Notes: Alternate universe, both for plot events and for the vampiric nature of the Sith, which is entirely my own variant. Also, at this point Darth Maul has not revealed the double nature of his lightsaber.
Pairing: Maul/Obi-Wan, Maul/Qui-Gon
Spoilers: See the movie first, or it'll make both movie and story less fun. I mean it!
Warnings: DARK. Angst, squick, approx. rape, and death. That dark enough?

Obi-Wan could almost hear his master's voice. "Calm yourself, young Jedi. Feel your fear and accept it, but do not let it rule you. Pay attention to the moment."

But Qui-Gon wasn't here. They'd all been separated in the invasion of the palace, master and apprentice and queen, as soldiers and robots and clashing gates intervened and sent them in different directions like pebbles thrown by a child.

Damn it, he was supposed to know what he was doing. Master Qui-Gon had told the Jedi Council he was ready for his trials. But now he was lost in a labyrinth of stone where every wall might hide another threat, and he was stalking and being stalked by a Sith warrior whose skills had tried even Master Qui-Gon when they first met him in the desert.

Alertness was all, he knew, but he had been alert too long. He was tiring too fast with his attention divided between man and machine and the masked presence of dark forces waiting. He was starting to feel danger everywhere, and despite his training he felt the prickle of sweat at the roots of his hair.

There! A sudden hiss of moving machine but he drew in time and his blade went cleanly through its core and the robot fell apart in shards of steel--

And he had barely time to realize that it had been only a distraction when darkness fastened on him from behind and pain tore through him like a knife.

He convulsed helplessly, feeling the hot, hard body at his back, the claws wrenching his shoulders, the teeth--O Master, no!--the teeth savaging his unprotected throat, but then they all shrank into nothing beside the ravening darkness that smashed into his mind.

He fought to find his center, but the Sith's black thoughts were in him now, its hate and fury and dark passions shaking him until his own thoughts were only scattered fragments in the storm. Shock and Darth Maul's touch paralyzed him. Spasming uncontrollably, he could not hold his light-saber with either hand or mind. One clawed hand slipped from his shoulder with the lightness of a deliberate caress, and the weapon he had made with his own hands shattered suddenly into dust and was gone.

The fire-hot mouth moved on his throat and he felt the predator drink, obscenely close and intimate beneath his jaw. Somehow he got his hands up to push helplessly at the horned head that battened on him, but the clash of darkness in his mind left him too weak to fight, his mind screaming in terror and a glutting lust that must be the Sith's.

In devastating shame he realized that his body was responding against his will, and the Sith's dark laughter snarled through him as the predator's taut hand slid down to cup him through his clothes. The corrupting touch warmed his manhood from root to crown in such vile pleasure that he spasmed helplessly in utter revulsion and unspeakable joy. Darkness shook him; darkness choked him; and heat like blood exploded from him into the devouring void.

Qui-Gon Jinn felt the very hair on his neck react to the wrongness in the Force. Something had changed; something had broken; something was warped out of true, wrenching power from its rightful channels into ruin and darkness.

Settling his mind, he let his blade disperse so that he might see more clearly without the distraction of its light and sound, its focus of the force within him. Centered, infinitely ready, he held it lightly in his hand and followed his soul-sense, knowing it would guide him with a sure certainty to the place of wrong.

Violence still ghosted in the air when he found the bloody heap against the wall and knew it for his student. Mourning, he touched the rigid shoulder and felt the life within even as he felt something of the dark power that devoured it.

Obi-Wan's faint whimper broke his heart, and it was with gentleness that he drew the hunched shoulder towards him until the young man's body shifted to lie open before him.

Somehow he knew what he would see, and so it was, the swollen and blackened wounds of a Sith's kiss marring that young throat, and only a slight stain on the front of Obi-Wan's garments to show the greater violation that had overtaken his mind.

O my son, Qui-Gon said in the language of his birth. O beloved, I have failed you, as a father who leaves his son to the beasts, his brother to the devouring sun. O my grief, my grief. Love of my heart, son of my mind, I beg you, live. Live. Somehow you will find healing. O beloved--

And even as he spoke he gathered the fallen body in his arms, lifting him gently and bearing him down the hall until he found an empty storeroom to lay him in, drawing off his own outer robe to soften the floor for him.

His eyes blurred as he drew a hand softly across the boy's brow as if to brush aside a stray lock of the too-short hair. His wife Mari had died before they could have children of their own, and he had not thought that anything could hurt him so again.

"O my son," he said, in the boy's language this time, and then fell silent, letting his hand and mind alone speak for him as he drew himself together within, finding the light and pouring it forth as best he could. He could not undo the wounds of body and mind the boy had suffered, but perhaps he could give him strength to endure until they could seek a deeper healing together.

His hands shook as he felt the Force drain from him, as if it spilled into a bowl too cracked to hold it. He could not blind his eyes to the Sith's defilement; a shadow lust whispered to him that the boy was fair and warm, his skin soft, his soul newly woken to the sweetness of pain. But Qui-Gon knew it was not his own desire that made his jaw ache with the ghost of wanting. Patiently, he centered himself again and looked on the boy with a teacher's love, a father's eye, and did not grudge the power wasted as he worked to heal the shattered mind. His own dark memories he did not fight, but used them as a bridge to reach his apprentice, like a scarred hand reaching out to another.

Finally, he let even that desire fall into silence, and sat with the boy in peace.

Young Obi-Wan screamed, waking from nightmare into deeper nightmare as he remembered the darkness that had taken him. But gentler hands held him now, and the well-loved voice was speaking. "Hush, young Jedi. Be still. It is over, and I am here."

O Gods be thanked it was his master. "I--" he tried to speak, but there was little strength in him. "Master, the Sith--he--"

"I know, my son. Be at peace." And the long fingers he had always trusted traced lightly down his cheek and his aching throat.

Peace. How could he be at peace? The darkness that woke his own dark passions still moved within him, like a victor prowling the death-strewn desolation of a battlefield. His mind was tainted now with corruption and the devouring abyss.

He did not know he was crying until his master's hand came soft and warm to brush the tears away. Such love; such gentleness. He no longer deserved it, if he ever had. "D-don't touch me!" and his voice cracked uncontrollably. "I'm-- I felt, I wanted, it made me need-- Don't you understand, Master? The darkness, it's in me now. I'm unclean--"

For even through the sobs that shook him he felt that defiling heat, the need to feel that black kiss again, those other hands. And he knew with revulsion that it was his own flawed soul that had welcomed the darkness in and he would never be free of it.

"M-master, I'll never be a Jedi now. Leave me and go; the queen needs you. O master, I'm sorry I failed you. I'm so sorry--"

But those warm arms held him close as if he had never spoken, and even through the black storm in his mind he felt his master's love.

Frantic now, he fought the arms that held him, terrified that his own foulness would taint them too. "O Gods, I'm sorry--"

"Obi-Wan," his master's voice rang clear. "Be still and look at me."

Long years of obedience made him stop struggling and open his eyes. A deep sadness showed in Qui-Gon's face. "It is I who should be sorry, Obi-Wan. I have failed you. But do not hate yourself, as I do not. You are the son of my heart."

"But--"

"Obi-Wan, a true Jedi knows the darkness. How else could we seek the light?"

"Master, you don't understand--" His despairing cry tore from his throat like a raw wound.

"Do I not?" And his master raised one long hand to draw his hair aside. And there, faint and pale about the vein, he saw the ancient scars.

"Master--?"

"I am alive because my master protected me, as I will protect you. Do not be afraid, Obi-Wan. If I fall, go to Master Yoda and he will train you. He is a great healer. And if I do not fall, you are still my apprentice and my heart, and I will not let you go.

"So rest, my son. Seek your center and find yourself again, for you have a long journey towards the light."

Unhurried, knowing it was time, Qui-Gon got to his feet and let his hand take up the ready hilt. He gazed with regret on his sleeping apprentice, wishing they had more time together, wishing even that the boy's rest could have been undisturbed for another hour.

But shifts in the Force eddied against his skin like the wind, and he knew Darth Maul was coming.

He took one long slow breath and let it out. Center yourself, Qui-Gon. Feel your fear and let it pass. Feel your love for the boy and let it strengthen you, not weaken. This is your time. Hold yourself ready, and let go of everything but the moment.

The Sith was soundless, and only the stormfront of Maul's leashed rage came before him to warn of his presence.

Qui-Gon, in perfect readiness, stood relaxed in the store-room's narrow doorway, and only as the hissing blade lashed towards him did he extend his own to meet it. Power shrieked and juddered where the two sabers met, but it was the Sith's that was turned aside.

Darth Maul bared his teeth in a hungry snarl. "Stand aside, old man."

The Jedi shook his head minutely, almost smiling.

Without warning, the Sith exploded into savage motion, thrust turning to slash as Qui-Gon's saber deflected his blade. His mind, too, ravened against the Jedi's thoughts like a howling storm.

But Qui-Gon turned that aside as well, not giving it strength by fighting it but merely slipping free, so that the darkness passed him like the wind through trees and was gone.

Fragments of an ancient evil echoed through his mind as the Sith's presence stirred old memories in him. But this raging creature of fire and hate was not the cold silence that once had claimed him; that thing was long dead at his master's hand, though part of him would always ache for its cold kiss.

Again and again the Sith strove against him, blade and mind and booted foot, and always Qui-Gon turned it aside, or shifted to let it pass by, without ever giving ground from the doorway he guarded.

But he was tiring.

He had given much of his strength to the healing of his apprentice, and while he tried to hold his mind in perfect stillness, it still wore at him to resist the black hunger that clawed at his soul.

And then, at last, his foot slipped, and while he fought his blade up in time to block the descending saber, he was off balance and slow when without warning the Sith brought the hilt around and a second blade of light seared free.

Gods be cursed, a double-ended weapon-- Desperately, Qui-Gon tried to bring his blade into position, but there was no time. Helpless, he watched the tip drive for his heart.

And stop.

His snarl triumphant, the Sith held the point unmoving, so perfectly controlled that it burned through the Jedi's layered garments but never touched the skin. "Stand aside, old man," Maul said again. "The boy is mine."

Why didn't he finish it? Qui-Gon wondered. Why am I still alive? But as he watched the Sith's black gloating, he knew Darth Maul was hungry to feed on his despair. Death was fast and clean, but defeat could be savored for a long time.

He would not feed him this. Drawing breath, Qui-Gon centered himself and brought his hilt up across his chest in quiet readiness. "I will not yield him to you."

The Sith's eyes slitted with pleasure. "Then I will kill you, and take him across your body as he grieves for you."

"Will you?" Qui-Gon asked almost gently.

Baffled, Darth Maul prowled back and forth before him, and Qui-Gon could see that the Sith was wary of his apparent fearlessness. "You are trying to trick me, old man. You cannot stop me."

Qui-Gon inclined his head slightly as if in respect. "No, I do not doubt you can kill me."

Maul's nostrils flared as his lip curled free of his jagged teeth, and the double blade growled low as he prepared to strike.

"But," Qui-Gon added, and almost smiled.

Maul's saber stilled for a moment, though his deathmask face did not change. Qui-Gon continued:

"But I think you would regret the waste."

"What?" Maul spat the word out like a mote of dust.

"Is it really the boy you want? Just another innocent?"

"Ahhhhhhh--" And the black hunger flared in those burning eyes as the Sith began to understand.

"Let the boy go," Qui-Gon said, though the cold sickness down his spine almost robbed him of speech. "Promise you will not harm young Obi-Wan, and you may have me instead. A true Jedi at the height of his powers: surely a greater prize than a half-trained boy."

Behind him, Obi-Wan cried out in wordless protest, but Qui-Gon dared not turn.

"Your terms?" Half contemptuous, half tempted, Darth Maul looked at him fully for the first time, eyes ravening over flesh seen and unseen.

"Those are my only terms. Let him go, do him no further harm, and I submit myself entirely to your will."

The doubled blade lashed uneasily. "This is a trick."

Qui-Gon shook his head, smiling. "I am Jedi. I keep my word."

"And you--trust--me?" The Sith tasted the word as if it were a new perversion.

"My first master did this for me," Qui-Gon said simply, and saw the Sith's eyes catch at his ancient scars. "And your master--no, it must have been your master's master--held his word as sacred as I am certain you will. I have no doubt of the honor of the Sith. Once, we were all brothers."

"Ssso," Darth Maul drew in his scent and smiled. "I accept." And the blades of his saber hissed into silence as he let them fade.

Qui-Gon moved his hilt out of guard position and began to return it to his belt, but Maul's chin came up in a gesture of command.

Courteously, Qui-Gon offered his saber hilt to the Sith on his open palm.

A black-gloved hand reached out and stopped in midair above it, empty fingers closing suddenly into a fist. Qui-Gon felt the surge of dark force as his saber was crushed into a shapeless mass and hurled aside.

The Sith stalked forward, closing the distance between them until Qui-Gon could feel the hot breath stir against his face, but he did not give way.

The jagged smile widened. "Offer me your throat," Maul whispered in a purring growl.

The Jedi tilted his head back with the remote calm of one who treads a formal dance.

"No, the other side. Where you were--branded in our service."

Qui-Gon complied.

Even the desert wind of Darth Maul's breath could not warm the memory of an icy kiss, but this time, he knew, there would be none to save him. Do not fear, Jedi. Live in the moment, and remember that you do this for the boy.

For a moment, he thought the Sith's sudden movement was his deathstrike, but then he realized that Maul was laughing. So. My calm challenges him, and he enjoys challenges. And that makes it personal for him. This one will try to break me himself, not take me to his master to be shaped more subtly to their service.

Swallowing cold fear, he tried to feel relieved.

This is indeed the weakness of the Sith, that the darker passions do not always lend themselves to strategy. Maul is a killing hound, trained with whip and leash, proud of his control and hungry for bloody meat. Better so, if I die here under his hand, than be made a weapon to betray all I have loved. But--

Maul's horn-crowned head pulled back far enough that Qui-Gon could meet the flaring suns of his eyes. "Now," the Sith said, every word savored, "I think that you will strip for me."

Qui-Gon made himself move effortlessly as if it were nothing, unbelting his robes and shrugging free of them. "May I?" he said, nodding towards the corner where his apprentice lay. Not waiting for permission, he knelt beside Obi-Wan and covered him with the layers of still-warm cloth.

Dazed and horrified, the younger Jedi stared up at him, and Qui-Gon touched his cheek lovingly as he drove his command firmly into his student's mind: // Lie still, for your life. Do not move, do not speak, do not react. Remember only that I love you.//

The Sith's hissing laugh confirmed that he was overheard, but he had assumed as much. Turning, he walked back to his waiting foe without hesitation.

Boots and trousers he set aside, and finally his inner garments, until he stood naked and defenseless before the ravenous death that waited for him. Absurdly, the modesty of his distant childhood embarrassed him faintly, even as he felt his testicles try to climb into his body for safety.

The Sith's smile deepened as he felt a reaction at last.

Qui-Gon breathed deeply and calmed himself, waiting.

One hand extended towards him. "Remove my glove." Carefully, Qui-Gon unlatched the wrist and drew the black leather off a hand no less black and polished. Blunt chisel-claws tipped the fingers that reached for him.

"Aaah," Maul said regretfully. "Your student's blood still stains my hands. You will clean them for me."

Letting the flare of his own rage pass him and be gone, Qui-Gon leaned forward obediently and took the Sith's fingers one by one into his mouth, cleaning them of that beloved blood with lips and tongue. The bittersweet musk of Maul's own scent he tasted as well, seeking not to shut it out but to add to his knowledge, even to the end.

The taut fingers quivered as he cleaned them, and even without the wave of black triumphant heat that washed over his mind he would have known that the Sith was aroused by his reluctant submission.

Then the hand pulled free of him and reached out for his neck. Qui-Gon stood fast, and the fingers slid by without touching and came to rest on the fastening of his hair.

The band snapped between those claws, and his greying hair came loose to fall around his face.

For a moment, those fingers played with the loose strands as any lover might. And then, delicately, they drifted to brush lightly against those ancient scars, and Qui-Gon could not stop himself from shivering.

Dreamlike and slow, Darth Maul began to move in, his hungry eyes slitted in pleasure as they met the Jedi's own.

"Tell me," and the Sith's voice purred almost too low for hearing. "Tell me of this one who claimed you."

O Gods no I didn't expect this no I don't want to remember-- But he had offered himself, and his past was a part of him. He brought his voice almost under control. "Its name was Darth Khsssah, a reptile from Burra-Ni."

The words came faster. "We were in the depths of Corusant itself, far below the city in the old tunnels where the first wires were laid. I-- my master Arien brought me there to test my sense of direction and the motions of air, and we were far apart when it came upon me."

No don't make me remember please no-- But his promise bound him to continue, and he tried to find refuge in precision. "I have never known anyone who could so silence their mind, but Khsssah gave no warning of his coming. There was nothing, and then there was the dark of nothingness itself, cold as the void of space, as it dropped its coils around me and I felt its kiss."

Maul's face passed below his sight, and he felt the breath stir the very hairs of his neck.

"If Master Arien knew of the Sith, he had not told me. I did not know what it was; I knew only that it was cold death and that it had my soul."

Were those other lips that brushed him now, as Maul's hands slid up his bare shoulders and drew them together?

"I--even knowing I was dying, I wanted it. I needed it. When Arien came to rescue me, I tried my hardest to kill him, because he was coming between me and the beautiful cold of the abyss that waited for me.

"And then--"

Suddenly he lost the words in searing pain as Darth Maul's teeth took his throat. Gods! This was no icy rest; this was fire and storm and unbearable pleasure--

And the Sith released him. "Go on."

Stunned, Qui-Gon fought for breath, and for coherence. "It-- I-- My master, Master Arien, he--"

And words deserted him again as Maul's finger trailed along his jaw and down the other side of his neck, its touch too warm above the vein as the Sith leaned in again.

"A-and he, he disarmed me, I was a young student and no match for him, and he said to Darth Khsssah-- Ah!" Qui-Gon cried out involuntarily as those sharp teeth struck deep.

And released him again. That burning tongue lingered for a final taste before Maul leaned back, smiling.

"Go on," the purring growl said again, as the Sith lifted Qui-Gon's wrist and turned its inner surface up to meet his lips.

"He offered the same bargain--" Qui-Gon faltered as Maul bit down, and the dark mind spilled further into his own like poison.

His other wrist now. "And Khsssah coiled itself around him--" A helpless gasp, and then that seeking mouth moved up to the vulnerable hollow inside his elbow and struck again. "It wove itself around his body, inside his c-clothes--" And the other elbow, and a blackness clotting in his mind as the invading passions woke dark echoes of his own.

The Sith's voice was still level, though muted somewhat as those lips slid up his arm to trace lightly across his chest. "And you?"

"I was--unh!--tangled with them, even as it took my master--" Panic surged as Maul tongued his nipple with slow precision. O Gods no just kill me and be done, but he knew Maul would not, and sharp points closed delicately on his nipple until the burning pain nearly made him faint.

"And I f-felt it, all of it--" the other side now, and while he should have been prepared this time, the memories weakened his readiness and he writhed against the Sith's touch.

"I felt it take him: body, blood, and soul, skin against my skin and I could not help him--"

Somehow they had slid to the floor together, though he had not felt himself give way, and the ravening darkness spilled through his mind as those strong hands brushed his thighs apart and the horn-crowned head slid down.

He tried desperately to shield himself with words. "Then Khsssah--"

But Darth Maul's face turned up towards his, the bared teeth smiling. "Enough. You may be silent."

Watching that shark's jaw approach his groin, Qui-Gon fought to retain some control as he waited for the final, horrible strike. But at the last moment, the Sith's head slid aside and the warm wet lash of a barbed tongue opened the vein on his inner thigh. A burning dizziness took him, but he held himself to consciousness as Maul continued his pattern, drifting across to claim the matching vein in symmetry.

Now--? Gods, let me not want this--

But Darth Maul was standing again as if nothing had happened. Those sun-flare eyes looked down.

"Up," Maul said softly. "Kneel to me."

Qui-Gon could not keep his limbs from shaking as he dragged himself up to his knees. Center yourself, Jedi. You can rest soon enough, but for now, you must hold on. Your student needs you.

The shallow wounds burned and ached with the venom of Maul's bite, but pain was an old foe whose ways he knew. Quieting his heart, he brought himself to a ready stillness again, as if he knelt in meditation beside the still pools of A'aleth.

"You will serve me," Darth Maul said, and he did not pretend to misunderstand.

Obediently, he reached out to find the latches on the Sith's battle armor that released the leather and steel over the hunter's groin. All around him, he felt the ravening darkness leap free as if it too had been caged and waiting.

Until now, Maul had seemed a human man, despite the weaponry of teeth and claws and horns. But this, this fist-sized whorled swelling was like nothing the Jedi had ever seen.

Carefully, half in revulsion and half still caught in his endless search for knowledge, Qui-Gon explored it with his tongue. The taste was both bitter and subtly sweet, with a musky undertone that made the hunted animal in him wish to flee.

Surprisingly, the touch of his mouth seemed to soften the tight-clenched mass, though Maul himself grew tauter and more still. Only the faint quiver of straining muscle betrayed his pleasure.

And then the Jedi felt his tongue slip between the loosening whorls, and the swelling mass opened all at once like a deadly flower. A dozen black tentacles flared out, many-jointed, barbed at the tip, like the legs of a nightmare spider. And between them, no longer concealed, slid the wet and scarlet tip of Darth Maul's sex.

Swelling to its full size, it was as long as Qui-Gon's forearm and tapering to almost half as thick; blood-red and veined with black, already trailing drops of dark fluid that smoked faintly in the air.

Faltering, Qui-Gon made himself lean in to take it on his tongue. The bittersweet taste both aroused and repelled him, and the flesh itself was almost painfully hot.

But he had little time to consider it.

With the blinding speed of a trap closing, the tentacles locked around his head, barbed tips anchoring themselves in the soft flesh of his temples and below his jaw, burrowing obscenely into his nose and ears and the corners of his lips to hold him pinned as Maul's sex drove forward into his mouth.

The force of it nearly broke his jaw as it pried him open and jammed him wide with more than he could hold. Shock and gut-tearing agony struck him like a blow, every muscle in his body fighting to resist the gagging, pounding invasion; fighting in vain. He could not breath, could not see; any thought of his student or the Jedi path were lost in the choking torment as his throat tried desperately to close, to swallow, to breath past the brutal club that beat at him from within.

Gods no oh please Gods help me NO! All his body's instincts were against him, slamming past the fragile walls of thought with the primal fight for air as the probing tentacles clogged his nose, his ears, while the battering ram of Maul's sex drove itself into his closing throat again and again. Dimly, he felt the tears that poured involuntarily from his eyes and backed up inside his nose, but strongest of all was the frantic need to breathe and scream and choke all at once; a need overwhelmed by the attacker's contemptuous strength.

And through it all, a darker flood breached the crumbling fortress of his mind, its warped passions tearing at him and choking him of anything but rage and pain and fear--until like a gutted beast he felt it shake him open and spill him for the feeding O Gods no yes Gods please now yes oh YES! and he knew in the moment of absolute surrender that his body had betrayed him into a black and deadly pleasure at his own destruction.

Helpless, he hung pinioned and tormented on the spike of Maul's passion and his own, feeling wet heat spill down his own thighs even as a final spasm flooded him with burning venom that drove into his lungs like molten lead and seemed to eat his heart.

For a moment of mercy, a nightmare-shot silence swallowed him down, but then his mouth was wrenched clear of all but the taste of fire and blood, and despite himself he began to breath again. Great tearing gasps shook him like a giant's hand and cast him weak and broken on the floor.

And with a hideous tenderness, the Sith gathered him up and fed him thick dark blood from its own wrist until the taste of it was all his mind could hold.

Maul's blood woke other hungers in him, and he craved more and more until he thought he would die of it. But as the Sith drew his wrist away, Qui-Gon discovered also the pleasure of hunger for hunger's sake, a dark wanting and the sweet taste of pain.

With a faint smile, Darth Maul latched his armor and drew on his gloves, settling his saber hilt into place at his belt. But just as Qui-Gon thought Maul would step away, the Sith caught him by the back of the neck and the horn-crowned head lowered itself to his throat for one last time.

Helpless, Qui-Gon wanted nothing but this and his body ached with the desire of it, but somehow he held to his purpose, forcing himself to raise a shaking hand between them and say, "Wait."

He felt Maul's smile widen against his skin. "Why?" asked the Sith, murmuring the word into his neck like an endearment.

"The--the boy," Qui-Gon gasped, writhing at the heated promise of that caressing mouth. "My padawan. Please, let him go now. You know I am yours."

The Sith laughed quietly against him. "You cannot truly believe you have saved him."

"Y-you promised you would not harm him."

"I won't," Maul said softly and drew back to meet his eyes as the deadly words drove home. "You will."

Qui-Gon closed his eyes in a futile attempt to block out that image--his own hands, his own mouth taking that fair young boy and making him his own. The way Obi-Wan would cry out when his own teacher destroyed him, and the sweet sweet taste of his blood tinged with the darker underspice of Maul's kiss. And oh, the boy's eyes as he fell forever into darkness, heart bound to black heart in bladed love-- The thought was more arousing than he could bear.

"No," he protested weakly. "You said you would let him go. Where is your honor?"

Maul shook his head, smiling. "The honor of the Sith is not like yours. Why did you ever think you could bargain with me?"

And the dark head dropped down, and he felt that sharp kiss take his throat again, paralyzing him with its welcome pain as he cried out with joy.

But something, some remnant of Jedi honor or taint of new Sith pride, gave him the strength to find words one more time. "I--did not--misjudge--your honor; I have known--all along--that you would--betray me. Darth Khsssah was--much like you, and you h-have--broken our--vows."

Then he closed his shaking hand on Maul's saber hilt, caressing it like a lover's sex, but still his will almost failed him. Only the hard-learned joy of pain gave him the strength to act, to touch controls that obeyed only the dark mind of a Sith.

And the doubled blade shot out, and he felt a sudden dragging weakness in his side even as Darth Maul's teeth tore free from his throat with a scream. Qui-Gon shifted his faltering grip and saw the blade shear through Maul's spine even as his dark master's agony tore at his mind.

Then there was silence, and a heavy weight crushed all sight and consciousness from him into nothing.

It was the boy who woke him, holding him close and weeping.

Qui-Gon fought back the black need that hungered for the boy's pain and made himself look up. "Obi-Wan," he said, and heard his own voice only a dry whisper.

"Master," the boy cried, and a tear fell on Qui-Gon's face like blood.

"Obi-Wan, go now and h-help the queen. Burn--my body--when--you can." Each word came harder as the life ebbed from his side.

"No," Obi-Wan sobbed, but Qui-Gon could afford no mercy.

"The child--young Anakin--t-take him to Yoda--when this is--over."

"I will, Master."

"And if--"

Somehow Obi-Wan understood the words he could not find, and the young Jedi's shoulders straightened with resolution. "If I must, when the time comes," the boy promised, "I will protect him as you have protected me."

"L-love--" he gave up the struggle for words and smiled at his padawan one more time.

Then he triggered the saber again and let a gentler darkness take him.

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