Title: Shore Leave, an ABH
Author: BJ Stahl
Sitch: A layover on a rather, ahem, *interesting* planet.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: No, since this is so cloudy-crystal-ball it's scary.
Archive: Darth Diebin and the Library, if anyone else wants it, just let me
know.
Feedback: I cuddle it close on cold nights. iria_97995@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: I don't own Obi-Wan, or the Jedi he serves, or the Galaxy he
calls home. Fuck. I have to borrow them, state in plain English that I
make no profit from their use, and hope I don't get sued. The things we do
for our art, eh sibs? :-)
Author's Notes: Okay, I fought it, really I did (especially considering I'm
working on several stories with *BIG* plots), but here I am, hopping on the
General smut bandwagon. For those looking to lay blame (points fingers at
Die and Emmy).
---
You take a stiff belt from your drink. It tastes revolting and it's a hair
stronger than you like, but at least it's cold. It should not be legal to
inhabit a planet this close to its sun, you reflect bitterly. Right now
you'd give your eyeteeth and firstborn for one honest cool breeze. Not even
your less than modest state of dress is helping much.

You adjust your blaster in its holster. No reason to, you just feel really
antsy for some reason.

<<Yeah yeah, what're you gonna do, shoot the dartboard?>> a sarcastic voice
inside you speaks up. <<It's good as deserted in here.>>

True. You look around. Even when it should be the height of Happy Hour,
there's absolutely no one here. Not even the barkeep; he just handed you
your bottle of whatever this is and made tracks.

<<Everyone's upstairs screwing their brains out,>> you think a little
bitterly. Apparently the sapient species on Tallor mate in cycles. For a
bout a week out of the year the whole damn world walks around in heat.
You've even been propositioned a few times, but although the beings here are
humanoid, their body chemistry isn't compatible with yours.

Hells, you practically break out in hives whenever you brush by a Tallorian.

<<Just one more day babe,>> you cheerlead yourself. <<Just one more day to
let the epoxy on the engine struts set, then you're gone, solid gone.>>

Noise at the door draws your attention. You say a quick version of the
Annaka's blessing, hoping that it's not a pair of Tallorians who can't wait
for a private venue for their trysts. For some reason you don't find the
sight of Tallorian sex arousing.

<<Maybe it's the spots.>>

It's not a couple of horny Tallorians though. Instead you see a gang of
humans, all dressed in the dark black shirts and trousers of the Republic
navy's undress uniform.

You smile tipping them a salute with your glass. The attack cruiser, a
rounded little beauty of Mon Calamari manufacture, arrived yesterday.
Apparently they'd hoped for a few days shore leave. Instead, when their CO
learned the entire world had a collective hard-on, everyone was confined to
ship, their overnight, two-day, and three-day passes revoked. Technically
these folks are AWOL.

The penalty for which ranges from a few decades Mess Duty to execution by
laser enclision.

Which is of course why they're doing it.

<<Ah, flaming youth,>> you reflect with a private smile.

The noisy group, enlisted men by their simple insignia, grab enough drinks
from the bar to floor a regiment of dead Gammorians and dock themselves at a
table not too far from yours. You prop your feet up on the table, sip your
cold drink, wish for cooler weather, and wait for the inevitable.

It takes about ten minutes.

You give your iciest once-over to the young private who drew the short
straw. He, young enough to be your baby brother, (<<Son,>> you amend when
you see the last stubborn remains of adolescent blemishes on his chin)
blushes under your glare. He looks back at his comrades for support and
they cheer him on with obscene encouragement.

<<Foolish children,>> you think, an inner demon chuckling wryly. <<I know
curses that would make your hair fall out. Your *ball* hair.>>

"Mind if I sit down?" the boy-soldier asks.

You nod, sitting up and putting your feet back on the floor. He grins and
bends to plop his butt in the chair . . .

. . . only to crash to the floor as you deftly hook the chair away with one
sandaled foot.

Beat.

"I didn't say what you could sit *on*," you point out blandly.

The young man's comrades-in-arms roar laughter. Even the boy himself joins
in, albeit shamefacedly. Smiling, you stand and give his arm a tug, helping
him to his feet.

"Well will you join *us* then miss?" the soldier asks.

"Don't mind if I do," you reply, taking your own chair, turning it backwards
and sitting down.

About an hour later you peer at your newfound friends over a fan of sabacc
cards. Credit ante, three round limit. Currently you hold crap.

The randomizer kicks in, blurring your cards. As they settle on their new
values, you have to bite the insides of your cheeks to keep from cheering.
You hold the Two of Staves, the Three of Sabers, and the Idiot card, making
a literal twenty-three; the Idiot's Array. And it's third call.

You rub your feet together impatiently as the three men left in the game hem
and haw, stalling for time, hoping the randomizer will kick in again.
Finally it's time to throw down the cards.

"Idiot's Array boys!" you crow, laughing. Your opponents slam their cards
down in disgust as you sweep the little pile of credit chits into your
pocket pouch. <<This bunch must get mellow when they get plastered,>> you
muse. <<Ordinarily I'd be accused of cheating right now, never mind that my
nails are too short to hide a skiffer and I didn't deal.>>

It takes a moment for a quiet 'Ahem,' to reach your ears, another moment for
you to notice the unnatural silence, and another yet to connect the two.
You look up from your loot at the dumbstruck faces of your fellow revelers.

You're not empathic, but you don't need to be to guess what they're
thinking; 'Oh, *shit*!'

You look across the table and see a slender waist clinched with a wide
leather belt. A lightsaber hangs dangerously from the left side. A pair of
pale-skinned hands sit on each hip. You feel your jaw slowly drop as your
gaze moves upward, taking in the black shirt and wide insignia plate. The
top shirt button is undone, revealing a graceful neck growing up from broad
shoulders. Finally your eyes alight on a god's face, stern and unforgiving
and absolutely beautiful.

"Annaka take my soul I'm dying," you whisper so quietly your inebriated
friends don't notice you've spoken.

"General!" one of the younger privates squeaks. "I can explain."

"Please do," the stranger entreats, his voice a masterpiece of subtle,
elegant venom. "Later." He fixes a harsh stare on each and every person at
the table. Including you. You blush miserably.

His eyes finally stop on one of the older enlisted men. "I don't see Choni
or N'taus here Corporal, where are they? Enlighten me please."

The addressed man pales. "Well sir, they . . . um, well . . ." He takes a
breath to fortify himself. "They're upstairs sir."

"Are they now?"

"Yes sir."

<<Gaily banging their brains out along with the rest of this damned
mudhole,>> you think irritably.

Without warning, the General opens his mouth and bellows, "CHONI! N'TAUS!
DOWNSTAIRS! ON THE DOUBLE!"

You hear a great deal of scuffling as the two erring soldiers gather their
modesty and clothing as fast as they can. Moments later you see a young
couple come down the steps, the man hopping into his boots, the woman
fumbling her shirt buttons closed. They snap to attention, flushed and
obviously uncomfortable, at the table.

The General pauses, letting the soldiers savor their humiliation. Then, in
a disgusted voice as ominous as a tolling bell, he intones, "You will all
report back to ship and confine yourselves to quarters. You will remain
there until I send for you. We will discuss your insubordination then. Do
I make myself plain?"

Shamed nods and yessirs.

"Dismissed."

The deflated group exits, looking like the condemned on their way to the
enclision grid.

The severe look in the General's eyes holds as he slowly swings his head
around to pin you to your chair. You gulp, uncomfortably aware of your
sweat-soaked and underclad body.

And then he smiles.

Your heart stops and you forget to breathe. His smile widens into an
all-out grin, the boyish expression a complete polar opposite with the raw
power you've just witnessed.

<<Annaka help me,>> you half-pray.

"Do you think that was intimidating enough?"

"Beg pardon?" you ask, dazed.

"That little display there. I'm not sure if I scared them enough."

"Scared me," you note. Damn your mouth for taking a vacation *now*.

"Oh dear, I overdid it then," he mourns, his smile fading. His eyes still
twinkle with suppressed fun though. "You don't strike me as the type who
scares easily."

"I usually don't," you reply, getting your bearings back, slowly. "I'm a
bit sorry you scared them away."

"How so?"

You pat your pocket pouch. "Petty cash hasn't been this full in months."

He chuckles. "May I join you for a drink miss?"

You nod. As he pulls up a chair, you watch his body. Your mouth goes dry
as your helpful imagination strips him naked, stretched out, moaning, hair
flying, gilded with sweat.

His grace deserts him and he plops into the chair. "*Please* don't do
that," he sighs, looking at you with those wonderful jade-blue eyes.

"What?" you ask, puzzled.

"I'm a Jedi my lady, and an empath, and it's rather disconcerting to talk to
a woman when she's undressing you with her eyes."

If it were physically possible to die of embarrassment, you'd be kneeling
before the Annaka's throne right now.

"Oh no, don't be embarrassed," he entreats softly in his sexy voice. "I'm
flattered. Really."

That only makes it worse. Of all the times for your mind to go on a naughty
escapade, it has to happen around an empath . . . a gorgeous empath . . . an
incredibly sexy empath . . .

"Miss."

"What?" you start.

"If you don't cut that out, I'm going to have to wish you good evening," he
warns you like a parent warns a child about to have a temper tantrum.

That pisses you off. He's being at least as enticing to you as you are to
him, dressed in form-fitting black, the hints of sliver and leather only
sending your imagination into overdrive. This probably isn't wise (in fact
it's downright stupid), but dammit, you don't like being condescended to.

You call to mind a vividly erotic mental image including your naked body,
his naked body, candlelight, mirrors, and a lot of ca-zei oil, and fire it
at him with all the force in your brain.

He jolts upright, pale cheeks flaming.

"Stinks don't it," you ask harshly, not caring that you're being unfair.
You rise from the table. "If you'll excuse me General . . ."

"I will not," he bites out. Cat-quick, he gets to his feet, grabs your
wrist, yanks you against his body, and plants his lips on yours.

Discretion and propriety bid you farewell and your wind your arms around his
shoulders, tangling your hands in his long hair. He uses his lips and
tongue boldly, ravaging your mouth with heartstopping skill. His arms hold
you hard against his body, his hips grinding against you. You make a little
owie noise as his lightsaber digs into your hip.

"Sorry," he gasps, tearing his mouth off yours.

He tries to push you away. <<Second thoughts, ugh.>> You'll have none of
that now. Not after spending three days in a low-level state of arousal,
not after this uniformed incubus bellyflops into your perfectly peaceful
evening, and especially not after that assault of a kiss. You brace
yourself on his shoulders for leverage and hop up, snapping your legs around
his waist. The lightsaber bites hard into your inner thigh, but right now
the pain is news from the other side of nowhere.

He staggers backwards under your weight, his back hitting the wall just in
time for him to keep his balance. You writhe against him, pressing your
breasts against his chest, sliding your crotch over his.

He gasps something into your ear.

"What?" you pant, giving his neck a quick kiss.

"That's my name, Obi-Wan," he manages.

You open your mouth to tell him your name, but then he starts nipping your
neck and you have to settle for croaking it.

"Beautiful," he groans. "Now that we both know what to yell, I suggest we
find a private place with a backrest, quickly. Shall we?"

"Amateur," you sneer.

"Wha . . ." he pants as you slither down his body, coming to rest on your
knees before him. You nuzzle and breathe hard on the fly of his trousers,
making you feel him through his clothes.

"What in the . . . ?" you ask as his belt comes undone and his fly opens
right before your eyes. You look up into his burning eyes. They sear
through you like sea-colored branding irons.

"What might you be needing with that?" he asks, his Deep Core lilt thick and
lovely. Between those eyes and that voice, it's a miracle you haven't
spontaneously combusted, burning like a torch.

You part the opening in his pants smoothly and spend a minute admiring the
erection that all but snaps out to greet you. You do a few quick mental
calculations; it's been a while since you've gone down on anyone, and he's
not exactly poorly endowed.

<<Okay trial run,>> you decide as you lean forward and suck as much of him
down as you can.

His back arches and his hips rocket forward, burying himself deep in your
throat. You swallow briskly, fighting your gag reflex. His hands land on
your head, clenching, pulling at your hair.

You retreat, grabbing his hands and taking them away from your head. "Cut
that out." You hate it when people pull your hair.

Obi-Wan nods, gulping. He puts his hands behind his back.

"That's better."

You turn your attention back to his glittering cock. Reaching up, you tease
the flats of your fingernails ever so lightly along the seam in the
underside. You pucker your lips and blow along it, offering it a little
respite from the heat. Its trembling gets worse. It quivers before your
eyes.

You stick out your tongue and trace it along the oozing slot in the head . .
. and gasp when you feel a similar sensation down the folds of your cleft.
Your own arousal spikes at that impossible touch.

>>Turnabout is fair play after all,<< you hear in your head. >>Carry on,
>>please!<<

A little uneasily now, you wrap one and around his cock. The instant your
fingers touch the shaking length, you feel a gentle hand between your legs,
exploring. For a moment you just lightly caress, getting used to feeling
someone trick your body into feeling fingers that aren't there.

"Please . . ." he finally moans. His voice cracks as he cries your name.
"Please . . . your mouth . . . ah gods! please . . ."

Hearing him beg in that wonderful voice definitely ranks in the Top Ten
Erotic Experiences of your entire fucking life.

"Well alright, since you asked me nice," you drawl, and descend on his
erection again. You feel a deliciously wet and warm tongue slip over your
swelling folds, moving in pair with your mouth and throat, flicking over
your clit, worming up inside you just enough to make you ache. Your hand
joins your mouth and not-there fingers rejoin the not-there tongue, finding
and fiddling with sensitive points all around your erect clit. Soon you
have to fight, hard, for your concentration.

You swallow Obi-Wan whole and moan, vibrating your throat muscles, and that
tears it. With a wailing cry he spasms in your mouth and explodes. Light
spurts drench the back of your throat and you gulp quickly, determined not
to stain his uniform.

His hips jerk weakly as he finishes, softening in your mouth. The ghostly
fingers and tongue leave you. You writhe, circling your hips, trying to
coax that tongue and those fingers into making you come. Nothing.

<<For crying out loud don't leave me like this!>>

>>Say please,<< he demands in your head. >>I did.<<

<<Oh by the . . . Please.>>

>>Out loud.<<

"Please!" you cry. "Please Obi-Wan, for the love of the Annaka please!"

>>Please what?<<

"Don't stop! Annaka please don't stop!" you half-scream frantically, nearly
weeping as your orgasm retreats, making your guts ache.

Suddenly not-there lips close around your clit, suckling hard. You scream.
The sucking stops, but the tongue and fingers return, stroking and pulling
your clit expertly. Almost exactly ten seconds, and your teeth click
together, locking your cries inside your chest as you come in a long silver
flash. Your back arches, displaying your nearly bare torso as you ride the
waves.

When you regain control of your shaking body, you sit back up and look into
the General's face.

He's not looking at you. Instead he's staring, jaw hanging open and looking
altogether ashamed of himself, at something else.

Some*one* else, you amend as you snap your head around and see (<<Wouldn't
you know it?>>) your young friend from earlier, blushing to the roots of his
brown hair.

Your heart stops and you feel the color retreat from your face. And you
though you were embarrassed before. You glance around. No, this is not the
Annaka's citadel, ergo you are not dead.

Pity.

The private gapes at the two of you; the grand General with his pants undone
and the woman who just sucked him dry still on her knees before him with a
damp crotch in her shorts.

The tableau holds for another moment.

Finally the private comes to attention, saluting crisply. "Sir."

Looking absolutely ridiculous, the General returns the salute. "Carry on."

The private pivots neatly and marches out the door. Doubletime.

Long silence.

"You absolutely could not wait?"

You start to giggle as you get to your feet. "Like anyone'll believe him
wen he blabs to everyone he saw his CO getting blown in a bar."

He flushes and averts his eyes.

"Oh my . . . Don't tell me this is a *normal* event for you."

"Well I wouldn't put it that way . . ."
---