Archive: Yes, at Master_Apprentice and my site; otherwise,
please ask me first.
Category: Non Q/O, Angst, PWP, Point of View
Rating: NC-17
Warning: If you don't like the idea of guilty, secretive
Qui-Gon, this isn't for you.
Spoilers: none
Feedback: yes, please.
Summary: Don't let the "Non Q/O" chase you off; this is
definitely a Qui/Obi-themed story. I'm trying to work up to the
real thing--I love these guys!
Disclaimer: George Lucas, blah blah blah.
If you have to be a prostitute, Alderaan is as good a place as
any; better, in fact, than most. I'm quite fortunate. There are
very stringent laws regulating our trade and our protection--in
fact, we're even considered something of a social service,
which is not all that surprising if you think about it.
Pensions, retirement communities (one of the funnier sights of
Alderaan--"the old gigolo's home"), and everything.
So I don't have much to be afraid of. Starvation will certainly
never be an issue for me. I'm quite the attractive young man,
or so I've been told many times, and I work for one of the most
reputable houses. My skills are manifold and I'm quite
frequently in demand. It's considered something of a symbol of
prestige if a customer can afford to lay me.
On that note I was really surprised tonight. My last customer
was dressed, well, not like a beggar exactly, but more
like one of the lower tradesmen. Certainly not like someone who
can afford to frequent this sector of the capital. A humble
brown cloak, sandy-colored tunics, well-worn boots.
But if you put that aside, by the gods, the man was beautiful.
Huge. Not pretty, but leonine; brown-and-gray hair tumbling
around a weathered face as he pulled his hair thong loose,
sharp blue eyes that never once left my face. As if he were
judging me for something, and I didn't know what. His nose had
been broken sometime during his life.
So I put out my best effort. It was something novel, after all.
I could always signal for help if he tried to get rough with
me. By the hundred little gods, his hands were big, even large
in proportion to the rest of him.
He didn't seem interested in talk, just started stripping off
his clothes without so much as a how-do-you-do. I could feel my
eyebrows climbing my forehead and stopped them as best I could.
If he wanted a little rough-and-ready I could certainly provide
that. I could provide him anything he asked for short of two
tits and a vagina, and if he'd wanted that he certainly
wouldn't be here with me. Cautiously I started unbuttoning my
shirt, and at his sharp nod of assent I continued stripping.
More sensually than he did, I can tell you that. A little flick
of the hip here, a coy glance there, a rub of the finger around
one of my nipples.
His iron expression didn't falter, but I saw the heat rise in
his eyes. For some reason, I was unaccountably excited by all
of this. He inspired caution in me, but I was not afraid.
That's good, I told myself. Lack of fear is good. Fear leads to
anger--where did that come from?
Then it hit me; the man in front of me was Jedi. Glancing
around, I saw what I had missed while taking off my own
clothes--plain as day, the lightsaber lying on top of his
cloak, well within reach. Of course. Such a controlled face,
the plain clothes, the inner burning. How could I have missed
it? But then, what in hell would a Jedi want with a whore?
I could have laughed at myself then. Obviously he wanted what
everybody else wanted. Time to keep the customer satisfied. I
ran my eyes up and down his body. "You're still wearing pants."
"Yes. Kindly do something about that." His voice was as rough
as gravel, and even through the baggy, dark material I could
see the tell-tale tentpole of an especially eager man. So much
for Jedi control.
Naked, I sauntered over and knelt in front of him with as much
sex appeal as I could muster. Reached for his trouser string.
Started loosening it as slowly as I could, rubbing my cheek
against that warm, hard protrusion under the cloth. He sucked
in a breath, and when I looked up I saw his head tilted back,
eyes closed, mouth slightly open.
"Hurry up," he managed. Such a hungry man. I felt two big hands
rest on my head, and they began combing almost desperately
through my short, cropped hair. He was beginning to tremble a
little, his hips rocking against my questing movements. As per
instructions, I tugged the trousers down and he quickly stepped
out of them. Oh. My. Hundred little gods, wasn't that a
sight to take the edge off a day? My anticipation increased
abruptly. I'm so glad I still enjoy my work.
I opened my mouth and very carefully began mouthing the head of
his penis, which was already swollen and leaking, colored an
angry red. He must have been aroused for hours. I almost pitied
him. This probably wouldn't last very long. What could he have
been doing or seeing to put him in such a state?
A hoarse groan greeted my efforts, he sagged against the wall
for an instant, and then just as quickly was on his feet again,
tugging me to mine as well. Eyes still closed, he pulled me
into my arms and began to kiss me with an incredible fervor. I
was quickly starting to feel like I was in over my head. The
man wasn't making love to me or even just fucking me, he was
trying to eat me alive, and some non-mercenary part of me
didn't mind at all. Suddenly I was being pushed backwards,
being propelled onto the bed and his weight almost crushed me
into the mattress before he remembered to support himself on
his elbows. Our two cocks, both hard now, grinding together.
Him, eyes still shut, moaning continuously now, huge hands
clenching my shoulders as if he was afraid I'd disappear,
though one hand periodically kept returning to stroke my head.
"Your hair," he gasped, his voice even rougher, "so soft and
short, so..."
"It's easier..." I managed to gasp, "to care fo--"
I was silenced with an almost brutal kiss. "Don't speak," he
ordered harshly, "please, don't speak, just be silent, please."
Then he rolled me over on my back and started licking and
biting all up and down my spine, two fingers probing the cleft
of my ass.
I figured it out then, of course. He wasn't with a prostitute
at all, but someone else in his head, and anything I said or
did could kill the illusion and his ardor. For some reason that
really pissed me off; as I said, I'm a rather exclusive sort of
gigolo, with more than my share of adoring admirers who would
be happy to monopolize my services completely. I've had the
mayor of the capital begging for the honor of escorting me to
social events. What was I doing here, with this unpolished
Jedi, who didn't even give a damn who I was except that I sort
of looked like someone he wanted? What was this?
I could have stopped it. I have the right to toss any customer
out on his or her ass, and I've done so before. But that same
little part of me didn't want to stop. He was rough but he was
good, very good, up to three fingers now with the
sweet-smelling oil I always keep on hand, and it seemed like
he'd known exactly where my prostate was from the very
beginning. Shortly he had me writhing on the sheets, grinding
myself into the bed to get some kind of stimulation.
Then my legs were pushed even wider apart and he was there, and
little gods it was good, no, better than good, if the
sparks behind my eyelids were telling me the truth. It's been
some time since I've had a real pounding like that. I would
have been able to forget that he wasn't really thinking of me,
except that for some reason his hand kept fumbling around my
right shoulder as if he was looking for something to be there,
something to hold onto. He kept pressing frantic kisses to my
shoulders, mumbling something that made no sense until I
figured out it was a name. Three clipped syllables that sounded
strange to my ears. But definitely a name, and definitely not
mine. After a while even the name degenerated to a soft
"Oh...oh...oh..." as he reached under me and started pulling on
my erection.
I came harder than I can remember coming in years. It was
totally unexpected. It has to be a Jedi thing, I
remember thinking through the crystal haze of orgasm, has to
be, nobody is this fucking good, oh gods, and I don't even
like--him--GODS!
I collapsed like a first-timer, boneless, and less than a
second later the big cock twitched and exploded inside me. He
arched backwards and even though I couldn't see him I knew his
eyes were still closed. He screamed that strange name again at
the top of his lungs, and shuddered until he was limp.
We lay there for a moment. Then a few soothing strokes to my
back, another kiss on my spine, and he was pulling out and off
of me. Still lying on the bed, panting, I heard him wipe
himself clean and then the rustling of his clothes. I gathered
my thoughts from the distant galaxies where they had fled and
rolled over. "What's your name?" I asked, almost purring.
He seemed startled at the sound of my voice. Hardly surprising.
Then his mouth, which hadn't kissed me near as much as it
should have, quirked into a half-smile. "Yoda," he said dryly.
I snorted. "I'm not a Jedi like you, but everyone knows who
that little green thing is. Who are you, really?"
It was his turn to arch an eyebrow. "I'm afraid, my young
friend, that that's information you will have to do without."
I really don't like being treated that way. Mine is a
respectable profession, at least on Alderaan, and I'm very good
at it. I decided that a little spite would not be unjustified.
"So who were you thinking of, old man?" I asked cruelly, and
his eyes go wide before narrowing again. I should certainly
have been afraid. That lightsaber was already clipped to his
belt. But Jedi don't hurt innocent people, everybody knew that.
And I was too angry to be cautious. "Some little boy?" I
continued. "Maybe a nephew of yours or something? We see that
here sometimes. Who do I remind you of? A pretty young man
who'd never look twice at you, never mind bend over?"
His face had frozen into a rictus of calm. Damn Jedi, they all
look like that. He reached into his tunic and I heard the
rattle of credits.
"You pay down in front," I said insolently. "Don't worry, it
won't be much, you didn't take very long." Of all the things
I'd said, only that seemed like a lie. Implying that his
prowess was deficient when it had been maybe the best fuck I'd
ever had. Gods, if I'd thought he'd really been paying
attention to me, I wouldn't have let him out of bed all day.
I could see his fist clench and he turned to go. Some part of
me was squeezing painfully tight inside. But I couldn't let him
go without one last shot, to salvage my wounded pride. "I'm a
pretty common body type," I added. "Don't worry, you can find
lots of boys like me. In fact, I'm pretty sure you've got one
all staked out at every port you've ever been at--don't you?"
His shoulders stiffened and for a second I really did know
fear. But he surprised me.
"I do," he grated, like the words tore something vital out of
him, and he left the room and me.
Ten minutes passed. I managed to stand up--had a distinct burn
in my backside, damn but he was big--and went to the window.
Sure enough, the Jedi was leaving the building, making his way
casually down the street. I kept watching him. Just before he
got out of sight, I saw another man running up to join him and
I knew I'd seen my enemy. The one I replaced. A gorgeous young
man, maybe a little bit younger than me, with some silly braid
hanging down from his head. Another Jedi. Another Jedi. Shit.
He was smiling up at the older one, whose expression I couldn't
see, practically radiating innocence and love. The older one,
my customer, wrapped his arm companionably about the young
man's shoulders and they turned the corner. Neither looked
back.
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