by Lilith Sedai and torch

Disclaimer: yeah, right. This can be seen as an outtake from a long, complex story which *cough* doesn't actually exist at the moment. Do not archive this story without permission.

The dark path

Her body was sweet, and it fit him like a glove. She tasted right on his tongue the way water tasted right, simple, necessary. He thought his fingers would sink into her flesh, make them one. She trembled in unison with him, and he could sense her body heating, responding to him helplessly, even as her mind struggled against him. He took care not to touch her thoughts, needing the illusion of compliance — her struggles were those of a moth drawn to a glowbulb, thrashing its wings helplessly against the light it craved.

And for a moment it seemed right, when she arched against him, the perfect curve of willing desire when he looked only with his hands. Reading by touch one yes after another. A moment only — but it was long enough. He was in her then, spreading her legs wide, sheathing himself in her slick heat, feeling her quiver in response and surrender to him, her taut, slim muscles sagging. The metal collar and hood annoyed him; he realized he wanted to kiss her, to push her mouth open with his and bury his fingers in her hair, strands of which straggled raggedly from beneath the hood, soaked black with sweat.

All he could do was taste her throat, the sweet skin, the racing pulse, the blood whispering to him of how fragile she was, how utterly his.

He lost himself in the motions of having her, as comfortable inside her flesh as he was in his own. More comfortable. She was an extension of his passion and his desire, a natural complement to his body, and he bit her neck, sucking blood to the surface of her skin, marking her his own. His own blood sang in his ears, racing through his veins faster and faster as his arousal heightened.

"You should know who I am," he whispered, voice dark velvet as he pressed his cheek against the sleek leather of the hood next to her ear. "I'm Luke Skywalker, and I'm here to destroy you."

If she made a sound, he couldn't hear it. But in mid-stroke, halfway to ecstasy, he was no longer inside this perfect woman, no longer part of their mutual desire; he was fucking a creature of ice and steel. She was gone, vanished deep below the softness of her skin. It was like being slapped in the face. Luke clenched his hands around her arms. "That's not going to work," he said softly. "I'm going to find you."

He smiled, a rictus of pain and rage, obscenely gladdened by her resistance; it hardened him, pushing him deeper into the rotted black swamp of hatred from which he might never emerge. From which he never wanted to emerge, for it would mean facing what he had become.

He surrounded her mind with a tight net of Dark Force, preparing to rape it as he had raped her body. Just coming, his climax... just... now... his mind pushed deep along with the final thrust of his body, and he penetrated her fully at last, knew her.

She screamed then at last, horrible choked whimpers in her throat, thrashing and writhing against the gag and hood, unable to pull away from him, unable to reject his mind or his body or the seed he bestowed on her then, spasming into her helpless womb.

And as she shook and trembled, he did too, their bodies once again mirrors, so close, so terribly close. Of course she was right for him. Of course she was perfect. Of course she was everything he had ever — wanted—

Bile rose in his throat, and he wrenched himself away, crouching over her, listening to the terrible sounds she made. She was broken open, and he'd done it. Leia. Like a part of him. Leia. Like the missing part of his soul. Leia, like everything that had once been right in the universe. And she was broken, and he'd done it, and she was crying, and he couldn't see her face... and she was still beautiful.

And he still wanted her.

He fumbled at the back of her neck, detaching the leather hood, peeling it away from her flushed face, leaving the gag in place — he couldn't bear her cries, her recriminations, her accusations... or even her forgiveness. Her eyes were wild with terror and anguish, staring at him, half-mad.

"Leia," he moaned softly, hand caressing the soft roundness of her cheek. "Leia." Lips on her throat, on her breast, suckling gently at her hardened nipple as she moaned miserably beneath him, tears staining her perfect face. "Leia." His mouth moving down over her belly and between her legs. "Leia." And then his mouth sealed over her, his tongue stroking the delicate flower of her sex, teasing it until it swelled for him, reddening with the rush of her blood. Their blood. Their shared blood. Her own musk and the bitterness of his seed, the fount of life under his lips.

He tasted her with delicate care and felt his own skin shiver in response. Like making love to himself. Every touch burning through him, while she lay frozen, fighting him with her stillness, the only weapon at her disposal. She was steel, she was ice, and he didn't care; he knew her blood and bone, inside and out, and he loved her, and he knew — sick with excitement, sick with lust, sick with shame — he knew he could make her melt. Melt with sweetness, like the wetness on his tongue. Melt with terror and horror and passion.

Just like this, then. Tongue pressing just so, in a way that his own flesh and bone whispered would ignite her, his finger slipping into the hot slickness of her. He wished he could move completely inside her body, inhabit that fragile shell. She whimpered, hips jerking involuntarily, and he could feel unwilling heat rising in her. That's right, Leia. Give in. Give in to me, my sister.

There was a fine tremor running through her now that was at least half lust. The other half — ah, that was easy, that was the same revulsion that burned through him. Burned, but couldn't make him stop, and he knew it could be like that for her. Knew that she could feel the same way. His tongue talked softly to her, coaxing ripple after ripple of pleasure. Gently. Very gently, and then he thrust in hard, two fingers now, and heard her gasp. She would give in. She had to. You have to, Leia. You have to— You have to be mine.

The fingers of his free hand joined his mouth now, spreading her soft flesh and caressing the sides of the swollen bud, even as his mouth suckled at it and he applied the tender torment of his tongue's caress. He could feel her haunted desire through the Force, trembling toward him in dark waves, and he augmented it with his own. Yes. Yes, my Leia. Join me, sister. Mine. Mine.

Her back arched and her hips bucked, pressing her body against his tongue. Feeling the beginning of her submission, it was harder and harder for him to maintain control; as her desire built, so did his own need.

He no longer cared how they had come to lie like this, what the first purpose had been, which complex plans were served in the meeting of their bodies. This was more, it was different, all-consuming. He would have her, he would be close to her. Wrong to want it, because this was Leia. Right to want it, because this was Leia. Wrong to want it because he shouldn't need anyone, should be able to feed off the darkness within and be complete. But she was so close, they were almost the same. Her pleasure felt like his. Her soul felt like—

He closed his mouth over the delicate center of her passion and drank deep, and heard her cry, muffled but unmistakable. More. Please, more.

A tendril of Force released her hands, and her fingers crept down to twine in his hair, pulling fiercely on the golden strands even as she pushed his head hard against her, ambivalent motions arousing him, arousing them both. Twinned souls, locked in forbidden dark passion.

He groaned against her, felt her shiver pass through his own spine, heard her responsive moans. Wanted you always, he whispered into her mind, answering her soft sending.

She was slickening, her taste musky on his tongue, her hips pressing up against him instinctively in a quickening rhythm. He drew away for a moment, withdrawing his fingers, and dragged his tongue over her, plunged it into her, her scent maddening him. She whimpered, fingertips diving for what he had abandoned, beginning to caress herself hard and fast.

He watched her for a moment, panting softly, then nosed her hand away and drove his mouth against her again.

Leia... Leia.


Yes. Yes. He had her now, she was there, right there with him, and he knew the pace she wanted, the touch she craved. Teased her by flicking his tongue just a little too slowly, and heard her moan. The sound went down his spine like ice, like liquid silver. He wanted more. Luke slowed down to the softest of caresses, and reached up, tugging with hand and force to wrench the gag away.

He ran his fingers over her mouth. Pushed one inside, a thrust that felt almost more intimate than his other hand's movements inside her tight wet heat. She bit at his fingertip, but there was no resistance in that, no protest. He dragged his hand away, down over her neck, brushing gently against the collar with a deep inner thrill (mine, mine) and down over her breast, soft soft shivery skin and the nipple hard against his palm, down along her waist...

Curved around her hip, lifting her up so he could taste her better. Faster, again, in answer to her desire, or his own. She arched against him, her legs spread wider with a shudder and she cried out.

Her orgasm spread through her like liquid fire welling from ground, searing slowly along her nerves as her body spasmed under his. She clenched him between her thighs as its full force struck, and her short, shrill scream pierced the silence of the small chamber. Her muscles convulsed on his fingers, as though she would drag him inside her.

He wrenched himself away, climbing her body swiftly, and crushed himself against her mouth, her own sweet liquor sliding between their lips as he shoved his aching, craving length deep inside her again, thrusting hard. She writhed wildly, pleasure bursting inside her veins again as he penetrated her, wild shocks of ecstasy. Her nails scored his arms, she cried out wildly through parted lips, deep brown eyes dazed and wild as they stared into his.

The mother he'd never known... dark-eyed, dark-haired, sober-faced. The sister he'd always loved. The father who had destroyed him. He could have them all now.

It whispered through him with every deep thrust into her body. Mine. Every frantic push of his hips brought him closer, while her pleasure ran like wildfire along his nerves. Mine, mine. Nails digging into him, drawing blood, and that was a sizzle of sensation so pure, so ecstatic, that he could not tell which one of them gave that raw, stuttering cry. Mine, mine, mine.

He wanted to go deeper, meld them into one. He knew his fingers would leave bruises, as she was marking him, but it wasn't enough. It hurt that they were still apart, still separate beings even when he was deep inside her. The pain blended with the pleasure; he pounded into her, growled into her mouth, biting her lips. Mine!

Her eyes were wide, she gasped for breath and clenched tight around him, coming again, coming hard, face and throat flushing with overwhelming pleasure. It swept into him and tore him loose from the last pretence of control, and he thrust again and again, no finesse, no thought, just this, the rapture of it, Leia, Leia, mine, Leia.

Orgasm was raw, heavenly, painful, and he screamed, locked into her, as though they were breaking through a barrier in each other, falling deeper in, scoured by this relentless ecstasy.

Luke gasped for breath. He looked down into her eyes, seeing his own, dazed, passion-drugged. Mine, and then the inevitable corollary, the tightening of something deep inside. Yours.

And that realization made him see, made it real, the two of them like this. What he had done. What he had done to his sister. He moaned softly as everything turned black.

* * *

He awakened tangled in long brown hair, in a nest of arms and legs, unsure where his body began and ended. Soft whimpering breaths brushed his neck... she was still there, though he had freed first her legs to open them, then her hands to caress him, then her mouth to kiss him. He could feel the sheets against her skin like it was own, was conscious of the taste of his flesh beneath her lips, and he felt her confusion, her heartsickness, her terror. And she could feel his, he knew. Mind to mind, simple as breathing, irrevocable and unstoppable.

What had once been a tight, intuitive affinity, an unvoiced understanding... was now more. Far more. He had no word for what this was between them, but it was of the Jedi... or of the Sith. A bonding. He'd bonded her, bonded her sister and mother and lover and self. They were one.

For the first time since she had been brought to this room, she moved of her own accord, not in response to his actions. Her hand touched his cheek, very lightly, and he felt it on his skin, and on her skin, felt her flinch in surprise, and his own response to that... they could drown in this, echo after echo.

The touch grew more firm once the first shock was over. She was trying to collect herself. So strong, Leia. So determined. So frightened. He drew a deep breath, realized a moment later that it was hers. She was the first one to speak. It was nothing but a broken whisper. "Luke?"

Yes, he answered her, helplessly, the word sliding into her mind and pulling along a wave of his emotions, choking her with his guilt. His love. Yes, Leia, and somewhere in there was the other word, the one that was burned into him, the one that made his soul sing with horror and a painful, wrenching happiness, so alien to him that it was like a sickness in his heart.


* * *

star wars || e‑mail