Aurthor's Notes: Good morning! A plot bunny hopped across my mailbox the other day, and it looked so sad and lost, well, I adopted it, with this result. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Any and all things recognizable as a part of the 'Star Wars' universe are the property of Godfather Lucas. Period.

How exactly do I get myself into these things? you ask yourself for the unpteenth time as yet another poor sap meets with an extremely bloody demise on the table in front of you.

It seemed like a good idea. One of your fellow apprentices produced a stack of horror holos from here to the Inner Rim and suggessted that your gang (of girls) engage another gang (of guys) in a contest of who-faints-first. Having nothing pressing to do over the next day or so, you agreed. There are worse ways to spend a day off. And if any of the Masters started asking questions, you could even pass it off as an exercise in fear-control.

And then you got to the appointed quarters. And guess who was there? *Him*. The omnicient *him*. You see him around occasionally. Not too often though; he's a Knight in training, you're a healer. Be that as it may, he's the most handsome man you've ever seen, and he's held a starring role in your, ahem, more risque dreams for years.

He gave you a brief smile in greeting as you walked in. You smiled back, averting your eyes and trying not to blush.

Your friend, Keita Thunderflare, looked about, grinning. "Everyone here?"

"Yeah," one of the guys, a fellow named DuKaal called from the door.

"Great. Munchies?"

"Check," Gira Karunis affirmed, indicating a bag bulging with various forms of finger food.

"Fluids?"

"Taken care of," you drawled, setting down a case of pop.

"Gear." She grinned.

You tossed a few cans to folks who requested them, took one for yourself, and settled to the floor, back nestled against one of the sofas. You glanced across the table, and your gaze caught his. You shared a look that made your spine shake.

Keita interrupted your silent communion, and saved your sanity. Hopping up on the central table where she'd rigged a portable holo unit, she hollered for silence. When she had everyone's attention (well, *she* had the girls' attention, her *legs* had the guys' attention) she lifted a large datadisk case. "I have here, in my hand . . ."

"Master Yoda in a box," Obi-Wan cut in.

"Say that to his face, I dare you!" Rivia Unrath snapped, laughing. The room dissolved into giggles. For once, you blessed your friends' unrelenting sense of idiocy.

"*Anyway*," Keita re-established control over the conversation, "I have here, in my hand, enough scary holos for three straight days of palm-sweating, pants-pissing terror!"

A few empty cans chucked at her from various placed displayed the general contempt of anyone that easily cowed. "Okay, these are the ground rules," she went on, turning serious. "We all watch what's in this box. Whichever gender turns to goo first loses."

"Losers treat the winners to lunch!" one of the guys bellowed.

"At Havana Lights!" one of the girls snapped right back.

You winced. Havana Lights is one of the best restaurants in town, and the cuisine is far from cheap.

Obi-Wan, prompted by comradly slaps on the back, rose and offered his hand to Keita. "Do we have a wager then?"

"Done!" she cried, taking his hand in a firm shake.

"Heard and witnessed!" you yelled as he helped her off the table with a gentlemanly bow. The others took up the cry; "Heard and witnessed!"

This is gonna be a piece of cake, you remember thinking as the first holo began, one of the more absurd only-the-virgin-gets-out-alive types. What you didn't factor in is the fact that all the people in the room are Force-sensitive, and after a while, everyone started picking up each other's fear, the way an entire classroom of children can catch virulent colds from each other.

Twelve and five (six? seven?) terribly violent holos later, nearly the entire audience is gone, pleading fatigue, appointments, illness, and one or two honest souls simply came out and said they were too scared to go on. Now it's just you, Keita, and Obi-Wan.

As the current holo ends, you draw a shaky breath and turn to Keita. However frightened you feel, though, she looks worse. Her hands are quivering, and her normally chocolate-colored complexion has an ashy tinge you care for not at all.

You rise, pulling Keita to her feet and propelling her toward the door. "Leave. Now. You've had enough."

"I'm fine!" she snaps.

You cheerfully ignore her bravado and shove her out the door. "I'll take care of the holos," you call at her retreating back and shut the door.

You turn on one heel and survey the wreckage. Food wrappers and pop cans litter the room and the furniture is in disarray, but everything is in one piece.

Obi-Wan (the fact that you're alone in an empty apartment with him finally hits home and your bones turn to rubber) rises with customary feline grace and starts packing up the holos.

"We're not done yet Kenobi," you rasp.

He gives you a surprised look, arching one eyebrow. Apparently, he thought you were only staying behind to help with the housecleaning. Chauvanist.

"Are you sure?" he asks, cool as a goddamned cucumber.

"Anything you can do I can do better," you singsong, taking another can of pop and settling back to the floor. He shrugs, selects another holo, and hits playback.

This one's the worst. The terrible bloody deaths are supplemented by an actual scary story, and you hug your knees to your chest, trying with all your fading willpower not to simply pass out.

Finally, as the protagonists come upon a gristly scene choked with dead children, you courage cracks and you start screaming, curling into a trembling ball.

You feel a pair of strong arms wind around you, drawing you into a fierce embrace. You sob into a quaking shoulder.

The holo stops. "Shh, it's all right, it over," Obi-Wan whispers into your hair.

Suddenly, you feel an intense rush of terror and lust, a brew heady enough to send you reeling again. The tiny part of your mind still capable of rationality identifys the emotions as not yours. You raise teary eyes to Obi-Wan's incredible gray ones, and you read similar things racing through their cloudy depths. You realize you've tapped each other's emotions.

Your mouths fasten onto each other, tounges tangling, teeth bruising each other's lips. His long-fingered hands plunge into your hair, tipping your head back. You run your palms over his hair, amazed at how soft it is against your hands.

The kiss breaks at you both catch your breath. Your lips feel like ground meat from the savagery of your initial attack. he leans forward and kisses you again, more gently now. You slide your mouth off his, kissing his face. He closes his eyes as you run your lips over his face, memorizing the texture of his skin.

He stops your exploration, bringing your head back to look you in the eyes. The desire in them makes the muscles between your legs clench. "I want you."

You don't answer. Not in words. Instead, you latch your mouth over one of the points of his collarbone. You run your tounge over his neck, your hands undoing his belt and sash.

As they fall from his waist and you reach for his trousers, he catches your hands. He stands, hauling you to your feet and the two of you stumble to one of the bedchambers, shedding clothes and exchanging fevered kisses along the way.

You plunk down on the bed. He sinks to his knees in front of you. You gasp as his hands and mouth fall upon your eager breasts.

His mouth moves lower, but you'll have none of that. Somewhere along the line, your fright's been transmutated into frantic desire, and you want him inside you. Now.

An image from one of your dreams flashes into your hazy mind. You stand. He manages a quick kiss on your mound before you step behind him. He gets to his feet, turning to face you. You plant one hand over his heart and shove him back on the bed.

"Lay back," you order in a husky voice.

With a ragged puff of breath, he does as you demand, displaying his body for your greedy inspecion. By the Force he's beautiful; a study in the balance of muscle, bone, and flesh, oiled slightly in musky sweat, peppered in red-gold hair. His cock stands upright, the tip indexing the heaving of his chest. You take it in one hand, flashing him a dirty smile as it twitches in your hand and he moans.

Without further preamble you scissor one leg over him and lower yourself over his erection, moaning with him as your muscles part and flow over him. He sinks into you up to the hilt and you fall over onto his chest. The feel of his chest muscles pressed against your breasts is erotic beyound description.

You brace yourself with your hands and start lifting your hips away from his. His pelvis twitches upward, meeting your strokes. He runs his hands and mouth over your face, neck, and breasts, sending shivers of jagged fire throughout your body.

You arch your back, picking up the pace, slamming yourself over him. His face contorts as you tighten around him.

"Wait . . . wait . . ."

"Shut up," you grind out.

"Slow down . . ." he pants desperately.

"Fuck slow," you growl, throwing your head back.

Your body jerks as his fingers find your clit, rubbing in counter rythum to your hips. "All right then."

Suddenly, you feel him touch your mind. >>Catch hold! Ride it with me!<< he orders. You focus on his mental caress and gasp out an oath as you sense what he feels. With what remains of your prescence of mind, you send back to him. He cries out something you don't understand. The link strengthens, blurring the line between your seperate selves, until your body starts to clench, sensation exploding from between your legs and echoing throughout your body.

He grabs your chin roughly, locking his gaze with yours. The paired sensations of being inside and around sizzle into your brain, and you finally fall over the edge together. You arch your back as far as it will go, feeling him convulse inside you, spraying your quivering insides, howling in completion right with you.

The aftershocks continue for several minutes, draining your strength, until you collapse onto his heaving chest. You both lie still for a moment, then he rolls you off of him, turns a little, and drapes one arm over you, easing his mind away from yours as sleep claims him.

You snuggle against him and drift off, not scared anymore, and your sleep is deep and utterly dreamless.

"Well?" Keita pounces on you as you return to your quarters late the next morning.

"Well what?" you ask, testy.

"Well who won?!?" she demands.

"He did," you say shortly, trying to keep the blush and just-laid grin off your face as you float to the fresher.

Her jaw dropped as her imagination made the necessary connecitons. "You gotta be fucking *kidding* me! No fucking way!!!"