Archive: Yes please! BIC, MA, OKEB -- whoever else wants it; just let me know where it ends up!
Archive Date: February 14, 2001
Disclaimer: not mine, alas, no matter *how* many toys I buy. Everything here belongs to George.
Feedback: of any variety is very much appreciated, but not essential -- I'll post anyway! I've suffered for my art, now it's your turn....
Notes: This is a FFB (Fucks For Bucks) whore!fic challenge story for Valentine's Day -- blame Basingstoke and Liz for warped inspiration, along with the rest of the crew in #bic! Thanks to Raven, Velma and Dee for read-throughs and suggestions, and to MJ for the muse, even if she was talking about things she definitely *didn't* want to see. Sometimes those plot bunnies just won't let you go.... *g*
Rating: R
Summary: Obi-Wan runs into an old nemesis... but just who is doing the gloating?

The hallways of the Galactic Senate were wide and in constant, bustling use as members of a thousand species went about their business within the vast building's confines. Feathers and fur and richly-embroidered materials in a multitude of hues lent a chaotic beauty to the place, the aides and support teams and the general staff that kept them housed and fed all moving through on their way to some appointment or other, each contributing to the running of the Republic in their own small way. In that respect, little had changed in the millennia that the building had stood in this spot, in the heart of Coruscant's political district -- the senators argued their points in the Chamber, but it was the rest of the Senate's populace that actually kept the Republic running smoothly.

Seating himself on a blandly-upholstered chair outside a small refreshment booth, Obi-Wan Kenobi watched the colourful crowds drift by on their various errands. Qui-Gon had business with one of the Senators for some newly-accepted Republic world and had sent his apprentice to run messages and generally keep out of the way -- the culture in question apparently had little interest in speaking to those they viewed as children, a category that trainee Jedi, no matter how advanced, apparently fell into. Under other circumstances Obi-Wan might feel slighted but, with his chores completed, he found himself with a couple of hours to kill. Hours that he planned to spend just relaxing in a comfortable chair and people-watching.

He had been there a while, idly observing the ebb and flow of the crowds, when a soft tenor voice suddenly spoke from behind him. "Well, well, if it isn't Oafy-Wan...."

Obi-Wan froze, startled to suddenly hear the old and unwelcome nickname. Turning in his seat, he found himself facing a young man his own age, the colouring unmistakable even if the years had blurred the features beyond the child's face locked in memory. He blinked in disbelief. "Bruck? I thought they shipped you off to the AgriCorps years ago?"

"They did." Bruck Chun smiled pleasantly at his old rival and sauntered across to lean gracefully on the back of the chair opposite Obi-Wan's. "Then they shipped me back again. I have to say that I much prefer it here."

"Right," said Obi-Wan, trying to think of something more intelligent to say and failing as his eyes took in the other's appearance. Much as he hated to admit it, Bruck looked... stunning. Jewel-toned layers of red and green and blue septsilk clung to his sleekly muscular body, the effect completed by a pale blue over-robe that was cut to his waist at the back before trailing almost to the floor at the front, brushing against soft, expensive-looking boots of the same colour. His straight, silver- white hair was worn long, with thick locks hanging to either side of his face and the rest pulled back into a neat tail, bound for the first few inches of its fall in more of the blue fabric, making it stand out and away from the back of his head before beginning its drop. His smooth, light brown skin was flawless and his blue eyes -- whose colour matched the over-robe perfectly, Obi-Wan belatedly realised -- were clear and shining with amusement. Intricate black patterns covered the backs of his hands and wrists before vanishing beneath the tight sleeves, and he wore a series of delicate silver hoops in his left ear, the lowermost with a sapphire drop depending from it. His right ear and nostril both sported single sapphire studs, linked by a fine silver chain that brushed across his cheek as he smiled, revealing even white teeth beneath subtly painted lips.

The ten years that had passed since they had last seen each other had evidently been kind to Bruck.

The combined effect went straight to Obi-Wan's groin and he fought down his reaction savagely -- he wasn't about to give Chun the pleasure of knowing that he was attracted to him... although to judge by the admiring and downright lustful looks that Bruck was getting from many of those in the corridor, he wasn't alone in that attraction. Fishing around for something to say that wasn't sickeningly complimentary, Obi-Wan finally came out with, "You look like one of the Senate whores."

Bruck's reaction to that was not what the padawan expected. Snorting with amusement, he cocked his head at Obi-Wan and said, "Oafy, that's probably because I am one of the Senate whores."

Obi-Wan couldn't quite believe his ears. "What?"

"I said I'm a whore," Bruck repeated, clearly enjoying the Jedi's discomfiture. "Or, to be more precise, I'm one of the Senate's internal courtesans and as such considered to be an important part of the political infrastructure of this place."

"You're a...." Obi-Wan stopped, trying to wrap his brain around this piece of information. Bruck Chun, a politician's fucktoy. A small, vindictive part of him felt a certain thrill that his childhood nemesis had fallen so far. Couldn't be a Jedi, couldn't even be a farmer.... "Nice to see that you found a calling that suits you at last," Obi-Wan told him, hearing a touch of the smug superiority he was feeling creep into his tone.

"Certainly beats digging holes in the ground," Bruck agreed, raising an amused silver eyebrow. "Also beats the hell out of getting shot at on the Chancellor's behest."

Obi-Wan stiffened slightly at that, eyes narrowing. "You've changed your tune -- I remember when you would have killed to be a Jedi!"

Bruck shrugged eloquently. "I grew up and saw more of the world than the blinkered view the Temple allows you. Life takes on a whole new meaning when you're able to make your own choices."

"And you chose to be a whore," Obi-Wan could barely keep the contempt out of his voice.

"I chose to be a whore." Bruck nodded happily. "It was offered to me and I accepted."

"Some offer."

Bruck leaned forward across the back of the chair, his smile a little too bright as he fixed Obi-Wan with a steady gaze. "Oafy, have you ever wondered what happens to those Initiates who get sent to the AgriCorps? Where they end up? In a lot of ways the AgriCorps isn't a final destination so much as a deprogramming unit -- they teach us Temple rejects how to survive in the real world. And once we've grown up a bit and learned how to conduct ourselves as people, not just obedient little automatons, there are a lot of openings available to those who can touch the Force, no matter how modest their talents.

"We're raised to see Knighthood as the be-all and end-all of our existence, and we're never told that there is a whole galaxy of opportunities just waiting for us if we miss that goal. I've seen kids kill themselves rather than live without a lightsabre, never realising that rejection by the Jedi was the best thing that ever happened to them. Gods, it took me long enough to realise...."

Chuckling softly to himself, Bruck looked at the closed expression that had settled over Obi-Wan's face. "You have no idea what a lucky escape I had, despite all my great ambitions. I couldn't start really living until I let those go."

Obi-Wan shifted a little uncomfortably, unconsciously toying with the brown length of his braid -- this wasn't a conversation he wanted to be having. He didn't want to have to defend the only existence he knew from some reject-turned-prostitute. "And now this is your life?"

Bruck nodded. "I stayed with the AgriCorps until I was sixteen, then Resella turned up and made me an offer. Seems the Senate Courtesans keep tabs on the Temple brats sent to the AgriCorps and select the prettiest ones of whatever species they're short of as soon as they're old enough for training. They like to get Force- sensitives if at all possible -- we're more highly attuned to a client's needs and desires. I was fed up with the fields, so...." He shrugged again. "Here I am."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Obi-Wan said, "What in the name of the Seven Hells made you choose this?"

"Why wouldn't I choose it?" Bruck grinned at him, clearly enjoying the discussion. "The pay is incredible, the hours good, the perks amazing. I have exquisite quarters, regular medical checks and the promise of a fat pension when I retire -- which could be within the next ten years. I'm trained in sexual techniques that I bet you've never even heard of and I get laid on a frighteningly regular basis by a wide variety of genders and species. It's fantastic!"

"Fantastic?" Obi-Wan leaned forward, grey eyes meeting the other man's blue. Something cold had settled in his belly, an uncomfortable sense that his former classmate might be right, married with an almost morbid need to know more about his life. And, underlying it all, the attraction he had felt when he had first laid eyes the other. "You're a whore, Bruck! You sell your body for credits. You're no better than some cheap streetwalker on a Rim world, tarting their wares for their next fix. You're nothing, less than nothing."

A pale eyebrow raised in amusement. "And you're not a whore?"

"What?" Obi-Wan pushed his temper away, trying to release the emotion into the Force. This was not going the way he had thought.... "I am a Jedi. You sell yourself to politicians!"

"And you don't?" Bruck asked, blue eyes keen. He pushed a long lock of silver hair behind an ear. "Tell me who holds your reins these days then, because the last I heard -- and I hear a lot -- it was the Senate that sent the Jedi to do their bidding. Face it, Oafy, we both whore for the government and we'll both do whatever we're asked, without question nor hesitation. Only difference is, if I leave bodies sprawled behind me, they're still breathing and they have smiles on their faces. And I get paid a decent wage for my services, not just bed and board and all the sackcloth I can wear."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, then closed it again, unable to think of a suitable retort. There was an uncomfortable edge of truth to Bruck's words, much as he would like to deny it. "At least the Jedi provide a real service," he finally muttered, picking at the sleeve of his robe and feeling suddenly drab beside the other man's brilliant hues.

"So do we," Bruck informed him, the amused look returning to his eyes. "The Courtesans' Guild has a long and noble history that goes back almost as far as the Republic's. You see, politicians... well, they all have certain things in common regardless of species or affiliation. Give them half a chance and they'll be off screwing the first pretty thing that catches their eye, especially on a world like Coruscant, so much more cosmopolitan than some of those outlying colonies. Before long they'd be spilling their secrets to all and sundry and making a right mess of things.

"We keep their interests within the Senate -- why stray outside when you have everything you need within the infrastructure already? We're twice as talented as anything they'll find out there and our discretion is guaranteed... as is our health. A quick call to the Guild's appointments section, a credit transfer on their governmental funds under 'miscellaneous services', and everything is dealt with smoothly and safely." Bruck grinned. "And it can be a hell of a lot of fun for us too. Some of those guys have... interesting tastes."

The padawan stared at him, caught somewhere between fascination and disgust. "This is insane. The Senate, the Republic Senate has its own brothel?"

Bruck moved to perch on the arm of the chair he'd been leaning against, draping himself across the pale upholstery and giving Obi-Wan a chance to take in the strong lines of his expensively- clad body. "That shocks you?" he asked. When the Jedi didn't answer, he continued. "I suppose you could call it a brothel, or at least a stable... but it has a specific purpose and a specific clientele that it caters to with utter dedication. And we're the best of the best and we're paid accordingly. After all, it wouldn't do to have us defect to the Corporate Sector... and we do get offers, you know." Bruck smiled and stretched languidly. "You get what you pay for in this life and we're worth it...."

"So you say," Obi-Wan murmured, finding himself growing ever more distracted by the man opposite. The last time he had seen Bruck, their hormones had yet to begin kicking in and there had been no indication of the elegant masculine beauty that the other had developed since. Had he looked like this when the Senate's talent-spotters had plucked him from the AgriCorps? Or had they merely seen the potential?

The Jedi groaned, feeling his body threaten to betray his interest once again. A part of him wanted to walk away, to put Bruck and his sordid little life out of his mind... but something about the ex-Initiate and his easy acceptance of his fate had caught him, fascinated him. He turned his face out towards the corridor and its drifting traffic, wondering how many of those passing by had availed themselves of Bruck and his... services. The thought ought to disgust him, he was certain of it, but instead it just made him want to --

A tall Firrerro, dressed as a senatorial aide, paused and angled towards them with her eyes fixed on Bruck. The courtesan smiled apologetically at her, turning his head a little, and she nodded and turned away. Obi-Wan watched the silent exchange with a frown. "What was that about? How did she know?"

Bruck held up a hand, displaying the intricate, abstract tattoos that curled across the back. "We advertise. Nothing blatant, but if you know what to look for.... And this," he reached up to touch the delicate silver links that brushed his right cheek, "shows that I'm currently unavailable. On my way to an appointment with the new junior Senator for Alderaan actually, but I've got some time to spare...."

"Appointment?" Obi-Wan felt his mouth go dry at the thought and cursed his reaction, certain that the other must be able to feel it through the Force. Pushing his shields up tightly, the padawan attempted calm, but Bruck's painted lips curled into a lazy smile as he leaned forward, eyes fixed on Obi-Wan's.

"You're wondering, aren't you? What it would be like. Having me ready to obey your every whim. Just imagining me stripping at your command, finding out where the other piercings are...." Bruck ran a hand slowly over his broad chest, letting tapered fingers linger in the vicinity of a nipple for a few moments. "Imagining my hands on your body, slowly, reverently exploring every inch until you want more, need more.... Imagining my tongue licking up your thighs, tasting, savouring your sweat until finally, finally, I swallow you whole, my hands grasping at your arse -- unless you'd rather them bound behind me, of course -- as yours dig into my scalp, holding me fast as you fuck my face. Not that I'd fight... not unless you wanted me to, of course...."

Bruck's smile widened slowly. "Or would you rather fuck something else? Push me down and shove that fat Jedi cock of yours into my tight little hole -- no need to worry yourself with lubricant, not when I've already got myself ready for you. Oh yes, always prepared, that's me. Want to hear me scream while you fuck me? Squeal? Beg? Want me up against a wall? On my back? On my knees like an animal?" He leaned in closer. "You want it, don't you, Kenobi? Want to feel me writhing beneath you while you ream my arse, want to feel me tight and hot and slick around you.... Or would you prefer to be fucked? Let that Jedi reserve slip a little for once while I give you a pounding you won't forget in a hurry...."

Obi-Wan swallowed hard, unable to break away from Bruck's blue gaze. He shouldn't be here, he shouldn't be listening to this, he shouldn't.... "You do want it, don't you?" the other murmured, close enough that the padawan could feel his breath. Close enough to kiss. "You can say it, you know. Admit it. It's okay -- it's my job, after all."

"I...."

"Yes?" Bruck reached out, gently brushing tattooed fingers across Obi-Wan's cheek, provoking a surge of helpless lust that the padawan was powerless to prevent. Bruck always had known which buttons to press....

"I -- yes," Obi-Wan heard himself say. He had to be mad, to give Bruck this, but the thought of the other man pinned and sweating beneath him.... "Yes, I want it."

There was a pause, a moment of dizzying tension that had Obi-Wan almost panting... then Bruck leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the padawan's ear as he murmured. "Thought you did, Oafy. Shame really...."

"What?" Obi-Wan gasped, the lustful spell suddenly broken as Bruck pulled back with a grin plastered across his face. The Jedi was so hard that he didn't think he could stand and Bruck was just going to leave? "What are you --"

"Padawans don't get enough of an allowance to pay for thirty seconds with the likes of me, I'm afraid." Bruck patted Obi-Wan's arm sympathetically before rising gracefully to his feet. His smile of apology was deliberately, blatantly insincere as he turned to leave, a gleam of triumph in his eyes.

"Sorry, Oafy. You can't afford me...."

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