So I've started getting really into Clone Wars lately and this happened. I'm not well-versed in the Star Wars mythos, so if something sounds funny please pardon me. I just really needed to fix the issue of a disturbing lack of Ventrobi (yeah, that's what I'm calling this ship) fics out there. I hope I succeeded a bit here :)(Also, sorry for the lame title. It was the best I could at the moment.)

Being a Jedi Master, Obi-Wan was used to pain of all sorts by now. Burns from lightsabers and plasma guns, bites from wild animals on various worlds, even physical hits from fists and feet. But none of those times compared to the pain he felt now, the pain that he thoroughly enjoyed. She was gone before he woke as per their unspoken agreement, but she always left reminders of their unholy trysts in his flesh. Every time he woke he would trace each scar, each fresh cut, each discolored bruise as reverently as he would the feet of the Maker.

He cloaked himself with the Force to disguise his aura from any who might recognize him, be they friend or foe. These outings were not for any other's knowledge. Just to be on the safe side he pulled his hood down a little farther over his face as he walked through the alley and into the "inn". In actuality, it was more of a brothel than a legitimate place of business, but he didn't get to choose where these "meetings" were held.

He didn't bother stopping at the desk. Reaching out with the tiniest amount of power, it took only seconds to make contact with the one he searched for. The urge to tease the edges of her darker aura swelled inside him, but he stomped it down before he gave himself away. It was all part of the game. A very dangerous, painful, exhilarating game.

Each mark had its own story. The scar across the bottom of his ribcage was from when she had playfully snuck up behind him several weeks back. The darkening bruise on his bicep had come from a rare time when he had surprised her with a particularly artful technique; she hadn't been able to maintain her aloof composure and the evidence of that lack of control now adorned his arm. The crowning glory, however, was the set of four long scars that marred his back. He reached over his shoulder to lightly touch the pearled marks, a self-satisfied grin blooming across his face as he recalled receiving them on their first night together.

He was certain this was the room where she was waiting. He could feel her pushing against the edges of his mind, the Force warping and distorting around him. But she had yet to reveal herself. "I know you're here, my dear," he whispered softly into the dark. "You might as well show yourse-"

The words were stolen from his mouth by a searing, vicious kiss that found him pressed against the wall and his mind wiped blank. By the Maker, he'd missed this. Too many weeks had passed since their last encounter, too many weeks without this burning ache satiated by her touch. A sharp bite to his lower lip and she pulled away. Her eyes almost glowed in the near darkness, alight with mischief and lust and carnal desire. "What have I told you about talking, my dear Kenobi?"

"And here I thought you enjoyed my dulcet tone and quick tongue-" he leaned in to whisper the next words into her ear "-especially that second part."

She tried in vain to suppress a shiver, but he felt it nonetheless…and reveled in it. "Shut up, Kenobi."

Their first time had been completely unexpected, as most things went. They'd been in the midst of a heated fight, lightsabers blinding and twirling with beautiful precision. Her technique had improved considerably since they'd first battled, making her seem more like a dancer than a warrior. Still deadly, however. It was when their blades locked together, sparks flying, that he'd seen the change in her eyes. In those pale depths he saw more than deep-rooted fear, pain, and hatred. There was something hotter, something he himself had felt more than once in regards to the Dark Jedi.

He'd made some offhanded quip about going easy on her if she surrendered right then, but her reply was what he remembered most vividly: "What makes you think I want you to go easy on me?" Then she'd taken advantage of his surprise, flung his lightsaber from his hands before dropping her own, and pulled his head down to hers for the most visceral kiss he'd ever gotten in recent memory. His own body betrayed him and instead of pushing her away he was pulling her closer. Relishing her unmerciful bites and touches. Removing his suddenly-confining clothing as she removed hers. When it was over, she'd left with only three words in farewell: "Until next time."

Obi-Wan found himself staring at the space on the small bed she had occupied not an hour before as he recalled the memory. Asajj (not Ventress, never Ventress when they were alone) oftentimes claimed to loathe him to the point of distraction, and yet they engaged in this strange relationship behind closed doors. If he could not explain what they had, how could he hope to understand it from her point of view? What exactly did she get out of this "arrangement"? Was he merely a tool to sate her own physical desires? She could very easily have killed him at any time or taken him bound and gagged to Dooku without much struggle. So why this double life?

He may as well be asking those questions of himself if he were honest. If anyone, Jedi or not, discovered that one of the Council's most prominent generals was fraternizing with Asajj Ventress in such a manner, and on multiple occasions… And he didn't even want to think what discovery could mean for Asajj. It would most certainly mean her death, but beyond that he didn't dare contemplate.

On the rare occasion he did sleep, he dreamed of her. He dreamed of being awakened by gentle kisses along his face accompanied by a light scratch on his chest. He dreamed of seeing her lips turned up in a genuine smile, not twisted into a menacing snarl of anger. He dreamed of caressing and holding her as befitting a lover, not slashing at her with a lightsaber as an enemy. There were even times when he dreamed of watching her dress after a passionate night in his arms; the act itself was innocent enough, but the sensuality with which she covered her pale flesh from his sight was equally as enticing as undressing. He made sure to keep these dreams to himself, not only because no one else would understand them (especially his former padawan), but because of the constant reminder that Jedi were to form no emotional attachments, good or bad, to anyone.

But that philosophy was proving bloody difficult to uphold when he was presently at the mercy of a living goddess of sex and death above him. His eyes took in every line of her body, every curve, every scar earned in battle. She was a demanding lover, most certainly. She moved fast and rough, having barely given him enough time to remove his clothing before throwing them both onto the bed. She placed his hands where she wanted, and if he were to move them without her permission he was rewarded with a painful smack. She made the rules. She set the pace. She took what she wanted with little remorse for any hurt feelings (not that there were any). Although Obi-Wan was mostly content with that, sometimes he wanted to show her that not everything need be hurried and unmerciful. She had lived through so much heartache and despair that she had come to believe that was all there was in the universe. He craved to prove her wrong.

His fingers pressed hard into her flesh when she shuddered around him, her back arched high and her head thrown back in glorious bliss. Her orgasm passed silently before giving way to ragged gasps. Her eyes remained closed, a small satisfied smile on her lips. He couldn't help it. The words left his mouth before he could think to stop them. "You're beautiful."

Asajj's body froze instantly, her eyes snapping open to stare down at him. A loud crack broke the silence when her hand connected with his cheek in a furious slap. The one rule that both of them followed was that whatever marks or blemishes they left on each other's bodies, their faces would remain untouched. But he had already broken one rule, unspoken as it was, by saying such a thing. Knowing he should have expected the hit didn't stop it from being painful. "Don't lie to me, Jedi," she growled through clenched teeth. "You're here because I want only your body, not your condescension or pretty words." He wanted to tell her that he meant it, that she was truly beautiful to him in so many ways, not just the physical. But she never gave him the chance. She called a piece of her woven bodice to her with the Force and quickly tied it around his head as a makeshift gag. She used the other portions to bind his hands to the bedposts at the wrists. "Just for that, you're not allowed to touch me or make a sound the rest of the night." He easily could have summoned his lightsaber from the small table beside the bed (as could she; they always kept their weapons within sight as a precaution). But now that her voice had lost its hard edge, he was most curious to see where this would lead. "I think I quite like the sight of you bound and gagged, darling. We should try it more often."

Obi-Wan rubbed his wrists, still sore from the previous night's "activities", as he finished dressing. Although she had rebuffed his words at the time, he couldn't help wondering if maybe they had stuck in her mind. He could only hope; she had been too long without genuine praise, but maybe she would come to accept them as truth if he said them often enough.

Replacing his lightsaber to his belt, he caught sight of a small e-pad on the table. Its message was simple, yet brimming with hidden promises that made him smile in spite of himself: "If you say the right words, maybe I'll let you talk next time."