The quiet somnolence of the waning night eluded Ket'al. Despite the onset of the moon cycle several hours before, the temperature had barely dropped, and thick, oppressive heat filled the darkness. His journey toward daylight was restless, filled with worry for the Jedi and seething anger toward Xanatos. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Xan's cold blue stare, his calculating smile. Simmering anger pushed adrenaline through his veins.
He turned on his stomach, spreading his arms and legs across the sheets, seeking the coolness found in the corners of the bed. It had been more than ten cycles since the Regent had summoned any of them to his bed, except for Xanatos and Daro. Often, Ket'al found himself wondering if the desire for his master's touch was what kept him awake on such evenings -- or if it was his resentment of Xanatos. Xan's monopoly on the Regent's affections had pushed the rest of them into patterns of waiting and yearning, and the physical longing could not forever be pushed aside. At times, he wished simply for the touch of another, a kind look, a gentle laugh, the sweetness of knowing and being known by someone he'd chosen. Such things were not to be, not for a pleasure slave.
There were companions in the seraglio, but they were friends of convenience, not of choice. Certainly he was fond of Daro and Leyran, but he yearned for a life outside, a chance to meet others, to know and understand the culture of places he had never been. He had been sold into slavery when he was still young enough to wonder about the galaxy, and his curiosity had never left him. The Regent had never forbidden them knowledge, and preferred intelligent company, but answers could not always come from datapads. Ket'al wanted more, and Qui-Gon Jinn's presence was an aching reminder of what he could never attain.
Befriending Qui-Gon had been his duty at first, but it had become his pleasure. The man was a complete enigma. Stubborn and proud, driven by his duty and his responsibilities, but at war with them as well. He had sensed much of the Jedi's inner conflict, watched him struggle and rage against the hidden desires of his own flesh, and it made Ket'al sympathetic to the plight of another slave in ways he had not been for many years. He resisted the urge to pry into his privacy, to bombard him with questions and pry loose the things he'd seen, the places he'd been. His hunger for distant lands had been fed by Qui-Gon's stories, but it was not enough, not enough...
He shifted again, turning his head on the pillow. Soft light drifted in the window as clouds shifted and shuddered over the moon, and he let his mind wander. Qui-Gon was a threat to Xanatos in ways no other slave had ever been, and it gave Ket'al a perverse thrill of pleasure to see the Regent's favorite struggling to keep pace. In his quest for Kenobi's favor, Xan would make a mistake, and his arrogance would cost him the Regent's attentions. Ket'al had been lonely of late. While being bedded by the Regent would not ease that pain, it would provide temporary respite from solitude - as being with Qui-Gon sometimes did.
He wondered if he should go to Qui-Gon, teach him the final few lessons. Word had already spread throughout the palace, practically from the moment Qui-Gon had left the Regent's quarters that day, that the Jedi wore the bracelet that marked him as Kenobi's property. Absently, his fingers ghosted across his own bracelet, settling with a sigh over his belly, drawing tiny circles over his heated, sweat-drenched skin.
Ket'al had been troubled by his inability to convince Xan to leave the lessons in his hands. He did not doubt that Qui-Gon could defend himself against any man, but Xanatos' slippery artifice was notoriously difficult to conquer. He was a manipulative, cunning man, not without his own brand of magnetism, but they had competed for status inside the seraglio far too often for Ket'al to be swayed by Xan's feral charm.
The beginnings of an erection nudged up toward his hand, and Ket'al petted it without much enthusiasm. Briefly, he considered finding Mathius and engaging in mutual satisfaction. Such things were not forbidden within the walls of their enclave, but he rarely indulged in the comfort offered by the other slaves. It served only to remind him how limited his choices actually were.
Mathius, however, was a different matter. A connection existed between them, different than the kinship of slaves who share living space, but Ket'al was reluctant to fan the spark of affection. Too many slaves had come and gone, and it would not do to lose the only person he cared for.
With a grumbling sigh, he swung his legs over the side and sat for a moment, pondering his options. Of all the things he might do, only one held much appeal, and he found himself dressed and in that place a few minutes later, entering the door. There was no privacy in the seraglio and no chimes on the doors. What need would a slave have for a door chime, when permission to enter was not his to give?
Qui-Gon stood in the midst of several trunks of clothing, wearing a bemused expression and a pair of diaphanous blue pants belted loosely at his waist. An explosion of color littered the room; fabric was everywhere. As Ket'al entered, the Jedi turned, and the pants revealed...everything.
Ket'al's eyebrow climbed and he chuckled quietly. "Pardon my intrusion, Qui-Gon. I wasn't able to sleep."
"These were delivered last night," Qui-Gon answered, gesturing helplessly about the room. "What does he expect me to do with all this?"
"Wear them," Ket'al replied, grinning. "At least, for a little while. I'm sure he won't want to see any garment on you for long." He moved closer, closed his hand around the beautiful, intricately fashioned bracelet Qui-Gon wore. "So it's true," he said softly. "He has given you his mark to wear."
"Yes." Qui-Gon said the word reluctantly, turning away as the sound of it fell into the air.
"That settles one issue, at least. Your lessons are at an end." Ket'al did not release his arm, but tightened his grip instead; the patterned metal bit into his palm. "Has he claimed you yet?"
"No. Tomorrow."
Ket'al let go. "It's no wonder you're sleepless, then." The subject hovered between them, and withered, dying away without another word.
Qui-Gon picked up a piece of cloth, rolling it between his fingers. "No ivory or brown," he said, catching Ket'al's eye. They shared a wry smile.
"I chose a range of fabrics, but you are free to wear what you wish, unless the Regent has been specific in his preferences."
"He hasn't." Slowly, Qui-Gon draped the cloth across the back of a couch. "But I'm sure he will." He sat heavily among the multicolored pants and shirts scattered over the furniture and clasped his hands together, elbows resting on his knees. Silence expanded between them, lengthening into tension, and Qui-Gon's hands moved nervously, clasping and unclasping.
"What is it, Qui-Gon?" Concern flooded Ket'al; the Jedi was tense, strung tight and coiled. He knelt on the floor beside the big man. "When I left you with Xanatos yesterday, did he...hurt you?" He laid his fingers over Qui-Gon's in a spontaneous gesture of comfort.
Qui-Gon raised haunted, troubled eyes to Ket'al's worried gaze. "He did nothing to me you would not have done. But the lesson would have been...easier...if you had been the one to teach it." Heavy nuance shaded Qui-Gon's tone, and Ket'al struggled to get beneath the surface.
"I know I am more familiar to you, but in a seraglio, such things are commonplace. Perhaps it was best that you understand and accept this from the outset."
"I understand all too well, Ket'al. Acceptance is another matter." Qui-Gon hesitated, and he seemed to be weighing his words carefully. "In this place, I could easily lose my way, my friend." The admission seemed a torment to Qui-Gon.
Ket'al wrapped his hand more tightly around Qui-Gon's fingers. "I know. You didn't expect that you would want him." His observation was met with silence, and he knew he had hit the mark. So many of them entered the seraglio expecting to be treated badly; so many of them harbored a secret hope that nothing about their captivity would be enjoyable. It had to be particularly difficult for a Jedi, a man who could not allow himself to fall victim to his passions, but who was still a man.
"I didn't expect the Force to betray me in this. All of my life, I have relied on the Force to guide my judgment, to reinforce my decisions. And now..." He broke off, gently pulling his hand free. "Now the Force has bound me to a desire contrary to the Code I follow." He turned his head to the side, tracing the shape of his slave bracelet with sad eyes. "It should have offended me to seal the clasp with my own hands, to accept his belief in his ownership of my body. I should have felt something...other than desire." He shuddered.
"Qui-Gon-" Ket'al began, but as he spoke, the door slid open and Daro burst through, eyes wide.
"Well, now. I heard there were clothes delivered. Not like any of them will fit me, but it's not every day there are new things to look at around here." His eyes flickered over Qui-Gon, taking note of the new pants, and a smirk lit his face. "All kinds of new things to look at," he purred.
"Daro," Ket'al said, exasperated.
"Those are very flattering," Daro breathed, ignoring Ket'al. Qui-Gon smiled, almost as though he couldn't quite help himself, and Daro grinned.
"It's a good thing you weren't interested in sleep tonight." Ket'al rose, clasping Qui-Gon's shoulder reassuringly, and began to pick through the clothes. "Now let's find you something to wear."
A soft beeping sound filled the room, gradually growing louder. Qui-Gon's face turned serious as he rose to answer the comlink. His hand hovered over the controls, and a muscle twitched in his cheek as he answered the call. "Yes, my lord?"
"Come to me on the lower terrace. The guard will bring you." Kenobi's voice was full of careless authority. Ket'al sighed with a pang of wistful remembrance; he'd responded many nights to such a summons, and those evenings had been among the most pleasurable of his young life.
"Understood." Qui-Gon stood motionless, his body so tight he might snap if touched.
"Here, Qui-Gon." Daro held out his choices, looking to Ket'al for approval, and Ket'al confirmed his taste with a quick nod. "Wear these. They suit you."
The Jedi did not speak, and Ket'al gave Daro a little shove toward the door, taking the shirt and pants from his hand. Daro stepped aside nimbly and went to Qui-Gon, wrapping his arms around Qui-Gon without hesitation. He pressed his cheek against the broad back. "It gets easier," he said quietly. "Allow yourself to give and receive pleasure freely, and you won't be so unhappy." As Qui-Gon began to turn, Daro disengaged and slipped away, leaving both men staring after him.
"I must go," Ket'al said, handing the selected items to his friend. "His words were true, you know."
"I know." Qui-Gon met Ket'al's eyes. "Thank you, my friend."
Ket'al inclined his head, inexplicably saddened, and keyed open the door. The guard was waiting in the hallway, and Ket'al blindly made his way past, guided by need. Only a short time remained until the sun would rise, but his soul felt cold, and he knew where he might seek warmth.
He wandered into the room shared by Mathius and Leyran, shedding clothes as he went. Faint daylight touched the edges of the bed as he lifted the covers and slid next to Mathius, pressing the length of his body to the hard heat of the other man.
Mathius stirred, and his arms lifted, encircling Ket'al. He opened his eyes with a sleepy smile, but it turned quizzical when he saw the expression on Ket'al's face, and in his eyes.
"I'm sorry to wake you," his friend whispered, but Mathius caught his lips in a gentle kiss.
"Shh," he said, and with hands and tongue and soft kisses, he offered the quiet comfort of bliss.
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