Archive: Yes to M_A, others feel free to ask. Will go up at my
website eventually (when the Obimuse leaves me alone long
enough to let me update): http://lonchura.tripod.com/
Rating: PG-13 (I'd let my 13-year-old read it)
Disclaimer: George, ignore me, work on Star Wars. You're not
getting any younger.
Summary: Obi-Wan's friends wonder where he's going at night.
Warnings/Spoilers: I've borrowed a couple of characters from
JA, but I'm sure they won't mind having a night out.
Comments: Thanks to JiM for encouragement, a title, and a
suggestion I'm considering.... And in case you're wondering, I
picture Obi as being in his late teens for this story.
"Obi-Wan's been hitting the bars again," Bant said gloomily.
"I know." Garen Muln, her friend and Obi's, peered morosely
into his tankard of ale. "And when he does, he gets lucky."
"Garen!" Bant punched him in the arm. He didn't bother to
pretend that it hurt.
"I saw him come in last night when it was really late." Garen
rolled his eyes: "Really late" for Bant usually meant any time
after sundown. "I went down to the gardens after midnight,
because I couldn't sleep, and I saw him come in by that little
door back in the corner that we lowly padawans aren't supposed
to know about." She leaned closer to Garen and dropped her
voice to a croak. "He was dressed in this skin-tight
silver and blue outfit, with his hair dusted with glitter and
glittery make-up on his face." She dropped her voice even
lower, and Garen knew that if she could have blushed, she would
have. "And he had an enormous hickey on his chest!"
"You could see his chest?" Garen suddenly felt more interested.
Kenobi was not bad-looking for a guy.
"Yes! Not like I wanted to!" She blew out her cheeks. "I know
I'm younger than you two, but I'm not allowed to leave
the Temple at night. Doesn't Master Jinn even set him a
curfew?"
"Hallo, Bant, hallo, Garen." Freshly washed-his hair was still
damp-neatly braided, and attired in sober Jedi brown and cream,
Obi-Wan Kenobi put down his breakfast tray and slid into his
seat with a graceful twist of the hips that made Garen bite his
lips. Except for that sexy little maneuver, however, he looked
like the very model of a modern Jedi padawan, not like a man
who'd been out all night cruising the lower levels of Coruscant
in glitter paint and skin-tight clothes.
"Good morning, Obi-Wan," Bant said primly. Garen raised his
tankard in salute.
"How are you two?" Obi-Wan asked, forking up a kipper.
Garen started to ask him where a Jedi padawan could get a
decent hickey, but Bant intervened. "Obi-Wan Kenobi, I'm
worried about you." She blinked hugely. "I saw you come in last
night. I saw what you looked like, and I have a pretty good
idea of where you had been and what you'd been doing. You're
going to get hurt if you keep hanging out in the wrong places,
Obi-Wan!"
Obi-Wan blinked in surprise. Then he chewed and swallowed, put
down his fork, and leaned across the table to take Bant's damp,
scaly hand in his.
"Bant, old friend, I'm touched that you worry about me, but you
don't have to. I'm perfectly all right, I swear it. I'm in no
danger at all." He squeezed her hand gently and gave her a
smile that made Garen start to stiffen in his pants and think
dark thoughts.
(That evening...)
"I can't believe I let you talk me into this."
"Hush, it'll be good for you, sweetie." Garen was of the
opinion that Bant had led a life too sheltered even for a
padawan.
"There he is!" Bant's excited hiss was louder than her normal
speaking tone.
"Come on."
Wrapped in his normal brown cloak, Obi-Wan passed through the
foyer toward the northwest Temple exit. Bant and Garen followed
at a safe distance, Bant swathed in glittering silver and Garen
in a fetching scarlet velvet suit with a mask under their
cloaks. Garen was the one who'd outwitted the main computer
into issuing them these outfits without charging their accounts
for it. He hadn't exactly told Bant that.
They followed Obi-Wan down the terraced levels of the Temple
perimeter on foot, then caught a groundbus that snaked down one
level at a time, slow as a worm, and exited far below surface
level, in a part of the city where the artificial lights were
never turned off. Bant looked around nervously as they followed
their friend on foot once more; Garen put his arm around her.
"You have your lightsaber under that dress, right? You're a
Jedi apprentice--you can take care of yourself."
Bant made nervous fish-mouth noises and said nothing. They
scurried after Obi-Wan through a lamp-light darkness
increasingly crowded with oddly-dressed characters. Humans in
alien clothes, aliens in human clothes, aliens Garen had never
seen before... humans and aliens without clothes. He
started to feel a little nervous himself.
Just when Garen was beginning to think that Obi-Wan knew
they were following him and was going to turn around and yell
"Boo!" at any minute, Kenobi made a sharp left and went inside.
Garen and Bant drew up outside the matte black front of a place
called The Crystal Mine.
The two padawans gazed up at the sheer, featureless wall with
the little crystal door in it. "Well, come on," Garen said,
more bravely than he felt. He didn't pull away when Bant
reached for his hand.
Inside it was very dim but quieter than Garen had expected.
Here and there were curious bursts of light, vermilion and
azure, viridian and citrine. When his sight adjusted, Garen saw
that each table had at its center a carved crystal formation
lit from within, and the variously colored crystals glowed and
dimmed like pulsars, each at a different rate of speed. The bar
was centered around an enormous amethyst cluster, enough to
power a hundred lightsabers. Garen was impressed.
"It's... pretty," said Bant. She sounded surprised.
"So let's go have a drink."
Garen led the Calamarian to the bar and ordered a lightly
fermented fruit juice for her, a dark ale for himself. It was
no use telling Bant not to goggle--goggle was pretty much her
natural expression--but hopefully no one would notice that she
was probably underage. Bant sucked on her fruit juice and Garen
sipped his ale, scanning the room and hoping to spot Kenobi
before Bant got really drunk.
There--on the raised dance floor that revolved slowly in one
corner. Garen's mouth fell open as he took in his old friend's
performance. The Jedi-brown cloak was nowhere to be seen; the
only thing Obi-Wan was wearing was a pair of very tight
shiny trousers, so tight that Garen wondered how he could
manage those sinuous moves. A pair of very tight trousers,
ankle-high boots, and a lot of glitter.
Obi-Wan's smooth, muscular chest was painted in an elaborate
abstract pattern, blue and green and gold swirls that undulated
as he danced. Tendrils of color snaked up onto his face, down
his arms, and onto his back, flashing as he turned beneath the
flickering lights. He must have had help with that paint job,
Garen thought. Not even a Jedi can paint his own back, unless
he's way better at Force-levitation than I thought.
The music was oddly ethereal, abstract, with little obvious
rhythm, dominated by high-pitched shimmering chords that
fluctuated ever so slightly from time to time, one note
changing, then another. The dancers, Obi-Wan among them,
appeared to move to their own inner music, some leaping up and
down as if hearing a pounding beat, some barely moving, like
ocean-growing plants shifting in the tide. Obi-Wan's complex
patterns of arms, hands, feet, and head bore some resemblance
to the katas all Jedi learned from childhood on, but only some.
Garen realized his mouth was hanging open in a mixture of awe
and lust.
"Force be with us!"
Bant had spotted Obi. Garen just about had to wrestle her to
the floor to keep her from Force-vaulting the bar and dragging
their friend off the dance floor. "Wait. Wait. We just came to
find out what's going on, remember?" He hung on, panting, until
Bant subsided.
"All right."
Presently Obi-Wan leaped gracefully off the dance floor and
ambled over to the bar. Garen did his best to blur his own and
Bant's presence in the Force; Obi-Wan stood directly across
from them as he ordered a drink. Garen watched that wide,
flexible mouth purse around the straw of something tall, clear,
and bubbly, and hoped his self-control would suffice to keep
him from coming in his pants. He wasn't sure.
A tall, hooded figure came up beside Obi-Wan, and Obi turned to
him, looking up through his lashes while still sipping at the
drink. Lust leads to the Dark Side, Garen reminded himself, and
if I go there, I won't wanna come home. He couldn't see who or
what was under that hood, but after a minute Obi-Wan nodded and
smiled and followed the stranger away from the bar.
"C'm'on!" Now Garen yanked Bant off the barstool, leaving a
second fruit juice spilling in their wake. They zigzagged
between laughing, talking figures, mostly human, all glittering
like the crystals on the tables, in pursuit of Obi-Wan's
rolling ass. Obi-Wan hung a right, following the hooded one,
and Garen stopped so abruptly that Bant slammed into his back.
"They've gone into a private room...."
Jedi do not spy, but Garen inched forward, all his senses
trained on hearing, smelling, feeling something... hopefully
something sexual. He crept closer and closer to the doorway,
hearing laughter, hearing slithering noises, the slide of
fabric, hearing the smothering sound of kisses.
When he could see into the private room, he almost swallowed
his tongue to keep from making a noise. The person under the
hood was Master Jinn. He had thrown back his cloak, showing off
unbound hair and a black dress uniform, and he had Obi-Wan
sprawled on his lap and was kissing him passionately.
Silently, he turned to Bant, took hold of her, and eased her
around till she was in front of him and could see into the
room. Her gills turned pale and fluttered wildly, and she
swayed so that Garen thought she was going to faint.
"Let me get you home," Garen murmured. Holding fast to his
shocked Calamarian friend, he retreated to the main room, paid
their bill, and headed back to the Temple. He'd seen enough.
"Are they gone?" Obi-Wan asked.
"Yes, they're leaving," his master smiled. Obi-Wan sat up but
did not vacate the older man's lap.
"Well, we certainly gave them a good show." He reached out and
dabbed at the corner of Qui-Gon's mouth. "You've got glitter
right here."
Without thinking, Qui-Gon turned his head, brushing his lips
across his padawan's fingers. He froze. The fingers did not go
anywhere. "Maybe it wasn't all show, hmm?"
"I thought we came here because I like the music," Qui-Gon said
slowly. "And you like to dance to it. And that we were just
teasing Garen and Bant."
"I thought so, too." Obi-Wan looked at the smudge of glitter on
his fingertips, collected from the corner of Qui-Gon's mouth
and deposited there by a kiss to his own throat. "But maybe we
were really teasing each other...."
Qui-Gon didn't pull away as the younger man bent to kiss him
again. Strong hands cradled his head and twined in his hair as
Obi-Wan explored his mouth with obvious passion, quite sincere
and not a performance this time. Obi-Wan kissed with the same
skill, integrity, and focus he displayed in his katas, his
lightsaber drills, and his sparring, and Qui-Gon was, as
always, impressed with his apprentice's dedication.
When Obi-Wan pulled away, he was smiling in a way that made
Qui-Gon's already stiff cock ache even more. "Master...."
"Yes, padawan?"
"Your hand is on my arse."
Qui-Gon squeezed experimentally and discovered that this was
indeed the case. "So it is."
"Is there anywhere else you'd like to put it?" The corners of
Obi-Wan's mouth curled up just a fraction more, and Qui-Gon was
undone.
"This will do for now," he said hoarsely, and hoped that
glitter paint would wash off of dress blacks.
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