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Summary: A quickie

Category: PWP, angst (ha!)

Archive: M-A and http://www.wyomingnot.com/rita/rita.html

Warning: salacious misappropriation of a famous GL phrase.

Pairing: I thought about making this one Q/O in deference to the general M/A sentiment, but I found that Qui-Gon simply lacked the angst necessary to make this little story work. Bail, however, has it out the wazoo.

Excuse: I have none.

Disclaimer: I didn't write this. Someone else did and stole my pen name.

Feedback: If you must: jedirita@yahoo.com

They barely made it back to Bail's apartment.

As soon as the door closed, clothes flew off, hands and mouths were everywhere, and they were down on the living room floor, Obi-Wan on his knees, Bail pounding frantically into him. Oh, it was so good. Bail loved it like this, mindless and wild. Faster. Faster, more intense. It was building in him, and it was going to be so hot and messy, everywhere, all over the carpet...

Bail's eyes snapped open in dismay. His new Matmatan rug -- he'd just bought it this week. Damn! Oh, but it was far too late now. A small price to pay for ecstasy. "Oh, my carpet," he moaned as he exploded, liquid fire ripping through him, lights flashing before his eyes, Obi-Wan's answering moan echoing in his ears, and they collapsed onto the floor in a boneless pile.

Several minutes of gasps and panting until their breath evened out. Then Obi-Wan rolled over. "You know, I've heard of people yelling all kinds of bizarre things during sex, but I've never heard of anyone call for their carpet in the heat of passion."

Wearily, Bail raised his head to look at Obi-Wan.

"Why do you think it's called 'shag'?"