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Obi-Wan knelt on wet ground, sharp rocks digging into his knees. He felt dirt on his face, smeared from the rain and his sweat. He would’ve done anything in that moment to be able to wipe it away, but his hands were still restrained above him. A deep and penetrating cold had settled into his bones, the air biting at his bare skin, that holo-static, pins-and-needles feeling numbing his arms and legs.
He heard the heavy sounds of boots squelching in the mud behind him and clenched his teeth, the hatred inside him burning, warming his body despite the hours of frigid rain he had endured. The silhouette stepped in front of him, wrapped in a heavy black robe, face bathed in darkness under the large hood. Even under the shadows, he could see the intricate patterns of jet black tattoos inked into the face, saw the little peaks of horns under the fabric. He knew that under that hood blazed bright yellow eyes, bloodshot and merciless, malice laid plain in their gaze.
Maul was holding a person in his arms, a large one. As Obi-Wan looked up at him, he dumped them on the ground. The body made a heavy thud as it hit the dirt, mud-caked hair falling away from a pale face.
Obi-Wan made a choked sound. His head began to pound, his breath heaving in his chest. The lifeless figure before him, twisted and broken and long-past dead, was his very own Master Qui-Gon Jinn. He heard wheezing coming from his own chest and utter silence from Qui-Gon’s. His anger peeled back, shrinking away and revealing its soft underbelly—a churning knot of terror, blurring his vision and piercing inside his head like a dulled needle.
He was going to die out here, and so was that little kid, Anakin. Only nine years old and about to be killed just as he had finally escaped enslavement. Obi-Wan couldn’t stop the cry that ripped from him, his voice hoarse and scraping at his throat.
“Jedi scum,” the Sith lord rumbled above him. He was savoring every moment of this, every nudge closer to the brink of insanity, every slow and methodical step towards breaking the Padawan. He had waited, agonized, for years, knowing nothing but the harsh punishment of his Master, learning through blood what his purpose was. It had brought him here, and he was determined to take his time. The Master first, then the Padawan, then the boy. Kill the root, then the branch, then the leaf, he thought with satisfaction. Rip out the foundation, then destroy all hope of regrowth. Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength, I gain power. Through power, I gain victory.
Kenobi had already given up begging for mercy. Maul had never been shown mercy, not once in his life. If he had, he wouldn’t be a fraction of the weapon he was now. He was taught through pain, and rewarded with the opportunity to inflict it. It was the only way, the one constant in this endless galaxy. Lasting change was always stained with blood.
He relished the anguish on the young Jedi’s face, drinking it in and letting it replenish him. Everything was going according to plan. And with Qui-Gon dead, the hard part over, the fun could really begin.
Maul removed his hood and bent down until he was face-to-face with Obi-Wan. A finger curled around his Padawan braid, fondling it as if to be affectionate. Obi-Wan’s face was frozen, his eyes wide. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to do anything, but every thought had terminated with the vision of Qui-Gon’s vacant stare, his mouth dropped open slightly as if he were just about to speak before the life was wrenched out of him. No last words, no goodbyes, just a hole burnt into his stomach.
“Looks like you won’t be needing this anymore,” Maul smiled, and yanked the length of hair straight from Obi-Wan’s scalp. He felt as blood trickled down his neck, and a stabbing pain flared at the base of his skull. He sent a silent plea to the Force to keep the tears from his eyes, to protect him from the weakness he was feeling so acutely in that moment.
Maul admired his handiwork. “You Jedi,” he taunted. “So proud of your impartiality, your freedom from attachment. And yet…so very sentimental.” He chuckled, balling the hair up in his fist and throwing it to the ground out of the Padawan’s reach.
Obi-Wan hissed as if it were another physical blow.
“What’s the matter, pet?” The Sith whispered softly, his delight growing as his prisoner’s dread did the same. “Lose your collar?”
The Padawan growled, an ugly noise from deep in his gut. It was undignified, bestial, and worse, it was exactly what Maul wanted. He was cracking, splitting into pieces under the monstrous pressure of the Dark Side. Guilt soaked into him, mingling with his anger and fear and making him want to vomit. He hadn’t felt so ugly in years, not since he was a confused little boy with questions no one was willing to answer. He ached all over, the strain of his wrists strapped above his head becoming agonizing. He wanted to die, even though he knew such a wish was a crime against the Light.
The wind picked up again, and dirt blew into his eyes. He clenched them shut, the sting barely registering among the other pains gnawing at him. He breathed in a sickly sweet scent on the air, something that felt as thought it were sticking to the inside of his throat. He coughed once, confounded by such a thing in this place so full of death.
He saw Maul’s brow furrow as he, too, inhaled, losing a tiny measure of his focus as he wondered at it. All that surrounded them was black dirt and dying trees with gnarled branches, everything bathed in fog.
No. That wasn’t true. The ground below them was dotted with tiny yellow flowers, their petals opening before their very eyes. They were so small as to be practically invisible when closed. Obi-Wan’s mind raced, mentally rifling through what he knew about the flora common to this system, which was in fact close to nothing. It hadn’t happened to be on his list of priorities when they set out on the mission.
Maul was growing more tense by the second. He had never set foot on this planet before that day, and if his plans were to be foiled by some tiny lethal flower, he was sure Sidious would kill him before the poison ever could. He could feel his body growing hotter, though it could be a simple result of his flaring rage at being interrupted. He forced his focus back onto the Jedi he had captured, deciding that finishing him was worth the risk.
“Do you sense it, Jedi?” he snarled. “The galaxy is even now rejoicing your imminent death.”
Kenobi still stared at him, but his eyes had grown distant. His face and bare chest were flushed with color, even though Maul had stripped him under the freezing rain. He squirmed in place, his mouth dropping open and panting.
Pathetic. He must really be reaching the end of his rope to be dropping the steely visage he had kept up all this time. Maul grinned, reassured that the end was near for his trapped Padawan. He grabbed the young man by his face, digging his sharp nails into the soft flesh there, ready to carve him up like fresh game.
Kenobi groaned softly in a way that suggested something decidedly different than pain. Maul’s pulse sped up, and he bowed his head in alarm to see the Jedi’s dick swelling above goose-pimpled thighs. He sucked in sharply through gritted teeth. He knew what those flowers were.
Obi-Wan felt delirious, his head spinning with rank pleasure, all of his pain seeming to rot through his skin and transform into sensation between his legs. He felt sick, overpowered, out of control. His ability to close his mind had been broken down, and he knew all of this was flowing freely into the Force, being picked up by the Sith lord with ownership over his life. The exposure of it, the nakedness, only excited him more, making him shiver with passionate shame. It was a feeling that he recognized, though he had never allowed himself to feel it this strongly. It had only ever appeared late into the night while sleep darted away from him. Visions of the smooth, sinuous muscles of his Master danced in his mind, followed quickly by the conviction that he was somehow stained, tainted beyond redemption. The two sensations used to clash against one another, leading him inevitably towards a chamber to vomit in. There came a point, though, a gradual shifting that didn’t register until it had gone all too far, where he began to associate this dirtiness, this terrible, engulfing shame, with the warmth at his groin, tangling them together into one great, sensuous monster.
As he gazed at Maul, felt the sharp pricks of his dirty nails drawing blood from his cheeks, the long, red tongue flicking in his mouth as he spoke about Obi-Wan’s coming death, he felt that same disgusting desire rage. A clench and a caress began to feel like the same thing, his body succumbing to the violent hands of this weapon of the Dark Side, asking to be torn apart, to be manhandled until he was totally vulnerable, at the whim of this hideous man who wished him nothing but pain.
In his weakened state, Kenobi had succumbed to the pollen easily, but Maul knew it was only a matter of time before it pushed past his resolve, too. He had to act quickly. To kill Kenobi so hastily would be bitter indeed, but it was better than letting him live. He stood, reaching for his lightsaber. Perhaps he’d behead the young man, give the murder a bit of needless cruelty to make up for the subpar torture. He could carry the severed head with him to present to the boy before he, too, was killed. The thought almost brought a smile to his face.
He was standing before the Padawan, feet set wide apart, saber flashing to life. It bathed the both of them in crimson light, the heat from the blade wafting over them, the smell of activated plasma replacing the pollen in their nostrils. He had raised his weapon and was poised to strike when it happened. Kenobi leaned forward, a strange look in his over-dilated eyes, and pressed a kiss to Maul’s inner thigh.
He felt it like a searing brand even through the thick layers of his clothing. He nearly dropped the lightsaber as a sudden tidal wave of arousal crashed into him, an erection swelling to life and straining at his pants. He was horrified. His guard had dropped for one fraction of a second, he had let himself be surprised by Kenobi and now he stood helpless as the pollen overtook him, his mind swimming and growing fuzzy.
Perhaps this was an opportunity, a part of him reasoned. There would always be time to kill him later. In his current position, Kenobi was utterly powerless, unable to escape even in his right mind. What better way to prove the Sith’s victory over the Jedi than for Maul to use one of them for his own pleasure? Weren’t Jedi Knights sworn to celibacy? He could push him even further away from the Light, make him betray his sacred oath, all while getting what he needed. It was almost too perfect, in fact.
He knew this was almost certainly the pollen talking, but he didn’t care.
He pulled Kenobi up to his feet, adjusting the cuffs so that his arms were still drawn tight above him.
“What are you gonna do to me?” The Padawan whispered, but he didn’t sound afraid. It was almost as if he were challenging him.
Maul growled and lowered himself, nails dragging down skin until he was face to face with Kenobi’s swelling dick. The dark head was leaking fluid already, and the length twitched as hot breath hit it.
“Whatever I want,” Maul responded, and took the Jedi’s cock in his mouth.
Obi-Wan gasped. The Sith’s mouth felt hotter than should be possible, and his tongue had a rough texture to it, almost like a cat’s. The sensation of it stroking him up and down was overwhelming, something completely new and engrossing. Sparks flew up his spine, and his legs started shaking. The cuffs held him up, digging painfully into his wrists as he struggled to keep standing. Maul hummed, the vibration of it snaking through Obi-Wan, and a moan lurched out of him. Nails dug into his flesh again, kneading at it without any pretense of gentleness.
He tried to keep himself from bucking, still vaguely aware that the hands all over him were the same ones that would soon kill him. He didn’t want to do anything that might make him angry, remind him of his mission. It was so hard though, with the way he hollowed his cheeks and swallowed him. Obi-Wan wanted to fuck his throat, fast and hard so that he had no choice but to consume it when he came. The way Maul was taking him now, he could feel the back of the Sith Lord’s throat brush against his head, knew he could handle getting a little rough. Perhaps Zabraks didn’t even have gag reflexes. Or perhaps he was just well-practiced.
He wished he could at least reach down and hold the head bobbing below him, press his fingers against those horns and see if they drew blood. His hands strained against their trappings, but of course it was no use. He groaned, long and low, his frustration and arousal pulling him surely towards madness.
Maul’s hand suddenly glided towards his entrance, pressing gently against the rim. Obi-Wan let out a whine, surprised by just how good such a light touch felt. He was shaking with the effort of holding back. It seemed just, in some twisted way, to be brought to climax by the only person he’d ever call his enemy. Maul could take everything from him, could do so with added malice and cruelty such as Obi-Wan had never dreamed, and yet here he was, chasing some primal pleasure before ending him for good, risking his entire mission for a good orgasm. This was the great weakness of the Sith, Obi-Wan thought. They bent everything towards keeping the burning blazes of their passion stoked, always feeding the fire above all else, so singularly focused that they lost sight of why they lit it in the first place. Maul could have resisted the pollen. Even Obi-Wan might’ve, though with profound difficulty. But Maul was stronger, and had so much more to lose. Still, here he was, sucking the cock of a Padawan Jedi because he cared more about firing himself up than finishing a job.
The thought only brought Obi-Wan closer to his precipice.
Maul could feel Kenobi resisting his inevitable finish. It made him angry. He wanted command over him, total and senseless. He would leave him no dignity, a slave to his desire. He pulled himself away from the Padawan, letting saliva drip down his chin, watching Kenobi’s face contort with desperation at the loss. He pulled that face to his, kissing him hard. He delighted at the taste of blood coming from the Jedi’s bottom lip, which he had made sure to bite into. Kenobi’s body leaned into his, the stubble on his face scratching at him.
Maul separated them again, holding the Padawan by his chin. “You must be the first Jedi in history to taste himself on the tongue of a Sith Lord. What would your poor Master think, Obi-Wan?”
Kenobi shuddered.
Maul adjusted the cuffs again, securing them to the ground this time and forcing the Jedi to kneel. He considered going in dry, seeing what kind of pain it gave the Padawan. But he knew to really satiate himself, he’d have to make the man come. He wanted him to feel ashamed, and he’d only feel ashamed if he liked it.
He took a tube of bacta gel from his belt, brought with him to treat injuries. Instead, he took off one of his gloves, squeezed it onto his hand and spread it over his cock, already hard without being touched from the desperation he saw as he blew Kenobi.
“Do you know what I’m going to do to you now, Obi-Wan?” He asked, enunciating every word.
The Jedi’s breathing was still ragged, his face and chest still bright red.
“Answer me.”
He breathed a shaky sigh. “You’re going to…to fuck me.”
“Precisely.” He laid both hands on the Jedi’s ass, spread it so he could see where he was going. Kenobi whined. “Are all the Jedi this easy?” Maul chuckled. He took two fingers and circled the man’s hole, teasing. He got a shudder in reward.
“Please…” Kenobi whispered.
Maul sighed. His whole hand was slick with bacta gel. “As you wish.” He pressed hard at the Padawan’s entrance, forcing the fingers inside. He met some resistance, nothing he couldn’t shove past.
Kenobi’s arms gave out, and his face pressed into the dirt. The noises he was making were keening, incomprehensible and shrill. His eyes screwed shut, and his back arched.
“That’s right Jedi, lie there and take it. Go back to all your wise Jedi friends and tell them how you let me ravage you, how you put up no resistance.” They were both panting. Maul curled his fingers inside, and Kenobi exclaimed. “Tell them how much you liked it.”
He could see the Padawan’s cock twitching, precum dripping steadily into the dirt. He himself was growing slicker by the second. He pulled his hand away slowly, admiring the way Kenobi’s asshole stretched to accommodate him. He added another finger and went right back in, anxious to get to the grand finale. He felt a sudden urge, his gloved hand gripping that pale flesh so perfectly, and he let go, raising the hand high in the air. Kenobi tensed. He brought it back down, landing with a satisfying crack!
“Kriff,” The Padawan forced out, voice strained. A bright red, hand-shaped mark was rapidly forming on his skin. Maul sighed, feeling his cock jump again. Kenobi was humming now, unable to stop the string of vocalizations spilling from him, interrupted only by his ragged breaths.
There was something tightly coiling at Maul’s gut. He wasn’t used to feelings of pleasure and was suspicious of them by nature. Most of the times he could remember feeling good, it was for the purpose of making the ensuing pain worse. A soft touch before being sliced open, a kind word before being shoved off a ledge. Pleasure felt like a chase, always desperately reaching for more while constantly looking behind him for the inevitable capture. Overpowering someone, making them submit to him and bending them to his demands wasn’t inherently satisfying, but the knowledge that he had tamed the current incarnation of that thing that was always after him was the only way he could actually feel secure in his enjoyment, even for a second.
Right now, he had Kenobi completely bent to his will. His dick throbbed, his hands shook, and his mouth seemed to be producing much more saliva than usual. He reveled in these physical reactions, some part of him intensely curious about them. What was he supposed to feel in the midst of fucking a man he hated so totally? Was he supposed to be this warm, this loose, this angry? He wanted to rip Kenobi apart, but he wanted the Jedi to love it and beg for more. He wanted to come inside him, and he wanted his semen to burn as it spurted out. He wanted to bite down and taste blood, and somewhere hiding in a part of his mind that wasn’t so afraid, so well-trained, he wanted to be held down too, to be slowly crushed by a warm, plush body.
He ripped his hands out of Kenobi, feeling manic with need, and spat on his hole. The Padawan started, his dick slapping against his stomach. “Fuck,” he mumbled into the ground.
Maul’s hands scrambled up the man’s back, taking his shoulders and wrenching them towards him until their bodies were flush, shattering the cuffs with a single thought.
“You will be mine, Kenobi,” he growled into his ear, “And you won’t ever be able to forget it.”
“Please take me,” the Jedi whined, and Maul tightened his grip, feeling another wave of arousal crash into him, another few drips of fluid leak from him. Something was clenching inside his chest, and he had to fight to stop himself from mindlessly rutting against Kenobi’s backside, getting what he needed frantically and carelessly.
He kept one arm around his helpless Jedi, rubbing into one of his nipples as the other snaked back to his length, pushing it between Kenobi’s asscheeks and searching for the hole he had worked mercilessly to prepare. The Padawan’s newly freed hands gripped at Maul’s forearm, clutching at him like he was his savior instead of his abductor.
The Jedi whined, breathy and long, as Maul found what he was looking for and pressed in. The slick head breached the man easily, and the Sith stopped to release a languid moan of his own as he finally felt what it was to be so surrounded, so embraced by the tight heat of a body. His head spun, completely disarmed by this terrifying, intoxicating arousal.
“Kenobi,” he mumbled, voice almost breaking.
“Ah,” was all he got back. His hands had migrated to the Padawan’s hips, clenching them hard enough to bruise. He hoped they would. He pulled out slowly, marveling at just how deeply he had buried himself. Kenobi was tight, unsurprisingly. Had he ever even been kissed before this? Stars, Maul wished he could let the entire Council watch as the Padawan shattered in real time, the shame of the entire Order staring him down as he came. Maul felt lightheaded. He pushed himself back in, groaning through clenched teeth.
Obi-Wan could barely process the barrage of new sensations hitting him all at once. The sting of the cock stretching him. The burn of Sith hands on his naked body. The shame of being so corrupted roiling in his gut. The euphoria when he hit that perfect place inside him, the twitching of his own length and the trembling of his thighs. It was too much to bear, and yet he needed more of it.
“Yes, hah—yes,” he panted, senseless. Maul thrust into him with more force, and he felt it like a lightning strike. His muscles clenched, tightening around the dick inside him, the friction burning even hotter. He felt as though he might be cleaved in two, split apart in a burst of raw energy. He wanted it to hurt, and he wanted to feel every inch of his nemesis as he broke him.
A sweet, syrupy feeling had begun to collect at his groin. It jumped and sparked whenever the Sith bottomed out within him, making Obi-Wan dizzy with need. He knew what was coming, knew what this addicting feeling was all building up to. He didn’t want it to be over, didn’t want to ever give up this position, the act of being ruined.
Well, he was going to die after this, he remembered. It felt fitting. The only place to go beyond this was death.
The next thrust made him see stars. He had gone totally limp, given up everything to Maul. He was a vessel for his cock, a warm body made only to be fucked. Drool slid down his chin. An agonizing arousal danced in him, leaping and rolling as the Sith lord folded him into ever more uncomfortable positions. His face was rubbed into the ground now, his legs spread apart as far as they would go. He kept breathing in dirt, coughing on it. Maul slammed into him, over and over and over, pebbles scraping at his shins as he was ground down again and again. He felt it in his tailbone, in his ribs and femurs. The Sith lord’s cock was forcing itself into every part of his body, creating reverberations that shook him straight down to the core. He cried out rhythmically, the exclamations escaping from him each time his prostate was hit. He had never felt so untethered from the world, so bathed in pure sensation. He existed in a single dreamlike moment, stretched out into infinity.
Maul was getting close. His heart slammed in his chest, and his thighs and glutes burned horribly, but he had begun to appreciate the pain, just like he had been taught. He had created a mural of criss-crossing scratch marks on Kenobi’s back that he was now admiring, little drops of blood blooming from a few of them. He growled as he continued to fuck the Jedi as hard as he could, bruising him both inside and out.
He felt as his orgasm barreled towards him and took the opportunity to reach around and squeeze the head of Kenobi’s cock, the ensuing squeal pushing him even closer.
“You are pathetic, aren’t you?” he hissed, out of breath. “If I knew all I had to do to get you bleeding on the ground was take out my cock, I’d have finished you off years ago.”
Kenobi kept on exclaiming at each new thrust, offering up no more words.
“What would your Master think, Obi-Wan? Perhaps he is watching you now, giving yourself over like some drugged up whore, a little toy made to get me off. How disgusted would it make him, Padawan? How deep does your betrayal go?”
He was going so fast at that point that the man’s features weren’t totally clear to him, but he was sure he saw a tear falling down his cheek, dripping into the dirt and being rubbed straight back into his face.
“Oh yes, he is ashamed. Most ashamed to see you fail so utterly at your destiny. I do wonder what would happen if I didn’t kill you, if I let you run back to the Temple to face your Jedi friends. I reckon they’d see it in your eyes the minute you set foot in there. They’d all know just how low you’d stooped, how you groveled for me. They would never be able to look at you the same. Maybe some of them would even try and have you themselves, but it’ll never again feel like this.”
Even his meaningless vocalizations had stopped now. All that came out were gasps. Maul was on the precipice, so close he could taste it.
“Would you let the other Jedi use you like I’m using you, Obi-Wan? Would you even put up a fight if some old Master yanked you into a closet and stuffed you? Would you remember me, remember how much this hurts, and come? I know you would, Obi-Wan, because you’re nothing but a slut. You could have been a great Jedi, one of the best, but you’ve fallen too far now. There’s no going back. You’re mine.”
He cried out as he came, clenching his fist in Kenobi’s hair, pressing himself as hard as he possibly could inside him. The orgasm washed over him in waves, white hot pleasure extending itself outwards from his cock. He let himself fall on top of the Padawan, breathing hard.
In such a state of utter humiliation, Obi-Wan didn’t think things could get any more intense, but the moment Maul suggested that his Master might be witnessing them, his climax shuddered through him, semen splattering onto his stomach. The words whore, toy, slut bounced around in his mind, twisting at his heart and in turn seemingly wringing him out further, extending his orgasm as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Maul’s pace only quickened as the disgusting arousal faded, and the Jedi felt tears brim in his eyes as the stimulation became too much for him.
His cock grew soft, brushing the ground underneath him, but still Maul continued undeterred, chasing his own climax with no concern for what it did to Obi-Wan. He was a fleshlight that just so happened to be able to breathe. He was being used like the whore he was, like he was always meant to be used. He felt himself grow semi-hard again. He didn’t even know it was possible to get hard again after such an explosive finish.
When Maul came, Obi-Wan sighed into the dirt, giddy at the thought of bringing someone to completion. He kept his cock stuffed deep inside him, and Obi-Wan thought that he’d never feel full again, that he’d always know he was meant to have a cock inside him. He was completed in this moment, fitted into Maul. The scratches on his back stung, the dirt on his face itched, but it all felt right in a way he had no experience with. He had driven Maul to this violence, this senseless fervor, this mania that made it so he had to get his fix, and he had to get it from Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan had made him come, and hard. He had the injuries to prove it. His head was completely empty for possibly the first time in his life, the only thing he had awareness of the floating sensation that had permeated after he came.
Maul pulled out of him slowly, and Obi-Wan moaned at the loss. He stayed sprawled on the ground, head turning to look at his nemesis.
“There you go, Kenobi,” Maul growled, “I can’t think of a better way to end your pathetic little life, can you?”
Obi-Wan just stared, resigned to his own death, unable to feel any grief about it.
Maul picked his saber up off the ground and activated it, poising it perfectly before Obi-Wan’s neck. He swung his arms back, and the Jedi squeezed his eyes shut.
Nothing happened.
He opened them again cautiously, half expecting to see the plasma blade coming straight towards him. But Maul had deactivated it. Obi-Wan breathed a long sigh of relief, his mind spinning.
Maul snarled. “Don’t think I won’t still kill you, Jedi. I simply want you to face your precious Order first.” he smiled cruelly. “You’ll go right on back to your little Temple and hope to the Force they don’t find out what you’ve done, how you betrayed them. Then, one night, after enough time has passed without news of me that you’ve just begun to relax, I’ll find you. And when I do, you won’t be allowed to scream. I’ll leave you naked and defiled for your fellow Jedi to find. Now that will be the death you’ve earned.”
Without waiting for a response, he turned and ran off into the fog.
Obi-Wan lay there for a very long time, breathing rhythmically and giving his body time to recuperate. He pulled his torn robe over him for warmth, shuddering each time the wind broke through. As soon as he felt strong enough, he was going to get up, compose himself, and find Anakin, take him back to the Temple. No one would ever know what had happened here on this abandoned planet, and nobody ever would. When Maul came for him next, he would be ready.
One thought kept coming back to him, looping around each time he pushed it away. He refused to kill you because he wanted to have you again. It almost made Obi-Wan laugh. Was it really that life-changing for a Sith to slap a guy around a bit while he fucked him? But it was the only explanation that made sense for why he was still alive.
He finally stood up, groaning at the stinging he still felt in his stretched-out hole. He wants me again.