her stomach. “May I kiss you, My Lady?”