Sun Kissed (3/?)
Jul. 17th, 2006 04:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aislinn_veedorTitle: Sun Kissed (3/?)
Author: Vee017 (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aislinn_tredor)
Beta'd by:agentjedi
Genre: Romance
Setting: AU
Rating: Eventual NC-17
Disclaimer: If I owned Star Wars I wouldn't still be a poor college student now would I?
Summary: Being on a world that supports slavery is one thing, buying a slave and bringing him into Republic space is entirely another. A/O Slash.
Title: Sun Kissed
Author: Vee017 (aislinn_tredor)
Beta'd by:agentjedi
Genre: Romance
Setting: AU
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Being on a world that supports slavery is one thing, buying a slave and bringing him into Republic space is entirely another. A/O Slash.
Previous Chapters:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
It was no use to struggle. One would have thought, after all these years, he would have discovered that, but the fact was Anakin just didn’t care. As long as he made it as hard as possible for the handlers or traders to do what they liked with him, he could at least have some small satisfaction in being a complete inconvenience.
He doubted very much that any change had been made to how slaves were transported. When he had been twelve, he had been shoved into a small permasteel cage for his new owners; and now at twenty-one, he knew it would be the same.
Digging his heels into the floor, Anakin pulled back as much as he could against the two handlers dragging him along roughly in a bruising grip. The cages were well into view now, lining up for cargo and then to be shipped out to the new masters.
There was no way he was going to fit in a cage that small.
Wrenching back wildly, he fought to get out of their grip. Though being much larger than he was, the most he managed to do was secure a few new bruises for himself.
As they dragged Anakin to his temporary ‘home’, one of the guards let go as the other jerked him still from behind.
“Hey!” Anakin wrenched his legs away from the second man who had gone for a knife from his own belt. Foregoing the knife for the moment, the handler grabbed Anakin’s legs and roughly tied them tightly together -- ankle bones crushed painfully together as the handler went about his original task of ridding Anakin of his remaining clothes.
Jerking to the side may not have been the best thing to do as he felt white hot pain trail up his leg when the sharp metal shred across the top of his thigh.
“Are you supposed to wreck ‘im like that?” asked the handler behind Anakin.
“Little fuck won’t stop moving,” said the other as he finished his task and stood. “’sides, he’s damaged goods all ready.”
Anakin hissed in fury and sent a wad of spit straight into the handler's face.
The backhand that struck him was much more welcome than another lecherous bastard pawing at something he wasn’t paying for. Not that Anakin ever saw any of the money he made for Kerr, but he was able to hide the tips he made.
He cursed and tried to bite the men as they forced into the small cage, throwing his shoulder against the metal as the lock clicked shut and the cage tagged for identification. Cursing out in frustration he fought with his bindings. He couldn’t stay in this cage, he couldn’t. It was too small. Screaming out, he finally let his body go lax against the cold steel that pressed against him on all sides. Chest heaving, leg and face throbbing he gave in for now. Locked here, there was no where to go and no escape.
Cursing again, he shut his eyes tight and tried to block out the cries and shouts around him.
>>>
It was cold.
The drink in his hand.
The icy chill of the liquid permeated the glass he was holding and reminded him of the pit of his stomach, for it too felt like ice.
Obi-Wan swilled his drink in its glass as he tried to think about what he had just done. It was unthinkable. It was wrong. And he had blown almost his entire credit savings.
For a slave.
How could he have bought a slave?
And not only that, but a pleasure slave.
He was an AgriCorps worker! A former potential Jedi! He lived within the Republic! A Republic that had outlawed slavery millenniums ago and had penalties against those caught smuggling or trafficking slaves into Republic space.
He had principles. Principles that he had learned long ago growing up in the Jedi Temple, principles that he still held near and dear to his heart no matter what direction his life had taken. He lived by the Jedi Code, or at least he tried to. He may not have been a real Jedi, but it was still ingrained within his heart. It was all he had really.
Things were different in the AgriCorps, the Code and many dictated principles were waived for the workers. Though the strict disciplinary ways of the Jedi were ever present in the main building, which was in direct contact with the Jedi Reassignment Council on Coruscant.
They were farmers. They used the Force to assist in the greater growth of their produce so the poor and the starving on other planets could eat.
What did it matter if they had families? They weren’t involved with intergalactic politics -- no life and death decisions, no need to be completely neutral in all situations. Yet Obi-Wan still clung to the Code. Grasped at it.
It was probably one of the many reasons why his neighbours and age-mates had gradually given up on him. He could still remember the bitter depression he felt when he was passed over, time and time again, as no Master would claim him. He had wanted it so much, tried so hard, but still wasn’t good enough. Those feelings had only festered his isolation and low self worth. He was as big a failure as Bruck Chun had always said he was.
He had shied away from people and refused to make friends, preferring instead to keep to himself in those early days; hoping against hope that he would wake up and his life on Bandomeer would all have been a nightmare. But it wasn’t. It was his life. His boring, mundane, repetitive life. Living alone on the hill overlooking the village, was it any wonder why everyone called him a hermit? Force, only a week ago he had heard a few boys scaring some younglings about ‘Crazy Old Ben’.
He laughed mirthlessly.
The only good thing that had come out of the incident was the look on the older boys’ faces when he had cleared his throat behind them. He could have sworn they were about ready to piss themselves.
He shouldn’t be bitter. But he was.
And now this.
He could only imagine.
‘You know Crazy Old Ben up the hill? He bought himself a pleasure slave to keep himself entertained. Can’t get it anywhere else you see. Depraved old pervert.’
Obi-Wan pushed his drink away and buried his face in his hands.
What was he going to do? Could he just set the boy free and be on his way? A few thousand credits short, mind. But…he couldn’t keep him.
True, there weren’t really any border checks when entering one rim to the next, but there were Republic patrols. He couldn’t bring a slave into Republic space. That alone violated his morals, not including the fact that he had already bought said slave.
Force…
Obi-Wan grabbed his glass and drowned the shot.
This could not be the will of the Force! No matter what blind pull had led him to bid on that boy, it had nothing to do with the Force. Nothing.
Obi-Wan groaned despairingly. What was he going to do?
>>>
Anakin Skywalker may have been a slave, but he was first and foremost a person. That was the one mantra he had left in life and he clutched at it every time a whip came crashing down hard upon his back, or during the countless times he had been used and discarded in the dark rooms of the brothel.
He was a person. He was a human. He was in a cage.
The cold metal grated into his skin and his legs were cramped. There was only enough space for him to sit awkwardly with his knees pulled up to his chest and the bindings on his wrists and ankles did nothing to alleviate the situation.
The wound on his thigh had stopped bleeding some time ago. Luckily it wasn’t as deep as he thought, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. He had spent his time watching the blood cake and dry as it ran down his leg and through the bars beneath him. During that time, the majority of the slaves had been carted away by their new owners and there were now only a few left.
It made him curious, being left for so long. He remembered Kerr picking him up almost immediately, or what he thought it was immediately. Nothing had seemed to last very long after the shock of being ripped from his mother’s arms. He remembered trying to go after her, shifting through the bodies in the cell only to have the cage door slam shut in his face as he only had one look, one last glimpse as she was led up the steps.
And was gone.
He never saw her again after that auction. Where she was, who had bought her, or even if she was still alive were questions Anakin had no answers for. They plagued him. Especially on nights where he was left alone long enough to think. And ashamedly there were times when he was almost glad she wasn’t around, to see what her beloved son had become.
When he had been sold to Kerr’s brothel he had kept looking and looking for her face in the crowd, and when he couldn’t find her, he had panicked.
Tatooine was suddenly so much bigger without her. There’d be no more hugs, no more kisses. She would never hold him again or tell him stories to calm his fears. There was no one to look out for him anymore; no one to love him; he was alone.
And when he had finally realized his mother was gone for good, he couldn’t stop crying. All he wanted was his mother and she was gone.
He could vaguely recall in that time the three Twi’lek’s who had pulled his sobbing form into their arms and tried to comfort him with kisses and brushes and petting, like he were a wounded kitten they were trying to coax.
It had taken him two years to learn the basics of what his future had in store. The majority of those early days had been filled with waiting tables in the main hall and his nights contained more beatings then he cared to remember.
Waiter by day, whore-in-training by night.
Anakin returned grimly to the present and tried to stretch his legs, as futile as it was. It couldn’t have been Dejiak who bought him. He wouldn’t have been waiting here for so long if it were. The Nar Shaddaan would have been one of the first to gloat over his new prize and let him know just what life had in store for him.
He could just imagine being locked in some small room on the Smuggler’s Moon. He had heard some of the slaves that had been traded from the spaceport talk of the squalor found there and it made Tatooine sound downright comfortable.
It would probably be cold, and he was sure he wouldn’t be wearing much to combat the chill. The warmest thing he’d feel would be the blood that ran down his back or from the tearing in his rectum.
Anakin gripped the bars behind him and tried to breath calmly. He was probably working himself up for nothing. Unless that nothing was another brothel owner who Dejiak was paying for Anakin right now…that would explain the wait…
“No!”
Pushing himself backwards, he cried out when his elbow met permasteel. Pain laced up his arm as he drew back, glaring through slit eyes as the handlers walked back into the slave holdings.
>>>
“…delivery surcharge.”
Obi-Wan fought the urge to run his hand over his face for the umpteenth time since this ‘meeting’ had taken place. The slave trader was more than happy to collect his share of profits and send the rest onto the boy’s previous owner.
But now, he wanted a delivery charge.
“What’s this again?”
“Name the place, we deliver the purchase,” said the Er’Kit smoothly.
“He’s got legs, he can walk can’t he?” asked Obi-Wan. When he had finally pulled himself off his bar stool to come pick up what was now ‘his’, this wasn’t what he had been expecting.
“True, but you never know when a slave will decide to run. And when that happens your entire purchase tends to explode.”
“Explode?” Obi-Wan listened in silent disgust as the dealer told him about the implants that were placed somewhere in the slave’s body to ensure that they didn’t run off on their owners. How could something like that still be legal? Something so…uncivilized.
For once he couldn’t wait to get back to Bandomeer.
Only this time, he was apparently bringing back more than harvesting seeds.
Author: Vee017 (
aislinn_tredor)Beta'd by:
agentjedi Genre: Romance
Setting: AU
Rating: Eventual NC-17
Disclaimer: If I owned Star Wars I wouldn't still be a poor college student now would I?
Summary: Being on a world that supports slavery is one thing, buying a slave and bringing him into Republic space is entirely another. A/O Slash.
Title: Sun Kissed
Author: Vee017 (
aislinn_tredor)Beta'd by:
agentjedi Genre: Romance
Setting: AU
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Being on a world that supports slavery is one thing, buying a slave and bringing him into Republic space is entirely another. A/O Slash.
Previous Chapters:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
It was no use to struggle. One would have thought, after all these years, he would have discovered that, but the fact was Anakin just didn’t care. As long as he made it as hard as possible for the handlers or traders to do what they liked with him, he could at least have some small satisfaction in being a complete inconvenience.
He doubted very much that any change had been made to how slaves were transported. When he had been twelve, he had been shoved into a small permasteel cage for his new owners; and now at twenty-one, he knew it would be the same.
Digging his heels into the floor, Anakin pulled back as much as he could against the two handlers dragging him along roughly in a bruising grip. The cages were well into view now, lining up for cargo and then to be shipped out to the new masters.
There was no way he was going to fit in a cage that small.
Wrenching back wildly, he fought to get out of their grip. Though being much larger than he was, the most he managed to do was secure a few new bruises for himself.
As they dragged Anakin to his temporary ‘home’, one of the guards let go as the other jerked him still from behind.
“Hey!” Anakin wrenched his legs away from the second man who had gone for a knife from his own belt. Foregoing the knife for the moment, the handler grabbed Anakin’s legs and roughly tied them tightly together -- ankle bones crushed painfully together as the handler went about his original task of ridding Anakin of his remaining clothes.
Jerking to the side may not have been the best thing to do as he felt white hot pain trail up his leg when the sharp metal shred across the top of his thigh.
“Are you supposed to wreck ‘im like that?” asked the handler behind Anakin.
“Little fuck won’t stop moving,” said the other as he finished his task and stood. “’sides, he’s damaged goods all ready.”
Anakin hissed in fury and sent a wad of spit straight into the handler's face.
The backhand that struck him was much more welcome than another lecherous bastard pawing at something he wasn’t paying for. Not that Anakin ever saw any of the money he made for Kerr, but he was able to hide the tips he made.
He cursed and tried to bite the men as they forced into the small cage, throwing his shoulder against the metal as the lock clicked shut and the cage tagged for identification. Cursing out in frustration he fought with his bindings. He couldn’t stay in this cage, he couldn’t. It was too small. Screaming out, he finally let his body go lax against the cold steel that pressed against him on all sides. Chest heaving, leg and face throbbing he gave in for now. Locked here, there was no where to go and no escape.
Cursing again, he shut his eyes tight and tried to block out the cries and shouts around him.
>>>
It was cold.
The drink in his hand.
The icy chill of the liquid permeated the glass he was holding and reminded him of the pit of his stomach, for it too felt like ice.
Obi-Wan swilled his drink in its glass as he tried to think about what he had just done. It was unthinkable. It was wrong. And he had blown almost his entire credit savings.
For a slave.
How could he have bought a slave?
And not only that, but a pleasure slave.
He was an AgriCorps worker! A former potential Jedi! He lived within the Republic! A Republic that had outlawed slavery millenniums ago and had penalties against those caught smuggling or trafficking slaves into Republic space.
He had principles. Principles that he had learned long ago growing up in the Jedi Temple, principles that he still held near and dear to his heart no matter what direction his life had taken. He lived by the Jedi Code, or at least he tried to. He may not have been a real Jedi, but it was still ingrained within his heart. It was all he had really.
Things were different in the AgriCorps, the Code and many dictated principles were waived for the workers. Though the strict disciplinary ways of the Jedi were ever present in the main building, which was in direct contact with the Jedi Reassignment Council on Coruscant.
They were farmers. They used the Force to assist in the greater growth of their produce so the poor and the starving on other planets could eat.
What did it matter if they had families? They weren’t involved with intergalactic politics -- no life and death decisions, no need to be completely neutral in all situations. Yet Obi-Wan still clung to the Code. Grasped at it.
It was probably one of the many reasons why his neighbours and age-mates had gradually given up on him. He could still remember the bitter depression he felt when he was passed over, time and time again, as no Master would claim him. He had wanted it so much, tried so hard, but still wasn’t good enough. Those feelings had only festered his isolation and low self worth. He was as big a failure as Bruck Chun had always said he was.
He had shied away from people and refused to make friends, preferring instead to keep to himself in those early days; hoping against hope that he would wake up and his life on Bandomeer would all have been a nightmare. But it wasn’t. It was his life. His boring, mundane, repetitive life. Living alone on the hill overlooking the village, was it any wonder why everyone called him a hermit? Force, only a week ago he had heard a few boys scaring some younglings about ‘Crazy Old Ben’.
He laughed mirthlessly.
The only good thing that had come out of the incident was the look on the older boys’ faces when he had cleared his throat behind them. He could have sworn they were about ready to piss themselves.
He shouldn’t be bitter. But he was.
And now this.
He could only imagine.
‘You know Crazy Old Ben up the hill? He bought himself a pleasure slave to keep himself entertained. Can’t get it anywhere else you see. Depraved old pervert.’
Obi-Wan pushed his drink away and buried his face in his hands.
What was he going to do? Could he just set the boy free and be on his way? A few thousand credits short, mind. But…he couldn’t keep him.
True, there weren’t really any border checks when entering one rim to the next, but there were Republic patrols. He couldn’t bring a slave into Republic space. That alone violated his morals, not including the fact that he had already bought said slave.
Force…
Obi-Wan grabbed his glass and drowned the shot.
This could not be the will of the Force! No matter what blind pull had led him to bid on that boy, it had nothing to do with the Force. Nothing.
Obi-Wan groaned despairingly. What was he going to do?
>>>
Anakin Skywalker may have been a slave, but he was first and foremost a person. That was the one mantra he had left in life and he clutched at it every time a whip came crashing down hard upon his back, or during the countless times he had been used and discarded in the dark rooms of the brothel.
He was a person. He was a human. He was in a cage.
The cold metal grated into his skin and his legs were cramped. There was only enough space for him to sit awkwardly with his knees pulled up to his chest and the bindings on his wrists and ankles did nothing to alleviate the situation.
The wound on his thigh had stopped bleeding some time ago. Luckily it wasn’t as deep as he thought, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. He had spent his time watching the blood cake and dry as it ran down his leg and through the bars beneath him. During that time, the majority of the slaves had been carted away by their new owners and there were now only a few left.
It made him curious, being left for so long. He remembered Kerr picking him up almost immediately, or what he thought it was immediately. Nothing had seemed to last very long after the shock of being ripped from his mother’s arms. He remembered trying to go after her, shifting through the bodies in the cell only to have the cage door slam shut in his face as he only had one look, one last glimpse as she was led up the steps.
And was gone.
He never saw her again after that auction. Where she was, who had bought her, or even if she was still alive were questions Anakin had no answers for. They plagued him. Especially on nights where he was left alone long enough to think. And ashamedly there were times when he was almost glad she wasn’t around, to see what her beloved son had become.
When he had been sold to Kerr’s brothel he had kept looking and looking for her face in the crowd, and when he couldn’t find her, he had panicked.
Tatooine was suddenly so much bigger without her. There’d be no more hugs, no more kisses. She would never hold him again or tell him stories to calm his fears. There was no one to look out for him anymore; no one to love him; he was alone.
And when he had finally realized his mother was gone for good, he couldn’t stop crying. All he wanted was his mother and she was gone.
He could vaguely recall in that time the three Twi’lek’s who had pulled his sobbing form into their arms and tried to comfort him with kisses and brushes and petting, like he were a wounded kitten they were trying to coax.
It had taken him two years to learn the basics of what his future had in store. The majority of those early days had been filled with waiting tables in the main hall and his nights contained more beatings then he cared to remember.
Waiter by day, whore-in-training by night.
Anakin returned grimly to the present and tried to stretch his legs, as futile as it was. It couldn’t have been Dejiak who bought him. He wouldn’t have been waiting here for so long if it were. The Nar Shaddaan would have been one of the first to gloat over his new prize and let him know just what life had in store for him.
He could just imagine being locked in some small room on the Smuggler’s Moon. He had heard some of the slaves that had been traded from the spaceport talk of the squalor found there and it made Tatooine sound downright comfortable.
It would probably be cold, and he was sure he wouldn’t be wearing much to combat the chill. The warmest thing he’d feel would be the blood that ran down his back or from the tearing in his rectum.
Anakin gripped the bars behind him and tried to breath calmly. He was probably working himself up for nothing. Unless that nothing was another brothel owner who Dejiak was paying for Anakin right now…that would explain the wait…
“No!”
Pushing himself backwards, he cried out when his elbow met permasteel. Pain laced up his arm as he drew back, glaring through slit eyes as the handlers walked back into the slave holdings.
>>>
“…delivery surcharge.”
Obi-Wan fought the urge to run his hand over his face for the umpteenth time since this ‘meeting’ had taken place. The slave trader was more than happy to collect his share of profits and send the rest onto the boy’s previous owner.
But now, he wanted a delivery charge.
“What’s this again?”
“Name the place, we deliver the purchase,” said the Er’Kit smoothly.
“He’s got legs, he can walk can’t he?” asked Obi-Wan. When he had finally pulled himself off his bar stool to come pick up what was now ‘his’, this wasn’t what he had been expecting.
“True, but you never know when a slave will decide to run. And when that happens your entire purchase tends to explode.”
“Explode?” Obi-Wan listened in silent disgust as the dealer told him about the implants that were placed somewhere in the slave’s body to ensure that they didn’t run off on their owners. How could something like that still be legal? Something so…uncivilized.
For once he couldn’t wait to get back to Bandomeer.
Only this time, he was apparently bringing back more than harvesting seeds.
