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FIC: The star to every wand'ring bark [1/2]
Title: The star to every wand'ring bark
Author: Alex [splix71 at yahoo dot com]
Archive: No, please
Pairing: Q/O
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Unpleasant circumstances. See notes.
Disclaimers: George Lucas owns everything SW.
Feedback: Always treasured.
Thanks: Extremely special thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kimberlite, whose surpassing patience, generosity, and friendship has sustained me for years.
Notes: Written for the November Noncon challenge. The title is taken from Shakespeare's Sonnet 116. In this context, a "bark" is a ship, guided by a star through celestial navigation.
* * *
"You seem a bit startled, Master Jedi. Am I not what you expected?"
Obi-Wan rose quickly and sketched a brief bow. "Forgive me. To be perfectly truthful, I had no idea what to expect." One rapid glance absorbed the rather intense totality of his host: a tall man, perhaps sixty Standard, with bright blue eyes and long greying hair pulled into a tail. To Obi-Wan's surprise, he was conservatively, if expensively, attired in a dark blue tunic and trousers tucked into black boots. "Your guild officer merely informed me that I would be meeting my guide here."
"She mentioned nothing about me?"
"No details, I'm afraid."
As the man smiled, a fine net of wrinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes. "I have the feeling you were prepared for someone...how shall I put it...less seasoned."
"Not at all," Obi-Wan protested.
The wrinkles deepened; Obi-Wan had the distinct sensation that the man had seen right through his feeble lie. "This may come as a shock, Master Jedi, but there are those who prefer a more experienced partner. A great many younger females, for example, and particular types of younger males." He scrutinized Obi-Wan frankly, and a faint hint of malicious amusement twinkled in his expression, then disappeared. "But you'll learn about that soon enough. Shall we?" He gestured for Obi-Wan to precede him into the hallway.
Obi-Wan nodded, then stopped. "Pardon me -- I haven't introduced myself. Obi-Wan Kenobi."
"Qui-Gon Jinn," the man said, taking Obi-Wan's outstretched hand. "Please call me Qui-Gon." His grip was gentle enough to suggest tremendous strength held in check.
While they walked, Obi-Wan inspected his surroundings as discreetly as he could. His experience of brothels was limited to a few skirmishes in miserable hovels on the Outer Rim. There was no comparing them to the luxury he now encountered. The Prostitutes' Guild on Sedesia had been, before Tash Brolan's interference, economically comfortable, as the Council had termed it, and it was apparent that they spared little expense on material trappings. The house was constructed of smooth stone, the color of dark honey. Tall, ornate braziers lighted the way along the path; a musky but not unpleasant fragrance drifted smokily through the air. Dark tapestries gleaming with metallic thread and precious stones rippled against the walls. Arrangements of blossoms burst from wrought-metal and crystalline containers with lavish vitality.
Obi-Wan stole a glance at his guide, wryly admitting that the man had been correct; he was hardly Obi-Wan's idea of a prostitute. His bearing seemed proud and almost regal -- or perhaps that was simply the effect of the elegant clothing and the man's commanding profile. As they made their way down the hall, Obi-Wan found himself hurrying to keep pace with Jinn's long-legged stride. "We are most grateful that your guild has agreed to cooperate with us."
"We are honored to serve, Master Kenobi. I must confess some surprise, though, that the Jedi have decided on this particular ruse. It doesn't seem quite clerical."
"You may have been misled as to our customs, Qui-Gon. There is no proscription against sexual contact."
"If you say so," Jinn shrugged. "Frankly, I'm glad the Jedi are taking a hand in this matter. Tash Brolan has had a stranglehold on the city for far too long. And of course, as you know, our house has recently fallen under his...protection." He bared his teeth in a mirthless approximation of a smile. "He takes twenty-five percent of the house's earnings. And in these hard times, it's..." He shook his head. "The guild has worked for years to make this place respectable and profitable, Master Kenobi. It now stands on the brink of ruin. Our small peacekeeping force is no match for Brolan's gang of scum."
Obi-Wan nodded in understanding. "I'm here to help, Qui-Gon. Your assistance is appreciated."
They had come to an inconspicuous door. Jinn palmed the lock, and it hissed open. He ushered Obi-Wan into a small, elegant sitting room, indicated that he should take a chair, and seated himself on a plush couch. "Well -- it's not as if I'm doing it for charity. The Jedi are paying me handsomely. And if Brolan's rousted, I get a bonus from the guild as well. But Brolan is no one to tangle with. You realize if you're caught, you'll be killed. And if they find out I helped you, I'll be killed too."
"I'll do my best not to be caught," Obi-Wan said. "And I give you my solemn assurance that I will protect your life with my own."
Jinn eyed him reflectively for a moment, then nodded. "I believe you, Master Kenobi. Well -- there it is, then. Down to business." He pressed a datapad key on the table beside him. "May I ask how old you are?"
Obi-Wan blinked. "Thirty-one Standard."
"A bit long in the tooth for what Brolan prefers. Still, there are ways around that. He requests my companionship now and then, if that counts for anything, and he always makes exceptions for exceptional specimens, as you'll see. We can shave your beard, grow your hair -- pretty you up a bit. Brolan generally likes his boys pretty. You are in good physical condition, in general?"
"I am." Obi-Wan lifted an eyebrow. Pretty him up?
"We received the same bulletin on the Jedi's expectations for this mission," Jinn said, glancing at the datapad. "There is a standard physical exam to receive your work permit, but that shouldn't be a problem. And of course, you know that you must take on a few clients before encountering Brolan." He smiled; again a hint of malice danced in his eyes. "You don't strike me as particularly promiscuous."
Obi-Wan felt warmth in his cheeks. "I think it's not relevant, Qui-Gon, but no, I'm not promiscuous. I have engaged in sex a good many times, however, if that's what's disturbing you."
Jinn rose to beautifully shod feet and gazed down at Obi-Wan; his face, dusted with some glimmering cosmetic, seemed an inscrutable mask. "Engaging in sex is one thing, prostitution another. I wonder, Jedi, if you know what awaits you."
"I'm prepared for any contingency."
"As you say. I shall be acting as your guide throughout the mission. Part of the reason I volunteered is -- aside from the money, of course -- that I've been known to give a fair accounting of myself in a fight. I'm not personally afraid of Brolan the way some of the other whores are."
"I don't doubt it," Obi-Wan replied truthfully. There was a powerful body beneath those expensive garments, and a profound reservoir of assurance to match.
"We'll keep you here for at least five weeks prior to presenting you to Brolan. I'll see to every aspect of your training. We'll keep to this suite of rooms, for the most part. Everything you need is here." He waved expansively toward another door, presumably leading to other rooms. "You might -- there may be some components of your training that you'll find upsetting, humiliating, or frightening, but..." Jinn shrugged, and the grim simulacrum of a smile twisted his mouth. "You may be a spy, but you'll have to learn to be a whore, too. It's all part of the business, and Jedi poise is legendary. I'm sure you'll be just fine."
For the first time, Obi-Wan felt a twinge of unease, the source of which he was unable to identify. He shook it off, rose to his feet, and inclined his head. "We'll be working together quite closely, then. I look forward to it."
Jinn's deep blue eyes settled on his, coolly appraising. "Indeed. I'll leave you to acclimate yourself to your surroundings. If you require anything -- food, drink -- simply use the comm center on the table there. I'll see you tomorrow. Good night." Before Obi-Wan could echo a reply, Jinn had gone.
Obi-Wan briefly examined the suite of rooms. In addition to the sitting room, there was a bedroom, a 'fresher, and a dining area, all luxuriously appointed. There was also a small chamber entirely bare of furnishings; its glossy lacquered floors and mirrored walls made Obi-Wan frown. He guessed that some aspect of his training would involve this room, but he could not imagine how. Still frowning, Obi-Wan gently closed the chamber door.
Now he found himself at loose ends. He was neither hungry nor thirsty. It was too early to contact the Council with a status report. Jinn, while polite, clearly had other obligations, or did not find Obi-Wan congenial company. Another inexplicable prickle of unease ran up his spine.
This won't do, he thought. He would exercise and meditate, then get a full night's rest. Tomorrow his mission would begin in earnest.
* * *
This, then, was what Jinn had meant by prettying up, but the reflection in the mirror was more unnerving than alluring. Obi-Wan's hair had been treated with a growth agent; it hung in loose waves around his face and tickled the nape of his neck. The aesthetician, a Twi'lek of astounding beauty, had exclaimed over its natural color and decreed that it remain undyed. She had attacked his face and body with a vigor that startled him, however. His beard and chest had been shaved, his pubic hair trimmed to throw his penis into shocking relief, his skin subjected to uncomfortable proddings and half a dozen bizarre treatments involving herbs and mud from Sullust, and if that were not enough, she'd painted him despite his protestations that he wouldn't be seen in public for some time. "You must become used to it," she'd insisted.
"I feel foolish," Obi-Wan complained as she dusted his entire body with shimmering golden powder, traced bronze around his eyes, and applied a glittering salve to his mouth. Naturally modest, he clasped newly manicured hands over his sex, then chided himself. Doubtless even the greenest prostitutes weren't so prudish. He sighed and let his hands rest at his sides
while the aesthetician circled him, inspecting his body with minute attention.
"You don't look foolish," she reassured him. "You look very handsome. All of our employees wear more cosmetics every day. Soon you'll be able to apply it yourself." She patted his gleaming shoulder and smiled at him in the mirror. "Now, you mustn't worry. Qui-Gon will be with you at every stage of your training. He told you that, did he not?" The door chime pinged softly. "There he is now. Let's show you off." She propelled a reluctant Obi-Wan into the sitting room where Jinn waited, clad in a soft quill-brown robe, arms folded across his chest. "Here he is, Qui-Gon."
Obi-Wan felt a simultaneous heat and chill as Jinn surveyed the work the Twi'lek had done, strolling around him in the most leisurely fashion. "Very good, Serah. I wouldn't have known you, Master Kenobi."
"I suppose I should take that as a compliment," Obi-Wan said.
"Please do. You'll certainly tempt Brolan's appetites. That'll be all, Serah. Thank you." Jinn waited until the young woman had left, then gestured for Obi-Wan to go into the bedroom. "If you'd be so kind...please sit on the bed. The cosmetics won't rub off until you wash them off. Very good." Jinn seated himself in a chair. "Well, your physical came back with no deficiencies, so as of tonight you're a novice prostitute. Congratulations."
Biting back a smile, Obi-Wan nodded gravely. It was a bit different than being pronounced a padawan, but the essential principle was the same: he was here to learn. And he had always been an exemplary student. Perhaps that was why the Council had appointed him.
"I have a great deal to teach you, and not much time," Jinn went on. "I hope you won't mind a few questions."
"Not at all."
"How many sex partners have you had?"
Right to it, Obi-Wan thought. "Ten, perhaps. Twelve at most."
"Males or females, or both?"
"Both. More males."
"And do you have a preference?"
"Yes," Obi-Wan said.
Jinn raised an eyebrow in polite inquiry.
"Males," Obi-Wan added hastily.
"Good. For your purposes, at least," Jinn said. "When was the last time you experienced sexual contact with another being?"
Obi-Wan frowned. "Does that matter?"
"It can."
A silence fell between them. Obi-Wan shifted on the bed, too aware of the coverlet's satiny texture, suddenly uncomfortable with the realization that he was naked and Jinn was still clothed. "Eight years."
Another silence fell. "A long time," Jinn remarked softly.
Obi-Wan shrugged. "I don't seem to need sex." It was a true enough statement. His last lover had been a fellow padawan and close friend, Quinlan Vos, but shortly after their affair commenced, it was clear that their friendship would be an end unto itself. It was not that Quinlan was incapable of giving him pleasure, but it was a physical pleasure only, leaving Obi-Wan feeling empty and sad. Gradually, Obi-Wan came to recognize that he yearned for more than physical pleasure -- indeed, he longed for the very attachment so sternly warned against by the Council. Baffled by his desires, Obi-Wan had retreated into a cloak of reserve. Other Jedi managed to enjoy sex without attachment; clearly he could not. Nevertheless, when this mission had come up on the roster, he had volunteered at once. His reserve had only grown over the past eight years. Perhaps it was time to approach sex in a more practical fashion -- as a simple financial transaction.
"Do you masturbate?"
"Sometimes. May I ask the point of all these questions?"
"I just want to get some idea of your feelings toward sex," Jinn said. "But you're right -- we mustn't waste any more time." Abruptly he stood, unfastened his robe, and let it drop to the floor.
Naked underneath, Obi-Wan thought, shocked. I should have realized. Then, on the heels of that: Beautiful.
Clothed, Qui-Gon Jinn was elegant, powerful; naked, he was sublime. The muted orange and gold of the bedroom braziers reflected off his tall body, faintly burnished with some glimmering oil, dappling it here and there with licks of warmth. His shoulders and chest were broad, tapering to a narrow waist and long legs. His sex hung heavily between muscular thighs. He gave the impression of supple grace sheathed in sculpture.
Obi-Wan blinked and stifled a shuddering breath. "I suppose you want to get right to it."
"Are you afraid?"
"No," Obi-Wan whispered. "No," he repeated in a stronger voice. "Will you be, ah, penetrating me, or --"
"I think that's best for the majority of your training," Jinn said. "When you're actually working, Master Kenobi, you'll find that you've become a commodity. You're not hired in the spirit of mutual need or affection. Thus, you must become accustomed to being...." A wry smile crossed his face. "Fucked."
Obi-Wan nodded, determined to be as businesslike as Jinn. "Very well." He pushed down the covers, exposing sheets the color of a Darriash plum. "How would you like me to..."
"Let's get you used to face-to-face penetration," Jinn said. "I'll do my best not to hurt you at all." He opened a drawer on the wall, removing a small jar. "I'll prepare you with my fingers first, since it's been some time since you've had sex." He nodded toward the ornate metal rails on the bed's headboard. "Grab those, if you will, and spread your legs. Relax while the oil warms up."
The metal felt cool and slippery; Obi-Wan realized his hands were sweating. He swallowed and slowed the pounding of his heart. Why should he be nervous? It was a simple act. All he had to do was lie still and allow Jinn to penetrate him.
"Are you ready?" Jinn's voice was surprisingly soft.
Obi-Wan nodded, and tensed as he felt one long finger, slick with oil, invade him.
"Relax," Jinn whispered, moving the finger round and round, slowly and steadily. "That's it. I'm not hurting you, am I?"
"No." Obi-Wan coughed. "No, you're not hurting me. It's actually a soothing sensa --"
"Shh." Jinn bent and brushed his lips over Obi-Wan's.
"No --" Obi-Wan turned his face away. "I'm not -- not yet, please. I'm not very fond of kissing."
Jinn nodded. "All right. Take a deep breath."
Obi-Wan breathed, and tensed again as he felt more fingers inside him -- two? Three? He couldn't tell. In the dim light, however, he saw Jinn's erection, and was startled to feel his own body's response. He gasped as Jinn's hand closed around his hardening sex. "What are you --"
"That's it," Jinn whispered. He moved his fingers deeper inside Obi-Wan, and slid his other hand up and down Obi-Wan's cock.
Desire spiked electric tendrils through Obi-Wan's body, but suddenly Jinn's fingers were gone. "Wait, I don't --" He opened his mouth to speak, then felt a shock as Jinn grasped his calves, pushing his thighs close to his chest, and moved down between his legs. Then, without warning, Obi-Wan felt the thick club of Jinn's cock impaling him, Jinn's body pressing against his balls. "Ohh --" Jinn rocked back and forth, increasing the speed and pressure of his thrusts. Obi-Wan grabbed the bed rails tightly, gritting his teeth. Jinn had taken hold of his sex again and was stroking it, light, merciless strokes that soon had Obi-Wan writhing in need. All at once Obi-Wan groaned and climaxed, his semen spilling over Jinn's hand and his own belly.
He drifted on a grey, silent sea, only dimly feeling Jinn cleaning him with a warm, wet cloth. His eyes were closing despite great efforts to keep them open.
"Sleep, Master Kenobi. Sleep now."
The silken sheet covered his body, smooth and comforting. Success, Obi-Wan thought. A simple transaction. So musing, he succumbed to sweet oblivion.
* * *
"More spit, please. And keep your lips folded over your teeth. Never use your teeth unless the customer specifically requests it."
Tousle-haired, red-faced, and irritated, Obi-Wan lifted his head from Jinn's limp sex and wiped his mouth. "You know, someone once told me I was quite good at this."
A somewhat smug expression settled itself on Jinn's face. "A mutual admiration society of lovers is rather irrelevant in the face of cold, hard credits, Obi-Wan."
"That's a bit cynical," Obi-Wan observed.
"Forty-three years in the business will do that to one."
"Forty-three years -- but surely you can't be more than sixty."
"Fifty-six."
Obi-Wan shook his head in disbelief. "But you would have been thirteen, a boy still --" He had been thirteen when Yoda had chosen him as a padawan. Barely out of childhood. And this man had been a prostitute at that age.
"I was a boy. Traveling with my parents on an economy run on a freighter from Ord Mantell to Coruscant. My parents didn't have much money, you see. At any rate, the freighter was attacked by smugglers. The crew and my parents were killed. They left me alive. I couldn't think why, and only realized it too late." Qui-Gon's mouth twisted. "They sold me to a man named Dun Parsi, who owned a brothel on Taris, in the Outer Rim."
"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan murmured. "I didn't mean to pry."
Jinn shrugged. "It's all in the past."
"You have risen to a position of some authority and...comfort," Obi-Wan said. "It must be a lucrative profession, at the very least."
"Lucrative," Jinn snorted. "The first thing Parsi did was introduce me to glitterstim. You know of it?"
"Yes, it's -- it's a psychotropic substance mined on Kessel. Did he force it upon you?"
"No. He put it in my soup. I was so young and stupid -- for the longest time I thought it was the soup I craved. Then Parsi told me the truth." The cynical expression on Jinn's face deepened. "I spent twenty years as the most popular whore on Taris, and the biggest spice addict in the Outer Rim. By the time my contract was up, I was over my head in debt to Parsi. I spent another fifteen years working just to pay it off. I considered it a matter of honor not to kill him. He taught me everything I know. And I've been saving money for the last seven years -- but it's tough, Jedi. The house is automatically entitled to half my earnings. The guild, another ten percent. So I've got another two or three years with my ankles in the air before I can retire. And none too soon, either. No one wants a broken-down old whore as a companion."
Obi-Wan could think of nothing to say. Jinn's dispassionate recitation belied decades of pain and servitude -- it was no wonder, indeed, that he was cynical. For the first time, he used the man's bestowed name, and a sudden impulse of sympathy made him place a gentle hand on Jinn's bare knee. "Qui-Gon --"
Jinn moved away. "Don't pity me, Master Kenobi. I lost my innocence early, it's true, but for the most part I made my own choices all the way down."
"Forgive me, but I can't believe that," Obi-Wan replied. "You weren't given any sort of choice, from what you've told me."
"We always have choices. Every breathing moment of our lives is a choice. I could have killed Parsi and run away. I could have overdosed on glitterstim. I could have become a smuggler myself with all the information I had. I could have been the Galactic Chancellor's kept boy. Those choices were all mine to make." Jinn sat up. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm rather tired. We can resume this tomorrow."
Obi-Wan grasped Jinn's ankle before he could rise. "Wait. I'd like to try again, if you have a few moments."
Jinn stared at him, some undecipherable emotion kindling in his deep blue eyes. He reached down deliberately, wrapped his hand around Obi-Wan's wrist, and squeezed until Obi-Wan let go with a gasp of pain. "I don't care for pity fucks," he said softly, "in whatever form they take. Good night, Master Kenobi."
He gathered up his robe and strode out, leaving Obi-Wan with a bruised wrist and a peculiar sensation of wounded bafflement.
* * *
The next week was a strange one. Every day Obi-Wan studied his mission specs -- the dossier on Brolan, the layout of his house, a flood of circumstantial evidence that clearly pointed to the man's guilt, but could not yet lead to an arrest. Every evening, he was bathed, fed, and painted, then waited for his nightly lessons with Qui-Gon (since the night Qui-Gon told his story, Obi-Wan had ceased to think of him as merely Jinn). He was becoming used to the routine. For his part, Qui-Gon had been cool and distant, and Obi-Wan had the distinct impression that he regretted his burst of confession. Not that he was anything but correct and thorough in his guidance, however; he'd introduced Obi-Wan to a staggering variety of artificial sexual apparatus, most of which Obi-Wan had never heard of, let alone used. Most of the items required a course of their own, since Obi-Wan had no idea what to do with them.
The sessions were becoming easier, or at least more commonplace as an expectation, though each held some aspect of novelty. Most new training cost him a climax or two. There was little need for the simulation of passion at any rate, Qui-Gon had explained. Most clients truly had no concern for a whore's pleasure, and those who required some response were usually satisfied with a minimum of groaning and writhing. There was little point in expending one's effort uselessly.
Tonight, he reflected, there was no need to expend effort at all, since Qui-Gon was doing all the work. They were in the mirrored, unfurnished chamber. Its walls concealed all the equipment they used, arranged in neat rows on shelves or hooks. Qui-Gon, wearing tight black trousers and boots, had produced an X-shaped frame, to which he tied Obi-Wan's wrists and
ankles. The frame was then adjusted, tilting Obi-Wan at a vulnerable angle. Qui-Gon then bound Obi-Wan's limbs to the frame with rough twine, fashioning a complicated web design and rendering him utterly immobile. Kneeling, he looped rope around Obi-Wan's cock and balls. Obi-Wan hissed in pain.
"Sorry," Qui-Gon said. "It's something you'll have to get used to."
"One gets used to a great deal, I take it."
Qui-Gon met his gaze coolly. "And what does that mean?"
Obi-Wan would have shrugged had he been able to. "Nothing important. Do you enjoy being bound?"
"Do you?" Qui-Gon countered, his eyes narrowing.
"I've never been bound with pleasure in mind."
"Well, we're even," Qui-Gon snapped. "Neither have I. Not my pleasure, at least."
"Were you restrained...on Taris? Did Parsi keep you bound thus?"
Qui-Gon stood. "Don't be ridiculous." Pulling a long strip of cloth from his pocket, he knotted it twice, three times.
Obi-Wan watched him. "Would you rather I not ask you questions about the past?"
"I would prefer that you not speak at all."
For the first time since Obi-Wan had come to the house, he saw the spark of deep anger in Qui-Gon's eyes. He flinched as Qui-Gon grabbed his hair and yanked his head back. "Qui-Gon -- wait --" Ignoring him, Qui-Gon pushed the bulging knot deep into Obi-Wan's mouth, then tied the ends at the back of his neck.
Obi-Wan struggled vainly. It was wrong -- it felt wrong, too violent. It felt -- yes, too much like his ordeal in the Sublevels.
He'd been fifteen at the time, and Coruscant was his home, the place he'd felt safest. There had been a note for him, a plea in Bant's handwriting, saying that she was in terrible trouble, begging him to come to the 38th Sublevel in the shipping district. He'd gone at once, without hesitation, without consulting Master Yoda or any senior Jedi.
Peering through the dim corridors, heaped with industrial trash, he'd been unprepared for the stun bolts that hit him from three directions. He'd been thrown unceremoniously into a speeder and whisked off to an abandoned warehouse. There, half-conscious, naked, manacled, gagged, and Force-collared, he had been thrown into a cold, damp room. Then interrogators, renegades from the Techno-Union Guild, had come in. The note had been a ruse; they'd questioned him relentlessly, demanding Temple archive codes. As if a fifteen-year-old padawan would have access to them. When he'd refused, they'd fondled him roughly and threatened to rape him with a force-pike, bending him over a table, tying his wrists to the far side, and kicking his legs apart. Just as he'd resigned himself to violation, help had come; Yoda and two other Councillors had appeared, and after easily dispatching the rogues, had gently escorted him back to the Temple.
He hadn't broken that day, but the fright had nearly overwhelmed him. And this was all too similar. He wanted to stop, immediately. He rapped sharply on the frame, their agreed signal to cease. Once more, Qui-Gon ignored him. Angrily, Obi-Wan let out a muffled protest, but Qui-Gon only wrapped one hand around Obi-Wan's cock and began to pump it, while with the other he tore at the fastening of his trousers. His eyes bore into Obi-Wan's, snapping blue sparks. He would stop for nothing; Obi-Wan had pushed him too far, it seemed.
Panic and pleasure made too heady a brew; Obi-Wan could scarcely breathe. He moaned and struggled harder, but the rope was secure. Finally, Obi-Wan sent a push of Force toward him, intending to throw him off balance, startle him into awareness, and was shocked when the wave of Force came back, boosted tenfold, and immobilized him.
That wave of Force was coming from Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan realized, but had no time to reflect upon it. Qui-Gon grabbed his hips and plowed in to the hilt, without so much as a drop of spit to ease the way. Obi-Wan threw back his head, dragging air in through his nose, and shuddered as Qui-Gon pounded into him.
A deep groan rose from Qui-Gon's chest. He thrust twice more and collapsed forward, his hair spilling over Obi-Wan's shoulders. Obi-Wan felt a prickle of beard against his collarbone, and the soft movement of Qui-Gon's lips, as if Qui-Gon were whispering, but no discernible words rose to his ears.
Then Qui-Gon tore himself away and tilted the frame upright again. With a small knife he cut away the ropes and gag. He knelt like a penitent at Obi-Wan's feet, and while Obi-Wan was still gasping for air, gently untied the rope around Obi-Wan's cock and balls. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I lost control of myself."
Rubbing his sore wrists, Obi-Wan said nothing immediately. It had been expected, had it not? Qui-Gon was supposed to fuck him. And yet, there had been an element of anger, and of revenge in that sudden roughness. The violence was not entirely in Obi-Wan's mind. And also, the most surprising discovery of all. "You have Force abilities," he said hoarsely. "As strong as any Jedi's."
Qui-Gon remained kneeling. "I always have."
Obi-Wan frowned. Who was this strange man? "I did not discern them."
"I hide them well."
It was too much to absorb. Part of him still reeled from what felt like an assault. He glanced down at his wilted cock. He hadn't climaxed. "I'd like to be alone," he said. "Please leave."
Obediently, Qui-Gon rose to his feet and left, a defeated slump in his shoulders. Obi-Wan scowled at the sight of it, but did not know why. He went to the 'fresher, stood beneath a hot shower, then slipped into bed. He was still upset; he would meditate, he decided, and restore his serenity. But his thoughts kept sliding in Qui-Gon's direction, and when he gave up meditating and tried to sleep, he saw Qui-Gon's face in his mind's eye.
Sleep came not at all that night.
* * *
House Sedesia was a hollow square, constructed around a central courtyard that was charming, but little used. Tired of his suite of rooms, Obi-Wan wandered into the courtyard, happy to see a slice of twilight sky. The air was fresh and cool; a breeze ruffled his hair. His soft-soled slippers made little sound on the finely crushed iridescent shells that made up the pathways.
"Obi-Wan."
Startled, Obi-Wan spun around. Qui-Gon stood a short distance away. "I didn't hear you approach."
"I followed you out here."
That was unsettling. "Was there something you wanted?"
"To apologize for last night. I know you must still be angry with me."
Obi-Wan shook his head. "No. No, I'm not angry at all. Please -- sit." He indicated a low stone bench, and sat beside Qui-Gon. "I must explain something to you. As a Jedi, I strive for an existence without emotion. But --"
"Without any emotion? That sounds --" Qui-Gon frowned. "Foolish."
"It is only the excessive emotions that are dangerous," Obi-Wan said. He sounded dry and lecturing, even to himself. "What we truly strive for is peace. But I'm far from perfect. Last night stirred some unpleasant memories, and I allowed myself to succumb to them." Briefly, he sketched what had happened to him in the Sublevels.
Qui-Gon seemed incredulous. "And the Jedi let you go through that?"
It was Obi-Wan's turn to frown. "What do you mean?"
"Couldn't they feel your distress? Didn't you call to them for help?"
"Yes, but..." Obi-Wan peered at Qui-Gon in the gathering darkness. "Obviously it took them some time to locate me."
"I would have found you within an hour."
Obi-Wan sensed this was not an idle boast. "Can you...do you mean your perceptions are that strong?"
"I felt your presence when you landed on Sedesia," Qui-Gon replied. "I've sensed those emotions you've tried so hard to suppress for the past two weeks. You feel everything as if it's wrapped in wool, Jedi. Last night, I tasted your panic, and it was raw and --" He broke off and turned away.
"And?" Obi-Wan prompted quietly.
"It was too tempting. Overwhelming. I took advantage of it." Qui-Gon rose to his feet and walked a short distance away, pausing before a statue of a voluptuous woman.
Obi-Wan followed. He stood beside Qui-Gon, contemplating the statue. It was now full dark; the sculpture was carved from rosy stone, and lit from below took on the hues of pink flesh. "What a Jedi you would have made."
"But I'm not a Jedi. I'm a whore." Qui-Gon glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "And you think it's a terrible waste. That I might have achieved so much more than selling my body to whomever was willing to pay for it."
Obi-Wan did not answer immediately.
"Well?"
"Yes. I do." He turned to face Qui-Gon. "And so do you. I sense it in you."
"Even if I might have thought that once," Qui-Gon said, "it's far too late to do anything about it." He pivoted on his heel and moved toward the entrance. "Come along. It's getting too dark to see."
* * *
Qui-Gon stripped rapidly and positioned himself on the bed, prone, his legs spread widely apart. "Your turn."
"My turn to...?"
"To fuck me." Impatience edged Qui-Gon's voice.
"I thought you said --"
"Yes," Qui-Gon interrupted, "but there are always exceptions. Now let's get to it. You don't need to prepare me at all."
Obi-Wan hesitated. "Qui-Gon -- if this is some sort of an apology for last night, I assure you it's not necessa--"
"And I assure you, Master Kenobi, that it's simply part of the training. So if you please..." Qui-Gon rested his forehead on his arms. A deep sigh rippled the muscles in his back.
Obi-Wan remained still. He stared at Qui-Gon's body; his long hair, brown touched with silver, spilling over his shoulder blades. His taut, narrow backside, his spread legs, the heavy globes between them. The soles of his feet, strangely vulnerable. Obi-Wan felt himself getting hard. No toys, no restraints -- this was a pure, primal need.
He kicked off his slippers, and peeled off his silken tunic and trousers. His erection was painful; a pearl of fluid gleamed at its tip. He fumbled in a drawer for the oil, and slicked his cock with it, ignoring Qui-Gon's dictate. If Qui-Gon didn't care about his own discomfort, Obi-Wan did. He climbed onto the bed between Qui-Gon's legs, stroked his cock again, then grasped Qui-Gon's backside with shaking hands.
"No," he whispered. Roughly, he shook Qui-Gon's shoulder. "Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon!"
Qui-Gon half turned. "What is it?"
"Face me."
"No. I think you should --"
"Face me!" Obi-Wan rasped. He grabbed an arm and a leg, and heaved Qui-Gon's body over with ease. "If you want me to fuck you, you're going to have to face me." He hauled Qui-Gon's legs over his shoulders, adjusted himself, and sank in with a shuddering sigh. "Look at me."
Qui-Gon groaned, pushing back against Obi-Wan. They moved awkwardly at first, flesh banging against flesh. Then Qui-Gon reached out, groping, and found Obi-Wan's hands with his own. "Slower," he moaned.
The point and counterpoint of their bodies became a single, steady rhythm. Their hands tightened past the point of pain. Obi-Wan gasped for breath, thrusting and thrusting, his chest half-crushed by Qui-Gon's powerful thighs. Qui-Gon's eyes met his, deep blue, full of hidden and dangerous depths. Qui-Gon's face contorted, and he climaxed with a low cry. Obi-Wan pushed harder, stabbing his way to ecstasy and tumbling over the precipice.
They collapsed in a tangle of sweating, naked limbs, fitted tightly against one another. Obi-Wan sought Qui-Gon's mouth with his own, and they slipped without transition into a long, languorous kiss.
Qui-Gon pulled back abruptly. "I must go."
"Stay a little," Obi-Wan implored.
"You don't like kissing."
"It's different with you now."
"No." Qui-Gon struggled away from Obi-Wan, partially trapped by the bedclothes. "It's no different."
"It is," Obi-Wan insisted, resting the flat of his hand against Qui-Gon's chest. "You feel it also."
"I told you I don't need your pity."
"It's not pity."
"What happened to all that reserve, Jedi?" Qui-Gon's voice was openly mocking.
"I've fought it for too long, perhaps."
Now Qui-Gon shoved Obi-Wan away and all but leapt out of bed. He picked up his clothes rapidly, frantic spots of red in his cheeks. "You forget yourself, Master Kenobi. You're a Jedi. I'm a whore. That emotionless existence --"
"You said it was foolish," Obi-Wan said.
"I lied. I strive for that existence too." Qui-Gon worked his arms into his robe and fastened it lopsidedly. "You see, we're more alike than you think." He made for the door, flinging out a hand to manipulate it through the Force.
It remained closed. Qui-Gon wheeled and glared at Obi-Wan. "Open the door."
Obi-Wan shook his head slowly.
Qui-Gon's eyes snapped furious blue sparks. He stalked toward Obi-Wan like a massive jungle feline and grabbed Obi-Wan's shoulders, all but lifting him off the bed. "Open it."
"Don't go."
"Damn you, Jedi. I warned you."
A wave of the Force washed over Obi-Wan, full of angry compulsion, but this time Obi-Wan was ready. He met it with a surge of his own; the two clashed and enveloped them. Bright, feuding energy crackled over them, sending shock after shock through their bodies, then fell away, leaving them exhausted and out of breath. They sank to the bed once more, shivering in the aftermath of their peculiar communion.
Obi-Wan crawled forward and draped an arm around Qui-Gon's neck. He pressed his lips to Qui-Gon's ear. "Don't leave."
Qui-Gon wrapped strong arms around Obi-Wan and kissed him, such a kiss as Obi-Wan had never felt before; it was strength and fear, rest and agitation, safety and peril all at once. He folded himself tightly against Qui-Gon, and they clung together for long, glorious moments.
Then Qui-Gon detached himself slowly, gently. He urged Obi-Wan down to the pillow and stroked his back. "Sleep," he said.
Obi-Wan opened his mouth for another kiss, then realized what was happening. Qui-Gon was pushing him under with a Force suggestion, so slowly and stealthily that Obi-Wan had never felt it coming. He tried to protest, tried to struggle out from beneath the soft, velvety blanket of unconsciousness that covered him, but it was too late.
When he awoke, he was alone.
* * *
It was no matter of pride, but rather a simple fact: Obi-Wan was gracious in defeat. At that night's training, he apologized to Qui-Gon. "I'm afraid I may have overstepped my boundaries last night. I promise it won't happen again."
Qui-Gon nodded curtly, binding his hair into a braid. "No apology is necessary."
"Permit me to offer one nevertheless. I think -- you may have been correct in your apprehension about the time that's passed since I...since I've had sex, or...or it appears that despite all my years of instruction, I cannot seem to separate sexual intimacy from emotion. I thought this would be simpler."
"It's not the first time that's happened," Qui-Gon said. "I've had clients who've hired me for a few weeks, a month -- and told me that they'd fallen in love with me. The trouble is, Jedi, they hadn't the faintest notion who I really was. They fell in love with a stiff cock and a hard body and a false sense of intimacy. It happens."
Obi-Wan flinched. Was that how Qui-Gon saw him, as a deluded, lust-sick fool? "Have you ever fallen in love with a client?"
Qui-Gon stopped in the act of unfastening the inner tie of his tunic. His eyes met Obi-Wan's for a second, then dropped to his task. "No. I can't afford that."
"I see." Obi-Wan stripped off his clothes, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He was painted like a whore, but night after night he'd been with Qui-Gon, only Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon had bedded him again and again in a staggering variety of positions. They'd performed fellatio on each other, covered each other with liquid plast, exotic foods, whip marks, their own body fluids. It seemed impossible that what they'd traded could not naturally lead to emotional intimacy. Had Qui-Gon not made himself vulnerable last night? Did they not share a connection through the Force as well?
He spoke with deliberate calm. "Should I ask the Council to send another Jedi in my stead?"
"You've learned quite a bit already," Qui-Gon replied, still not meeting Obi-Wan's eyes. "Besides, it would be a waste to pay for my time all over again when we've only two weeks left."
"Ah, yes," Obi-Wan said, unable to conceal the faint bitterness in his voice. "The money."
"Of course. Now, if you don't mind, we should..." Qui-Gon gestured toward the bed. "Now, as I've told you, Brolan fancies himself a connoisseur of flesh. Watching bodies he's purchased excites him, and one of his favorite voyeuristic pleasures is simultaneous oral action. You lie with your head toward the wall, I'll lie in the other direction. He likes to time climaxes exactly, so we must be conscious of each other's rhythm. A little further down, Obi-Wan...."
Qui-Gon's words washed over Obi-Wan. He obeyed with mechanical precision, his mind a silent fog of misery. Qui-Gon felt nothing for him, and even if he did, he suppressed his feelings so brutally it was likely they would never surface. He would have made a wonderful Jedi, Obi-Wan concluded.
He scarcely felt Qui-Gon arranging him into place. So this is what it feels like, he thought, to be a whore.
To be continued directly in part 2: http://splix.livejournal.com/700145.html
Author: Alex [splix71 at yahoo dot com]
Archive: No, please
Pairing: Q/O
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Unpleasant circumstances. See notes.
Disclaimers: George Lucas owns everything SW.
Feedback: Always treasured.
Thanks: Extremely special thanks to
kimberlite, whose surpassing patience, generosity, and friendship has sustained me for years. Notes: Written for the November Noncon challenge. The title is taken from Shakespeare's Sonnet 116. In this context, a "bark" is a ship, guided by a star through celestial navigation.
* * *
"You seem a bit startled, Master Jedi. Am I not what you expected?"
Obi-Wan rose quickly and sketched a brief bow. "Forgive me. To be perfectly truthful, I had no idea what to expect." One rapid glance absorbed the rather intense totality of his host: a tall man, perhaps sixty Standard, with bright blue eyes and long greying hair pulled into a tail. To Obi-Wan's surprise, he was conservatively, if expensively, attired in a dark blue tunic and trousers tucked into black boots. "Your guild officer merely informed me that I would be meeting my guide here."
"She mentioned nothing about me?"
"No details, I'm afraid."
As the man smiled, a fine net of wrinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes. "I have the feeling you were prepared for someone...how shall I put it...less seasoned."
"Not at all," Obi-Wan protested.
The wrinkles deepened; Obi-Wan had the distinct sensation that the man had seen right through his feeble lie. "This may come as a shock, Master Jedi, but there are those who prefer a more experienced partner. A great many younger females, for example, and particular types of younger males." He scrutinized Obi-Wan frankly, and a faint hint of malicious amusement twinkled in his expression, then disappeared. "But you'll learn about that soon enough. Shall we?" He gestured for Obi-Wan to precede him into the hallway.
Obi-Wan nodded, then stopped. "Pardon me -- I haven't introduced myself. Obi-Wan Kenobi."
"Qui-Gon Jinn," the man said, taking Obi-Wan's outstretched hand. "Please call me Qui-Gon." His grip was gentle enough to suggest tremendous strength held in check.
While they walked, Obi-Wan inspected his surroundings as discreetly as he could. His experience of brothels was limited to a few skirmishes in miserable hovels on the Outer Rim. There was no comparing them to the luxury he now encountered. The Prostitutes' Guild on Sedesia had been, before Tash Brolan's interference, economically comfortable, as the Council had termed it, and it was apparent that they spared little expense on material trappings. The house was constructed of smooth stone, the color of dark honey. Tall, ornate braziers lighted the way along the path; a musky but not unpleasant fragrance drifted smokily through the air. Dark tapestries gleaming with metallic thread and precious stones rippled against the walls. Arrangements of blossoms burst from wrought-metal and crystalline containers with lavish vitality.
Obi-Wan stole a glance at his guide, wryly admitting that the man had been correct; he was hardly Obi-Wan's idea of a prostitute. His bearing seemed proud and almost regal -- or perhaps that was simply the effect of the elegant clothing and the man's commanding profile. As they made their way down the hall, Obi-Wan found himself hurrying to keep pace with Jinn's long-legged stride. "We are most grateful that your guild has agreed to cooperate with us."
"We are honored to serve, Master Kenobi. I must confess some surprise, though, that the Jedi have decided on this particular ruse. It doesn't seem quite clerical."
"You may have been misled as to our customs, Qui-Gon. There is no proscription against sexual contact."
"If you say so," Jinn shrugged. "Frankly, I'm glad the Jedi are taking a hand in this matter. Tash Brolan has had a stranglehold on the city for far too long. And of course, as you know, our house has recently fallen under his...protection." He bared his teeth in a mirthless approximation of a smile. "He takes twenty-five percent of the house's earnings. And in these hard times, it's..." He shook his head. "The guild has worked for years to make this place respectable and profitable, Master Kenobi. It now stands on the brink of ruin. Our small peacekeeping force is no match for Brolan's gang of scum."
Obi-Wan nodded in understanding. "I'm here to help, Qui-Gon. Your assistance is appreciated."
They had come to an inconspicuous door. Jinn palmed the lock, and it hissed open. He ushered Obi-Wan into a small, elegant sitting room, indicated that he should take a chair, and seated himself on a plush couch. "Well -- it's not as if I'm doing it for charity. The Jedi are paying me handsomely. And if Brolan's rousted, I get a bonus from the guild as well. But Brolan is no one to tangle with. You realize if you're caught, you'll be killed. And if they find out I helped you, I'll be killed too."
"I'll do my best not to be caught," Obi-Wan said. "And I give you my solemn assurance that I will protect your life with my own."
Jinn eyed him reflectively for a moment, then nodded. "I believe you, Master Kenobi. Well -- there it is, then. Down to business." He pressed a datapad key on the table beside him. "May I ask how old you are?"
Obi-Wan blinked. "Thirty-one Standard."
"A bit long in the tooth for what Brolan prefers. Still, there are ways around that. He requests my companionship now and then, if that counts for anything, and he always makes exceptions for exceptional specimens, as you'll see. We can shave your beard, grow your hair -- pretty you up a bit. Brolan generally likes his boys pretty. You are in good physical condition, in general?"
"I am." Obi-Wan lifted an eyebrow. Pretty him up?
"We received the same bulletin on the Jedi's expectations for this mission," Jinn said, glancing at the datapad. "There is a standard physical exam to receive your work permit, but that shouldn't be a problem. And of course, you know that you must take on a few clients before encountering Brolan." He smiled; again a hint of malice danced in his eyes. "You don't strike me as particularly promiscuous."
Obi-Wan felt warmth in his cheeks. "I think it's not relevant, Qui-Gon, but no, I'm not promiscuous. I have engaged in sex a good many times, however, if that's what's disturbing you."
Jinn rose to beautifully shod feet and gazed down at Obi-Wan; his face, dusted with some glimmering cosmetic, seemed an inscrutable mask. "Engaging in sex is one thing, prostitution another. I wonder, Jedi, if you know what awaits you."
"I'm prepared for any contingency."
"As you say. I shall be acting as your guide throughout the mission. Part of the reason I volunteered is -- aside from the money, of course -- that I've been known to give a fair accounting of myself in a fight. I'm not personally afraid of Brolan the way some of the other whores are."
"I don't doubt it," Obi-Wan replied truthfully. There was a powerful body beneath those expensive garments, and a profound reservoir of assurance to match.
"We'll keep you here for at least five weeks prior to presenting you to Brolan. I'll see to every aspect of your training. We'll keep to this suite of rooms, for the most part. Everything you need is here." He waved expansively toward another door, presumably leading to other rooms. "You might -- there may be some components of your training that you'll find upsetting, humiliating, or frightening, but..." Jinn shrugged, and the grim simulacrum of a smile twisted his mouth. "You may be a spy, but you'll have to learn to be a whore, too. It's all part of the business, and Jedi poise is legendary. I'm sure you'll be just fine."
For the first time, Obi-Wan felt a twinge of unease, the source of which he was unable to identify. He shook it off, rose to his feet, and inclined his head. "We'll be working together quite closely, then. I look forward to it."
Jinn's deep blue eyes settled on his, coolly appraising. "Indeed. I'll leave you to acclimate yourself to your surroundings. If you require anything -- food, drink -- simply use the comm center on the table there. I'll see you tomorrow. Good night." Before Obi-Wan could echo a reply, Jinn had gone.
Obi-Wan briefly examined the suite of rooms. In addition to the sitting room, there was a bedroom, a 'fresher, and a dining area, all luxuriously appointed. There was also a small chamber entirely bare of furnishings; its glossy lacquered floors and mirrored walls made Obi-Wan frown. He guessed that some aspect of his training would involve this room, but he could not imagine how. Still frowning, Obi-Wan gently closed the chamber door.
Now he found himself at loose ends. He was neither hungry nor thirsty. It was too early to contact the Council with a status report. Jinn, while polite, clearly had other obligations, or did not find Obi-Wan congenial company. Another inexplicable prickle of unease ran up his spine.
This won't do, he thought. He would exercise and meditate, then get a full night's rest. Tomorrow his mission would begin in earnest.
* * *
This, then, was what Jinn had meant by prettying up, but the reflection in the mirror was more unnerving than alluring. Obi-Wan's hair had been treated with a growth agent; it hung in loose waves around his face and tickled the nape of his neck. The aesthetician, a Twi'lek of astounding beauty, had exclaimed over its natural color and decreed that it remain undyed. She had attacked his face and body with a vigor that startled him, however. His beard and chest had been shaved, his pubic hair trimmed to throw his penis into shocking relief, his skin subjected to uncomfortable proddings and half a dozen bizarre treatments involving herbs and mud from Sullust, and if that were not enough, she'd painted him despite his protestations that he wouldn't be seen in public for some time. "You must become used to it," she'd insisted.
"I feel foolish," Obi-Wan complained as she dusted his entire body with shimmering golden powder, traced bronze around his eyes, and applied a glittering salve to his mouth. Naturally modest, he clasped newly manicured hands over his sex, then chided himself. Doubtless even the greenest prostitutes weren't so prudish. He sighed and let his hands rest at his sides
while the aesthetician circled him, inspecting his body with minute attention.
"You don't look foolish," she reassured him. "You look very handsome. All of our employees wear more cosmetics every day. Soon you'll be able to apply it yourself." She patted his gleaming shoulder and smiled at him in the mirror. "Now, you mustn't worry. Qui-Gon will be with you at every stage of your training. He told you that, did he not?" The door chime pinged softly. "There he is now. Let's show you off." She propelled a reluctant Obi-Wan into the sitting room where Jinn waited, clad in a soft quill-brown robe, arms folded across his chest. "Here he is, Qui-Gon."
Obi-Wan felt a simultaneous heat and chill as Jinn surveyed the work the Twi'lek had done, strolling around him in the most leisurely fashion. "Very good, Serah. I wouldn't have known you, Master Kenobi."
"I suppose I should take that as a compliment," Obi-Wan said.
"Please do. You'll certainly tempt Brolan's appetites. That'll be all, Serah. Thank you." Jinn waited until the young woman had left, then gestured for Obi-Wan to go into the bedroom. "If you'd be so kind...please sit on the bed. The cosmetics won't rub off until you wash them off. Very good." Jinn seated himself in a chair. "Well, your physical came back with no deficiencies, so as of tonight you're a novice prostitute. Congratulations."
Biting back a smile, Obi-Wan nodded gravely. It was a bit different than being pronounced a padawan, but the essential principle was the same: he was here to learn. And he had always been an exemplary student. Perhaps that was why the Council had appointed him.
"I have a great deal to teach you, and not much time," Jinn went on. "I hope you won't mind a few questions."
"Not at all."
"How many sex partners have you had?"
Right to it, Obi-Wan thought. "Ten, perhaps. Twelve at most."
"Males or females, or both?"
"Both. More males."
"And do you have a preference?"
"Yes," Obi-Wan said.
Jinn raised an eyebrow in polite inquiry.
"Males," Obi-Wan added hastily.
"Good. For your purposes, at least," Jinn said. "When was the last time you experienced sexual contact with another being?"
Obi-Wan frowned. "Does that matter?"
"It can."
A silence fell between them. Obi-Wan shifted on the bed, too aware of the coverlet's satiny texture, suddenly uncomfortable with the realization that he was naked and Jinn was still clothed. "Eight years."
Another silence fell. "A long time," Jinn remarked softly.
Obi-Wan shrugged. "I don't seem to need sex." It was a true enough statement. His last lover had been a fellow padawan and close friend, Quinlan Vos, but shortly after their affair commenced, it was clear that their friendship would be an end unto itself. It was not that Quinlan was incapable of giving him pleasure, but it was a physical pleasure only, leaving Obi-Wan feeling empty and sad. Gradually, Obi-Wan came to recognize that he yearned for more than physical pleasure -- indeed, he longed for the very attachment so sternly warned against by the Council. Baffled by his desires, Obi-Wan had retreated into a cloak of reserve. Other Jedi managed to enjoy sex without attachment; clearly he could not. Nevertheless, when this mission had come up on the roster, he had volunteered at once. His reserve had only grown over the past eight years. Perhaps it was time to approach sex in a more practical fashion -- as a simple financial transaction.
"Do you masturbate?"
"Sometimes. May I ask the point of all these questions?"
"I just want to get some idea of your feelings toward sex," Jinn said. "But you're right -- we mustn't waste any more time." Abruptly he stood, unfastened his robe, and let it drop to the floor.
Naked underneath, Obi-Wan thought, shocked. I should have realized. Then, on the heels of that: Beautiful.
Clothed, Qui-Gon Jinn was elegant, powerful; naked, he was sublime. The muted orange and gold of the bedroom braziers reflected off his tall body, faintly burnished with some glimmering oil, dappling it here and there with licks of warmth. His shoulders and chest were broad, tapering to a narrow waist and long legs. His sex hung heavily between muscular thighs. He gave the impression of supple grace sheathed in sculpture.
Obi-Wan blinked and stifled a shuddering breath. "I suppose you want to get right to it."
"Are you afraid?"
"No," Obi-Wan whispered. "No," he repeated in a stronger voice. "Will you be, ah, penetrating me, or --"
"I think that's best for the majority of your training," Jinn said. "When you're actually working, Master Kenobi, you'll find that you've become a commodity. You're not hired in the spirit of mutual need or affection. Thus, you must become accustomed to being...." A wry smile crossed his face. "Fucked."
Obi-Wan nodded, determined to be as businesslike as Jinn. "Very well." He pushed down the covers, exposing sheets the color of a Darriash plum. "How would you like me to..."
"Let's get you used to face-to-face penetration," Jinn said. "I'll do my best not to hurt you at all." He opened a drawer on the wall, removing a small jar. "I'll prepare you with my fingers first, since it's been some time since you've had sex." He nodded toward the ornate metal rails on the bed's headboard. "Grab those, if you will, and spread your legs. Relax while the oil warms up."
The metal felt cool and slippery; Obi-Wan realized his hands were sweating. He swallowed and slowed the pounding of his heart. Why should he be nervous? It was a simple act. All he had to do was lie still and allow Jinn to penetrate him.
"Are you ready?" Jinn's voice was surprisingly soft.
Obi-Wan nodded, and tensed as he felt one long finger, slick with oil, invade him.
"Relax," Jinn whispered, moving the finger round and round, slowly and steadily. "That's it. I'm not hurting you, am I?"
"No." Obi-Wan coughed. "No, you're not hurting me. It's actually a soothing sensa --"
"Shh." Jinn bent and brushed his lips over Obi-Wan's.
"No --" Obi-Wan turned his face away. "I'm not -- not yet, please. I'm not very fond of kissing."
Jinn nodded. "All right. Take a deep breath."
Obi-Wan breathed, and tensed again as he felt more fingers inside him -- two? Three? He couldn't tell. In the dim light, however, he saw Jinn's erection, and was startled to feel his own body's response. He gasped as Jinn's hand closed around his hardening sex. "What are you --"
"That's it," Jinn whispered. He moved his fingers deeper inside Obi-Wan, and slid his other hand up and down Obi-Wan's cock.
Desire spiked electric tendrils through Obi-Wan's body, but suddenly Jinn's fingers were gone. "Wait, I don't --" He opened his mouth to speak, then felt a shock as Jinn grasped his calves, pushing his thighs close to his chest, and moved down between his legs. Then, without warning, Obi-Wan felt the thick club of Jinn's cock impaling him, Jinn's body pressing against his balls. "Ohh --" Jinn rocked back and forth, increasing the speed and pressure of his thrusts. Obi-Wan grabbed the bed rails tightly, gritting his teeth. Jinn had taken hold of his sex again and was stroking it, light, merciless strokes that soon had Obi-Wan writhing in need. All at once Obi-Wan groaned and climaxed, his semen spilling over Jinn's hand and his own belly.
He drifted on a grey, silent sea, only dimly feeling Jinn cleaning him with a warm, wet cloth. His eyes were closing despite great efforts to keep them open.
"Sleep, Master Kenobi. Sleep now."
The silken sheet covered his body, smooth and comforting. Success, Obi-Wan thought. A simple transaction. So musing, he succumbed to sweet oblivion.
* * *
"More spit, please. And keep your lips folded over your teeth. Never use your teeth unless the customer specifically requests it."
Tousle-haired, red-faced, and irritated, Obi-Wan lifted his head from Jinn's limp sex and wiped his mouth. "You know, someone once told me I was quite good at this."
A somewhat smug expression settled itself on Jinn's face. "A mutual admiration society of lovers is rather irrelevant in the face of cold, hard credits, Obi-Wan."
"That's a bit cynical," Obi-Wan observed.
"Forty-three years in the business will do that to one."
"Forty-three years -- but surely you can't be more than sixty."
"Fifty-six."
Obi-Wan shook his head in disbelief. "But you would have been thirteen, a boy still --" He had been thirteen when Yoda had chosen him as a padawan. Barely out of childhood. And this man had been a prostitute at that age.
"I was a boy. Traveling with my parents on an economy run on a freighter from Ord Mantell to Coruscant. My parents didn't have much money, you see. At any rate, the freighter was attacked by smugglers. The crew and my parents were killed. They left me alive. I couldn't think why, and only realized it too late." Qui-Gon's mouth twisted. "They sold me to a man named Dun Parsi, who owned a brothel on Taris, in the Outer Rim."
"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan murmured. "I didn't mean to pry."
Jinn shrugged. "It's all in the past."
"You have risen to a position of some authority and...comfort," Obi-Wan said. "It must be a lucrative profession, at the very least."
"Lucrative," Jinn snorted. "The first thing Parsi did was introduce me to glitterstim. You know of it?"
"Yes, it's -- it's a psychotropic substance mined on Kessel. Did he force it upon you?"
"No. He put it in my soup. I was so young and stupid -- for the longest time I thought it was the soup I craved. Then Parsi told me the truth." The cynical expression on Jinn's face deepened. "I spent twenty years as the most popular whore on Taris, and the biggest spice addict in the Outer Rim. By the time my contract was up, I was over my head in debt to Parsi. I spent another fifteen years working just to pay it off. I considered it a matter of honor not to kill him. He taught me everything I know. And I've been saving money for the last seven years -- but it's tough, Jedi. The house is automatically entitled to half my earnings. The guild, another ten percent. So I've got another two or three years with my ankles in the air before I can retire. And none too soon, either. No one wants a broken-down old whore as a companion."
Obi-Wan could think of nothing to say. Jinn's dispassionate recitation belied decades of pain and servitude -- it was no wonder, indeed, that he was cynical. For the first time, he used the man's bestowed name, and a sudden impulse of sympathy made him place a gentle hand on Jinn's bare knee. "Qui-Gon --"
Jinn moved away. "Don't pity me, Master Kenobi. I lost my innocence early, it's true, but for the most part I made my own choices all the way down."
"Forgive me, but I can't believe that," Obi-Wan replied. "You weren't given any sort of choice, from what you've told me."
"We always have choices. Every breathing moment of our lives is a choice. I could have killed Parsi and run away. I could have overdosed on glitterstim. I could have become a smuggler myself with all the information I had. I could have been the Galactic Chancellor's kept boy. Those choices were all mine to make." Jinn sat up. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm rather tired. We can resume this tomorrow."
Obi-Wan grasped Jinn's ankle before he could rise. "Wait. I'd like to try again, if you have a few moments."
Jinn stared at him, some undecipherable emotion kindling in his deep blue eyes. He reached down deliberately, wrapped his hand around Obi-Wan's wrist, and squeezed until Obi-Wan let go with a gasp of pain. "I don't care for pity fucks," he said softly, "in whatever form they take. Good night, Master Kenobi."
He gathered up his robe and strode out, leaving Obi-Wan with a bruised wrist and a peculiar sensation of wounded bafflement.
* * *
The next week was a strange one. Every day Obi-Wan studied his mission specs -- the dossier on Brolan, the layout of his house, a flood of circumstantial evidence that clearly pointed to the man's guilt, but could not yet lead to an arrest. Every evening, he was bathed, fed, and painted, then waited for his nightly lessons with Qui-Gon (since the night Qui-Gon told his story, Obi-Wan had ceased to think of him as merely Jinn). He was becoming used to the routine. For his part, Qui-Gon had been cool and distant, and Obi-Wan had the distinct impression that he regretted his burst of confession. Not that he was anything but correct and thorough in his guidance, however; he'd introduced Obi-Wan to a staggering variety of artificial sexual apparatus, most of which Obi-Wan had never heard of, let alone used. Most of the items required a course of their own, since Obi-Wan had no idea what to do with them.
The sessions were becoming easier, or at least more commonplace as an expectation, though each held some aspect of novelty. Most new training cost him a climax or two. There was little need for the simulation of passion at any rate, Qui-Gon had explained. Most clients truly had no concern for a whore's pleasure, and those who required some response were usually satisfied with a minimum of groaning and writhing. There was little point in expending one's effort uselessly.
Tonight, he reflected, there was no need to expend effort at all, since Qui-Gon was doing all the work. They were in the mirrored, unfurnished chamber. Its walls concealed all the equipment they used, arranged in neat rows on shelves or hooks. Qui-Gon, wearing tight black trousers and boots, had produced an X-shaped frame, to which he tied Obi-Wan's wrists and
ankles. The frame was then adjusted, tilting Obi-Wan at a vulnerable angle. Qui-Gon then bound Obi-Wan's limbs to the frame with rough twine, fashioning a complicated web design and rendering him utterly immobile. Kneeling, he looped rope around Obi-Wan's cock and balls. Obi-Wan hissed in pain.
"Sorry," Qui-Gon said. "It's something you'll have to get used to."
"One gets used to a great deal, I take it."
Qui-Gon met his gaze coolly. "And what does that mean?"
Obi-Wan would have shrugged had he been able to. "Nothing important. Do you enjoy being bound?"
"Do you?" Qui-Gon countered, his eyes narrowing.
"I've never been bound with pleasure in mind."
"Well, we're even," Qui-Gon snapped. "Neither have I. Not my pleasure, at least."
"Were you restrained...on Taris? Did Parsi keep you bound thus?"
Qui-Gon stood. "Don't be ridiculous." Pulling a long strip of cloth from his pocket, he knotted it twice, three times.
Obi-Wan watched him. "Would you rather I not ask you questions about the past?"
"I would prefer that you not speak at all."
For the first time since Obi-Wan had come to the house, he saw the spark of deep anger in Qui-Gon's eyes. He flinched as Qui-Gon grabbed his hair and yanked his head back. "Qui-Gon -- wait --" Ignoring him, Qui-Gon pushed the bulging knot deep into Obi-Wan's mouth, then tied the ends at the back of his neck.
Obi-Wan struggled vainly. It was wrong -- it felt wrong, too violent. It felt -- yes, too much like his ordeal in the Sublevels.
He'd been fifteen at the time, and Coruscant was his home, the place he'd felt safest. There had been a note for him, a plea in Bant's handwriting, saying that she was in terrible trouble, begging him to come to the 38th Sublevel in the shipping district. He'd gone at once, without hesitation, without consulting Master Yoda or any senior Jedi.
Peering through the dim corridors, heaped with industrial trash, he'd been unprepared for the stun bolts that hit him from three directions. He'd been thrown unceremoniously into a speeder and whisked off to an abandoned warehouse. There, half-conscious, naked, manacled, gagged, and Force-collared, he had been thrown into a cold, damp room. Then interrogators, renegades from the Techno-Union Guild, had come in. The note had been a ruse; they'd questioned him relentlessly, demanding Temple archive codes. As if a fifteen-year-old padawan would have access to them. When he'd refused, they'd fondled him roughly and threatened to rape him with a force-pike, bending him over a table, tying his wrists to the far side, and kicking his legs apart. Just as he'd resigned himself to violation, help had come; Yoda and two other Councillors had appeared, and after easily dispatching the rogues, had gently escorted him back to the Temple.
He hadn't broken that day, but the fright had nearly overwhelmed him. And this was all too similar. He wanted to stop, immediately. He rapped sharply on the frame, their agreed signal to cease. Once more, Qui-Gon ignored him. Angrily, Obi-Wan let out a muffled protest, but Qui-Gon only wrapped one hand around Obi-Wan's cock and began to pump it, while with the other he tore at the fastening of his trousers. His eyes bore into Obi-Wan's, snapping blue sparks. He would stop for nothing; Obi-Wan had pushed him too far, it seemed.
Panic and pleasure made too heady a brew; Obi-Wan could scarcely breathe. He moaned and struggled harder, but the rope was secure. Finally, Obi-Wan sent a push of Force toward him, intending to throw him off balance, startle him into awareness, and was shocked when the wave of Force came back, boosted tenfold, and immobilized him.
That wave of Force was coming from Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan realized, but had no time to reflect upon it. Qui-Gon grabbed his hips and plowed in to the hilt, without so much as a drop of spit to ease the way. Obi-Wan threw back his head, dragging air in through his nose, and shuddered as Qui-Gon pounded into him.
A deep groan rose from Qui-Gon's chest. He thrust twice more and collapsed forward, his hair spilling over Obi-Wan's shoulders. Obi-Wan felt a prickle of beard against his collarbone, and the soft movement of Qui-Gon's lips, as if Qui-Gon were whispering, but no discernible words rose to his ears.
Then Qui-Gon tore himself away and tilted the frame upright again. With a small knife he cut away the ropes and gag. He knelt like a penitent at Obi-Wan's feet, and while Obi-Wan was still gasping for air, gently untied the rope around Obi-Wan's cock and balls. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I lost control of myself."
Rubbing his sore wrists, Obi-Wan said nothing immediately. It had been expected, had it not? Qui-Gon was supposed to fuck him. And yet, there had been an element of anger, and of revenge in that sudden roughness. The violence was not entirely in Obi-Wan's mind. And also, the most surprising discovery of all. "You have Force abilities," he said hoarsely. "As strong as any Jedi's."
Qui-Gon remained kneeling. "I always have."
Obi-Wan frowned. Who was this strange man? "I did not discern them."
"I hide them well."
It was too much to absorb. Part of him still reeled from what felt like an assault. He glanced down at his wilted cock. He hadn't climaxed. "I'd like to be alone," he said. "Please leave."
Obediently, Qui-Gon rose to his feet and left, a defeated slump in his shoulders. Obi-Wan scowled at the sight of it, but did not know why. He went to the 'fresher, stood beneath a hot shower, then slipped into bed. He was still upset; he would meditate, he decided, and restore his serenity. But his thoughts kept sliding in Qui-Gon's direction, and when he gave up meditating and tried to sleep, he saw Qui-Gon's face in his mind's eye.
Sleep came not at all that night.
* * *
House Sedesia was a hollow square, constructed around a central courtyard that was charming, but little used. Tired of his suite of rooms, Obi-Wan wandered into the courtyard, happy to see a slice of twilight sky. The air was fresh and cool; a breeze ruffled his hair. His soft-soled slippers made little sound on the finely crushed iridescent shells that made up the pathways.
"Obi-Wan."
Startled, Obi-Wan spun around. Qui-Gon stood a short distance away. "I didn't hear you approach."
"I followed you out here."
That was unsettling. "Was there something you wanted?"
"To apologize for last night. I know you must still be angry with me."
Obi-Wan shook his head. "No. No, I'm not angry at all. Please -- sit." He indicated a low stone bench, and sat beside Qui-Gon. "I must explain something to you. As a Jedi, I strive for an existence without emotion. But --"
"Without any emotion? That sounds --" Qui-Gon frowned. "Foolish."
"It is only the excessive emotions that are dangerous," Obi-Wan said. He sounded dry and lecturing, even to himself. "What we truly strive for is peace. But I'm far from perfect. Last night stirred some unpleasant memories, and I allowed myself to succumb to them." Briefly, he sketched what had happened to him in the Sublevels.
Qui-Gon seemed incredulous. "And the Jedi let you go through that?"
It was Obi-Wan's turn to frown. "What do you mean?"
"Couldn't they feel your distress? Didn't you call to them for help?"
"Yes, but..." Obi-Wan peered at Qui-Gon in the gathering darkness. "Obviously it took them some time to locate me."
"I would have found you within an hour."
Obi-Wan sensed this was not an idle boast. "Can you...do you mean your perceptions are that strong?"
"I felt your presence when you landed on Sedesia," Qui-Gon replied. "I've sensed those emotions you've tried so hard to suppress for the past two weeks. You feel everything as if it's wrapped in wool, Jedi. Last night, I tasted your panic, and it was raw and --" He broke off and turned away.
"And?" Obi-Wan prompted quietly.
"It was too tempting. Overwhelming. I took advantage of it." Qui-Gon rose to his feet and walked a short distance away, pausing before a statue of a voluptuous woman.
Obi-Wan followed. He stood beside Qui-Gon, contemplating the statue. It was now full dark; the sculpture was carved from rosy stone, and lit from below took on the hues of pink flesh. "What a Jedi you would have made."
"But I'm not a Jedi. I'm a whore." Qui-Gon glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "And you think it's a terrible waste. That I might have achieved so much more than selling my body to whomever was willing to pay for it."
Obi-Wan did not answer immediately.
"Well?"
"Yes. I do." He turned to face Qui-Gon. "And so do you. I sense it in you."
"Even if I might have thought that once," Qui-Gon said, "it's far too late to do anything about it." He pivoted on his heel and moved toward the entrance. "Come along. It's getting too dark to see."
* * *
Qui-Gon stripped rapidly and positioned himself on the bed, prone, his legs spread widely apart. "Your turn."
"My turn to...?"
"To fuck me." Impatience edged Qui-Gon's voice.
"I thought you said --"
"Yes," Qui-Gon interrupted, "but there are always exceptions. Now let's get to it. You don't need to prepare me at all."
Obi-Wan hesitated. "Qui-Gon -- if this is some sort of an apology for last night, I assure you it's not necessa--"
"And I assure you, Master Kenobi, that it's simply part of the training. So if you please..." Qui-Gon rested his forehead on his arms. A deep sigh rippled the muscles in his back.
Obi-Wan remained still. He stared at Qui-Gon's body; his long hair, brown touched with silver, spilling over his shoulder blades. His taut, narrow backside, his spread legs, the heavy globes between them. The soles of his feet, strangely vulnerable. Obi-Wan felt himself getting hard. No toys, no restraints -- this was a pure, primal need.
He kicked off his slippers, and peeled off his silken tunic and trousers. His erection was painful; a pearl of fluid gleamed at its tip. He fumbled in a drawer for the oil, and slicked his cock with it, ignoring Qui-Gon's dictate. If Qui-Gon didn't care about his own discomfort, Obi-Wan did. He climbed onto the bed between Qui-Gon's legs, stroked his cock again, then grasped Qui-Gon's backside with shaking hands.
"No," he whispered. Roughly, he shook Qui-Gon's shoulder. "Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon!"
Qui-Gon half turned. "What is it?"
"Face me."
"No. I think you should --"
"Face me!" Obi-Wan rasped. He grabbed an arm and a leg, and heaved Qui-Gon's body over with ease. "If you want me to fuck you, you're going to have to face me." He hauled Qui-Gon's legs over his shoulders, adjusted himself, and sank in with a shuddering sigh. "Look at me."
Qui-Gon groaned, pushing back against Obi-Wan. They moved awkwardly at first, flesh banging against flesh. Then Qui-Gon reached out, groping, and found Obi-Wan's hands with his own. "Slower," he moaned.
The point and counterpoint of their bodies became a single, steady rhythm. Their hands tightened past the point of pain. Obi-Wan gasped for breath, thrusting and thrusting, his chest half-crushed by Qui-Gon's powerful thighs. Qui-Gon's eyes met his, deep blue, full of hidden and dangerous depths. Qui-Gon's face contorted, and he climaxed with a low cry. Obi-Wan pushed harder, stabbing his way to ecstasy and tumbling over the precipice.
They collapsed in a tangle of sweating, naked limbs, fitted tightly against one another. Obi-Wan sought Qui-Gon's mouth with his own, and they slipped without transition into a long, languorous kiss.
Qui-Gon pulled back abruptly. "I must go."
"Stay a little," Obi-Wan implored.
"You don't like kissing."
"It's different with you now."
"No." Qui-Gon struggled away from Obi-Wan, partially trapped by the bedclothes. "It's no different."
"It is," Obi-Wan insisted, resting the flat of his hand against Qui-Gon's chest. "You feel it also."
"I told you I don't need your pity."
"It's not pity."
"What happened to all that reserve, Jedi?" Qui-Gon's voice was openly mocking.
"I've fought it for too long, perhaps."
Now Qui-Gon shoved Obi-Wan away and all but leapt out of bed. He picked up his clothes rapidly, frantic spots of red in his cheeks. "You forget yourself, Master Kenobi. You're a Jedi. I'm a whore. That emotionless existence --"
"You said it was foolish," Obi-Wan said.
"I lied. I strive for that existence too." Qui-Gon worked his arms into his robe and fastened it lopsidedly. "You see, we're more alike than you think." He made for the door, flinging out a hand to manipulate it through the Force.
It remained closed. Qui-Gon wheeled and glared at Obi-Wan. "Open the door."
Obi-Wan shook his head slowly.
Qui-Gon's eyes snapped furious blue sparks. He stalked toward Obi-Wan like a massive jungle feline and grabbed Obi-Wan's shoulders, all but lifting him off the bed. "Open it."
"Don't go."
"Damn you, Jedi. I warned you."
A wave of the Force washed over Obi-Wan, full of angry compulsion, but this time Obi-Wan was ready. He met it with a surge of his own; the two clashed and enveloped them. Bright, feuding energy crackled over them, sending shock after shock through their bodies, then fell away, leaving them exhausted and out of breath. They sank to the bed once more, shivering in the aftermath of their peculiar communion.
Obi-Wan crawled forward and draped an arm around Qui-Gon's neck. He pressed his lips to Qui-Gon's ear. "Don't leave."
Qui-Gon wrapped strong arms around Obi-Wan and kissed him, such a kiss as Obi-Wan had never felt before; it was strength and fear, rest and agitation, safety and peril all at once. He folded himself tightly against Qui-Gon, and they clung together for long, glorious moments.
Then Qui-Gon detached himself slowly, gently. He urged Obi-Wan down to the pillow and stroked his back. "Sleep," he said.
Obi-Wan opened his mouth for another kiss, then realized what was happening. Qui-Gon was pushing him under with a Force suggestion, so slowly and stealthily that Obi-Wan had never felt it coming. He tried to protest, tried to struggle out from beneath the soft, velvety blanket of unconsciousness that covered him, but it was too late.
When he awoke, he was alone.
* * *
It was no matter of pride, but rather a simple fact: Obi-Wan was gracious in defeat. At that night's training, he apologized to Qui-Gon. "I'm afraid I may have overstepped my boundaries last night. I promise it won't happen again."
Qui-Gon nodded curtly, binding his hair into a braid. "No apology is necessary."
"Permit me to offer one nevertheless. I think -- you may have been correct in your apprehension about the time that's passed since I...since I've had sex, or...or it appears that despite all my years of instruction, I cannot seem to separate sexual intimacy from emotion. I thought this would be simpler."
"It's not the first time that's happened," Qui-Gon said. "I've had clients who've hired me for a few weeks, a month -- and told me that they'd fallen in love with me. The trouble is, Jedi, they hadn't the faintest notion who I really was. They fell in love with a stiff cock and a hard body and a false sense of intimacy. It happens."
Obi-Wan flinched. Was that how Qui-Gon saw him, as a deluded, lust-sick fool? "Have you ever fallen in love with a client?"
Qui-Gon stopped in the act of unfastening the inner tie of his tunic. His eyes met Obi-Wan's for a second, then dropped to his task. "No. I can't afford that."
"I see." Obi-Wan stripped off his clothes, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He was painted like a whore, but night after night he'd been with Qui-Gon, only Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon had bedded him again and again in a staggering variety of positions. They'd performed fellatio on each other, covered each other with liquid plast, exotic foods, whip marks, their own body fluids. It seemed impossible that what they'd traded could not naturally lead to emotional intimacy. Had Qui-Gon not made himself vulnerable last night? Did they not share a connection through the Force as well?
He spoke with deliberate calm. "Should I ask the Council to send another Jedi in my stead?"
"You've learned quite a bit already," Qui-Gon replied, still not meeting Obi-Wan's eyes. "Besides, it would be a waste to pay for my time all over again when we've only two weeks left."
"Ah, yes," Obi-Wan said, unable to conceal the faint bitterness in his voice. "The money."
"Of course. Now, if you don't mind, we should..." Qui-Gon gestured toward the bed. "Now, as I've told you, Brolan fancies himself a connoisseur of flesh. Watching bodies he's purchased excites him, and one of his favorite voyeuristic pleasures is simultaneous oral action. You lie with your head toward the wall, I'll lie in the other direction. He likes to time climaxes exactly, so we must be conscious of each other's rhythm. A little further down, Obi-Wan...."
Qui-Gon's words washed over Obi-Wan. He obeyed with mechanical precision, his mind a silent fog of misery. Qui-Gon felt nothing for him, and even if he did, he suppressed his feelings so brutally it was likely they would never surface. He would have made a wonderful Jedi, Obi-Wan concluded.
He scarcely felt Qui-Gon arranging him into place. So this is what it feels like, he thought, to be a whore.
To be continued directly in part 2: http://splix.livejournal.com/700145.html
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Love the icon - A Fish Called Wanda is one of my all-time favorite movies. :D
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Such talent!
k, off to read more!
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