Undercover

by Lilith Sedai (lilith_sedai@hotmail.com)

Archive: M_A, SWAL, OKEB, QJEB-- anybody who wants it, really

Category: PWP, angst

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: This isn't my usual lavish style of writing; I composed this on IRC some time back and promptly forgot about it. I found it tonight and decided to post it just for a lark. Characterization is dubious.

Acknowledgments: This was inspired by a lovely picture of Liam in a long leather coat, lying on a blue mattress. slurp!

Spoilers: None

Feedback: Of course! Please. :)

Summary: Obi-Wan encounters a beautiful stranger in a seedy bar.

Disclaimer: George owns 'em. I'm not making a profit off 'em.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was skulking.

The very act itself was unusual for a Jedi apprentice, but over the last two months, he'd had plenty of time to perfect this particular skill. It really took attitude to skulk, Obi-Wan reflected. And he had developed plenty of that.

The council had spirited his Master away, with hardly a word of explanation other than that he would return after the completion of a secret mission that Obi-Wan could not accompany him on. He'd not even had the chance to say goodbye. One moment he was at breakfast, looking forward to the day's training session, the next he was back in their rooms, reading the hasty note Qui-Gon had left him.

At first, the freedom had been a rush, and he'd taken advantage of every moment. After a week, he'd come down hard and started waiting seriously for Qui-Gon's return. After two weeks, he had given in to temptation and begun sneaking to sleep in Qui-Gon's bed at nights, savoring his Master's aura. After three weeks, his own aura had begun to replace Qui-Gon's in his Master's rooms and he'd returned to his own, lest his little transgression be discovered.

Oh, yeah. He had it bad.

After four weeks, he started barcrawling. After five weeks, he started sleeping with a few of the people he found in the bars. Hell. It was better than sleeping alone, and he was a Jedi after all. He could take care of himself.

Tonight, though, pickings were slim.

Twelve understory bars he'd visited, and no-one had caught his eye. The harsh mechno-music had begun to grate at his nerves, and the alcohol reek of each establishment discouraged him. His boot sloshed through a foul puddle and he sighed, glancing over his shoulder, spying out the tall spire of the Jedi temple. If Qui-Gon didn't return soon, he'd go mad.

Maybe he'd even go mad enough to try honesty.

Obi-Wan's lips quirked humorlessly. He might be a damned idiot, out crawling through the seediest Coruscant taverns, practically begging for trouble, but he knew when he was up against more than he could handle. Qui-Gon Jinn was much more intimidating than a few tavern toughs.

Obi-Wan sighed, sloping into a bar, needing the burn of alcohol in his stomach to warm away the chill of his depression. He bellied up to the bar, catching the keep's eye, and took what was offered him, placing the burning noxious drink to his lips. Yes, Obi-Wan would rather fight a Sith than take the risk of his Master's reje-

Whoa.

Obi-Wan set aside his half-tasted drink, trying to maintain a casual attitude. Usually he picked up girls in the bars-- they tended to be less dangerous, and he could top them with grace and courteous ease, mutual pleasure without dangerous rivalry. But this... this was enough to make him re-evaluate his casual rule.

A tall man stood near the bar, half-turned from Obi-Wan, the long string of a strand of spice between his lips. The young Jedi tried not to stare, gazing into the dirty reflective glass on the wall behind the bottled liquors. Tousled dark hair, parted at the side. Clean-shaven, a delicate mouth despite his size... Obi-Wan frowned slightly, shaking his head.

Beautiful, the entire effect. Stunningly so. The man's thin face had just enough age to lend it sensitivity and wisdom, just enough sobriety to make Obi-Wan's heart pound.

The similarities were many.

Obi-Wan clutched his drink desperately, willing his hand not to shake. It did anyway, so he tossed back the contents of the glass and set it aside. He rose and wandered closer.

Long leather coat, expensive... the man might be a pimp or a spice dealer, but it didn't matter-- the magnetism of the resemblance was irresistible, skittering across Obi-Wan's brain with soft caressing fingers.

Something about this one, something he had to have. Damn the risks. He stepped forward boldly. "Can I buy you something?"

Obi-Wan knew he was beautiful. He'd seen it in the eyes of a hundred beings, sensed it in dilated pupils and quickened breaths. He knew how to tilt his head, how to hold his body, how to make the silent, careful offer. He brought all that he had to bear now, looking up and up and up to meet startled eyes of deep blue. Even that detail was perfect. He let the corners of his lips curve upward slightly, very subtle, very inviting.

The man gazed down at him for a moment, unspeaking, uncertain. Obi-Wan felt his advantage, and pressed it. He wet his lips demurely with his tongue, stepping closer. The tall man wore no tunic beneath the long coat, and Obi-Wan deliberately surveyed the triangle of revealed skin before speaking.

"I'm Ben," he almost whispered.

The man nodded slowly, making no reply, but when Obi-Wan turned, letting his hips move fluidly as he returned to the bar, the tall stranger followed. Delicious, the sense of that presence behind him, the sensation of being dwarfed by a potential lover. He ordered two more of what he had just drunk, handed his prospective conquest one glass and downed the other himself, quickly.

"You're too good to be in this dive," his companion spoke at last, his voice musical with odd lilting accent, but roughened by smoke and spice.

"So are you," Obi-Wan retorted immediately, his quick grin devilish. "I guess we'll have to leave it, then." He stared a challenge up at his tall companion. So beautiful. Almost... Obi-Wan felt himself flounder, falling into heat, falling away from thought, unable to resume his train of thinking.

The tall man finished his drink in one gulp. "Come along, then," he jerked his head toward the door. He preceded Obi-Wan out of the tavern, turning up the collar of his coat to protect his neck from the cold wind that whipped between the skyscrapers. His hair fluttered, and Obi-Wan licked his lips, longing to reach and straighten it but not quite daring.

They paused for a moment as Obi-Wan tried to regain his poise. "Where's your room?" the man inquired finally, that musical accent shivering into Obi-Wan.

"I thought you'd never ask." Emboldened by the frank question, the young Jedi stepped forward. Reaching up, he laced his fingers into soft dark hair and pulled the man down to his mouth. Kissed him, taking advantage of the moment of passive shock to trace full, sensual lips with his tongue, begging entry. Fire. Sweet fire, and he bumped his hips against the man's thighs urgently.

"So beautiful," Obi-Wan sighed against the man's mouth. Strong arms slid around him, supporting him, letting him melt closer. If he didn't draw away now, he'd let the man have him here in the very street! Obi-Wan forced himself to pull back, breathing hard.

There was uncertainty in the big deep eyes looking down on him; this man he wanted to take as lover was preparing to vanish, shocked or nonplused by Obi-Wan's desperate passion.

"Don't go," Obi-Wan gathered his composure desperately. "Not yet. My room is nearby." He reached and caught the larger man's hand, letting a winsome smile blossom, letting the heat flow out of him until it remained only in his eyes.

Qui-Gon hesitated. Danger, and danger. His earnest, dutiful padawan, out cruising bars for flesh? It was unbelievable, but the boy was incredibly skilled at the art of the encounter; obviously he'd done this before, and frequently.

The Concealing he'd woven into his Force aura had worked even with Obi-Wan, though Qui-Gon had been obliged to reinforce it twice already as his padawan approached the truth of his identity. He wanted nothing more than to usher Obi-Wan back to the Jedi Temple and tongue-lash the boy within an inch of his life for this ridiculous behavior, but if he did, it would blow his cover. Of course, simply associating with a Jedi padawan in his current guise was foolish and risky as well.

"You shouldn't do this, lad," he warned softly, voice husky. "You've no idea who I am. Go back where you belong, find others like you to ease your body." He accompanied the words with another Force push, necessary to dissociate the advice from Obi-Wan's memory of Qui-Gon the teacher, a connection that would have destroyed the concealment.

The need to reinforce his disguise weakened the mental suggestion, and Obi-Wan resisted it. "I don't care who you are," Obi-Wan's eyes blazed at him. "I want you."

Qui-Gon's fists clenched with longing and frustration, and he glanced about nervously. The smugglers' net could close around them at any moment, and standing out here was the worst thing they could do. Obi-Wan was still speaking, his eyes suddenly infinitely sad. "And I don't want others like me. I want... someone like you." He stepped forward again, tilting his head up for a kiss, his mouth hungry.

"The room, lad," Qui-Gon prompted him, giving in for the moment. Once there, he could... could... what? He fell into step behind Obi-Wan, the question echoing through his mind. He could. He could. He shuddered softly, eyes rising to devour the smooth swinging gait of the young man before him. He could, quite simply, take this one evening and live it as a man, not a Jedi Master. The offer was extended full willing, if unawares-- no tarnish, no blemish on the padawan's training.

Just a single memory of passion, wistful resemblance... and the revelation that Obi-Wan had made tonight to Qui-Gon Jinn inadvertently, unknowing.

Just once, though, to be this thing to Obi-Wan, to be man, not Master... Qui-Gon speeded his step, coming up beside the young man, letting his palm curve over the smooth flow of the tight, round hip. Obi-Wan smiled at him, lips parting, eyes heavy with lust.

"Let us hurry," Qui-Gon breathed, dipping to brush his lips against that sultry mouth.

"Yes," Obi-Wan agreed. "It's very near."

He steered them around a corner, toward a more respectable building than Qui-Gon had expected; at least the lodging would be clean. Obi-Wan hastily paid the desk droid, and then took his hand, tugging him up the stairs in an excess of exuberant energy. Qui-Gon smiled, letting himself be drawn along, and Obi-wan glanced over his shoulder, inhaling with sudden shock, his eyes clouding.

"I'm just a stranger," Qui-Gon passed his hand quickly between them, before the lad could speak. "It is a chance resemblance."

"I know we're strangers," Obi-Wan's gaze cleared, "but please forgive me-- I must admit, there is a chance resemblance to... a friend of mine."

Qui-Gon nodded, accepting, and Obi-Wan seemed glad when he did not question, resuming the climb toward the rented room.

It was best for them both, and in accord with the will of the council, that he preserve his cover, he rationalized, though he felt intense guilt at doing so. He found, however, that he could not focus on that guilt, not with Obi-Wan's hand warm in his.

The door yielded to the young man's key, and Qui-Gon felt a surge of nerves as they stepped into the room together. He could take control, free his desire, but somehow, he preferred to let Obi-Wan resume his practiced seduction. He wanted to taste his padawan's wiles, learn his slyness, discover him as a man, not a student.

Qui-Gon stood passive, forcing himself not to fold his arms characteristically, resting his weight on one heel. He let the coat he wore part, revealing chest and navel, but that was all.

Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed, and that wicked pink tongue darted to lick his lips. Not a moment of hesitation. The young man stepped forward, palms sliding under the coat, moving across Qui-Gon's chest to rest over his nipples. Wicked, wicked smile on the handsome young face. Inviting, daring. The chin tilted just enough to demand a kiss.

"Who taught you this?" Qui-Gon rumbled, lifting a finger to stroke the lightly stubbled jaw.

Obi-Wan laughed low in his throat. "My feelings," he explained. "I look at you, and they tell me what to do." He was lifting his head, leaning in, smiling.

Qui-Gon brushed his mouth against the young man's, feeling the electric flicker of arousal stirring in his groin. "Do you do it often, young one?"

Obi-Wan's smile faded slightly, a wrinkle creasing his forehead. "What, this?"

"Seduce a man," Qui-Gon managed, huskily. "Bring him back to your rooms, share your body with him."

Obi-Wan's frown deepened, his expression uncomfortable. "Not often," he admitted. "But you..." he ducked his head, suddenly a bit shy. "You're special." Determined to silence the chatter, Obi-Wan raised himself on tiptoe and caught Qui-Gon's mouth fiercely.

Lust and lust in that kiss, pure youthful sex, need, passion. Qui-Gon surrendered before it humbly, opening his mouth at last, letting Obi-Wan in. He could drown in the clean scent of masculine flesh, the crisp feel of Obi-Wan's hair, the slight burn of alcohol lingering in his mouth. In spite of all sanity, he felt himself gathering the young man closer, crushing the lithe body to him, grasping the firm hips in his hands. Force, but he wanted this!

Obi-Wan's nails dug at his shoulders and he wrapped a leg around Qui-Gon's, threatening to send them both toppling onto the hard, drably covered bed.

"This man," Qui-Gon gasped, between savage, hard kisses. "The one I remind you-- Oh!" He gasped as Obi-Wan's white teeth closed on his earlobe. "Do you love him?"

"Shut UP," Obi-Wan growled, frustration and exasperation mingled in his tone, and Qui-Gon obeyed. This time, Obi-wan managed to hook his legs out from under him, and they crashed to the bed together.

Obi-Wan tumbled him over roughly on the mattress, his solid weight pressing Qui-Gon down, his legs sliding between Qui-Gon's as fast as thought, pressing him open. The coat was still between them, and the trousers Qui-Gon wore, but Obi-Wan's hands were busy even as he licked and nipped his way down toward the bare chest, lifting Qui-Gon's hips urgently and stripping off the clothing that separated them.

Desire spiraled, and they rolled, tangling in the coverlet. Qui-Gon released himself into the moment, forgetting everything but Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan skinned him out of his coat with astonishing speed and skill, and Qui-Gon reciprocated, parting the tunic the younger man wore, letting his hands feast on velvet skin, the contours of muscle, bone, and sinew.

So right. So good. Obi-Wan in his arms felt like the Living Force: vibrant, vital, passionately energetic and moving.

The close-fitting breeches followed quickly, and Obi-Wan settled against him again, their erections burning parallel lines against taut, straining stomachs. Qui-Gon gasped and arched under the other man, his hands knotting in the bedsheets-- Obi-Wan was moving, sliding lower, between his parted legs, his eyes glowing with fire and purpose.

"Let me have you," Obi-Wan demanded, a low growl between clenched teeth.

"Yes," Qui-Gon breathed hoarsely, letting the younger man move his legs and hips. "Have me, Ben."

Obi-Wan smiled, ferally. "I will," he promised, bending aside for a moment to scuffle in his discarded trousers, returning with a small bottle in his hand.

"Thought you didn't do this often," Qui-Gon inhaled sharply as the cool oil poured onto his hot flesh.

"Thought you were going to shut up," Obi-Wan responded smartly.

He slicked the shining fluid over his erection, moving sensually, inviting Qui-Gon to watch. The Jedi Master did so, hopelessly, as Obi-Wan briefly caressed himself, his face quiet with absorption in the sensation. Finishing at last, he draped himself smoothly over Qui-Gon in a single sensual movement.

Obi-Wan's eyes were sharp, flickering over his face as though memorizing it, seeking, and Qui-Gon touched the barrier he had woven over his identity instinctively, finding that it held.

"You could almost be him," Obi-Wan confided softly, "except you're younger." He bent and sank his teeth gently into Qui-Gon's shoulder, pressing his hips forward in the same motion. Qui-Gon could not suppress a smile, his hand moving to cradle the back of Obi-Wan's head. He relaxed himself deliberately, savoring the firm but gentle entry.

"I am who I am," he whispered softly, voice catching as Obi-Wan drew his hips back and thrust forward again. "Let him be who he is."

Obi-Wan was mindless, beyond hearing, his entire being wrapped in pleasure, his hips beginning to move with rapid grace. Qui-Gon groaned, feeling the sensation building deep within him. He guided Obi-Wan's hand to his penis, encouraging him to stroke, and Obi-Wan did, eyes lidded, breath coming hard. Qui-Gon moaned, arching into the insistent thrusts, feeling sweat bead on his body.

Beautiful, the abandon on the young face, the droplets of sweat gathering in the short spiky hair, at the base of the neck. Lovely, the bitten lip, the pure concentration. Desirable, the masculine hardness of him, the hard compact muscles, the brash confidence, the quick smile and the knowing eyes.

Fierce, untamable, mercurial-- passion built quickly between them, pleasure spilling forth with their seed. It was over all too soon. Obi-Wan's fist convulsed gently on Qui-Gon as he withdrew and then relaxed, collapsing across the larger man's body, tension flowing from them both.

He must go now. He had lingered too long already.

Qui-Gon slid reluctantly from under Obi-Wan, ignoring the soft murmured protest. He could not stay. Could not. Too dangerous, for them both. Gathering his clothes, he hastily stepped into them, pausing to brush his hand over the long, lean line of the young man's flank. Obi-Wan arched and veritably purred like a cat at the warm touch.

"Thank you," he mumbled, stretching, his voice weary and satiated.

His throat closing with deep emotion, Qui-Gon nodded, pulling up the collar of his coat. He stepped to the door, opened it. "You're welcome, Obi-Wan." He closed it softly behind him with a click.

Obi-Wan sighed, stretching luxuriantly, his demons momentarily exorcised. If only his lover could have stayed longer! Obi-Wan wished he could have shared the entire night with the man, and many future nights as well. He had loved every moment of this contact, loved feeling the broad blunt hands on his body, loved hearing his name on...

His name...?

He shot bolt upright, flinging himself wildly at the door, heedless of clothes, racing down the narrow stair, shocking a trysting pair in the lobby, flinging himself into the street... the empty, wide street, wastepaper blowing in Coruscant's cold wind.

--end-