Chapter Text
Burning stripes of crimson clash and hiss inches from her face.
Ahsoka grins, bared fangs red in the light of her own blade; her smile widens when it's met with a matching grin from Barriss, but Ahsoka's moment of confidence is short-lived. Reversing her grip at the last moment gave Barriss enough leverage to catch both of the blades sweeping toward her head on her primary—and Ahsoka, conveniently, has forgotten Barriss' second blade.
She senses the hard slash under her guard just in time, disengaging and throwing herself onto her back to avoid it. Barriss presses her attack, ready for the Force throw she's certain is coming; but Ahsoka's rolled with the impact and is already up on one knee. She knocks Barriss' lunge aside with an almost casual swipe of red, and just for a moment Barriss is aware of an opening, tries to close it too slowly—
But Ahsoka launches herself into a backwards, airborne somersault rather than force bladelock again, and this time Barriss holds and waits for her to move first.
“Almost had me there,” Ahsoka pants, flashing a cocky smile. She's coiled to spring, so Barriss resists the urge to give a mocking Makashi salute, but not without difficulty.
She raises an eyebrow instead. “What are you going to do about it?”
It's a high, slow leap, amateurish and telegraphed, and Barriss actually has to wait for her before their blades connect. There's power behind the blow, certainly; but rough, unsophisticated power, purely physical. She sloughs off the bladelock in a matter of seconds and strikes out with the butt of her primary. The blow connects solidly with Ahsoka's montral, causing her to cry out and nearly drop her lightsabers. An advantage, but not quite enough of one; Barriss snaps a high kick into Ahsoka's chest that sends her stumbling back, shoto coming up belatedly into a guard position as she swipes wildly with her primary, but when Barriss slashes at her ribs again she manages to recover and catch both blades on her own.
Ahsoka's snarl says clearly that the game has ended.
She sidesteps, undoing Barriss' efforts to pin her against the edge of the training ring as she throws a flurry of blows at her opponent's head. Another aggressive overhead strike comes so suddenly Barriss makes the beginner's mistake of catching it in the cross of her own blades; Ahsoka's anger, thankfully, distracts her from the unused shoto in her left hand in favor of bearing down and kicking viciously at Barriss' kneecaps.
A shove in the Force knocks her back enough for Barriss to free her sabers; just in time, because Ahsoka gives a wildcat yowl and leaps again, primary twirling at her side for another attack from above. This one's faster, less showy, and Barriss raises her blades again—just in time for Ahsoka to twist out of the strike in favor of connecting with her chest, heel-first.
There's no chance of recovering. Barriss' lightsabers are knocked from her hands before she even has time to land heavily and drive the air from her lungs. Ahsoka's knees strike the mat hard, which is briefly a relief because if she'd landed on Barriss she probably would have broken several ribs. And then there's a snap-hiss of igniting blades far too close, and Barriss is disarmed with Ahsoka sitting on her chest, lightsabers crossed over her throat.
This is the dangerous part.
Ahsoka's been in that position too many times not to know that the moment you're first pinned is when you're the most likely to do something crazy. They're Sith. To say they don't like being helpless is the understatement of the millennium. She's prepared, for several long, thundering heartbeats, to put down whatever last-minute resistance Barriss comes up with. A hidden vibroblade, a hand-to-hand strike that an unsuspecting opponent might not be prepared for—a simple shove in the Force would be the most obvious route.
But Force throws take energy and concentration, and Barriss for all her furious glare is still wheezing for breath. She's gripped Ahsoka's wrists instinctively, but as she realizes Ahsoka isn't going for a kill she visibly concedes, dropping her hands to the mat and letting her head fall back.
Ahsoka holds her there anyway, for a few moments, just to make sure it's not a trick; then she deactivates her lightsabers and sits back with a wide smirk. Barriss is her senior—not just in age, because Barriss' two and a half years on her mean very little in their positions, but in that Barriss has served her master for over ten years and by rights should have taken her own name by now.
And this is a fairly-earned victory. It's taken her a year to convince her master to let her have supervised training sessions under anyone but him. There are certainly worse ways to thank him for the privilege than by returning with the news that she forced Barriss Offee to surrender, much less that she managed to do it right in front of...
Her train of thought is interrupted by slow, sarcastic clapping from the wings.
“That,” Luminara says icily, “was a truly astonishing performance.”
Somehow Ahsoka is pretty sure that wasn't directed at her, and it isn't a compliment. Barriss' presence in the Force, which had been an intoxicating simmer of exhilaration and focus during their duel, starts fading to cold fear as her master's footsteps approach them.
“Well, Barriss?” Master Unduli's voice is cool, in contrast to the fury in her eyes. “Nothing to say for yourself?”
Barriss swallows and stares determinedly at the ceiling.
“I made an error in judgment, Master,” she says quietly.
“A child could tell me as much,” Luminara snaps, making Barriss flinch. After a long, disgusted look at her apprentice, she shifts her attention to Ahsoka. The annoyance doesn't leave her face, but she's at least slightly civil as she inclines her head a fraction of a degree. “You may tell your master I was pleased with your skills, apprentice. Leave us.” Her gaze darkens as she turns it back on Barriss. “We need to discuss this failure in great detail.”
“No,” Ahsoka says before she realizes she's spoken.
It's probably the stupidest thing she's ever done, and this from someone who once jabbed a rancor with an electrostaff just to see what would happen; but it had been reflexive. She's still receptive to the flow of the Force around Barriss' mind and she'd felt the outpouring of miserable fear and...responded to it, no need to make it more complicated than that.
Luminara stares at her, incredulous, and Ahsoka takes advantage of the brief moment where she isn't being murdered to do damage control. She ducks her head, puts her weight on her far leg to make herself look smaller, looks up without lifting her head; the picture of contrite humility. She stops just short of fluttering her eyelashes, which she figures would probably be overkill.
“I'm sorry, Master,” she says politely. “I only meant...” She shifts again, just slightly, leaning toward Unduli and cocking her head like a guileless puppy. Luminara is unimpressed. Ahsoka plows forward anyway, injecting as much sweetness into her voice as she's reasonably certain she can get away with. “I'm sure you have more important things to do? And you've already been generous enough to take the time to work with me. Let me do it.”
Her hand is still braced on Barriss' sternum, but she wouldn't need that to notice her breath catch at the suggestion. Unduli doesn't miss it either; she takes in Barriss' frozen, wide-eyed expression with a calculating look. After a moment, the corner of her mouth quirks unpleasantly.
“Very well,” she says, never looking away from Barriss. “Take a reward for beginner's luck. But see that it is a punishment, Apprentice Tano, or the privilege will not be extended again.”
“Of course, Master.” Ahsoka bows her head to hide her ear-splitting smile. She's careful not to move until the door to the training room hisses shut.
The moment they're alone the tension fades from Barriss' body. She lets out the breath she'd been holding in a long sigh that turns into something very nearly a giggle.
“I can't believe that worked.”
Ahsoka gives her a lopsided grin. “You know I'm irresistible.”
Barriss rolls her eyes. “Not nearly to the degree you seem to think,” she starts with a smile. “And...mmm.” Soft fingers brush Ahsoka's lekku when she leans down for a kiss. “You're very forward.”
“Weren't you paying attention?” Ahsoka kisses her again, runs her hands teasingly along her sides. “You're my reward, I can do whatever I want.” When the only response is a halfhearted swat, she grins and winds her fingers between Barriss', guiding her hands down to the mat. “Well, if you want me to stop...”
Barriss shrugs, as best she can manage in her position. “Did I say that?”
Ahsoka tightens her grip on Barriss' fingers and kisses her. Harder this time, more insistent, until some of that warm interest flares again and Barriss' mouth opens in a quiet gasp for her tongue. The sharp little inhale is all the encouragement Ahsoka needs; she presses Barriss into the floor and takes the long claiming kiss she's wanted for months, finally breaking away only because she needs air.
Almost before she's opened her eyes Ahsoka's fingers are already tugging at the hem of Barriss' shirt. What little patience she possessed to begin with is gone; Barriss is hers, and she wants to touch her now.
Not that Barriss seems to object to the plan. She lifts her arms to let Ahsoka pull the clinging fabric over her head and toss it aside, and pushes herself up on her elbows to meet the next enthusiastic kiss halfway.
Ahsoka resists the urge to growl. Barriss is better than she'd imagined—lean and muscled, a few scars she can't stop herself from tracing with her fingertips but soft and responsive, pressing into Ahsoka's touch so willingly she suspects Barriss doesn't even realize she's doing it.
“Ahsoka,” she says as Ahsoka's hands run over her ribs, thumb her breasts before sliding back down her flanks. “I—” She cuts herself off with a low hum and tilts her head back when Ahsoka's teeth scrape her throat. “I—Ahsoka, much as I hate to interrupt—you don't think—maybe you're forgetting something?”
“Mmm?” Ahsoka mumbles against her neck. Barriss' hand pushes at her shoulder and she sits back.
“She said—”
Ahsoka bares her teeth in a hunter's grin. “She's not here.”
Barriss throws one hand up in exasperation, supporting her weight on the other arm. “That's easy for you to say. You're not the one who will pay for it when she finds out I never suffered for my failure.”
Ahsoka considers her.
“You're right,” she says finally. Barriss looks mollified for a moment, until Ahsoka smirks and shoves her flat on her back again. “I'm not.”
It takes a moment for her meaning to sink in, and then Barriss' death glare returns with a vengeance.
“You wouldn't dare,” she hisses, moving as if to sit up. Ahsoka locks her knees around Barriss' waist and pushes her shoulders back down, taking the opportunity to really enjoy the view. Barriss flushes under the appreciative gaze. After a moment she knocks Ahsoka's arms away and tries to wriggle free; Ahsoka holds her down by the wrists, drinks in the visual, and lets her try.
If Barriss actually wanted to leave, she could ask. Or summon her lightsabers, or throw Ahsoka through a few dozen walls. She's certainly got enough of her wind back now to do it; the Force is swirling around her and it practically tastes of mingled anger and arousal. Ahsoka reflexively licks her lips.
“Maybe that'll be your punishment,” she muses before Barriss has a chance to wrangle her impotent rage into words. Ignoring it, Ahsoka leans in, tugs at Barriss' lower lip with her teeth, and starts trailing lazy open-mouthed kisses along her jaw and down her neck. “Can't make me hurt you if I don't want to. So maybe I won't.” She stops to suck on a pulse point. “Maybe I'll take you apart without hurting you at all and then send you back to your master.”
She can feel Barriss' breathing stutter.
Ahsoka grins viciously against her throat. “You can go back and tell her you loved every minute of it.” She runs her nose along Barriss' jugular with a gentleness she knows will drive her mad, barely enough to be felt, and punctuates her words with nips as she moves back up Barriss' throat. “And you didn't. Suffer. Once.”
“Ahsoka!” Barriss' control wavers as Ahsoka presses a light kiss just under her ear. “Please.”
Ahsoka drags her fingernails slowly from Barriss' hips, up her sides and across her belly just below her ribs. Barriss starts to arch under her before remembering she's angry.
Ahsoka grins. “No.”
Barriss lunges for her, teeth bared, in a manner that would have been much more impressive if she had proper fangs and wasn't caught halfway through the surge and thrown down again. Ahsoka gives her a pitying look before miming a playful bite at her nose.
“You can't do this to me.” Barriss' eyes are livid. “You have no right, you promised, you can't do this to—!”
Ahsoka shuts her up with another hard, bruising kiss and the Force boils with Barriss' indignation even as she returns it.
“You,” she spits in the brief moments when Ahsoka lets her breathe. “You—I—you have to—”
“I don't have to do anything,” Ahsoka warns her, tightening her grip on Barriss' wrists. “You don't like it, I'll leave.”
Barriss is fuming. “You selfish, arrogant—”
She's right on both counts, which means Ahsoka has no qualms about cheerfully taking what she wants. Righteous outrage looks good on a pretty girl. And it still doesn't stop Barriss from relaxing her jaw to let Ahsoka taste her, half panting for more even as her hands form useless fists.
She's almost being cooperative, and Ahsoka is about to find some way to reward her for it when Barriss suddenly bites down on her tongue.
Ahsoka cries out half in pain and half in shock, instinctively dropping Barriss' wrists to push away from her. Barriss actually bites harder for several seconds in which Ahsoka tests the limits of a Togruta's physical ability to swear with someone hanging onto their tongue like a Mon Calamari bottomdweller crab, then lets go. Ahsoka slurs a few of her master's choice insults and attempts to suck her own tongue to make the throbbing stop. When the immediate pain stops distracting her, she tastes blood.
“Wha' is wrong with you?” she demands. She doesn't get an answer; Barriss just tosses her head with a look that's both challenging and victorious. Ahsoka's fingers twitch with an urge to curl into claws and demand a thorough apology.
For a moment she considers it; and then that triumphant spark in Barriss' eye gets her thinking. After a moment, she gives a slow smile.
Clever. Asking nicely didn't work, so Plan B was to make her angry. Bait the angry Togruta with the impulse-control issues. It had almost worked, too, and would have gotten her some very nice cuts and scrapes to show her master.
“Smart,” Ahsoka says, as mildly as possible, and watches Barriss' confidence falter. “That was good.”
She moves before Barriss has a chance to block her, tangling her fingers in Barriss' hair and dragging her head back.
“Not good enough,” she growls into her ear.
Barriss finally cracks, a drawn-out whine as she cants her hips against Ahsoka.
Ahsoka holds her there for a few seconds before shaking her hand free of Barriss hair and releasing the other wrist so she can sit back. Barriss looks more miserable now than frustrated, and the plea in her eyes appeals to Ahsoka's better nature.
She kneads Barriss' breasts absently while she considers being merciful. She's not running a charity here.
“All right,” she decides. Barriss brightens, and Ahsoka flicks her nipple so she doesn't get her hopes up too high. “I'm willing to hear you out.”
Barriss' brow furrows. “What do you...”
“Beg.” Barriss sucks a soft breath through her teeth at the casual command, and Ahsoka shrugs. “You want me to do something I'm not interested in? Beg for it.”
Barriss grinds her teeth.
“Please,” she bites out.
Ahsoka scoffs. “That was pathetic.”
“Please,” Barriss repeats.
“Nope.” Ahsoka runs feather-light fingertips along Barriss' sides. “Don't give me that. Your master pulls out lightning if you fold your robes wrong, I know you can beg for mercy better than that.” She leans over her, bracing her hands on either side of Barriss' head. “What are you waiting for? Convince me.”
There are several long moments of silent glaring.
Then, like flicking a switch, the offended facade snaps and Barriss grabs her lekku and drags herself up into a desperate, sloppy kiss. Ahsoka's delighted laugh turns breathy as Barriss turns her head to suck hard at the junction between throat and lek. Ahsoka's eyes roll back and she very nearly purrs, tilting her head to give Barriss better access.
“Use your teeth,” she gasps.
She has to groan when Barriss obeys instantly, biting at the base of her lek before kissing and sucking her way down it. She has one arm flung around Ahsoka's neck, the other trailing along her arm as she rakes her teeth along the sensitive underside of a lek and Force, she's entirely too good at this. Finally Barriss flicks her tongue over the tip—a sensation much more ticklish than erotic that makes Ahsoka bite her tongue to keep from laughing as she twitches the point out of Barriss' mouth.
Barriss presses against her immediately, kissing her neck and jaw again.
“Please,” she whispers. “Please, I'll do anything you ask...”
For a moment Ahsoka has trouble remembering what she's talking about.
“You were gonna do that anyway,” she finally croaks, nerveless fingers trying and failing to tug at Barriss' belt.
Barriss gives a low whine and nuzzles Ahsoka's cheek.
“Don't you want to?” she asks, and there's an innocent earnestness to the words that would have met with wry recognition if Ahsoka wasn't using all of her remaining cognitive ability to hold off on giving Barriss anything she wants without reservation. “I'm a rival, haven't you ever wanted to hurt me?” Quick, soft wing-flutter kisses trace Ahsoka's cheekbone all the way to the corner of her mouth before Barriss relaxes her grip on Ahsoka's shoulders, just enough to look up at her. “I'm in your power, Apprentice Tano.”
Ahsoka takes a deep, ragged breath. She's certain there was an argument she was making but it's very hard to remember with those sad blue eyes looking up at her like this.
She closes her eyes in a desperate attempt to focus. Delicate fingers touch her lips, followed by a soft kiss.
“I'll scream,” Barriss offers hopefully, almost a whisper. “You'll like it.” And then, lips barely brushing Ahsoka's, “I'll thank you afterward.”
The training halls always have a wall lined with exotic weapons—no master is willing to invest time and effort into an apprentice only to have them killed by some mercenary because they never trained against their gimmicks. Ahsoka thrusts a hand out and calls a vibroblade to her hand as Barriss' tongue snakes between her lips.
Barriss' Force presence flares bright with overwhelming relief half a second before she screams.
Barriss' ankle turns under her at the top of the stairs.
She stumbles badly, turning at the last second to catch her shoulder on a pillar so she doesn't fall—
“Ah!'
Ow. Ow. That had been a mistake.
Wincing, she slowly pushes herself off the pillar, takes a deep breath, and continues down the corridor. Even her bare-bones sonic shower, she thinks longingly, will be heaven. A change of clothes, a few judicious dabs of bacta...she can wash her face, at least, and if she's lucky her master will want nothing more to do with her today and she can collapse into bed and pray the worst of it heals by morning...
She finally limps around the corner to her quarters, stops, and closes her eyes in despair.
Sadly, when she opens them, the boy is still there.
He's a little human with long red hair, ten or eleven years old. The electrobrand of Luminara's symbol on the child's right cheek is only barely healed—her master's slaves are almost always new, the tower has a notoriously high turnover rate. Most attribute it to Master Unduli's strict policy of purchasing only human or near-human slaves; so many of those, in any market, are fresh-caught adults or adolescents and humans are a strong-willed species to match against her low tolerance for disobedience.
(According to slave traders. It's rubbish, of course. That's not the point.)
The point is that twi'leks and togruta are common, ten credits a dozen. Everyone knows human slaves are a status symbol. Getting and keeping them requires tight security, a lot of credits, good connections, an imposing reputation. Unbroken children, not yet past their impressionable age, are even rarer and more expensive commodities. And Barriss' master has not made her reputation on half measures.
“Um,” the boy says.
“What is it,” Barriss demands flatly. She's not normally rude to slaves, especially the young ones, but most are dead in six months anyway and every inch of her body hurts. If the boy's harmed by a curt word from his mistress' heir, she hopes he dies quickly.
He swallows.
“She said, tell you to see her right away, ma'am.”
It should be mistress, really, and he'll learn that quickly or he'll learn it painfully; but Barriss is not petty enough to care and too tired to warn him.
“Thank you.” Force, what she wouldn't do for a glass of water. “I'll go up once I'm presentable—”
“She said right away,” the boy insists.
Of course she did.
Barriss takes a deep breath and tries to set her shoulders. “Thank you. You can go now.”
“Okay,” says the boy. “Did you hurt your foot?”
Her feet are, actually, among the only parts of her anatomy she hasn't injured today.
“No,” she tells him, a concession to his youth, before adding, “You shouldn't ask questions in the presence of your masters. You'll be beaten if you keep doing it.”
“Oh,” he says quietly. “Sorry.”
She almost tells him it's all right, but encouraging him won't keep him alive. She steps into her rooms and lets the door slide shut behind her without another word to the boy.
Barriss is vaguely aware that it's common in the galaxy to view one's personal quarters as a sanctuary, a place belonging to no one but one's self. She can't imagine it.
She glances longingly toward the door to her bedroom. Just a quick shower, five minutes, how would her master even notice...
Which is, of course, the kind of thinking that gets Sith apprentices killed. Some masters actually make a habit of killing off their apprentices every few years and replacing them, a practice Luminara always sniffs at as both wasteful and the reason those masters rarely achieve stable, sustainable empires. Barriss is an investment. Of course, investments can be liquidated.
Nearly crying at the thought of turning away from the shower, she palms open the access panel in her personal library and starts limping up yet more stairs to her master's apartments.
The tall durasteel tower, contrary to popular belief, does have windows. Neither Barriss' quarters nor any of her masters' that she's seen possess them, however; the only natural light she knows of here is in the greenhouses or observatory, the latter of which is strictly for show. It's for security reasons, certainly, but Barriss has long since come to the conclusion that her master disapproves of the passage of time around any schedule but her own. If asked, she would carefully reword this assessment as Master Unduli preferring not to be distracted by changing daylight that might interrupt her work.
Barriss has also taken to wearing a chronometer at all times.
It's too early for supper however hungry she is, and even if that weren't the case there are months at a time when she's convinced her master doesn't eat or sleep. If she's left standing orders for Barriss to attend her, and assuming this isn't some ill-conceived prank by a rival (not uncommon, especially on Coruscant where there are a worrying number of them at worryingly close quarters), she'll be in her office as usual.
The door slides open before Barriss can raise her hand to knock.
She forces herself to step over the threshold and tries to keep her breathing as even as possible as she kneels in the middle of the small room.
“I was told you wanted to see me, master.”
Luminara ignores her entirely, stylus scratching over a flimsiplast pad. Barriss keeps her head down and waits.
After an interminable pause, long after Barriss' sore muscles have started to cramp, her master sets the pad aside.
“Stand,” she says without looking up. Barriss bites her tongue to keep from hissing with pain as she awkwardly pushes herself onto her feet.
Luminara stands and, finally, turns her attention to Barriss. Barriss rather wishes she hadn't; her master looks disapproving on a good day and the perfectly neutral scan she's performing now makes Barriss want to squirm. She's suddenly acutely aware of her rumpled clothes despite her best efforts, the fact that her hair is in disarray, the stiffness in her stance that comes of nothing more than favoring a twisted ankle she'd gotten during her duel but which nevertheless feels shameful under her master's cool observation.
Two fingers tilt her chin up and to the side and she flushes reflexively at the still-tender bruise the movement exposes.
It had felt...oh, wonderful, burning and perfect half an hour ago in Ahsoka's arms. Painful, but not the same kind of pain as the wounds inflicted for the sake of wounding. A gift for your master, Ahsoka had said darkly, and Barriss had been too far gone to grasp her words or do anything but beg her not to stop; now she's beginning to understand the message. Luminara's expression doesn't change as she studies the mark, but her voice has a sharp edge when she speaks again.
“Take off your shirt.”
“Master?” It's less a request for clarification than it is the expression of as much pathetic reluctance as Barriss dares express. Luminara doesn't give it the dignity of a response.
It had been hard enough getting her shirt on again, and that had been with Ahsoka's surprisingly gentle help. Her right shoulder flatly refuses that range of motion, so Barriss has to awkwardly worm one arm free, then pull the rest over her head and slide it down her right arm. It's a slow, painful, humiliating process.
Barriss tries desperately to fight the heat rising in her cheeks, and fails.
It would be easier if Luminara would mock her, or smirk, make some derisive noise. Instead she just folds her hands behind her back and walks in a slow circle around Barriss. It's an entirely detached, clinical examination, and it makes Barriss want to close her eyes and be swallowed by the earth. Her master doesn't react at all to the cuts and bruises, electrostaff burns, the indents of teeth, the raw tracks of Ahsoka's fingernails that are starting to smart now—but her eyes spend several seconds on every single one.
A finger presses against the deep, sluggishly bleeding laceration on her right shoulder, and Barriss can't restrain a choked cry.
“What did this?” her master asks.
Barriss swallows, still nauseous with pain. That had been an accident, and frightened Ahsoka so badly she'd almost refused to continue. She'd been spinning the electrostaff casually, a joke, trying to make Barriss smile even as they worked on the patchwork of injuries that were the only thing between her and a much less friendly punishment. And she'd gone to shove Barriss up against the wall but hadn't noticed the bolo she'd knocked free earlier. Barriss had tripped and fallen sideways and there are no rounded edges in a Sith training facility...
“The corner of a weapons rack, master,” she replies shakily.
A pause, and then Luminara's inspection seems to be complete. She's still just slightly outside of Barriss' peripheral vision when she says, “You enjoyed yourself.”
Her master's quarters are always several degrees below comfortable. That's not why Barriss suddenly feels the urge to shiver.
The statement held no inflection. No hint of either scorn or accusation. Barriss fixes her gaze on the blank wall in front of her and does her best not to react. There is no safe answer. Agreement is halfway suicidal; if she contradicts her master there will be nothing halfway about it. She doesn't respond. Doesn't even blink.
After several heartbeats of existential terror, her master snorts contemptuously.
“Have the shoulder and open wounds healed. Everything else stays as a reminder.”
Barriss bows as best she can. “Yes, master. Thank you, master.”
“The next time you lose a sparring match to a half-feral whelp five years your junior you'll get more than a slap on the wrist,” she says. “Get out of my sight.”