(A/N) I don't ship Ventrobi, but I do think she might have a thing for him, at least physcially. The start of that adventure, torture on Rattatak. Little bit of sadism, lots of implied sexual content. Might be overrated. Please R and R.
She wondered if he knew how attractive he was. She had never found much appeal in human males, many of them were whining, narcissistic, caring only for themselves and whatever sexual pleasure they thought she might bring them. She used them for her own needs, discarding them at without a second thought, sometimes, when one particularly annoyed her, killing them was the only was she felt full satisfaction with them.
The Jedi was different. He had been in here prison for three days now, his beige tunic ripped to shreds and smeared with his own blood; cuts lined every part of his body, and his lips were cracked dry from thirst. But with his body so exposed, held up by the chains fastened to the wall above him, she could take in his body. His muscles were cut, clear indicators of a life of physical activity. His hair, though now tinged on the ends with sweat after her most recent session of torturing him and the heat of the cell he was locked, was a brilliant auburn color, thick, and laid over his face in a way that framed him perfectly. She liked the beard too, it gave him a look of maturity.
Physically, she found herself drawn to him. But in other ways as well. Despite the obvious pain she had put him in, indicated by the heavy bruising on his ribs, and the cuts and lash marks decorating his upper body; he had not given in to her. He had answered no questions, and instead of screaming as his clones had been doing for almost a day now when she tortured them, the most he had done was grunt in discomfort when she had jerked his head back and run the thin curve of a knife blade around the soft skin of his throat. He was strong-willed, she could see why Dooku wanted to turn him so badly.
Now he was sleeping, carefully keeping his weight from being fully on his extended arms, and she watched him, feeling his strong force signature radiating off of him. He was alluring, calling her in to him. She doubted now, that he realized how attractive he was. From what she had seen, it wasn't in Kenobi's nature to draw attention to himself. Unlike the brat Skywalker, who she hoped had been destroyed in the fires she had rained on Jabiim after taking Kenobi hostage. With her luck, he was still alive, lamenting about how much he had lost.
But his loss had been her gain. She had only finished her last session with Kenobi an hour ago, only stopping when blood had finally started to run down his back and into the floor. The guards had fed him the muscle toxins, and he had gone to sleep shortly afterward, she assumed because he didn't know when then next opportunity would be. Despite this, she burned to do it again, she wanted to hear his refusal, wanted to finally make him scream, break through the resolve that she found so enticing and finally sink into the Jedi's heart.
But now she looked at him, wondering other things. Picturing him on top of her, the rest o his lean body exposed to her touch, his lips pressed into hers, making pathways down her body. Her finger flitted unconsciously t her neck, imagining what it might feel like if he would touch her. A blast of rage hit her when she realized it could never be so; a thick wave of pure loathing when she remembered why the Jedi had been brought here in the first place.
Dooku wanted him as a replacement for her, she thought this Jedi's strength matched her own, and she had captured him, brought him hear to torture, to prove him wrong. Which she would do. The Jedi would break. She pulled from her suit the leather mask that hummed with the Dark Side of the force, and while he still slept, pulled it over his head. He wouldn't be able to to concentrate, even now she could feel his force signature interrupting slightly, though in truth it was stronger than most she had felt. She looked at him through the holes in the mask, and curling her lip, decided it was time for him to wake up.
She slid the knife from earlier form her belt, and with painful precision, twisted the point into a soft spot between two of his ribs. He didn't jerk awake as she thought he might but she stared at him as his eyes opened through the holes in the mask he now wore. He held her gaze, making no noise as thick drops of blood began running down past his ribs, into the waistband of his pants. "Wake up, false Jedi."
He said nothing in response to her, and she moved the knife to a new spot. She was going to break him, it might be slow and painstaking as a process, but the Jedi would crack as everyone else did. In the meantime, as she looked down at his body, steadily becoming slicker and more red, she could enjoy looking at him.