Warnings: Two warnings, it's NC-17, and it involves Jar-Jar.
Run for the hills if you can't stand the thought.
Spoilers: Takes place during TPM, but has no major spoilers.
Summary: A response to the Jar-Jar challenge.
Feedback: Any comments and mature criticism welcome.
Qui-Gon shifted uncomfortably on the hard dirt floor in the
kitchen of the small slave's quarters he and his Padawan were
staying in for the night. While young Anakin's mother had
insisted that he share her bed, the snoring that rivalled a
Tungarian mastodon's quickly drove him out to seek quieter
sleeping arrangements.
He had finally begun to drift into a more relaxed state,
flirting with the edges of sleep, when a soft scuffle caught
his ears. It was pitch black in the room, but by the general
disruptance the stranger caused in the Force, Qui-Gon could
tell it was his Padawan, even in his semi-conscious state.
"Come help me sleep. I haven't been able to get you off of my
mind since we landed," he whispered softly, and smiled slightly
to himself when his apprentice knelt down beside him. It had
been far too long.
A few rustling blankets and unfastened sleep-clothes later,
Qui-Gon was sprawled back, nearly biting his lip off to keep
quiet, as he enjoyed the best blowjob he had ever experienced
in his life. Obi-Wan must have been as desperate and lonely as
his Master after their forced bout of celibacy, for he was
truly inspired tonight. His mouth seemed hotter, and that
tongue...
Despite his ecstacy, a tiny, worrying whisper began to creep
into Qui-Gon's mind. The kind that usually warned him of rather
important things, like when that priest was going to draw that
blaster, or when Yoda had consumed too much brandy and was
currently stalking the halls of the Academy giggling and
looking for "a few good men." Why this reflex, this warning of
impending doom would be kicking in now was beyond him. Unless,
someone was watching them.
In his less-than-coherent state, Qui-Gon tried to feel the
surrounding Force for any hidden voyeur, but the things that
boy was doing with that tongue had completely fried his
synapses.
Still treading water in that rushing river of pleasure, but at
least with his head above sea level now, Qui-Gon reached down
to still his apprentice for a moment. The practical side of him
urging that it wouldn't hurt to make sure that no one was
spying on them, while the hedonist in him was calling him
unspeakable names in eight different languages.
His mind was still piecing itself back together when he finally
figured out what was wrong with what his hands were trying to
tell him. Instead of soft, spiky hair, he was feeling thick,
leathery skin. Instead of delicate, shell-like ears, he was
holding two long, heavy - a wet, squirming tongue suddenly
wrapped itself around his wrist...
All Jedi training shot to hell, Qui-Gon's shrill girly-scream
echoed through the entire house and into the night.
Archive 