Until We Have Faces

[ninefox]

Krell had to pin him with the Force to get him on the altar, and not gently. The back of his head might be bleeding, but it's hard to tell: the antechamber already smells of iron. The whole station is a bristling-black hulk of ancient ore, nickel and iron and ice and stone. The lack of anything resembling alloys or right angles makes it feel horribly unreliable, not a machine guaranteed to keep the air in, but an ancient brooding piece of debris untouched by the steadiness of engineers. It did have an airlock, that Krell and a few shame-faced clone guards shuffled him through, and iced-over doors somewhere in the dimness of their crisscrossed headlamps that must lead back into the warren of Ninefox Point.

The benighted promontory did not orbit so much as a brown dwarf or black hole: it was a rogue planetoid, drifting through the ragged stretches of starless, lifeless space. Here, old Strife, the Dark Side of War, had been confined ever since the ascendancy of the Jedi, noble Combat, and the rest of the Light pantheon. But even reviled and relegated Gods were due certain honors, and retained certain powers - and certain appetites. And Krell - who had his own suspicions about the future of that ascendancy - had come to give Strife his due and be rid of his most vexing problem in one blow.

It's pitch-black with him and the others gone. The heavy magnetic manacles embedded in the alter are utterly immovable; the stone beneath him is pitted and rough and cold, almost untouched since the creation of the universe - except, of course, for all the sacrifices that have come before.

Comments

[callmefives]

"Don't want it," he whispers, and tries weakly to tug his hand away. He's fortunate that he's worn down enough right now that his body isn't giving his words the lie. "Don't... I wanna be clean." Even if he'll never be pure again, he can at least avoid repeating his sacrilege.

[ninefox]

"You don't have to be pure to be good," Jedao tells him, nuzzling his neck a little. "Go to sleep, wildling. I promise I won't fuck you while you're asleep. No matter how much I'd like to," he adds, in a sultry rumble that almost feels like soft fur rubbing against Fives' skin all by itself.

[callmefives]

"Never," he mumbles as he tries to fight off sleep. But his eyes haven't been open for a long time now, no matter how he's struggled, and he feels warm and lax and utterly wrung out, in ways not even the hardest training sequence or the most brutal battle has ever equaled. He knows part of it's his refusal to eat or drink, that it's just making him too weak to fight, but he also knows it doesn't matter; even at his best he could never hold his own against these beings and their dark magic. "Promise. Never."

[ninefox]

"I definitely don't promise that," Jedao purrs, sounding amused, kissing the hinge of Fives' jaw sofly.

[callmefives]

"Rot in hell," he slurs, the words barely a breath of air as he loses the battle to stay awake and drifts into fitful, uneasy sleep.

[ninefox]

"Sweet dreams, my darling," Jedao breathes. And Fives does dream. He dreams of crawling through a desert littered with eggshells, dusty and cool and unbearably dry, until he finds a vine curling up the face of a rock, with gleaming drops of water on its leaves.

[callmefives]

Even in the dream he feels like he shouldn't drink, but he can't remember why. And he's stranded in a desert, if he doesn't drink he'll die. He still hesitates, but eventually he laps a few drops from one of the leaves, and then another and another.

[ninefox]

The water is wonderful, refreshing and sweet and a little tangy, maybe mingled with some kind of juice from the plant; and somehow there's always a little bit more, until Fives has drunk his fill.

[callmefives]

He sleeps less restlessly after that, his body and mind less desperate but both still drained enough to stay mired in sleep.

[ninefox]

There's no day or night in the starless reaches, but Jedao doesn't care; he stays wrapped around Fives, warm and chirring softly, for as long as he sleeps.

[callmefives]

When he finally wakes it's abrupt and almost violent. He feels a strange body pressed to him, strange arms wrapped around him, and he jerks and twists, trying to get free before he even remembers where he is or what's going on.

[ninefox]

"You're awake!" Jedao announces happily, uncoiling enough that Fives isn't so engulfed, pressing up against his front instead, and kissing him.

[callmefives]

Memory just makes him fight harder, and he jerks his head away, or tries to, as he pushes at Jedao's chest and tries to knee him where there'd be tender bits on a human man.

"Let me go!" he croaks, not noticing his mouth and throat aren't so dry anymore. Not yet.

[ninefox]

He brushes something soft and slick and yielding; Jedao squirms, although he doesn't make any noise of pain.

"Want you in me," he murmurs, dragging messy kisses down Fives' neck to a nipple. "Your thick perfect cock."

[callmefives]

He jerks away immediately and pushes harder with his hands, trying to maneuver himself so he can squirm out of the little alcove and get away.

"What? NO!" He fights even harder at that, whining in fear and anger and, Force help him, sickening arousal as the mouth finds his nipple. He hadn't even realized he was hard until that moment, that he must have been since he woke up.

[ninefox]

"Yessss," Jedao croons, stroking the cock in question with a strong, elegant, calloused hand, palm slick with something more viscous than saliva, his teeth and tongue teasing the nub of Fives' nipple.

[callmefives]

"Stop! Please!" And he is begging, even though he swore to himself he wouldn't. Shoving and scratching and squirming even as his body betrays him by arching into the touch, both at his cock and his nipple.

[ninefox]

He keens and leans into Fives' nails.

"It's going to feel so good," Jedao promises, Fives or himself or both of them, drawing his hand back gradually so that his palm is just caressing the sensitive head of Fives cock - at least until Fives bucks closer, desperate for the touch.

[callmefives]

"I don't care." It's almost a whine, and he curls his hands into fists as he realizes the creature wants his nails, pushes and shoves with closed hands and forearms instead, tries to squirm his hips away without maiming himself in the process. But still his body betrays him, jerking into the touch, arching and twisting in entirely the wrong direction when it goes maddeningly light.

"I don't," he whispers. "I don't want this. I don't. I don't. I don't."

[ninefox]

"Shhhh," Jedao murmurs, nibbling and nuzzling at his lips with rough kisses. "It's okay. I believe you. You don't want it."

But Fives has been sacrificed, and he will serve. Jedao twines around him, embracing and groaning as he slides onto Fives with a slick, smooth, tight hole, just as hot to the touch as the rest of him.

[callmefives]

"Stopstopstopstopst-st-stop." He turns it into a whispered mantra until his breath is punched out of him on a groan as something hot and wet and tide slides down his cock. His hips jerk up without any conscious thought as his nerves light up and all he can do for a moment is gasp for breath.

[ninefox]

Jedao moans, hungry and desperate and wordless, rocking on top of Fives, whatever orifice it is clutching and fluttering around him.

[callmefives]

"Get... g-get off," he almost howls, shoving desperately at him even as his toes curl and his hips rock. He's not dehydrated anymore, and tears slide, unheeded, down his cheeks as his howl breaks off on a stuttering groan.

[ninefox]

Jedao catches his wrists and kisses his knuckles; he cradles Fives' head and holds Fives' face against his own shoulder. As much as Jedao wants to kiss his tears away, that seemed to set him off even worse last lime. He can cry. Jedao will just hold him and kiss his forehead and his short hair and let him cry, whimpering and riding him all through it.

[callmefives]

He tries to jerk his hands away, tries to turn his face away from where it's pressed against the monster's shoulder, but he's beyond overpowered. And even though, rationally, he should know there's no point in struggling he can't stop. Can't stop thrashing to try and get away, choking out curses and imprecations and pleas to be released, all of it broken up by deep, wracking groans at the unwanted pleasure arcing along his nerves, curling in his gut and heating his blood.

He doesn't want this. The kisses or the gentle touches, as if this creature gives a damn about him as anything but a tool for its own pleasure. Most of all he doesn't want the arousal that all the anger in the world can't seem to quench, as he rocks helplessly up into the thing riding him, feeling heat and pleasure build and build, feeling his balls draw up and his skin go hot and tight. He doesn't want any of it, and it obviously couldn't matter less.