McFassy Fortnight: Teaser #3

Teaser Aesthetic #3

As a Jedi Knight, he was required to be as well versed as possible in the rituals and customs of places to which was was sent on diplomatic mission. It was mostly simple and straight forward, and there were times when he could clearly see the patterns in how belief systems and convictions worked their way into the consciousness of different peoples through different channels and different means. It would make for a fascinating study one day if he was ever sidelined into becoming and administrator or a teacher.

Not that he wanted such a role.

There was far too much else to learn, for him to settle down and live quietly.

Besides, he rather enjoyed the challenges of being a diplomat.

It wasn’t always boring meetings and politely misinterpreted commentary. Sometimes there was Lightsabers and actual battles to be waged.

He had been eager then, to visit Ardus, home of the much respected Qui-Gon Jinn, where he was expected to help negotiate an agreement between the residents of the vast capital city, Caladan, and the people of Salusa Secundus on the flow of essential good and services in the event of natural disaster.

Ardus was a water rich planet, and highly fertile enough to grow almost any kind of basic bulk crop, but changes to their governing body in the last two decades, much of which harkened back to the days of the ancient Landsraad and the noble old House structures that had caused so many issues millennia ago, before the reign of the God Emperor, and the final removal of such feudal type power structures.

It had proven challenging, trying to understand how the historical context was reapplied, and he’d done a lot more reading for such a mission than might have been considered normal.

Well into the second day, he had been speaking on behalf of Salusa Secundus, when a young man entered the Mediation Hall to pass messages. Such a thing might easily have gone unnoticed in the general manner of administering the proceedings, but for him it had proven a revelation of monumental significance, and he stuttered over his words suddenly, until he finally stopped talking, and simply stared the boy in open-mouthed wonder. It was a most un-Jedi like moment, and when the boy in turn realized he had become the unexpected object of everyone’s attention, he blushed furiously and ran from the room, fearing he had just done a terrible disservice to the negotiations somehow.

He could not have known then, that he had in face caused the Jedi, who was an honored guest in the city, to finally complete his Anchor.

For Knight Eric Just was more than Jedi.

He was part Sith.

Born on Terra, he had been found by the Jedi in a refugee camp during what came to be known as World War 3.

At four years of age, he had become separated from his parents during an evacuation of Dublin, and gotten himself well and truly lost. When he’d showed signs in front of the medical staff who’d found him, of displaying some ‘unusual abilities’ he had been promptly labeled a potential Mutant, and quarantined for better assessment.

As it turned out, he wasn’t a Mutant at all.

He was Force Sensitive.

And he was rescued by a scouting party from the Jedi Council, who were sent to warring planets to find those whom the fighting might otherwise destroy.

For the rest of his formative years, he’d lived and studied, learned and grown, on Coruscant, at the Jedi Temple.

His best friend arrived there right around the same time as him, from a planet called Iustus, that had once been settled by the Goa’uld with peoples from the Earth time period of the Renaissance. They’d never left that way of thinking however, at least in terms of cultural development, and not only dressed as they always had, but spoke a mixture of Romance Languages from the Mediterranean area, that could be very hard to decipher.

Charles D’Artagnan had been found to be both Force Sensitive and highly empathic, which naturally made him attractive to both the Healer’s Guild and the Jedi Medical Corps.

His family had surrendered him quite freely to a noble future of service to the galazy, and he’d found himself shipped off without getting the slightest say in matters, only find himself in a strange creche with a boy his own age, neither of whom could communicate with the other, until Charles let his infant empathy run free, and they’d wound up sleeping in the same bed together for years, as their training and mentoring began.

Becoming lovers as the years progressed, had been easy and natural. And when the Terran rescued from war had turned out to be partly Sith, everyone quickly recognized that you didn’t deliberately break somebody like that away from the person who could best help keep them calm and stable.

Eric had never been able to remember his last name, no matter how hard he tried to recall it. But one day, Master Kenobi had asked him about it in the middle of a Lightsaber lesson and he’d snapped back, “My name is Eric! Eric!”

“You’re Eric Eric?” Kenobi teased.

“Just Eric!”

And from then on, he’d been called Padawan Just.

Really, Kenobi could be such an asshole for one so well revered by virtually the entire Jedi Order.

At his Knighting, Eric had formally changed his name to Eric Just, and Kenobi had beamed like a proud papa for days.

Eric had been Padawan to Master Yoda, and gone into Diplomatics.

Charles had of course gone into medicine, and been Padawan to the Wookie, Doctor Bella.

He was the only one she’d ever taken to train.

Though they worked in different fields, they’d never expressed an interest in being with anyone but each other, on a personal level.

This pleased Yoda, Kenobi, and most of the Jedi Council, who knew from hard won experiences with Knight Rhys, that those with Sith qualities in whatever form, or to whatever degree in presented itself, were far better off with their emotional Anchor keeping them grounded and well balanced.

The problem with the Jedi Council was that they sometimes forgot how every rule was bound to have it’s exceptions.

When Knight Just found he was staring for a second time at the young man from earlier, with the day’s meetings dispersing for food and drinks to be served, his behavior was far more closely watched then it had been previously, and through his Force Bond with Master Yoda – that they’d kept at least partially open for the sake of dealing with Sith related moments – he felt the stirrings of some mild concern.

Yet there he stood, unable to tear his altogether far too lustful gaze from the slim and elegant specimen of youth who wore the simple robes of a Court Acolyte, and kept this soft green eyes dutifully averted from the Jedi he had so clearly disturbed.

Eric felt a jolt of confusion from his Bond with his beloved Dr. Charles, and realized he was absolutely have to talk to him soon, before the man got on a ship and came out to Ardus in person.

Which would not have been too shocking.

Not really.

Eric was mentally listing all the things he would need to explain, and who he would need to explain them to, when he was unexpectedly dragged from the room but a bunch of women who all wore the same severe expressions, the same severe black dresses, and the same severe hairstyles.

Somewhere in the back of his head, he knew he ought to recognize their rank at Court, but his thoughts were not exactly functioning in the most clear, efficient manner at that point.

He had found the one who would complete what he already had with Charles.

He had found the remainder of his Anchor, and though it would likely take him some time in calm meditation to figure it out more fully and discover the meaning of it all, he knew he wasn’t wrong, and his instincts were screaming at him not to lose sight of that.

Everyone moved from the path he was being led on, hiding their undignified snickering behind discreetly raised glasses and handkerchiefs.

Every time he tried to ask his abductors what was happening, they told him they would simply take care of everything that was required.

As if that assertion meant something vital.

He felt no particular threat or any kind of danger heading his way, so he endured the women’s concern for him as they hauled him into an elaborate private bathroom on an upstairs floor of the Palace, and he tried very hard not to bat them away with The Force as they endeavored to strip him of his clothing.

Having been the subject of more than a few amorous advances during his years in service to the Jedi Order, he was no stranger to some of the more obvious requirements for one of his stature, and on several occasions he had deliberately worn the appropriate jewelry to indicate his marriage, rather than be propositioned or offered other forms of sexual advantage.

To all intents and purposes he was married anyway, though he and Charles had not yet committed themselves to any form of ritual ceremony marking their relationship. He was, however, starting to think that such a thing might not be a bad idea give that the Council was stirring and murmuring again about the way the Jedi should go back to having no emotional attachments to people, places or things, and given the way he was clearly being prepared for something on Ardus of which he was unaware.

Charles spoke to him through The Force, using the strange mix of old Earth languages that was his natural tongue. It always sounded so very formal.

<Oh, I’m being very well taken care of…> he replied, even as he was pushed under the running water of a shower arrangement that fully enclosed him like a Bacta Tank once the door was shut.

It was remarkably refreshing. There was an odor in the steam it generated, that cleared his head, and the pummeling sprays all around his back and shoulders were most welcome after a day spent sitting at a conference table.

He worried for a moment about what might be happening to his robes and boots, but he doubted they would be abused. The people of Caladan were most respectful of the property of others, and his Lightsaber had a safety device to prevent anyone from accidentally harming themselves with it.

He closed his eyes, and decided that whatever else might be going on, he at least deserved a moment or two for relaxing.

<Mio Caro? I have found someone who can enhance the way you Anchor me,> he explained. <He is young, but it is obvious to me that he belongs with us.>

They had talked not so long ago, about the every increasing strength and energy it took sometimes for Charles to retrain the Sith temperament in Eric, and how there were moments when it seemed almost impossible to reach him without Yoda’s help.

They had discussed whether their relationship was the right one, and whether The Force was truly a part of what they shared. For their had always been a very frank and unfettered intimacy into which neither brought unnecessary expectations, so they were well versed in honesty and self-examination.

It took a while, but their conclusion, even after several hours of joint meditation, was that neither could picture through The Force, being apart from the other, or sharing themselves with any one else without the other’s presence in that relationship.

To which end, they determined a fair possibility of one day discovering a third element in their union.

A concept neither Jedi found to be perverse or unpleasant.

<Are you quite certain?> Charles asked. <Shall I come out to you? Who is it? A Caladanian?>

With some focus, Eric could show him a memory image in The Force.

<I should come out there to be with you!> Charles was adamant, abandoning his office in the Medical Complex to better walk off his sudden nervous agitation. <Or would it upset your negotiations? They would perhaps assume you are sick. That might not be helpful, eh? I could stay out of the way in your room. I would be but a humble assistant perhaps? I will book passage on the first transport. There are others can handle my workload for a while. This is too exciting! And a little nerve wracking, if I am to be honest. Do say I can be with you!>

Eric laughed lightly at the rush of words from his lover, and the accompanying emotional context. <You are positively giddy!>

<Oui! Yes, indeed so. I am giddy! This is astonishing!>

It was a valid question. <I am doubting only how to initiate any form of contact with him, when I know him so vaguely in terms of his status or situation.>

<Then, mio amore, you must find a way as fast as you can. I am coming out to Ardus at once!>

Charles sighed heavily. <But of course. Yes. Business first for the Order.>

When the water was abruptly switched off, Eric found himself naturally startled, but not quite as much as when he was heaved out of the cubicle by the same group of women who were instantly fussing over him with towels and a hair drying device.

All attempts at pushing them back where met with a resistance that would have done the military units trained on Selusa Secundus proud.

He was coiffed, massaged, and tended with great care, but without the slightest consent, and it left him nonplussed as his every question went ignored.

<Could you please find Qui-Gon and ask him what’s happening here? I think this ritual bathing thing got left off the cultural briefing notes?> He asked Charles as his last line of defense. <Be quick? I mean, if I argue with this, is it going to cause a problem with the…HEY!!!!>

He screeched that last word verbally, as well as through The Force, and the good Doctor was instantly shocked, not to mention momentarily deaf.

<What? What is happening there? Eric? Eric, are you alright?>

One of the women, who actually wore the only distinguishing thing about her clothing – namely a small crystal vial in a chainlink purse around her neck – was paying particular attention to his genitals, and rubbing the contents of said vial firmly on his penis.

Which naturally reacted to the stimulation in a most unwelcome fashion.

“You really don’t need to touch that! Thank you! Yes, I’m quite clean now. Oh, no! No, no, no!!” He squirmed away at least once, desperately tying not to use The Force to defend himself with in case he did damage to more than just the diplomatic negotiations. <Charles? I’m fine, just find Qui-Gon and do it now, please!>

He was going to yell at whoever had put his briefing pack together.

Yell, a lot.

“They have not seen hair as red as yours before.”

It was a man who finally got the women to leave him alone, as his presence in the doorway had them all running out of there past him like so many slippery shadows with silver edges.

“I’m Terran by birth. Irish. It’s genetic. And who the fuck are you now?”

Eric had returned to the place of his ancestors only once, that he might better appreciate the significance of his heritage. There had been nothing there from his infancy that he could clearly recall, but he did discover the cause of his startling coloration, the mass of freckles on his skin, and the reason why his voice took on a distinct accent whenever he was upset.

It wasn’t a very polite way to address the newcomer, but he needed some answers before he started hurting people.

The oil on his cock was warming parts that he really didn’t want warmed, and though he cast an anxious inspection over the finery in the bathroom, he couldn’t find either his clothes, or so much as a face clothe to cover himself with.

“I am the Master of Preparations. I am here to ensure that all is done to the required standard.”

The man was tall, gaunt, had a military bearing, and reminded Eric quite ludicrously of Master Dooku. He held up a long white robe that he’d been carrying over his left arm.

It was made from some kind of shimmering material not unlike silk from Earth, and it whispered as it unfurled, hanging all the way to the floor.

“You may wear this.” The Master of Preparations shook the garment a little further, and it revealed itself to be in fact, a cape, complete with hood.

There were no arm holes.

“A simple tie at the neck,” the man continued. “One tug upon the ends and it will fall away when you are ready.”

“Ready for what?” Eric demanded, hands on hips, seriously wishing he had his Lightsaber.

“For the vital moment of course!” The Dooku clone rolled his eyes. “There are some do prefer to leave it on. A sensual thing, one would suppose. But these are ancient rituals, passed down to us from the most noble old Houses. The Harkonnens did enjoy their dramatic and elaborate excesses. We have merely tempered their whims to a more modern, sophisticated style, but the purpose remains.”

Eric was none the wiser, but hearing the name of ‘Harkonnen’ given any kind of reverence, left rather a bad impression.

He grabbed for the robe anyway.

It was the perfect length.

He swatted the Master of Preparations away when the man tried to adjust the hood and tie for him.

“It must be worn up until you reach the chamber! Up!! Up!!!”

“Fine!” Eric growled, forced to tolerate the correct procedure whether he wanted it or not.

“There! And now you are ready.”

The Dooku clone made a move to adjust the front of the material in order to secure Eric’s increasingly rampant manhood from premature exposure, but the Jedi snagged his hands and squeezed them fiercely. “Touch that, and die,” he hissed, meaning every word.

He was smart enough to know he’d been very well dosed with some form of sexual stimulant, and whatever it was, it seemed especially potent.

Despite channeling the skills he’d been taught in the Temple, for using The Force to help burn through toxins, he could do little with his own erection then but hope it faded away. The substance he’d been slathered with was likely to have been composed of more naturally occurring substances than actual fully manufactured poisons.

He knew his lover could sense what was going on, and it was rather mortifying to be so aroused while not actually wanting to be.

It reminded him of being a teenager, lost in badly controlled hormonal urges.

He was led out of the bathroom, sill barefoot and increasingly concerned, down a long corridor strewn with heady smelling, white trumpet shaped flowers that littered the marble floor and released their pollen when trodden on. It was not unpleasant, but Eric used The Force to hold his breath for longer than normal, rather than risk inhaling anything else that might cause him a physically inappropriate reaction.

A party of smartly clad Caladanians – high ranking social powerbrokers and heads of families – was waiting at the end of the corridor just outside an enormous pair of bronze doors. They all looked excitedly at him, admiring his appearance with gasps of delight and nods of approval, thereby forcing him to clench the robe that much tighter around his body. Which was easier said than done given the nature of the slippery material.

There was no doubt in his mind whatsoever, that he was being presented for a ritual sexual scenario of some kind, in which he was apparently expected to demonstrate his male virility and dominant urges.

He just couldn’t find a way to avoid it yet, and it didn’t help that his mind was starting to crave a sexual release of whatever kind it could get.

The door were heavy, solid, and carved with ancient symbols in a relief form that was meant to be touched the fingertips of whoever close to pass through them.

If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve said it was a manual for sexual positions, not unlike the Karma Sutra.

Seriously, he had no idea how the mundane treaty he’d been asked to help with, might involve something so unexpected, but he would do his best to explain that he was not in the market for a wife. And if his prowess was still required, he’d perhaps tell them that his seed was not genetically compatible for reproduction.

Then later, he’d kill people in the Jedi Archives for missing this out of his data pack!

In the press of people all waiting to see him go do his duty, were a couple clutching hands who appeared most attentively concerned. He reasoned they were likely his prospective parents-in-law, and he knew without question that his rejection of the bride would suck for both her, and them.

<Come on, Charles! Help a Knight out here!> he begged silently, knowing his dear Doctor was equally as anxious about what was going on.

No one was meant to be caught as insanely unaware.

The doors opened from inside as the Master of Preparations banged the brass ring in the center above the left handle, and a man in an identical outfit ushered them inside.

“I can certify that all is well,” he intoned formally. “The Virgin has been examined and proven pure.”

Eric felt an enormous pant of sympathy for whatever the poor woman had been put through, for her was pretty sure it had to have been the more humiliating side of the deal.

And he was about to go make it a whole lot worse for her too.

The Masters of Preparations, bowed low, acknowledging each other before stepping back out of the way.

In the pause, while Eric stood on the threshold of the room, finding himself faced with an elaborate white drapery that hid the rest of the space from gawking eyes, he wondered whether to speak up, or at least go talk to his intended bride, that they might in turn present an united front against what would inevitably be distraught parents, shattered expectations, and ruined honor. The latter option would likely buy time until Charles and some help could arrive and smooth things over. Still, he was reluctant to enter, and equally as reluctant to appear too overly keen.

His increasingly throbbing manhood actually made the final decision for him, reminding him of his own discomforts, and to the onlookers it appeared quite satisfyingly, as though his erect member indeed led him to his bride.

As the doors closed and the lock was engaged, it struck him that he had been unwittingly inhaling an incense of some kind that lingered sweetly in the air, further driving his already over taxed sexual desires.

There came a round of applause from outside, and the Masters of Preparations cried in unison, as though chanting some ancient benediction, “Let the Guardians come forth until the morn!”

Eric shook his head, hoping to use The Force and burn past the influence of whatever else he was breathing, but it was a struggle. His mind and body wanted sex, and didn’t care how it came, but his years of training, and his more Sith like nature meant he was extremely well controlled, and he focused as much of himself as he possibly could on exercising restraint, that he might at least go help the poor unfortunate within, who was still awaiting him.

The entire room was white, framed with the darker outline of old and impressive bedroom furnishings. More draperies covered the walls, with sheers catching and reflecting several artfully arranged candelabras. Even the rugs were white, made from a fur that was soft and enticing.

Everything was about sensuous enjoyment.

And sensual excess.

He could see no windows or other exits, and the only remaining door was glass, revealing a bathroom not unlike the one he had himself been prepared in.

The central point of the room was the bed.

It too was white, the four corner posts and rails hung with sweeping curtains decked in garlands of the same flowers he had walked over in the corridor.

It was clearly large enough to accommodate two people quite comfortably, with an array of white pillows and cushions scattered hither and yon.

Had he so chosen, he could easily have walked all the way around it to best admire his bride from every angle, arranged there before him like a sacrifice on an altar, for his exclusive pleasure.

Except it wasn’t a woman.

It was a man.

Face down upon the sheets, he was unmoving, although Eric could hear slightly irregular and tremulous breathing, which at least assured him his prize was conscious and not stupified.

Secured at the wrists by a white rope that held his hands together, stretched above his head in the attitude of one who might otherwise be lost in prayer, there was no way for him to wriggle free, as the other end of the rope, taut and straight, vanished under the pillows and was most likely secured to the bed frame.

A white fabric, identical to Eric’s robe, lay over the man’s torso from armpits to the upper curve of his buttocks, where it fell back a little reveal a pair of pertly smooth cheeks, elevated by a series of cushions that tilted his hips up and drew his knees bent beneath him.

His ankles were spread wide, each tied with white rope, drawn tightly to the two opposite end corner posts.

The effect was starling, presenting him quite efficiently with the man’s fully shaven and puckered anus, as well as his ripely hanging testicles between firm and spotless thighs.

Even without the aphrodisiac in his system, Eric was deeply aroused by so erotic a vision.

What made him frown however, was the way in which someone had tried to arrange the bedclothes, that they might hide a tattoo inked into the man’s skin. It was a fluid, curving design that flowed from his neck just below his right ear, under the sheet, and out again down his right hip and upper thigh to his knee.

Before he could stop himself, Eric reached for the sheet and slowly pulled it away that he might better see the whole pattern, and it stole every ounce of the breath he’d been holding, making him very much aware of how badly he wanted to touch what lay there for him to enjoy.

The tattoo was one piece, sweeping over the man’s musculature in sinuous lines, enhancing his slim but charming proportions to their absolute best.

He could hardly look away, and he positively itched to trace that complex pattern with his tongue.

It made his mouth water just at the thought of it, and he shook his head fiercely, tying so hard to tamp down the very real desire to ravish what was quite clearly his for the taking.

By the light of the candles he could tell the man had been also been oiled and prepared for him in all the right ways to ease initial penetration.

He took a shuddering breath, his arousal an ever present ache in his groin that would not go away until he’d sunk his hard, eagerly leaking cock into that as yet unknowing pink bud.

Were those outside waiting for the first cries of this man’s deflowering?

And how exactly was any man’s anal virginity even assessed?

He had not consented to this.

Neither of them had.

Yet his left hand swept over the man’s back, almost of it’s own volition, lingering at every curve, savoring the sensation inch by inch, and he had no idea how he wasn’t ashamed of himself for enjoying it.

He did not want this.

But he so desperately did.

Through his brain he began silently reciting every alphabet for every language he knew, seeking to concentrate past the drug enhanced haze of lust he was fighting.

A soft whimper had him yanking his hand away fast.

He knew he should hunt for the source of the incense, and throw something over the flowers, as surely the man he was meant to ravish had to have been as well dosed in the same drugs. He could at least minimize further exposure to them, and yet on more closely examining the room he could see the incense was trickling in from tiny vents hight in the ceiling, for which there was no control panel and no closure he could manipulate with The Force.

When the man moved his head, Eric was mortified to discover he wore a blindfold of that same silky white material, which suddenly felt so incredibly restricting to his own body, despite the cut of it actually billowing around him when he let go of it.

He was fighting contradictions that set a war between what he wanted and what he needed.

Thinking to release the poor man from his restraints, Eric found himself sitting on the edge of the bed, stroking the tousled auburn colored hair on the man’s head, before finally slipping off the covering that restricted his sight.

That he was greeted by a pair of wide and horrified green eyes, had him leaping backward, sliding to the floor in a graceless heap.

He was having a nightmare.

Or so he hopefully imagined.

But no, it was Charles calling to him through The Force, that made him aware of his predicament as being a lot greater than some random dream.

<Eric! What is happening? I have Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan. I’m with Master Yoda too. We are coming to Ardus as quickly as possible.>

He heard the words as if from a long distance away, past several doors.

<Eric? Are you well? Eric! Talk to me, my love.>

He shook his head again, scrabbling to his feet, and getting caught along the way in the robe that came half off.

<Eric!! Qui-Gon says this sounds like an ancient ritual called the Virgin Rite of Bedding. Eric?? I can feel you. Talk to me!>

<No shit, Doctor! It’s a marriage bed!> He was snarling more at himself than his beloved, frustrated beyond all reason that his ‘virgin bride’ was not in fact a man, but the very boy whom his overly ardent admiration of earlier in the day had so appallingly compromised.

For many cultures and societies, the age of consent for sexual intimacy varied greatly, but he had no idea what it was for Caladanians. He didn’t want to think that they might encourage him into being sexually inappropriate with a child, but if there was any single lesson he could admit to have learned best during his training as a Jedi, it was in accepting that he should never impose his own moral expectations upon the norms of others who didn’t think the same way he did.

Eric’s erect cock wasn’t about to stall anything. <No guarantees,> he warned, fiddling with the tie on his robe to hopefully keep it in place. <Just hurry!>

“Have I caused you offense?” the boy asked, his voice but a whisper. “Do you not desire me now?”

Eric used The Force to carefully unfasten the ropes at his hands and feet, letting the bindings fall away.

“No! No, you must not free me until you are satisfied!” He almost sobbed the words, refusing to move even though he knew he could.

“I am satisfied,” Eric answered, surrendering all hope of somehow hiding his arousal when it was virtually impossible to control the stupid material of his robe. “And I desire you very much. But I cannot use you in this way.”

“I have offended…” He buried his head back into the mattress. “I am not good enough.”

The words got a little lost, but Eric understood them anyway. “You have not offended. Not once. I was just surprised to be treated this way. Your rituals in Caladan have changed from those on which I was briefed before my mission here.” As he spoke, he retrieved the sheet he had pulled away, and encouraged the boy to roll over off the supporting pillows that he might wrap him up in it and spare them both from further humiliations. But it was not a simple thing, as the boy was also as hard and aroused as he, and the bed itself seemed to conspire against them.

Eric knew full well his fingers wanted to touch, no matter how much he told himself to stop craving what he could not have. And in the process he enjoyed far too gratefully, the firm flesh he was encountering.

“I do not even know your name. How may I take as a husband, one whom I have but gazed upon twice before this?” Eric spoke carefully, cautious of his words, unwilling to speak out of bounds or add to the emotional trauma of the situation.

“I am Paul,” the boy replied, “of the family Halleck. Only son of one named Gurney in honor of the bloodline from which we descend.” Sitting up at last, the pillows gone from his hips, he might well have had the sheet to hide his nakedness, but he didn’t care.

For the Jedi Knight beside him, there was much searching through a veritable mental library catalogue of dimly remembered historical references that were awkward to place, given his sexual distractions. “Not a new Noble House, based on the old model?” he asked.

“A Noble Family, of noble influence by way of House Atreides,” Paul answered. “I am named for the father of the God Emperor.”

“Maud’dib.”

“Yes. Born in Caladan, his mythos is still strong all these millennia later. The Halleck family served the Atreides both here and on Arrakis.”

Eric nodded slowly. “I must admit, I now realize how you bear strong resemblance to the God Emperor in all but your eyes.”

“I have never been exposed to the Spice. I was to remain pure for my wedding night…” He squirmed uncomfortably. “It is the tattoo, isn’t it? My father said it was a ruin to my reputation.”

Eric slid a little nearer to him, wanting to be close but not daring to be too close. And yet there was so mournful an expression on the boy’s features, it was all he could not not to reach for him. “Your tattoo is remarkable. I have never seen its like before, anywhere. How did you come to have it?”

“An act of rebellion.”

“Where I was born, young men often do the same,” Eric snorted.

“I got it while traveling to the outer islands, far from the mouth of the Living Waters. I wanted to experience their lives as part of my training, seeing that they live so very differently from Caladanians.”

“I find it beautiful.”

Paul blushed and fidgeted some more. “Everyone said to remove it because we no longer behave as the islanders do.” He sighed. “I am a diplomatic research analyst. I enjoy study.”

“As do I. You have a grand title for one so young.”

He smiled but it was wan. “Many years from now, I might become a full ambassador, but…” He shivered despite it being warm in that room. “After this, I will be lucky to have a job cleaning the fish pens.”

“You have done nothing wrong, Paul.” Eric touched his arm, and instantly wished he’d stayed further away as he wanted to touch so much more. “If there is to be blame here, the fault is mine for not knowing what could come from my staring at you.”

“If you did not want me, why stare at me so? Everyone saw.”

“Trying to explain this may take a while.”

“We will not be disturbed until sunrise. It is the way of things.”

“What happens at sunrise?”

“The Matres who prepared us are now guarding the doors. They will know if I have satisfied you, or not.” Paul swallowed hard, chewing on his lower lips pensively. “Tell them what you will, but the fault…” He tugged his arm from Eric’s grip. “…the failure will still be mine to endure.” His shoulders heaved. “No one else will want me after this. I am undone.”

Unable to resist any more, Eric pulled him into his arms. “Let me tell you why you matter to me, and to the one named D’Artagnan. Listen well, and when I am done, you will know why you are more vital to us both than you can imagine right now.”

Nestled in the Jedi’s embrace, Paul did as he was told, saving his many questions until the right moment to ask them. All the while, he too struggled with the urges brought on from having been deliberately exposed to sexually stimulating drugs by the most Honored Matre who called herself ‘Lady Jessica’.

Being a researcher, he had for some time gone delving deep into his people’s historic records, wanting to piece together how the emerging sects and socio-political classes within Caladan had begun re-emerging ever faster in recent years. In many respects, he could see an undeniable natural progression toward the ways of old, especially in the longing so many people expressed for a greater sense of noble purpose.

The return of the God Emperor, sparked much interest in the old House of Atreides, and then the Matres had been re-instituted along the lines of the Bene Gesserit who had been wiped out of existence millennia ago by the God Emperor in his first incarnation as he transformed into the Shai-Hulud, when he denied them all further access to the Spice they needed for their rituals. Records showed that they tried one too many times to eliminate the last of the Atreides pure bloodline, and it angered him into letting them die.

Their ways, however, were not truly gone. Their books and their words, their rites and their beliefs still remained for the more enterprising to find.

“If I am to be yours,” he said at last, knowing their time together was growing every short, “then take me now! Complete the ritual of our union. All will be well. I promise it.” He sat up again and turned around, letting the sheet fall from his shoulders. “I am yours, Jedi. Take me, so that we can be as you wish.”

Eric’s needy gaze drank in every inch of the exceptionally nubile young body being offered to him, and licked his lips slowly.

He could do whatever he wished in that moment.

They both knew it.

They both wanted it.

“I know that you desire me. I have felt your arousal pressing against me all this while.” Paul knew he was pleading for the future the Jedi Knight had painted, but he was fearful that it might never be. “You know I too am aroused at thought of you. I will not disappoint. I am not without knowledge of these matters between men. I lack only experience.”

“How old are you?”

“I came of age, three moons ago.”

Eric pulled him forward by the shoulders impulsively, and kissed him full on the mouth hard and fast, before tearing himself away. “We are both influenced here beyond our will by whatever fills the air. We are not free to either give or take because of that. We are forced here by the will of others.”

Paul could no longer contain the tears scorching his eyes.

“If I took you now, it would not be for you. Or for us. And later, we would hate that it was so. I told you that I am Sith. To hate anything, is to cause irreparable harm, and I would rather destroy an entire galaxy, than ever harm you or allow you to feel harm in any form.”

Despite everything.

Despite his wedding night not being as he’d imagined it.

Despite all that would come next.

Despite his fears…

…Paul believed him.

When the doors burst open, the black clad women rushed in and started shrieking like a hoard of vicious birds over a carcass.

The noise alone was quite terrifying after the peace of their enforced isolation, and Eric was instantly defensive.

Not to mention angry.

But before he could react, let alone start demanding answers for the meaning of it all, he knew there was an equally loud commotion going on in the corridor, and voices there too were raised in wailing lament as though someone had died.

Paul was torn from the bed, and manhandled still naked out of the room, lost to Eric’s sight amidst the drapes and the press ow women who surrounded him on all sides.

Not once did he cry in alarm, or try to protest.

He did nothing to stop events unfolding, and in truth there was likely noting he could have achieved by it anyway.

Weight of numbers was ranged against them both.

It did not, however, prevent Eric’s increasing anger from exploding, and with The Force at his disposal, he pushed back everyone who was screeching at him, all concern for protocol and diplomatics vanishing with the incense that had suddenly stopped flowing.

Through the many other voices beyond that room, he heard accusations, sobs and disgusted shouts virtually echoing across the palace building, but in front of him the women all hit their knees, begging his forgiveness for having offered him an unworthy marriage partner whom he had been unable to so much as properly touch.

It had to qualify as one of the craziest moments Eric had ever been a part of, and he’d been part of some crazy things in his service to the Order.

His concern for Paul was not outweighed by the sudden possibility that they might try and offer him another virgin instead.

“Anything to appease the Jedi,” someone said hastily.

Scrambling off the bed, he pulled his white robe on closer and demanded his Jedi apparel, which miraculously appeared, passed to him hand over hand from a drawer in the corner dresser.

He cast about for sight of the woman with the vial at her throat, whom he had taken to be their leader, but could see no sign of her, and assumed she had led the group who abducted Paul.

Sensing his Lightsaber was in the same drawer, he called it into his hand once he was clad in sufficient clothing to reinstate his sense of proper dignity and decorum.

“Be quiet!” He bellowed it sharply enough to silence not only the women but everyone else outside as well, and their distressed cacophony fell to a susurrant murmur of unhappiness.

“Where is Paul?”

No one answered.

“Where is he?”

Anger was morphing into rage inside him, at which point he deliberately snapped shut all connection to Charles and Master Yoda.

Still no one spoke, but a particularly bold and slightly younger woman from amongst the throng, got up and dutifully handed him his boots.

Had she not been dressed so severely she might have been considered the most appealing of her number.

“Where is he?” Eric demanded, hooking his weapon on his belt and sitting down to reclaim his footwear.

If they were meant to be distracting him, it was working.

When he stood up again, his proper robe was handed to him and he let it cascade over his shoulders, it’s heavy material a sharp and menacing contrast to the white decor of the room.

As a Sith, he had chosen attire several shades darker than the Jedi norm, not only to add stature to his already towering frame, but as a silent, highly obvious warning to all and sundry that you really shouldn’t piss him off.

The one younger woman who had stayed standing in his presence, pulled her shoulders back squarely. “His is the disgrace,” she said simply, her eyes flickering to the Lightsaber he made no pretense at hiding.

Forcing his hearing to move over all the other noises, he searched for Paul.

It took some control, but with the drugs that had been filling his mind and body with far too many other urgently desired temptations, rapidly wearing off, it was easy for him to burn through what remained, clearing his senses and sharpening his hatred for everything those black clad crones represented to him.

The single chocked scream that lanced down the corridor toward him, had Eric igniting his Lightsaber before he even registered that he had called it back to his hand.

It’s dark indigo colored blade hummed with obvious intent, causing everyone around him to wince and cower.

<ERIC!>

Master Yoda, placing a hand solidly on the arm of Doctor Charles D’Artagnan, gave him strength enough through The Force to reopen their bond just as a second scream followed the first, accompanied by the distinct whistling throw of a lash of some kind.

<ERIC!!>

<You’d better hurry now my love, I’m about to burn Caladan to the ground.>

Now the question is … well there be more *evil cackles*