(A/N) If there was an option, this would be rated T+ for some heavily implied things and violence. However, I didn't think that merited an M rating. If you would like to see more Obi/Siri, I would love if you checked out my other two fics for them (actually rated M)! Thanks for reading, please R and R, let me know what you think!
She reaches out and touches his face, only the tips of the backs of his fingers brushing the back of his face. He kisses them gently, as her other hand runs down his skin. His clothes seem to peel off like water, hers melting away under his fingertips until he can feel her pressed against him. There is no urgency there, only love, and her body, so warm, inviting, whole caresses his with every inch of their exposed skin.
She kisses him, then his neck, he can feel her hand rubbing slow circles on his back, easing the tension and pain out of the wounds he can no longer feel under her touch. "Siri?" He hears himself whisper softly, and her gentle laugh in turn.
"I love you." She answers in reply, and presses him back onto the bed he hasn't noticed before. She comes down on top of him, pressing him into the bed. He can feel her hands on his chest, her lips on his cheek, forehead, neck. "Let me make love to you."
"Siri…" But he doesn't know what to say to her. This is amazing, it's everything he's wanted with her, for so long. She isn't like other women he's known. He loves her, with every fiber of his being, and his body is yearning for her. Her hands are erasing his memories of pain, his sharp stabs of agony, and is turning it into a kind of fire, lighting each of his nerves with her touch. She pulls closer, draws him in closer, he can feel her hands on his chest, his abdomen, his waist.
He let out a sharp breath, he can feel the anticipation behind his own movements. The love he's felt for years, finally its physically manifesting itself. Her lips are close to hers, so close. He can feel her breath, hear her heartbeat. He wants her, she wants him the same. He sees her smile in her eyes before it reaches her lips, before he lips reach his in the moment before they come together.
Then, he feels something sharp against his back. And she's evaporating from where she was against him. The love he could feel, the tangible, warm, comforting feeling is gone. His skin, where he could feel her touch only moments before, now feels like it's splitting apart. A strange fire lighting paths across it.
He gasps in pain, his arm feeling as though the bone is buckling in on itself. Simultaneously, all of his muscles are clenching and he can smell the electricity that's ripping through him for only a moment. Her face doesn't disappear. Her body is only inches form his. He reaches for her, and he can see his own skin covered in blood. Tears obscure his vision, and he can feel the severance of his connection to the force. But still, she lingers.
She is reaching for him, unable to touch him, her fingers are hovering inches from his face. She is crying, much harder than he is, and he hopes she cannot feel this pain. Something cuts across his back. A whip, leather and biting, it cuts in his skin and for the first time, he can feel blood. He is pulled form his the recesses of his mind, she disappears, her image gone.
He is back where he once was, where he never really left. Only now, his face is free from the mask. She is speaking to him. Not Siri. Not her.
"How, Kenobi?" She is angry, and he can feel it in the bite of the whip that follow, cracking across his shoulder blade. He groans, his blood running down his back, mixing with the other cuts across his skin. She didn't stop. "The mask cripples Jedi, the power of the Sith is too strong for your weak order to resist. And yet, here you are." She is more than angry, she is seething, each word punctuated by a moment of silence and snap of the whip across his back. He tries to keep in his reactions, but he's disoriented enough as it is and can't hold in the pain gasps that push past his lips.
"Tell me, false Jedi." And he realizes he's on his knees in a room, he can barely see through his eyes, tears and dried blood blurring his vision to the extent that he can only see her almost pure white form in the darkness around him. But she has no shape, no face. "How you defeated it."
But he has no answer. He remembers the mask now, the weeks of pain, or sitting, kept by the force form mere centimeters of cloth. The whip comes again and again, his blood flowing freely, but his lungs are too weak to scream. He tries to concentrate on what let him defeat the mask. On what has happened, but his force connection is now cut by the suppressants he can feel in his blood, by the handcuffs keeping his hands pulled down and his back straight and an easy target. But his mind, through exhaustion, through pain, through the distance from the force, keeps him from it.
She says something else, but he can't hear it over the roar in his ears and the screams he realizes might be coming from him as the whip splits down his spine and cuts into an already damaged muscle. He can hear her laugh, at the edge of consciousness. And he wonders how, in this place where he feel so alone, he managed to beat the mask. He does not feel like a Jedi here, not when his body is on fire and his mind is out of touch. He can feel his control slipping, he wants to scream until there's no air left in his lungs and there's nothing left for him to do but feel nothing.
But it won't keep. Her voice, cold and hard, her laugh, cruel and directed at him, the whip, burning horrible paths over his body. He closes his eyes, the darkness starting to swirl in front of him. He can feel his consciousness finally slipping away, but before it does, he can feel her. Not Ventress. But her, a gentle hand on his face, a thumb brushing away a soft tear, and he grasps as it, desperate for her protection.
Siri Tachi sat straight up in her bed, a horrible, cold sweat all over her skin. She has never felt this way, her heart is racing, her desperation palatable. She stands, pulling on her boots without lacing them and pounds into the hallway. She knows the truth now, she cannot believe that she had denied it for so long, let him suffer that way for so long.
She almost runs through the hallways, dim, sleeping lights dim in the hallway as she moves. She feels wild, almost feral. She can feel the tears on her face at what she knows is a shared memory between her and Obi-Wan. It had started so pleasant, so often she had thoughts of him like that, where they could make love, where they had given in to their feelings so long ago. But now he had been torn away from her, tortured, beaten; left for dead by her and the rest of the Order who had never gone for him. Who had called him dead. And he had reached out to her, for help. And she had not been able to give it, only to touch his face, to cry as that woman, that monster, took him.
She came to the meditation room, and in it, in addition to Master Yoda and Master Windu, was Anakin. "No, Master Windu, he's alive! I could feel him, only a few minutes ago!" The boy was distraught, practically yelling. She had consoled him a few days before, tried to encourage him to let go of his grief. Now she too was consumed with guilt, he had been right.
"Skywalker, the Order has accepted Master Kenobi's death, it ahs been recommended that you attend meditaton with your new master…"
But she interrupted before a red-faced Anakin had the chance. "Excusme me Masters, but Anakin is correct." They stopped to stare at her, regarding her with serious eyes. Yoda turned to her, and she knew form his gaze that he could see that she was telling the truth. That she had accepted Obi-Wan's death, but now had seen his life. He could see their connection. Anakin stared at her, open-mouthed, a grateful look on his face.
"Obi-Wan is alive." And there, buried in her words and thoughts was the beginning of something else. A spark, just a tiny spark.
Of hope.
