#lfat

Long fingers trailed along the ridge of his spine and settled on the small of his back, rubbing softly. Obi-Wan shivered and pressed himself closer to Dooku’s desk, desperately wishing to become a part of the metalwork. Never in his life did he imagine he would be in this predicament: trousers puddled at his feet, arse perched high in the air, prostrate under an eighty-three-year-old tyrant, and wishing he would get on with it!

“Tell me, Negotiator…” Dooku passed a hand over Obi-Wan’s trembling flank. There was a note of amusement in his purr. “In all your diplomatic congresses, have you never availed yourself one of a criminal nature?”

Obi-Wan did not answer.

Dooku’s eyes narrowed.  Obi-Wan bit back a startled yelp as a large hand struck across his backside.  “I do not take kindly to discourtesy. I asked you a question.” Dooku rubbed his fingers into the stinging red imprint blossoming on his skin and was rewarded with a whimper.

“I’d never…”

“Liar. Poor liar at that.”

Obi-Wan’s muscles clenched as Dooku’s palm cracked harshly against sensitive skin. He bit down on the inside of his cheek to suppress another pitiful noise.

“You are an attractive, young man.” Dooku spoke with all the cool detachment as a scholar in the middle of his lecture. It was not so much a compliment than a statement of fact. “I find it hard to believe that not one person attempted to engage you in otherwise intimate pursuits.”

A memory of blonde hair, playful blue eyes, and warm kisses flashed behind Obi-Wan’s eyes. He felt the first sting of tears and he wished it was only because of Dooku’s cruel hand. Shame consumed him in a way that pain could not and he found himself arching, tilting his hips to grant himself more punishment even as his body protested.      The sight of his compliance served only to inflame Dooku. The captured Jedi writhed and clawed at buttons and screens on the tabletop as the pink welts on his arse grew redder with each slap. Heat flooded past his neck and all the way to his ears.

He struggled to find his breath but he could not deny he was far from succeeding. His own ragged panting and grunts filled his ears, reminding him more of an asinine beast than a dignified Jedi. Dooku had not uttered a sound. Upon bumping back into him, Obi-Wan found he was not as disinterested in the proceedings as it seemed.

Weak laughter found its way out from Obi-Wan’s quaking body. To his credit, Dooku finally stopped. He splayed his hand on the younger man’s sore bottom.

“Something amusing, Master Kenobi?” There was a rasp in the old man’s voice.

The sensations scorching beneath his skin compounded with Obi-Wan’s black mood. He had traded the pacifist for a warmonger. He had desecrated the small bond they shared through Qui-Gon. He had been reduced to a Sith Lord’s plaything—the very Sith Lord who had extinguished the light of his universe. This was his reality.

Yes, it was all so bitterly amusing.

 “Your virility,” he replied instead. He tossed his head back and looked at him with a disparaging smile.

Dooku regarded him with raised eyebrows.

Relived of abuse, Obi-Wan slumped forward. He tried to distract himself with the notes and messages on the display. The idea of being alone with his thoughts invoked dread. He winced when Dooku gave his arse a squeeze and braced for the oncoming storm.

To Obi-Wan’s surprise, Dooku simply bent and rested comfortably against his back. Warm breath fanned his ear. “Age is never an obstacle.” He drew back, smug satisfaction rolling off him in waves.

The younger man remained draped over his desk in stunned silence. When he finally spoke, his tone was flat. “You’re very good at it, you know.”

“At what?” Dooku’s eyes raked along Obi-Wan’s exquisitely reddened behind and then up to his face. He was greeted with a heated glare.

“Upsetting me.”