Archive: Yes to list archives. Private ones ask first
Archive Date: June 25, 2001
Author's Webpage: http://www.geocities.com/lady_aethelynde
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it's George's, of course.
Pairing: Obi-Wan/Original male
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Obi's looking for something
Warnings: Slash, prostitution, BDSM, unbeta-ed except by me.
There is a saying here on Coruscant: "The whores in the Pleasure Quarter know the news before the whores in the Senate." Which tells you something about both the grapevine and the regard in which people hold the Senators.
So, we knew that Qui-Gon Jinn, Jedi Master, was dead before the shuttle carrying his latest pathetic lifeform landed. And it was no surprise the night his former padawan turned up. I was working for Zavan then, all human, all male house. Not a bad living, especially as I was getting almost too old for the Life. I had a tidy sum accumulated then, but not enough to retire.
He stood at the edge of the room, looking us over. I looked back. I was frankly curious. Qui-Gon had been a good customer, until he had taken this padawan. Rumor had it they were totally besotted with each other, rumor and pillow talk. We knew this one's name well: Obi-Wan. Amazing how six simple letters, three syllables can be curse, blessing, yearning, and lust, sometimes all at once.
Looking at him, lost as all Jedi looked out of their robes, I understood why. He was beautiful. The spiky cut was growing out, making him look older. The cleft chin begged to be kissed, and the dimple, tongued. If he hadn't been a Jedi, he'd be here, or in a similar place.
His eyes settled on me for the third time, and I had a feeling I knew what he was looking for. As I said, Jinn was a good client, but he was what we call "mirror-hungry." He wanted a lover that resembled him, at least superficially. At nearly two meters tall, I was a likely candidate. And Zavan made us all wear our hair long. My bones are more delicate than his, and my height never had the raw-boned power, but apparently, I was close enough for his apprentice.
He paid, and approached me. I bowed and said "I am at your service, Knight Kenobi."
He laid 2 fingers across my lips, looking as if he wanted to speak, but he didn't. He merely gestured for me to lead the way. That was how it was to be then. A night impersonating a dead man for his grieving lover. I've done far more distasteful things, but none quite so pathetic.
I opened my room, and motioned Obi-Wan inside. He entered with a scuttle that spoke of years of practice at ducking watchful eyes. Once inside, he threw off his street clothes and dropped to his knees. I took off the standard sarong and stood before him, not knowing what was going on.
"Master," he began in a choked voice. "Master, I failed you. Please..." A sob broke his voice. Oh gods, I wasn't sure I could do this. "Please, let me atone for my failure so you can forgive me."
With that, his mouth was wrapped around my cock, all hot and wet and urgent. His eyes were closed as he sucked. Someone, Qui-Gon?, had trained him well. If this man ever left the Jedi order, he'd do just fine in my profession.
He left off, and buried his face against my knees. "Master, punish me. Let me atone." I shifted my weight. He rose and walked to the bed. From somewhere he produced binders and shackled himself to the frame, face-down.
"Take me."
I looked at his butt, so perfect and flat, and remembered how good his mouth was. I knelt between his spread legs and reached for the lube. He shook his head.
"Hurt me, Master. I deserve it."
I ignored him, and stroked on just enough so it wouldn't hurt me. Since the customer is always right, I grabbed his hips and pulled him backward to the limit of his arms and the binders. Without warning, I rammed into the tight little asshole he was begging me to fill.
Tight indeed, but flexible. Used, but not damaged. Perfect. I really hadn't used enough lubricant to keep him comfortable, and the awkward position, and my hands crushing his hips, had him sobbing into the sheets. He'd asked for it, so I delivered: hard and painful.
Endurance is a job requirement, and I stayed up, and stayed hard, spearing him for what felt like forever. Of course, having numbed myself out with some spice-based topical was only part of the secret. He was moaning, and sobbing, begging his master for forgiveness, before I felt even the first hint of orgasm.
He was screaming by the time I came.
There was blood mingling with the semen to trace a pink track down toward his balls as I stood up to clean myself. I pressed the warm damp cloth to him as well, cleaning him up.
The binders fell off, coded by the Force, I assume, and he stood up. Without opening his eyes, he came to me and kissed me. He opened his mouth, inviting me to plunder him. I frankly indulged myself. His mouth was very sweet. He tasted faintly of blood where he'd bitten his tongue, and even more faintly of alcohol.
He wrapped his arms around me, and his hands found their way into my hair. I held him in return, kissing him as long as he wanted. He was still hard. My hand strayed down to rub it, but he moved away. So that's how it was.
He finally moved away but didn't open his eyes. He dressed, with his back turned to me. I tossed my sarong back on, and guided him down the stairs. His eyes were still shut, holding the illusion, I guess, and I stayed behind him to further it.
At the door, he kissed me one last time, or rather started it and then submitted to my kiss. I walked away. His hand was over the touch plate, and I mingled in with the other workers before he opened his eyes. He took in his surroundings and shuddered, very carefully not looking at me. Then he was gone. I never saw him again.
I knew I wouldn't. As hard as I tried, I wasn't what he needed or even wanted. The forgiveness he craved wasn't mine to give.
I filed my time-slip in the office and went to bed.