Archive: Master and Apprentice--anyone else ask please
Summary: Qui-Gon goes looking for someone, he's just not sure
who.
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone, much less these fine
characters--although I own a couple of action figures of them,
does that count? Probably not. Oh well, I refuse to make any
money off them in any event, so please don't sue me.
Notes: Thanks to Holly and Kristi for quick betas, and to
basinke for naming Qui-Gon's drink! I guess I should also thank
the American Psycho soundtrack for somehow inspiring me to
write this.
The muted pulse of the drums. The hard, deep sound of a
synthebass. Qui-Gon stood outside the door, eyes closed, and
listened. This was the right place.
He opened the door and his senses were immediately assaulted by
music, voices and scents. Any other night he'd be annoyed by
the loud music, the crush of people. Any other night, he'd be
at home with a nice story, or a holovid.
But not tonight.
As he made his way to the bar, he scanned the crowd, searching
for...well, he wasn't quite sure what he was searching for. He
never was. It wasn't something he could define. It was a
feeling, a sense, something he recognized instantly when it hit
him. And he would find it. He always did.
"Blue shrrsan," he said as made it to the bar. The bartender
nodded and hurried off to get the drink. A moment later he
returned, handing the drink to Qui-Gon and taking the credits
before moving on to the next patron. Qui-Gon leaned back
against the bar and watched the room. The club was definitely a
mix of creatures from all over the galaxy; there were at least
twenty different species represented in his immediate area. But
none of them were quite right.
His eyes moved up, scanning the second level of the club as he
took a long drink. Several attractive humans caught his eye,
but none of them kept his attention for more than a moment. He
wasn't looking for just attractive. He was looking for--he
stopped, fixated on a figure standing on the stairs. Dark hair
to his shoulders, dressed in black, and staring back at him.
This was the one.
The man started moving again, down the stairs, threading his
way through the crowd. Qui-Gon never lost sight of him, but
even so, he was still surprised when the stranger was suddenly
standing before him. Now he could see that the dark hair framed
a rather pale face only a few years younger than himself. Two
eyes that looked rather more like chips of ice they were such a
light blue. But how those eyes burned into him....
A memory of darker and far more intense blue eyes flashed into
his mind, but he drove it back, forcing himself to focus on the
man in front of him as he realized the stranger had spoken.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"I said, can I buy you a drink?"
Qui-Gon raised his glass to his lips and finished it off,
placing the empty glass on the table. "Now you can."
The young man nodded to the bartender, then in Qui-Gon's
direction. A moment later, his glass was refilled. "I haven't
seen you here before," the stranger commented, casually moving
closer, the back of his hand brushing against Qui-Gon's thigh.
"That's an old line. Your pick-up techniques could use some
work," Qui-Gon commented.
"Did I say anything about picking you up?"
One eyebrow shot up. "If that's not your intent, you might want
to take your hand off my thigh."
"True," the stranger agreed. And the hand stayed where it was.
Qui-Gon smiled. "What's your name?"
"Lehr. Lehr Ling." The hand crept further up his leg. "And
yours?"
"Qui."
Lehr nodded, hand stroking the smooth leather covering the
inside of Qui-Gon's thigh. "Have you ever seen the back rooms
in this place?"
"No." A lie. He'd seen them before. Four times; once each year.
But they always seemed to find it more of a challenge if he was
new to this.
"Ah." Lehr leaned in close, a predatory grin on his face.
"They're quite spectacular," he purred into Qui-Gon's ear, the
sound of his voice erotic, even at the level he had to speak
just to be heard. "Allow me to show you?"
The request was finished off with a nip at Qui-Gon's earlobe, a
particularly sensitive spot. Qui-Gon shivered, downing his
entire drink in one gulp before letting Lehr lead him to the
back of the club.
Relat was not your average club. In certain circles it was
known more for its unadvertised specialties than for anything
the average Coruscant tourist saw in the brochures. The back
rooms were one of those items. You learned about them by word
of mouth. Or by accident, at least in Qui-Gon's case. He'd
certainly never thought he'd be using them, not when he'd first
found out they existed.
But here he was, following a man he'd known for less than five
minutes through the crowd, down the maze of hallways to the
entrance. He waited while Lehr paid their entry, then continued
behind him to their room.
It looked the same as the others he'd been in. A big bed, a
table beside it, a couple of chairs and a table, and the rest
of the space just barren. Most of the rooms were pretty much
identical, though he'd heard about a few special ones that were
available for the right price. He didn't think he'd ever see
them.
Of course, he'd thought he'd never see the inside of these
either, at least not with his own eyes. He closed off those
thoughts, shoving them in an inner room with the part of him
that was distinctly Jedi, and locked the door. He wasn't a Jedi
tonight; he was just a man.
Lehr was standing next to the bed, leaning against the table
there, a smile on his face and an obvious bulge in the front of
his pants. Qui-Gon crossed the few feet between them and
trapped him there, attacking the stranger's mouth with hard
kisses, his hands bruising the other man's skin as he grabbed
at his clothing, working to tear it off.
The challenge was issued, a pace demanded and accepted, as Lehr
pushed, landing Qui-Gon on the bed. The younger man yanked his
shirt off quickly before he jumped onto the bed and straddled
Qui-Gon's thighs, grabbing his arms and pinning them to the
mattress. Their lips met, not nearly enough pressure in the
kiss, but when Qui-Gon tried to get closer, he found himself
restricted by those hands on his wrists. Unwilling to give in
that easily, he bit down on the other man's lip.
A soft laugh echoed off the walls as Lehr rose up and smiled
down at him, tongue reaching out to wipe away the faint trace
of blood from the bite. "So you want to play rough, do you?"
"Don't you?"
Qui-Gon's enemies would run from that deadly tone, but Lehr
just laughed again. "Oh the rougher, the better," he said
before he leaned in, laying brutal claim to Qui-Gon's lips,
grinding them against the Jedi's teeth. Then he softened the
kiss again, tongue delving into the older man's mouth as he
searched out Qui-Gon's tongue, drew it into his own mouth,
sucking on it a little as he pulled away to trail kisses down
his cheek and neck.
His destination seemed to be the base of Qui-Gon's throat. He
stopped there, sucking on the skin, letting out a frustrated
growl before he began biting, causing just enough pain to have
Qui-Gon writhing beneath him, his erection feeling the heat of
the swollen cock in Lehr's pants, but unable to get the skin on
skin contact he craved.
"Please..." Qui-Gon managed as Lehr's lips lifted just enough
to move to the middle of his shoulder and start biting again.
The younger man slid off to the side, mouth still fixed to
Qui-Gon's shoulders as he reached down without missing a beat
to work at the ties on the older man's pants. A warm hand found
his erection, enclosed it, tried to prevent the surge of his
hips as the grip encased him, but didn't quite succeed.
The mouth left his shoulder, moved down to one hard, brown
nipple and bit, teeth tugging until it went just past the point
of pleasurable pain. Before he could do more than cry out,
however, the teeth let go, and a warm tongue was lapping at the
slight injury, taking away all but the memory of the brief pain
and leaving behind pleasure.
Lips traveled further, down to the waistband of Qui-Gon's pants
and below, the leather hard to tug off over damp, sweaty skin.
Inch by torturous inch, the material slid over him in starts
and fits, rubbing against his erection until he thought he
might explode from that sensation alone. Before he could, Lehr
seemed to get frustrated at the slow progress, and moved back
to pull at the pants. Qui-Gon heard a rip as the fabric gave
way, and seconds later, he was naked under the other man's
gaze.
The ice blue eyes burned as they trailed up his legs, across
his stomach and chest and up to rest on his face. Slowly, Lehr
leaned in for a kiss much gentler than the others they'd shared
before he tugged Qui-Gon's arm, rolling him over onto his
stomach. There was a rustle of fabric, and then warm skin on
his own as Lehr straddled his thighs, his cock nudging at the
crevice between Qui-Gon's cheeks.
Lehr leaned over, covering Qui-Gon's back in skin as he nibbled
across the shoulder he'd neglected earlier. Then he slowly
rose, nails leaving trails of burning fire down Qui-Gon's back
as he traced the length of it. Faint noises above him, and then
Qui-Gon felt cool gel sliding between his cheeks, and a finger
probing at his opening.
He thrust back onto that finger, wanting more immediately. Two
fingers entered, enough to cause a slight burn, but still he
wanted more--three fingers were better, but still not enough.
Qui-Gon twisted impatiently, wanting it all now; wanting to
feel a little pain, especially in this.
The fingers left him, Lehr obliging willingly as he hovered at
the opening for only a second before sliding inside with one
quick thrust. It hurt, by the Force it hurt, but it felt so
good, so perfect, exactly what he needed that he began to shove
back against it, his own cock rock hard against the mattress,
ready for release as the sheets created unbearable friction.
But not yet. Not until he felt the other's release inside him.
Only then would he let himself go over the edge. He didn't
think it would be long. Lehr was pounding into him, his hands
sliding up Qui-Gon's back to his neck, gripping, restricting
air flow, but not enough to kill him. At least not unless the
man didn't let up soon.
The grip was enough to make the world go slightly hazy, but it
only made every sensation inside his body that much clearer. He
felt droplets of water he guessed were sweat dripping off
Lehr's face onto his back, felt the fingers on his throat, and
most of all, felt the hard heat, covered by soft skin, invading
him, plunging in again and again.
Finally, too soon, Lehr went perfectly still, his hands
tightening just a fraction, and then Qui-Gon felt the pulse of
the younger man's release inside his body. His own release came
as the world began to gray out around him, and then suddenly
his neck was free, and he gasped for breath as his orgasm was
only just beginning to fade.
When it was over, Qui-Gon lay there, not yet able to move
enough to turn his head. He could hear the sounds of Lehr
dressing, then other noises just before a clatter of duraplast
sounded beside his shoulder, next to the back of his head. He
continued to stare at the wall as he listened to the footsteps,
and the closing of the door. And then he was alone.
After five years, he still had no idea what he was looking for
when he came here. Penance? Hardly. Perhaps he was waiting for
one of them to do something to wipe out the pain. One of them
to actually kill him. Maybe he even wanted one to stay.
No matter; whatever he wanted, it wasn't what happened. Each
time he ended up the same as before. Alone, and still keeping
company with his demons.
With a sigh that hinged on a sob, he raised up and saw what had
caused that clatter. A small pile of credits. Perfect. Just
perfect. Payment for services rendered, for offering up his
body like a cheap whore. How poetic.
He dressed quickly and left without looking back at the money
still lying on the bed.
The knock at the door was answered with a muffled, "We're
closed."
"You'll bloody well open for me, Marsau!" the man outside
hissed.
Eyes peered through a hole in the door, and then it sprung
open, "Of course, sir, I'm sorry, I did not realize it was you.
Please, come in."
"That's better." Lehr stepped into the room, reigning in his
anger for the moment. "Let's get this done, shall we?"
"Of course. If you'll just have a seat over here...."
He dropped into the chair, familiar with the process by now. A
short time later, it was done, and he took the mirror from the
table beside him before it was even offered. "Remarkable," he
said, his smile not quite reaching the dark blue eyes.
"I cannot take credit for the face," Marsau said, "as it is
your own. However, I will admit my skill in manipulation is
quite good. I wish you would let me remove the scar," he added,
reaching to touch the broken circle just below the eye. "You
could be perfect--"
A hand grabbed Marsau's wrist in a crushing grip. "The scar
stays. And I am far from perfect."
"As you wish, sir, of course."
The man smiled, feeding off the fear in Marsau's voice, the
fear he was feeding off into the Force around him. "Of course."
He pulled credits out of his pocket and dropped them on the
chair as he stood. "As usual you never saw me."
"I never do," Marsau agreed, grabbing the credits up greedily.
"Until the next time, when I will not see you again."
"Until then," the man agreed, shouldering his coat and hurrying
out the door. He wanted to be alone, to relive the evening, the
feel of that life starting to drain away. But more than that,
he wanted to go back, force himself to finish what he'd
started, to kill Qui-Gon Jinn with his own hands. He hadn't
been able to do it; for some reason, he'd stopped himself at
the last minute.
But he would. One day, he would kill his former master. And he
would enjoy it.
Turning his collar up against a sudden wind, Xanatos
disappeared into the night.
THE END
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