Master Apprentice
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Category: A/U, Romance
Rating: NC-17 for yummy stuff
Spoilers: For all movies, including TPM, and the JA books.
Disclaimer: Lucas owns 'em, I don't. Damn.
The bazaar in Mos Patras fairly hums with life as Qui-Gon and I make our way to the mechanics section continuing our search for an affordable hydroregulator. This is only our second trip away from home and we make sure to keep a very low profile as to avoid any 'imperial' entanglements.
As always, I find myself focused on our practical needs while my beloved bondmate enjoys letting his attention wander, allowing the Living Force to saturate his mind and senses, tuning out such petty distractions as our urgent need for new equipment. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him examining a table full of Knarian sculptures, no doubt asking about the artist, the origin of the materials and haggling over the price, just for fun.
I smile, a bit sadly since we cannot afford to purchase any of these beautiful, but unnecessary, items. Wishing won't change things, but perhaps someday Fate will treat us with a bit more kindness in regards to our less practical wishes.
Or so we can hope.
Sighing, I'm just about to turn back and retrieve Qui-Gon from the sculpture table when I hear a loud voice boom out over the entire bazaar.
"Make way for His Excellency, Tremmba the Hutt!"
I freeze in my tracks as the Hutt draws near, his bulbous body borne on a litter that fairly groans beneath his massive weight. Surrounded by armed attendants and scantily dressed slaves he is the picture of greed -- swollen, grotesque and debauched.
The crowd behind me grows restless, from either fear or curiosity and they surge forward, knocking into me from behind. As a result, I'm shoved directly into the Hutt's path landing gracelessly at the feet of his hulking guards, tripping one and sending another face first into the dust.
"Shombate!"
The oath rings in my ears as I try to scramble out of their way, my cloak tangling between legs that have lost some of their agility in the passing years. I curse, attempt to rise and run, but it is too late.
Strong arms haul me to my feet and I find myself face to face with the mighty Tremmba himself who peers at me from beneath heavy, slitted eyelids.
"Toguar e'tu shomate tunga," he rumbles dangerously.
The look of fear on my face isn't entirely for show. All Hutts are Force sensitives, their hatred of Jedi infamous and if he realizes what he's caught, my days are numbered.
I bow my head, then flinch when a blow cracks across my face with shocking suddenness.
"Shombate toguar e'tu TUNGA!" The Hutt sounds furious and I swallow hard, praying that Qui-Gon is still hidden within the crowd and has enough sense to stay there.
"Idiot!" Another blow, this one to my temple. "How dare you stand in the way of His Excellency. You have displeased the mighty Tremmba and for this, you will pay!" A guard shakes me violently and I don't resist in the slightest, hoping against hope that a few blows will be enough sport for them and I'll be allowed to escape this scene more or less intact.
No such luck. I'm struck again, this time savagely enough to force me to my knees. My head spins and suddenly, part of me wants to use Force to hurl the mighty Tremmba's slime ridden bottom into the outer reaches of the bazaar so as to enjoy the spectacle of his blubbery mass bouncing from stall to stall.
The other part of me remembers that I am a Jedi and such thoughts are a certain path to Darkness, while a small, tired part of me wishes I'd stayed in bed this morning as Qui-Gon had suggested.
He had a bad feeling about today's trip, and, as usual, he was right.
Unfortunately, I don't have much time to contemplate Qui-Gon's prophecy as another blow strikes me on the back of the head, instantly reducing my universe to a tiny pinpoint of light, one that quickly fades to black.
The first thing I notice when I awake is that I'm freezing.
It's an odd sensation, especially after spending three years living on a world where the word "cold" is unknown to all native dialects. My head is pounding, I can barely see a foot in front of me and I have no idea where I am.
Gingerly, I feel my limbs to make sure they are all intact and realize my clothes are missing, thus the unpleasant chill.
I squint, trying to accustom my eyes to the darkness and my nose wrinkles at a thick, cloying smell that assaults my nostrils. I know that smell from somewhere and it takes a long moment before I realize what it is.
Bantha dung.
Groaning, I realize I've been tossed naked into a cell full of Bantha dung by none other than my good friend, Tremmba the Hutt.
Isn't that wonderful? It appears my captors aren't the subtlest creatures in the universe and I curse aloud, wincing at the fresh burst of odor that assails me.
Anger rises, but again, I resist the urge to use Force as a means of escape. It's far too dangerous, for both myself and Qui-Gon, not to mention Anakin's son, who probably is napping at this moment, blissfully unaware that his "uncle" is cooling his heels in a Hutt's detention cell.
My thoughts immediately turn to Qui-Gon. A momentary flare of panic rips through me at the thought of my bondmate, but I remember he was lingering behind me, far removed from the Hutt's path and is probably safe.
Or, at the very least, safer than I am.
A voice growls out from the hallway. "You. Human."
"Yes?" I keep my voice low and my tone neutral. Too much fear will inspire my captors to new and interesting methods of humiliation, while too much confidence will rouse their suspicions. It's an actor's game I have to play now and play it wisely if I wish to escape this scrape intact.
The cell door slides open and two armed guards enter, their faces distorted with what I assume is mirth.
"Itsa lucky day for you, human slime. You've found favor with the mighty Tremmba."
"Oh. Good," I mutter, thinking that this news isn't good at all.
"Ha. Yes, very good. If you not find favor with Tremmba, it would be bad. Very bad for you."
Their laughter sounds disturbingly like the grunting of a pair of 'spigs and I resist the urge to struggle as they haul me to my feet and shove me into the hall.
Try to maintain some semblance of dignity as I'm dragged naked past cells that hold various creatures of dubious origin, all of them reaching for me, arms, legs, even tentacles waving through row after row of tiny cell grates.
Find myself forced into a water closet where I'm bathed like an animal, shoved into a vat of freezing water then scrubbed with rough brushes. Soaped and brushed, brushed and dunked and my temper quickly grows short, but I reign it in as I'm finally taken out of the bath and given the chance to dry off.
A cloth bundle hits me in the face and the guard growls at me. "Get dressed, human scum. And be quick. The mighty Tremmba waits for no one."
"Right away," I murmur as the door grinds shut behind them. Taking a deep breath, I calm myself and examine the bundle. For a moment, I can't believe my eyes, but there is no denying what sort of costume I find myself holding.
It's a bedslave's outfit, a scant bit of shiny cloth that would barely cover a baby Ewok, let along a full-grown human. Golden chains dangle from an obscenely small groin wrap and a bright, decorative collar completes the ridiculous ensemble.
I curse again, this time making no effort to hide my disgust with both my captors and myself. Damn fool that I am, I should have paid more attention to my surroundings. Damn it.
I fumble with the outfit, trying not to rip the delicate material which is so insubstantial as to be nonexistent. I finally get it on and feel more naked than before, not to mention more idiotic than ever.
The door slides open and a tiny, rodent-like female enters, carrying a small box and a long stick. Without warning, she thwacks the stick across the back of my legs and motions for me to sit.
I obey reluctantly as she opens the box and pulls out a variety of body paints and perfumes. She tosses aside some, makes small clicking noises of approval over others, then leaps into my lap and begins to wield the tools of her trade.
Carefully, she smears various colors over my neck and chest, squeaking tunelessly while she works. Dusts a glistening perfumed substance over my cheeks and temples, ignoring my protests as its sweet smell makes me sneeze uncontrollably.
Takes special care with my eyes, using tiny furred brushes to apply the cosmetics to my lids and lashes while I blink frantically at every aggravating tickle.
"Enough of that," I growl. I prepare shove her from my lap, but the stick whistles through the air and hits me again, this time a stinging blow to my shins, painful enough to make me shout aloud.
She chitters angrily at me and without further ado, continues her labors. Fusses over my hair, combing through it with a strange metallic device, tugging at knots and smoothing away any stray hair that dares to venture forth.
Finally, I force myself to submit quietly and chant the Litany of Patience as she finishes. Once I get out of the detention area and into the court proper, I'll be better able to assess my situation, thus facilitating a much speedier escape.
Besides, the humiliation is a valuable lesson.
I jump with surprise when I feel a pair of sharp pinches on my chest. Look down to see metal clips neatly attached to each nipple, with chains dangling from loops that span from torso to groin. I immediately try to remove them, but my hands are smacked away and a dire look of warning is quickly bestowed.
Sighing, I leave the clamps alone and at last, she leans back and peers at me with a critical eye. Purrs her approval and taps the stick against my hip, motioning for me to rise, nudging me toward the reflection panel at the far end of the bath.
I squint into the panel then gape with disbelief. An exotic creature is staring back at me from within the glass and I'm shocked to realize that it's me. Shining, sensual ... debauched even, I've been reduced to a glittering toy, with dark, smokey lines surrounding my eyes and gleaming paints covering most of my body.
The little artist chitters loudly and the door slides open, revealing my two 'friends' standing in wait for me. I'm prodded out with that infernal stick and the guards glance at me appraisingly.
"Not bad. Nice work, Retaila."
His partner shakes his head. "Isea still say Tremmba gonna kill him."
"Ten credits say he don't."
The argument continues as they march me down the hallway toward the court proper, where Tremmba sits on his throne, drooling and waving his tiny, useless arms to demonstrate a point. The court is outlandishly decorated and Tremmba is obviously entertaining an important dignitary of some sort.
I bow my head and wait to be acknowledged, glancing around furtively trying to observe as much as possible to facilitate my escape, when I see who Tremmba's "guest" is.
And I nearly fall down at the sight.
It is Qui-Gon -- dressed in what can only be garments stolen from a wealthy merchant or dignitary from some rich world. It takes a moment, but I quickly gain control over myself, and don't gape like a fool at the sight of him, as wonderful as it is.
He is astonishing and beautiful and I'll admit I've never seen him look more alive. His eyes are bright and sharp; cheeks rosy and his manner is a brilliant combination of criminal and king. He's still a Jedi master through and through and I can't help the flush of pride that sneaks over me, even in such a dire situation. Overwhelmed as always at how much I still have to learn from this man, even after so many years together.
"Ah, here he is, just as you wished, Ambassador." Tremmba nods in my direction and casually waves to the guards behind me.
I'm shoved forward and instructed to kneel by my bondmate's side. I obey as Qui-Gon peers at me lazily, giving me a searing glance up and down, and I'll be damned if I'm not immediately aroused. My cheeks are burning and my entire body is flushed beneath the glittering paints. I'm at once horrified and enticed and I think I'm going to pass out if he doesn't do or say something . . . anything to bring me back to reality.
Qui-Gon takes no notice of my obvious, panting distress. Instead, he turns his attention back to the monstrous bulk before him. "Beautiful." He smiles at the Hutt. "Didn't I tell you? I knew he'd clean up very well."
The Hutt snorts and replies in Standard. "I had my doubts."
Qui-Gon takes another sip from his glass and waves his hand carelessly. "I think, my friend, you'll find I'm right about quite a few things." Sly look. "Not least of which is the trade route you seek."
The Hutt leans back, his eyes narrowing. "Tell me more, Ambassador Quell."
Qui-Gon reaches out and absently strokes my cheek, as one would pet a felinoid. "As you know, most routes have been closed to 'alternative businesses' by our Imperial friends for over two years now." His hand slides down and grazes lightly across my chest, teasing me, making my heart pound. "But I'm willing to negotiate for you a clear passage through the Partelain Way via Teklon Four . . . for a small fee, of course."
"What about refueling?" The Hutt's eyes are fairly dancing with greed and glee.
I feel a gentle tug on the chain that's attached to my nipples and it sends a jolt of fire straight to my groin. My heart thuds, my breath grows short and I sway on my knees, vaguely wondering if it's possible to faint from arousal.
"That will cost you extra." More lazy tugs alternating between both nipples and I'm quite sure I'm going to fall over. "Fuel can be expensive, as you surely realize." A shrug and a light pinch. "But I think I can negotiate something with His Highness that might suit all concerned."
The Hutt's expression changes from gleeful to skeptical. "Is that so?" Suspicious tone. "Tell me, how long have you known the Shar P'iet, Ambassador? It seems odd that I've never heard your name before."
"How long have I known him?" The court grows tense as Qui-Gon pauses for a long moment until finally allowing a wicked smile to crease his lips. "Since I sold him his last three wives, of course."
The Hutt blinks, then begins to shake with amusement as a roar of laughter fills the court. "You are scum, most certainly." The Hutt wipes his eyes. "I like that in a human." The gangster nods toward me. "Now, what of this creature you saw me pull up from the dirt? Are you sure you'd like to have him? I can get you a much younger one, you know." He grimaces. "This one appears a bit long in the tooth."
Qui-Gon shakes his head and lazily draws on the chains. Motions for me to stand and trembling, I obey. Caresses me beneath the groin wrap, and I bite back a whimper as my aching arousal shows clearly for all the court to see.
"Trade this for a mere boy? I don't think so." Qui-Gon chuckles and with a brisk tug, yanks me into his lap. Pulls me into a demanding kiss as the Hutt chortles his approval.
"Then it is settled." The gangster waves at his attendants, who scurry to obey. "Begin the supper. And be careful of the ingredients." His tone turns threatening. "Remember what happened to the last cook who displeased me."
Qui-Gon raises his glass to our "host" and the feast begins. Huge plates filled to overflowing are set before us as jugs of excellent wine are poured, one after the other. Music plays and there is dancing that turns into brawling. Self-indulgences of every sort unfold around us as the court grows wilder with each passing moment.
The revelry lasts well into the night as I find myself ensconced on Qui-Gon's lap, meekly submitting to his attentions and feigning fear. He continues to caress as he feeds me small tidbits from his plate with his fingers. I greedily take them up, trying desperately to hide my amusement at the entire preposterous scene.
Forgotten are hydroregulators and empty credit accounts. Ignored are threats from Tuskans and Emperors and if my brother Owen were here, I think I'd punch him straight in the nose and not give a damn what he'd do about it.
Because for this brief, wonderful moment I am content, laying in the arms the person I love and it's the sweetest, most comfortable feeling I know.
Even if I do look like a T'rialyn dancer who's had too much to drink.
"So beautiful," Qui-Gon whispers. Pulls my earlobe into his mouth and nibbles gently until I'm writhing in his lap. Suddenly, I'm no longer caring where we are or how we are going to escape. The Hutt could feed me to his pet rancor at that very moment and I'd die a joyful man.
I squirm around and capture Qui-Gon's mouth, delving deeply and moaning happily until he gives me a gentle warning pinch between my thighs. Nods toward the guards who are eyeing us with a mixture of amusement and suspicion.
I pull back, abashed. Tremmba may not be the brightest star in the solar system, but his guards are hardened mercenaries who have seen, and killed, their share of con artists of which Qui-Gon and I now number among the most shameless.
I flush with embarrassment and bite my lip. For a Jedi, I'm very bad at paying attention to my immediate surroundings. "Sorry," I murmur so only he can hear. "I seem to have forgotten where I am."
I expect to be chastised, but Qui-Gon's eyes are shining with delight. "Be good, my little one, or I'll make you dance," he growls as he leans in to nip at my jaw.
I look down demurely, my entire body shaking with restrained lust. "Yes, Master."
His eyes widen with astonishment and not a little desire. I have to bite back the laughter that threatens and lower my head to hide my mirth. Another pinch between my legs, this one with some spark behind it, and I immediately assume a more humble demeanor.
Hours pass and soon the entire court is either sleeping or passed out drunk on the floor. Tremmba himself has long since retired to his private quarters, slave girls and boys in tow.
Qui-Gon rises and gives my chains a jaunty tug and I quietly follow. Leans down and retrieves an abandoned cloak from the floor, taking a moment to drape it over my shoulders. Surprisingly, we exit without incident, the guards snoring and slumped against their posts.
I receive one more kiss and together, Qui-Gon and I leave Tremmba's court without a backwards glance.
It is nearly dawn by the time we make our way back to the speeder. Qui-Gon takes the controls and floors them. Throttle forward full speed and it isn't until we are well into the city outskirts that he puts on the speeder's automatic controls.
Turns to me, his eyes sorrowful. "Forgive me, Obi-Wan. It was the only escape I could think of without using Force. I know how humiliating it must have been for you, and for that I apologize. Will you forgive me?"
I sigh and stare out over the passing streets, trying to hide the smile that seems determined to permanently mark itself onto my features.
"Obi-Wan?" Worried now, and I feel his fingers shake a little as they entwine with mine. "Please, beloved, I am so sor . . . "
I interrupt. "Qui-Gon?"
"Yes, dearest?"
"I love you madly. Now will you make this thing move faster so you can take me somewhere and finish what you've started?"
He blinks, then a slow smile spreads across his face. "Yes, Master."
He guns the engine and we soon find ourselves in front of a rooming house, one that's well known for it's short hours and inexpensive rates. Qui-Gon doesn't hesitate, but takes me by the hand and pulls me inside. Drags me toward the lift, simply throwing a handful of credits at the 'droid standing behind the blast proof glass counter and calling a room pass into his hand with a tickle of Force.
I laugh when I hear the 'droid scurry to gather the money, but Qui-Gon covers my mouth with his own, silencing me. Backs me against the lift door, ravishing me and we nearly fall out when we reach our floor and the door opens without warning.
Gaudy decorations spin by and a moment later, I soon find myself tumbled onto a huge, soft pallet, its bedding covered with black synthsilk. Without another word Qui-Gon is naked atop me, running his hands down my chest, biting at my shoulder, and murmuring my name again and again as if saying it for the first time.
I grind against him, delighted at the small streaks of glitter that rub off on his skin and the perfume becomes heated and heady, filling the air with a sweet, peppery scent.
"A demon. That's what you are. Impossible that something so beautiful could be human." He licks his way down my stomach, making the muscles roil beneath his touch. "Impossible."
I try to reply, but he slides back up and captures my mouth again. Knees my legs apart, demanding obedience and I comply, molding myself to him, letting him take what he will and adoring every moment.
These rooms are well equipped for their intended purposes and I'm not surprised to feel a pair of oil-slicked fingers at my entrance, preparing me quickly and without fanfare. I twist into the touch, as ungentle as it is, begging for more in every language I know. Two fingers become three, then withdraw without warning, leaving me empty and whimpering.
He rolls over, pulling me atop him and enters me from beneath, fingers wrapped around the chains that still dangle from my nipples. With each thrust, the chains pull and I'm torn by sensation, fire that sears my nerves from every direction. I am filled, stretched to the limit and the burn quickly turns into a pleasure almost too intense to bear.
The world shifts again, and I am beneath him, urging him on, wrapping my legs around his hips while watching his face, his expression effortful. A warm tongue flicks at my collarbone, and large hands smooth my legs as I buck up, crying out, seeking . . . needing more.
Nothing exists outside of our writhing bodies, as his weight bears down hard, his hand reaching between us and stroking roughly, matching me stroke for stroke as I push up against him.
We move in rhythm and his breath is hot against my neck, and it is good, better than good as joy comes and I scream, feeling myself tighten around him, feeling him follow me over the edge, hot and wet, spurting inside, filling me as, his hips thrust once, then twice more -- hard, before he collapses atop me, both of us breathless and sated.
A kiss against my neck. "Worth every penny."
I can't help but laugh weakly. "And to think . . . "
"Yes?"
"We still don't have the hydroregulator."
He pulls back and stares at me a moment before bursting into laughter. He rolls away from me and I take in the sight of him, naked and beautiful, his flushed body shining against the black sheets. His blue eyes are lit with love and I roll into his embrace, grateful not only for him, but for the life we share.
As unnecessary as some of our detours may be.
end
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