How long had it been? Bastila tested her bonds for what felt like the thousandth time, but even had she not been weakened by fatigue and hunger, she would have needed the strength of a wookiee to even have the barest chance of breaking them. Darth Malak was, of course, absent, or she would have been too preoccupied to wonder. She had been bound to the same stone tablet for goodness knew how long, only being granted short, regular releases so she might be given a little bit of food and water and a chance to relieve herself. The burn marks from Malak's lightning were treated in that room by Sith medics while she was still restrained. She was given only enough food and water to be kept alive, purposely being kept too exhausted to call upon the Force. She had a hope that Revan would come for her, but in this gray, harshly lit room, surrounded by Sith malevolence, that hope was dimming rapidly. And the fear – oh, the fear. She felt it, despite all her training. She hated feeling it. She hated feeling that hatred. She hated Malak for crawling in her head, making her feel things that were wrong. And, by the Force, she hated herself for feeling all those things.
"Bastila." The door to her cell opened. Briefly, her captor's towering frame filled the doorway, but he stepped forward and the door slid shut with the same decisive sound it always made. Every time she saw him she felt the same sick dread – he had seeded it in her when he first started his torture of her, between bolts of Sith lightning. But a taste of the Dark Side, he had taunted as he leaned in close to her and run his hand along her cheek, forcing her to look at his eyes. To whet her appetite, he had said, his metallic voice sultry. She felt naked under his piercing gaze. You hunger to taste it…
As before, Malak's fingers brought her face around to look him in the eyes. "Say the word, and I will release you," he told her – how many times this had been, Bastila didn't know.
"Never," she spat.
Malak nodded, eyes closed thoughtfully. In a movement too quick to see, he brought up his hand to deliver another shock of punishment. "End this whenever you like, Bastila. I am not an unreasonable man. You may exchange pain for power at your leisure."
"You will never have –" Bastila began, but her words were choked by a fresh scream as Malak's lightning coursed through her body. The smoldering, growing hate inside her flared. She didn't bother to hide it – she impotently sent it all out at her tormentor, willing nothing more than his death, panting raggedly as she glared pure venom.
Malak's eyes conveyed a smug grin of triumph, and he laughed, the grating sound making Bastila shudder. "Ah, Bastila, my dear! You're already mine. Oh yes – you feel it," he said, his voice a mechanical purr. A mixture of fear, confusion, and something else – doubt? – stirred in Bastila at his tone. "Yes. Hate me. You're only a human like any other, girl – but your Jedi brainwashing has led you to deny what makes you alive." He laughed again. "Such a pity, my dear! You have so much untapped emotion!"
Bastila gritted her teeth at the lingering, burning pain. "There… is no emotion," she whispered. "There is…"
Malak's backhanded blow across her face cut her off. "Peace is a lie!" he barked at her, his voice showing the sadistic, triumphant expression that his absent mouth could not. Leaning closer to her, he forced her with one hand to look him in the eyes. "There is only passion," the Sith Lord murmured, his towering, muscled body mere centimeters from hers.
"No," Bastila whispered, hatred and fear mounting as Malak's hand caressed her jaw. She twisted her head away as his fingers moved down her neck, her collarbone – she quivered as he brought it to its place on her right breast. "No! Please, no!"
"Dear girl, do you have any hope of stopping me?" laughed Malak. "You are right to be afraid. Look at me." He gripped her face with his free right hand, still running his left over the smooth, skintight bodysuit that she wore beneath her robes. She squeezed her eyes shut. "Look at me!" Malak ordered, painfully digging his iron-strong fingers into her side. She opened her eyes, her fear meeting Malak's lust. He laughed. "You fear me, yes, but you also fear yourself, Bastila Shan. You fear the way this feels…" He squeezed her breast again and smiled inwardly as she whimpered. He turned his head ever so slightly to the side, eyes half closed.
"Please stop…" Bastila begged, struggling uselessly against her bonds. "Please, I can't… I…" She could feel the heat of Malak's body, even through the tight, red leather that encased it. Malak ran both his hands across her curves, feeling her shudder as he slipped beneath her robes. Bastila realized she'd been addressing herself with her words as Malak pinned her bodily to the stone tablet and began releasing her shackles. "No, don't!" she begged. She could not fight him, even with her limbs free.
Malak laughed and held her before him, in midair. "I've told you. You're mine already – you just haven't admitted it yet." Holding her paralyzed, he paced around her, taking in her form with his eyes. "I know what you feel," he taunted. With her feet a significant distance above the floor, Malak stood eye to eye with her. "All your life, poor Bastila! All your striving to be a good Jedi girl, and now it's come back to bite you. Ah yes, you know you've done this to yourself. You did not eradicate your feelings. You locked them away, and they only grew stronger – so you locked them up tighter, and tighter, only now you've run out of locks that can hold them back. Let them out, Bastila. Let them out so that you may master them."
"No," Bastila whispered. "No, it's not true…" She grimaced as she again felt Malak's presence in her head, combing through her thoughts and memories.
He laughed. "Ah, no surprises. I thought not." He leaned forward, one hand on her waist, the other again almost lovingly caressing her jaw. "You've never had a man," he growled in her ear. "The darkness is in you, Bastila. You want this."
Bastila gasped as Malak began unlacing her robe. "Stop it!"
"Stop being right? I daresay I shall not," Malak gloated. Bastila's outer robe was on the floor – she hung in the air, her bodysuit hugging her feminine form.
"Get… get out of my head!"
"Ah, dear Bastila, why should I bother to read your thoughts from within when you display them so freely without?" Holding her head still, he breathed in the scent of her hair. "A blind fool could see what you feel." He felt her trained, supple body, tensed with fear and anticipation at once. Her breath was coming in short gasps. Malak ran his fingers across her sculpted lips, slipped two into her mouth, then licked down the side of her neck and collarbone with his hand. He brushed his jaw plate against her face. "You're breaking, Bastila – and soon, you won't even care." Starting at the neckline of her bodysuit, he drew down the zip fastening to expose her from neck to navel.
Bastila's head snapped back as she felt Malak's hands against her bare flesh, shivering at the Sith Lord's touch. "No… no…" she breathed. Oh, his hands were masterful – Don't think that way! – she could still taste him in her mouth… he didn't have any lips… why, why didn't he have any lips?
"And there we have it. You struggle again," Malak purred, "but not to escape any longer. I will tell you again. You are mine: I am your master. Your body, your mind, your spirit – they belong to me."
Her hands itched to close around his neck. A ragged scream escaped her throat: "Malak!" The name was elongated into a feral cry of frustration and hate, and the surge of raw energy from within her let her shatter Malak's hold on her right hand. Still in midair, Bastila's arm shot forward, scrabbling to unfasten the metal collar that guarded him. Teeth bared and eyes smoldering with rage, she tugged at that infuriating metal ring, longing to get it off of her captor, to sink her fingernails like claws into his pale flesh. Malak took her wrist in a vise grip and pried her arm away from him. She watched with wild eyes as he calmly removed the collar and its attached half-cape himself, and cast it aside. Regarding her with interest, he released her hand: it shot forward again, hooking two fingers into the neckline of his tight leathers, ravenously searching for something to rip, to tear away, her body straining against Malak's hold as she willed herself toward him –
"You're controlling me! Get out of my head! Get out!" Bastila shrieked between short gasps of heated breath, her fingers still desperately searching for something to unfasten, to get at Malak's body.
Malak only laughed. "Is that the lie you choose to believe? No, my dear, I have told you already – this is what you want. What you have wanted for years. What you have been too afraid to seek out." Keeping her helpless, Malak stripped away her bodysuit, again pinning her hand to nothing. He regarded her as she stood in midair, clad only in her undergarments, admiring her form as she hung, helpless, her defiance succumbing to fear. Growling his approval, he ran his hands over her body again, feeling her taut skin, paying special attention to the sensitive areas at the back of her neck, the curve of her waist, her inner thigh. He would leave her wanting more, but until she gave herself to him, he would continue to do no more than to tease, to tempt. If she hated him for it, if she hated herself for wanting him, all the better.
Bastila's breathing picked up again at Malak's hands, and Malak stepped back. Abruptly, he released his hold on her, and she fell in a crumpled heap. "You won't run," Malak said confidently, surveying the nearly-naked, shaking Jedi on the floor.
"I can't," Bastila panted.
"You won't," persisted Malak. "Get up," he ordered.
"I…"
"Obey me!"
Gritting her teeth, Bastila summoned the strength to get to her feet. She staggered forward and collapsed against Malak's body, using the Sith Lord for support even has her other hand crept back to the fastenings of what he was wearing. "I hate you," Bastila whispered hoarsely as her fingers worked madly to get rid of Malak's leathers. She rested her hands on his bare chest, her heart pounding. "I hate you, I hate you."
"Good," Malak murmured. He pulled her closer to him, eliciting small gasps as he ran his fingers up her spine. He smiled inwardly when she grabbed his other hand and placed his fingers in her mouth again. Here was the object of his desires, pressing her body to his, submitting herself to him. He reveled in it.
Bastila ran her tongue along Malak's fingers, eyes shut tight. She gasped for air, afraid of her desire. "I hate you," she said even as she kissed his chest. "I hate you, Ma… I… I hate you…"
"Say it," Malak ordered.
"I… I hate you, Ma… Malak," Bastila whispered.
"Say it, apprentice." Malak's voice took on a dangerous softness.
"I hate you… Master."
When she joined with him, it was willingly.