A Ripping Good Yarn

by MrsHamill (thamill@cox.net)

Archive: MA and my site, Mom's Kitchen (www.squidge.org/~foxsden)
Category: humor, first-time, silliness
Pairing: Q/O
Rating: R (I suppose)
Summary: Utter silliness with a bodice-ripping yarn.
Disclaimer: What, you think I own these guys? Do I even look like George Lucas? If this is not what you expected, please alter your expectations. No such thing as random coincidence. No such thing as too much lubricant. (Thank you, Mark Morford.)
Warning: This fic contains plagiarized words. No, I don't mean the borrowing of a bit of dialogue or a plot, I'm talking about wholesale-sized, huge gaping chunks ripped bleeding from an honest-to-God published work (I was going to add professional, but I think I'll let the reader decide that). I did, however, change the names and places, but that's about it. Since I doubt seriously that the perpetrator of the story I've raped is on this list (I doubt she'd know slash from a hole in the ground, but I could be wrong), I'm not even gonna apologize. Besides, it spawned the bunny in the first place!
Series: Never never never.
Notes: Dedicated to my dear, lovely Barbana, who actually read some of the plagiarized bits out loud at a crowded restaurant during Escapade. Greater courage hath no woman. Even a heaving-bosomed one. This was an overlooked bunny from Escapade, and when I finally ran across the story again, I had to get it down. And yes, it is a REAL book.

Spending a rotation at the Temple was simply boring, Qui-Gon Jinn decided. Which, overall, might not be a bad thing. He closed his report application and opened email, gratified to discover that the inroads he'd made in his incoming mail hadn't decreased. He didn't need the techs after him again for having several million unread messages piling up.

Boring it may be, but useful it was also. Obi-Wan was shamefully behind on some classes he should have taken years ago, but was only now catching up with, so that he could be properly ranked among the senior padawans as his age befit. Even as he thought of his wonderful apprentice, said young man walked into the apartment.

Instead of his usual bright disposition, a frown was marring Obi-Wan's near-perfect features. Qui-Gon turned away from the dataset and watched as Obi-Wan dropped heavily to the sofa. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Obi-Wan scrubbed his face with his hands. "I don't believe I've got to take this course. Please, Master, please tell me I can get out of it somehow?"

Qui-Gon was puzzled. He hadn't paid close attention to the coursework that Obi-Wan was making up. "Which course?"

The answer came like a toll of doom. "Creative writing techniques."

"Ah." Oh, yes. He remembered that course. "Bodice-ripping 101."

"Please, Master. I'll work in the kitchens for a week. Two weeks. A year! Anything to get out of that hideous class!" Obi-Wan gave him a pleading look. "I'm the oldest one there by at least five years. This is just such an injustice."

"It is important, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, not trying to hide his smile. "You must first learn how to write badly--"

"--Before you can write well, yes, I know, I heard Master Moaning discourse on that topic at some length today, Master." Obi-Wan turned his pleading eyes on Qui-Gon, who had to firm up his spine against the look. "I simply can't do this, Master. Honestly."

"Oh, I think you can," Qui-Gon said. He was grinning outright now, and though he knew it wasn't nice, he was just as pleased as he could be over his padawan's discomfiture. Oddly enough, he felt as though it were deserved, since, of late, he'd had highly inappropriate feelings for that very padawan. The padawan who had, to his surprise, grown up to be a perfectly beautiful young man.

Who certainly wasn't acting like young man at the moment. "Maaaaaaaster..." Obi-Wan pulled one of the cushions off the couch and buried his face in it. Qui-Gon merely chuckled and turned back to the dataset.

"Wait!" Obi-Wan's voice carried a hint of triumph and it was enough to get Qui-Gon turning back to him. "You had to take that class as well, didn't you? And I know you, you keep all your old files."

Qui-Gon's moment of panic was swiftly covered. "Oh, I'm sure I didn't keep that..."

"I know you did, you had to have, you never throw anything away. Maybe if you read me what you wrote, I'll be inspired."

The flash of mischief in Obi-Wan's eyes was enough to set off all of Qui-Gon's alarm bells. "Obi-Wan. I'm certain I didn't keep it and even if I did, it's on a disk so deeply buried somewhere it has probably turned into compost by now. I certainly don't want to be spending my time on our precious in-Temple time digging through old boxes of ... Padawan!"

Disregarding his words, Obi-Wan had leapt off the sofa and ran into Qui-Gon's bedroom. When Qui-Gon caught up with him, all he saw was a shapely backside sticking out of his closet. "I know where you keep things like that," he heard Obi-Wan's muffled voice say.

"Obi-Wan! Please get out of my closet!" Qui-Gon tried for a commanding tone but only managed to be frantic. That was one place where he did not want Obi-Wan to be messing around.

"Aha!" Obi-Wan backed out of the closet, a small storage bin in his hands. Through the transparent sides, Qui-Gon could see that yes, he had managed to find his old files, which were -- dammit -- meticulously filed according to date and cross-referenced according to subject matter. Oh, Force.

"Obi-Wan, that is private. I'd appreciate it if you would replace it -- or rather, just give it to me and I'll put it back. I told you, I don't have time to go looking for something that I'm sure doesn't even exist."

"Oh, please, master," Obi-Wan remained kneeling on the floor, the box cradled against his chest, looking up at Qui-Gon. His face was sweetly imploring but that damn mischievous look was still buried in his eyes. "I really need the help."

"Then I shall help you without the use of old files," Qui-Gon said sternly. "There really is no reason to have them out. Now, give me that box."

Increasing his death grip on the box, Obi-Wan shook his head frantically. "No, please, I promise I won't tell anyone..."

"Obi-Wan, give me that box!"

"I'll give you a blow-job."

His mouth open to speak, Qui-Gon found the words dying on his tongue. He blinked. Obi-Wan was still on his knees before him, still holding the box, and Qui-Gon could not have heard what he just heard. "I beg your pardon?!"

"I said, I'll give you a blow job. For the files." Obi-Wan grinned cheekily and winked up at Qui-Gon. "I've been told I'm quite good."

Qui-Gon imagined he rather resembled a fish out of water as he took in that rather incredible statement. "I..."

"Yes, Master?"

Quickly trying out and discarding various comments, Qui-Gon managed to say, "What makes you think I'd want a blow job from you?" Internally he winced, aware that it was a weak defense.

An extremely weak defense as it turned out. "That," Obi-Wan replied, his sparkling eyes dropping to a point mid-way down Qui-Gon's torso.

"Oh." Fighting the urge to adjust his erection in his loose trousers, Qui-Gon marshaled his thoughts for one more try.

A try that died a-borning. "Please, Master. Please?"

Qui-Gon gave up. Taking a deep breath and trying to shove down the arousal that simply refused to be shoved, he closed his eyes. "Oh, very well."

"Thank you, Master!" Obi-Wan jumped to his feet and shoved the box into Qui-Gon's hand. "I'll fetch your reader."

"The reader is in the front room, Obi-Wan, where we will be, as well." Qui-Gon was adamant. There was no way he was doing this in the bedroom, for Force's sake.

Shortly, they were back in the front room, Qui-Gon was sitting again at the dataset and had somewhat mastered his body's functions, while Obi-Wan lounged on the sofa, waiting impatiently. Trying to drag out the moment, Qui-Gon needlessly rummaged through the box until he found the correct disk, dated over twenty years before, to his chagrin. Then again, he had been younger than Obi-Wan was when he'd taken the class. That thought mollified him, but only a bit.

Opening the file in the reader, Qui-Gon winced. It was just as bad as he remembered. The purpose of the class Creative Writing Techniques was to teach the student what not to do. The reason it was generally taken by padawans in their early teens was that hyperbole ran rampant at that age, and flowery sentences, over-wrought paragraphs, excessive use of adverbs and aggressive similes seemed endemic to the age.

Wishing he were anywhere else -- like on Hoth under and assumed name -- Qui-Gon began to read.

Quinton's grip on Ben's waist was tight, almost painful, and his body was rigid. Ben leaned back as far as he dared, knowing that it helped Quinton's control of the swoop-bike, but in truth, Ben enjoyed leaning back. The sheer size of the man behind him was daunting, and being clutched between his powerful thighs, held tightly to his broad chest, made Ben feel overwhelmed. He seemed different here, in his own world, than he had in Ben's, and Ben wondered how the man had ever passed for civilized. He was all warrior and imperious commander. His was regal blood, hot and passionate. He was man enough to swing a massive broadsword, man enough to survive, even thrive, on such a rugged, untamed world.

Ben had hardly noticed Quinton's silence when they'd first rode out, too fascinated by this new world. But now, it was a chill wind behind him making his skin prickle.

"Why are we stopping here?" he asked nervously when Quinton slowed the bike down near a copse of trees.

Quinton's reply was a soft, biting laugh as he shifted in the seat of the bike so that the hard thickness of him rubbed briefly against Ben's bottom. Despite how nervous Quinton was making him, lust filled Ben for a dizzying degree. There were questions he had wanted to ask, but now, he couldn't recall a single one.

Bringing the bike to a stop, Quinton swung off of it, dragging Ben from it as well. Off balance, he fell into Quinton's arms and he crushed Ben's mouth with hot, savage kiss.

"Obi-Wan. If you continue to snicker, I won't be able to finish."

Plastering a truly false expression of sobriety on his features, Obi-Wan gave him a watery look. "I'm sorry. I won't. I promise."

Qui-Gon didn't believe it for a moment, but he continued.

Then he shoved Ben away, leaving him gasping for breath and clutching at air. Ben stood, watching with wide eyes as Quinton grabbed a folded length of fabric from the small trunk of the bike. Without a word he dropped it to the ground, spreading it with the toe of his tall boot.

"I thought we were going to see the village," Ben said nervously. He knew what Quinton was doing, he could practically smell it in the air -- sex and lust and ruthless determination. No matter that he was ready, ready and willing for this, Ben backed away a few steps. Couldn't help it. Then a few more. Tiny breaths slammed into each other, clotting in his throat.

Quinton's gaze was mocking. A strange flash of temper and impatience whipped through his eyes. "You had your hand wrapped around my cock last eve, Ben, and you want to know what I'm doing? What do you think I'm doing?" he purred with a baring of teeth that only a fool would term a smile.

Nostrils flaring, he stalked toward Ben and paced a slow circle around him. Stripping the thong from his hair, he raked his hands through the braid, freeing it. It spilled in waves of midnight around his body. The beast is loose, Ben thought with a bone-melting surge of excitement.

Ben pivoted slowly to keep pace with Quinton, as he was too nervous to allow Quinton at his back.

Quinton fisted a hand in his shirt behind his neck, yanked it over his head and flung it to the ground.

The air left Ben's lungs in a great whoosh of breath. Dressed in nothing but black leather trousers, tall black boots, hair falling about his savage face, Quinton was forbiddingly beautiful. When he bent and stripped of his boots, the muscles in his powerful back and wide shoulders rippled, reminding Ben that he was twice his size, his arms were bands of steel, his body a meticulously honed machine.

Something is different, Ben thought, and suddenly realized what it was. He was seeing Quinton without his eternal reserve and icy control. Quinton's gestures were no longer smoothly executed. Standing there, legs splayed, he was pure male aggression, insolent and unleashed.

Ben was startled to realize he was panting softly. That big, rock-hard aggressive man who was coming unraveled was going to make love to him.

At the sudden coughing, spluttering noise, Qui-Gon looked up. "Are you all right?"

"Fine, fine," Obi-Wan said, waving one hand. The other was plastered over his mouth. "Sorry. Please continue."

Quinton paced two more silent circles around Ben -- oh, yes, there was a reckless masculine swagger in his walk -- then closed in on Ben, his hand working at the laces of his trousers. He was regarding Ben with mocking, possessive amusement as if he sensed he verged on fleeing, knew he could outrun him, and rather hoped Ben would try.

As his big hand undid the laces, Ben's gaze was drawn there, down his rippling stomach to the bulge in his pants that was... quite large. And soon to be inside Ben.

Ben stared, unabashed. The sight of Quinton in leather pants half-undone, legs spread, hard body glistening gold in the sunlight, with his thick erection pushing hungrily up would be engraved in her memory until the end of time. He couldn't breathe, couldn't even swallow. He sure as hell wasn't going to blink and miss a minute of it. Nearly six and a half feet of raw, pulsing man was standing there, his hot gaze raking Ben, as if he were contemplating which part of Ben to taste first. Ben simply stared, his heart hammering.

"You know I'm not a good man," Quinton said. "You came to me anyway. Don't pretend you don't know what I want and don't think to deny me. Twice now, you've tried to go back. There is no going back with me, Ben-lad." He hissed the last words, his lips drawing away from his teeth. "You know what I want and you want it too. You want it just the way I'm about to give it to you."

Ben's knees nearly buckled. Anticipation shivered through her. He was right. On all counts.

He stalked. "Hard, fast, deep. When I'm done, you'll know you're mine. And you'll never think of naysaying me again."

Another predatory step towards Ben.

Without thinking, Ben turned to run. Quinton didn't even allow him one step before he was on him, taking him down to the ground on his stomach beneath him, laughing all the way.

Then Quinton's laughter turned to a rough growl as he stretched his big, hard body the full length of Ben's, his erection an iron bar prodding Ben's behind through the fabric of his trousers. Ben wiggled, panicked at the feel of how large Quinton was, yet he was given no quarter. Quinton wrapped his arms tightly around Ben, pinning Ben's arms to his sides. He rubbed himself back and forth between the cleft of Ben's bottom, growling in a language Ben didn't know.

Banding Ben's arms with one of his, Quinton slid a hand between Ben's body and ground and cupped Ben's hot, steely hard erection. Ben cried out at the shatteringly intimate touch. Every nerve in his body awakened brutally to a sharp, hungry emptiness. Muscles deep inside him bore down on nothing, aching to be filled and soothed. Quinton's strange temper, his roughness, fed a desire in Ben that he'd not known he had. To be taken, consumed by the man. Hard and fast and without words. Every bit as animal as he'd known he was the day Ben first met Quinton.

Ben liked the danger in him, he realized. It stirred a reckless part of him he'd long denied.

Quinton's weight atop him was so heavy he could scarcely breathe. When his lips grazed the back of his neck, Ben whimpered. When his teeth closed on it in a little love-bite, Ben practically screamed. He was dizzyingly aroused, hot, achy, and needy. Then one of Quinton's big hands was on Ben's face, a finger slipping between his lips and he sucked on it, willing to take and taste any part of Quinton he could get.

With his other hand, Quinton shoved Ben's trousers down, his fingers ruthlessly probing his exposed cleft, his testicles, his hard and leaking cock, spreading the dampness he found at the head around the shaft, and back, along his cleft to his center. With a ruthless sort of gentleness, Quinton worked a finger inside Ben and thrust deeply.

Ben cried out and pushed back against his hand. Yes, oh yes -- that was what he needed! Small broken sounds escaped his lips as Quinton deftly slid a second finger in till he reached a place that set fireworks off behind Ben's eyes. Gently but relentlessly, Quinton massaged that little nub, covering Ben's bare neck and shoulders with searing, open-mouthed kisses interspersed with tiny bites. The pain was fleeting, a small feeling of stretching, accommodating, swiftly surpassed by the pleasure of Quinton's fingers moving inside him, his mouth hot on Ben's skin, his powerful body rippling against his. Quinton was Ben's most private fantasy come to life. He'd dreamed of this, Quinton taking him as if there were no force in the galaxy that could prevent it.

And nothing ever could, Ben thought, as he felt the exquisite pain of Quinton's fingers inside him.

Then, the fingers were gone, and Quinton was nudging, thick and hard as steel, against that loosened, delicate portal and Ben made a small helpless sound of distress. He'd seen Quinton. He knew what was coming, and didn't think he could take it.

This time the noise was a thud, and Qui-Gon looked up again to find his padawan on the floor, rolling about, laughing helplessly, silently. At least it was silently, Qui-Gon thought, shaking his head.

After a few moments, Obi-Wan managed to get control of himself again. Wiping tears from his eyes, he remained on the floor and tried to look contrite -- failing miserably. "I'm sorry, Master," he said, chuckles breaking through his words. "I truly am."

"Why do I feel you're not telling the truth, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon asked dryly.

"It's just..." Obi-Wan waved his hand between them. "It's just so... over the top, Master. I mean... there's not even any lube?"

"Obi-Wan, I was fourteen," Qui-Gon patiently explained. Glancing at the words displayed on his reader, he supposed that it could be considered pretty funny at that. "I didn't lose my virginity until I was almost seventeen. I wasn't even certain what happened... though after the human sexuality classes, I had a better idea."

Rubbing his nose hard, Obi-Wan managed to get himself fully under control again. "Well, given your age at the time, I'd say that's a fairly good showing then. I think I've got the idea, so I won't demand you read more."

Thank the stars for that, Qui-Gon thought to himself. He'd had enough embarrassment to last a lifetime. Two lifetimes.

A warm touch on his knee made him look down to find his padawan kneeling between his legs, his expression far more sober, but burning for all that. "Now, as to payment," Obi-Wan said...

As blow jobs went, it was spectacular.

Three days later -- three days of joyous exploration and mind-blowing sex mixed with some pretty hot declarations of various undying feelings -- Qui-Gon was once again at his dataset, this time relaxing by playing a game Obi-Wan had shown him. The door opened and his new lover bounced into the room, first kissing Qui-Gon with some passion -- turned out there were lots of things that Obi-Wan could do with his mouth besides blow jobs -- then taking a seat on the sofa.

"Got my grade on the writing assignment," he said.

"Wonderful! What did you get?" Qui-Gon paused the game and turned to Obi-Wan.

"Well, why don't I read it, and you can decide?" Qui-Gon had to chuckle at the look on Obi-Wan's face, but nodded gamely enough.

The transport was crowded, but Ben and Quinton managed to sit together. It had been a rough few days, but now they were on their way home, and he knew that his life with Quinton was just beginning.

With a soft sigh, he opened his eyes slowly to find Quinton staring straight at him. He didn't speak, just looked at Ben. In the shadows, his chiseled face was breathtaking, savagely masculine.

His eyes.

Ben got lost in them for a long moment, wondering how he could have ever thought them savage. Deep blue, they were the color of a deep, dark sea, and filled with some emotion. He stared, trying to make it out. Could it be love?

Deep beneath the coolness and mockery, well-hidden beneath the relentless seduction, was it possible that Quinton was in love with Ben?

Don't read anything into it, Ben, he thought to himself. If he loves you, he'll tell you soon enough.

Qui-Gon caught his breath and gave his new lover a tender look. No, he hadn't come out and said it, but he would now. Once this ridiculous story was over, anyway.

He found his eyes and his lips drawn to Quinton's voluptuous mouth, Ben's body automatically reaching for its mate. His eyes glittering, Quinton bent his dark head to Ben's. Oh, he definitely wanted to kiss Ben, and perhaps other things as well!

Ben knew he should turn away, called himself a fool in every language he knew, but it didn't help. The lights were down, most of the other passengers were sleeping, the atmosphere was cozy and intimate, and he wanted to be kissed. What harm was there in a little kiss? Besides, they were on a transport, for star's sake -- how far could it go?

Had he known the answer to that in advance, Ben would have scrambled across the aisle and sealed tape over his mouth. Several layers of tape. Maybe taped his legs together for good measure.

The moment Quinton's lips touched Ben's, a sultry storm whipped up inside him, and he sizzled with heat lightning. Quinton rubbed his sensual lips over Ben's, taking it slow, making him feel needy and reckless.

Slow wasn't what he wanted. He'd allowed himself a kiss, and by God, he intended to have it. A real one, with all the trimmings. Lips and tongues and teeth and lots of soft sighs. With a little sounds of impatience, he touched his tongue to Quinton's. His response was instant and electrifying, whipping his inner storm into a tempest of heat and desire. With a low growl deep in his throat, Quinton fisted his hands in Ben's hair, and yanked his head back against the seat, his tongue penetrating deep. Ben couldn't breathe around it.

"Are you all right, Master?" Obi-Wan said

Qui-Gon tried to turn it into a coughing fit, but Obi-Wan's dancing eyes saw through it. "I'm fine, fine. Please, continue."

The kiss Quinton gave Ben was not meant to seduce, it was meant to mark a person's soul, it was meant to mark Ben's soul, and it was working. Dominant like the man, hungry, demanding, beckoning forth the secret Ben that harbored hunger every bit as deep as his. He was a dark, seductive shadow, all around Ben, and Ben was drowning in him. In the spicy scent of leather-clad man, in the sleek wet glide of his tongue, the strong hands in his hair. And he dare not make all that sound that trembled inside him. It was unbearably erotic, being forced to take such a kiss in absolute silence.

Quinton's hot tongue thrust and withdrew in blatant mimicry of sex, and Ben felt himself getting hopelessly hard, just from his kiss. The man made Ben feel like he was being devoured, eaten up, lap by delicious lap.

When he stopped and traced the pad of his thumb over Ben's swollen lips, Ben panted softly, staring, unable to say a word. Quinton searched his face, clearly liking what he saw in his glazed eyes, the evidence of the mind-numbing effect his kisses had on Ben. With a low, satisfied laugh, Quinton pressed his thumb against Ben's bottom teeth and forced his mouth open wide, clamped this hands on the sides of his face, taking him in an open-mouth, deep-tongued kiss. Stealing the breath from his lungs, then giving it back. Making love to Ben's mouth, letting him know how he would make love to him in all kinds of other places.

When Ben was whimpering against his lips, Quinton drew back, his gaze smoldering. Lifting Ben's jean-clad legs, he pulled them across his own, positioning him so that he leaned back against the window, giving Quinton better access.

"If you want me to stop, Ben-lad, say it now. I won't ask again."

Some other man must have shaken his head "no," because Ben knew he was supposed to say "yes."

And it certainly must have been some other man who slipped his hands around the nape of Quinton's neck, beneath his soft black leather jacked and into his hair.

It was definitely some other man who slid them hungrily down his rock-hard chest.

Quinton caught them in one of his own and pushed them aside. "Don't touch me, lad. Not now."

Quinton shushed her protests by pushing one of his fingers between Ben's lips. He touched Ben's tongue, then traced the outline of his lips. Slowly, he trailed that damp finger down Ben's neck, along the edge of his V-neck sweater, stopping over one pebbled nipple, rubbing it through the soft fabric of the sweater. Ben watched him, mesmerized. He was so incredibly beautiful, there in the shadows, his sensual lips parted, his eyes narrowed with desire. His breath was warm against the damp path he'd left, teasing nerve endings to fiery life.

When his dark gaze fixed on his hardness, his nipples peaked even more, puckering into hard peaks. God, the man was intoxicating! Even his gaze was potent, making Ben's skin sizzle, making him frantic for more. The mere thought of his hot, wet mouth greedy on his nipples, on his cock, made Ben weak with desire.

With a glance so rife with sexual promise that it took Ben's breath away, Quinton tugged a blanket provide by the transport up to Ben's neck. Then he slipped his hands beneath the blanket, and Ben's head dropped limply back against the window, his eyes fluttering closed.

He should stop him. And he would. Soon. Really soon.

"Open your eyes, Ben-lad. I want to see you watching me when I touch you." A soft command, but a command nonetheless.

Ben's lids lifted languorously. He felt as if Quinton was sucking the will out of him with his touch, leaving him limp and utterly vulnerable to his demands.

Under the blanket, Quinton shoved Ben's sweater up and unzipped his jeans, freeing his erection. Oh, yes, he thought. This was what he'd been wanting since the moment they'd seen each other. To be naked with him, to feel his hot, big hands branding his bare skin. Ben was melting into a puddle of hot lust at the hands of a master, and he couldn't gather the will to care. Quinton cupped his testicles, tracing his erection softly, too softly to cause a reaction. His mouth took Ben's in a bruising kiss...

"Master?" Obi-Wan glanced up in time to see Qui-Gon loom over him. With a growl every bit as convincing as Quinton's, Qui-Gon grabbed the reader and tossed it across the room, where it clattered to the floor. Clothing followed soon after.

After that, the only sounds filling the apartment were gasps, moans, and a few hoarse exclamations.

Obi-Wan had gotten an 'A'.

In both ways.

end