#jaxan

Art of Lyorek by @rina-monster

The outpost was on fire.

Jaxan's foot slipped on something wet, and he staggered, catching himself against the smoldering remains of an abandoned speeder. The bodies of the soldiers who had staffed the remote listening post were strewn about, their untidy sprawls resembling marionette dolls with their strings cut rather than real people to the young Jedi's shocked gaze. Several of them looked as if they'd been crawling when they had been killed, and the stink of lightsaber burned flesh was inescapable.

Many of the wounds seemed as if they had been deliberately inflicted to maximize pain, and Jax felt bile rise in response, burning his throat and nose as he tried to seek calm; to prevent his stomach from rebelling at the obvious and sickening proof of the torture that had been inflicted on the Republic men and women filling the courtyard.

He walked carefully through the debris, avoiding chunks of twisted metal and the heat of burning, decimated buildings, his eyes taking in the blaster marks on the sides of walls and vehicles. It all looked strangely familiar to him. The damage – it reminded him of other battles, far away. Bending down, Jaxan turned one of the soldiers over. The saber blade had gone into the body through the man's lower back, and out his stomach, but instead of stopping there, it had left a furrow in the ground as well, cutting upwards in a violent upward curve that ended in the upper center of his chest. The still-smoking wound smelled horrible from this range, and the Jedi turned away, gagging, letting the soldier's corpse slip from his gloved hand.

“You shouldn't have come here.” The man's voice was cold, devoid of anything but a predatory anticipation that Jaxan could feel to his toes as he forced himself to his feet, turning to face the source. A black-clad figure emerged from the shadows beside one of the broken walls, walking towards him with a double-bladed lightsaber in one hand. The deep hood concealed most of the Sith's face, but his mouth and jaw were visible, the skin red and black, the lips curved in a lazy, familiar smile.

A smile that he knew all too well. A smile that he loved.

“Lyo...” Jaxan whispered, unable to stop himself from taking a step forward. His own saber dipped, lowering from a guard position into a less threatening cross-body stance that he knew would not protect him if the Zabrak Inquisitor truly intended to attack him. Despite the obvious evidence around him, he couldn't bring himself to see Lyorek as a threat, even now. “Why would you do this?”

The crimson blades retracted with a hiss, and Lyorek transferred the hilt to his left hand. His footsteps were nearly silent even on the broken stone and rough ground, and he didn't hesitate as he approached Jaxan boldly. An unfamiliar chill of foreboding licked up Jax's spine, and he took a slow step back, and then another, forcing the Sith to follow him. Lyorek's bright eyes fixed on Jaxan's face, a dangerous look of sated pleasure filling his gaze a she looked the Jedi over slowly before closing the final distance between them. Pinned against another crumbling wall, Jaxan quivered as Lyorek's right hand came up, the gloved fingers gripping his chin and jaw lightly and tilting his face upwards until his eyes had no choice but to meet the Sith's.

Leaning forward, Lyorek's silk hood brushed against Jax's mouth and jaw, his own lips touching the taller Jedi's ear in a parody of a lover's teasing caress. “You left me,” he growled, and Jaxan stiffened in sudden comprehension. Fear washed over him as the fingers tightened, the sharp nails beneath the gloves biting abruptly into his skin. “You said you would come back, Jaxan. You said that you loved me. You -lied-.”

Jaxan struggled in Lyorek's grasp, trying to twist free, feeling something press against him with exacting care. The snarl of an igniting lightsaber blade sounded, and Jaxan grabbed Lyo's arms, feeling the muscles flex under his hands as the Sith forced the blade downwards through his body, and then drew it out. Lyorek pulled away from Jaxan's weakening fingers with obvious disdain, stepping back. 

“No.. Lyo. I would never do that. I would never.. have left you.”  Had he? He couldn't remember. His trip to Coruscant, his visit with his Master, Kallyn; he recalled those things clearly. The trip back to Odessen, though, was foggy. It must have happened. Why couldn't he think of it now? Jaxan coughed, the pain excruciating, and sank to his knees on the ground. He could see Lyorek staring at him from a short distance away, the face of his former lover twisted with hatred and rage, lit by the bloody glow of the crimson lightsaber in his hands.

It was the last thing he saw as the darkness reached up to take him.

His throat hurt. It was an incongruous thought, but one that grounded him, and Jaxan realized slowly that he had been shouting. Kallyn's worried face swam into focus, her bright green eyes troubled and her hands gripping his.

“It was a dream, Jaxan. Take a deep breath, just try to calm yourself.” Kallyn's voice was shaking, despite her attempt to soothe him, and he knew whatever he'd been saying in his dream had been enough to make her very uneasy. “Everything is fine. You're safe.”

Jaxan leaned back against the pillow, his simple bed suddenly feeling strange to him. The sheets were too rough, coarsely woven, and it was small, narrow and lacking in comfort. He pulled his hands from Kallyn's, fingers brushing over the sheets, knotting in them. Twisting the fabric in his hands, he frowned helplessly, the images from the dream lingering unpleasantly in his thoughts.

“Take some time to think, to be rational,” Kallyn said abruptly, her voice curt, “before you run back to your Sith. You haven't been here very long, Jaxan.” She inhaled slowly, and he could almost see the flicker of temper leave her lips with the breath she released a moment later. Her tone gentled, and he saw shame and guilt in her eyes when she glanced at him. “It was only a dream. None of what you saw has happened. None of it may ever happen.”

Jaxan made himself nod for her benefit, but something about the dream felt uncomfortably real, and he couldn't shake the disquiet in his mind. “I'm sorry for waking you, Master Kallyn.” He settled back into the bed, and after a moment, Kallyn rose, her fingers brushing his arm in a brief, reassuring touch. “I'm sure it'll be forgotten by morning.”

“I hope so. Jaxan, I wouldn't have asked you here if I thought... if I thought it was the wrong path for you. My only intention was to spend some time with you and make certain you still feel that you are in the right place. That your decision was the correct one.” Kallyn hesitated, as if she wanted to say more to him. But after a moment, she turned on her heel and left the room, closing the door behind her.  

“Didyou let her step on your face? Because it looks like you did.” Lyoknew he’d done a poor job of hiding the hint of laughter in his voicewhen the Jedi glared at him, the black eye managing to give the looka menace that the normally sunny demeanor Jaxan possessed could neveraccomplish.

“ShePUNCHED me. Twice. And kicked me. And that’s just in the face! I lostcount of how many times she hit me everywhere else. And that’s-after- she tired of smacking and jabbing me with her saber hilt. She’s so small! I’mnot even sure how she got up there to hit me in the face in the firstplace!”

TheZabrak’s blatant snickering earned him another scowl, which only madehim laugh harder. “I warned you!” Lyo managed, breathless. Jaxanshoved his shoulder, nearly dislodging him from their bed and pushinghim to the floor, but even that failed to silence the Sith’sobnoxious giggling.

“It’snot funny, Lyo! Every time she hit me, she’d laugh mockingly and say‘You’re dead’ or 'dead again’ or… 'how have you survived thislong?’.” Sullenly, Jaxan propped his elbows on his knees, leaninghis aching face in his cupped hands. The brush of his own palmagainst his bruised jaw made him wince, but it stung far morelistening to Lyorek’s gales of laughter at his predicament andhumiliation. “She’s… she’s…” He stumbled, reaching for theappropriate word. “She’s so -MEAN-.”

Lyomade a choked sound of amusement, and Jaxan’s embarrassment sank sofar into him that it felt like it was etching itself into his bones.He squeezed his eyes closed, and so he missed it when the Zabrakmoved closer to him. It was the touch of his hands that made Jaxanlook again, and when he did, Lyo’s bright red-gold eyes were mereinches away from his face. The laughter was banked.. not totallyabsent, but that would have been a lot to ask of anyone, if he washonest with himself. The Sith’s hands lay over his own, gently drawingthem away from Jax’s bruised, swollen face.

Busyinghimself opening a kolto pack, Lyorek smoothed the cool gel over thebruise on the Jedi’s jaw, his fingers gentle. “Sorry. I shouldn’thave laughed. It’s -funny-, but I know better than anyone what it’slike being on the receiving end of Darth Nox’s idea of training.That’s why I told you not to spar with her… I didn’t want to seeyou like this.” His thumb traced over Jaxan’s lower lip, expressionsoftening in understanding. “It may not feel like it right now, butshe is helping you. I hated her for years, thinking she was justmocking me and playing nexu and womp rat games. But then I got into atough fight with..” His eyes flickered to the side, and then hecontinued smoothly, “a military squad, and all those times I’dthought she was simply beating me up came back to me, and I cut myway out of there and survived. Don’t get me wrong.. I still hate hersometimes when she makes me feel incompetent, or stupid. Or both.”

“Shedoes that a lot,” Jaxan grumped, and Lyo’s smile returned for amoment, quick and bright.

“Ofcourse. And you’re right, she is mean, and snide, and venomous. Butshe’s a better teacher than you realize, until you are the only oneleft standing at the end of a hard battle. And Jax..”

Jaxanfelt his heart flip over at the intent look in the Zabrak’s eyes.“Yes?” he asked.

“Iwould prefer that you were the one left standing, if you’re going tobe in a fight for your life.” The admission came in a very low,quiet tone, almost as if Lyorek was barely able to get the words outin an audible manner. If the Zabrak blushed, it was not somethingthat was visible given his coloring, but something in the way hedropped his eyes, fidgeting with the open kolto pack, told Jaxan thatthe Sith was certainly feeling off-balance with the direction of theconversation. It was no surprise when he immediately changed topics.“Do the bruises feel better?”

“Theydo.” Despite his words, Jaxan flinched noticeably when Lyo’s thumbtouched the bruised area of skin on his jaw. The Jedi had the graceto flush at being caught out, a half-smile curving up the uninjuredside of his mouth. “They still ache, but.. the kolto is helping.”

Lyorek’sfingers shifted under his chin, tilting his face so that the bruisewas turned away. His lips brushed the corner of Jaxan’s mouth,carefully. “I don’t want to hurt you. Tell me, if I do.”