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.
