You're just getting ready to go to sleep when you hear the soft knock on your door. Almost without realizing it you find yourself with a blaster in your hand, sunk into a defensive crouch. You weren't expecting anyone--and assassins don't have random visitors. Ever.

A pause, and then another knock. A pause, three more.

Still staring at the door, you put your blaster away.

Pause. Not quite--

Knock.

Pause. Almost--

Two knocks.

You're already moving when you hear the slurred, "S'me . . . please--" from the other side of the door. Even if the code hadn't identified him, the soft accent, even blurred by what sounded like pain, told you exactly who was standing outside your rooms.

Worried, you fling open the door just in time to catch Obi-Wan Kenobi as he stumbles across the threshold into your arms.

He's bruised, bloody, incoherent--and obviously holding onto consciousness by the thinnest of threads. Heart pounding in your chest you drag him across the room, lowering him as gently as possible into your bed before returning to shut the door and activate the locks. All of them.

"What happened?" you whisper after returning to the bed, voice soft as you carefully begin to peel the blood-soaked tunics away from him. A tolerance for blood is definitely a requirement for your profession, but the site of his injuries still make you wince.

"Negotiations went wrong," Obi-Wan grates out, twisting slightly and letting out a low moan as you ease his pants down past a painful blaster burn in his leg. Hands long accustomed to delivering mortal wounds skate carefully over Obi-Wan's body as you check his injuries almost frantically--but as far as you can tell, he'll survive.

"Where's Qui-Gon?" you ask softly, bending down to drag your extensive first-aid kit out from under the bed. Nothing as advanced as he's used to, for sure--but you've patched yourself up more than once. It'll do.

"Call him--" Obi-Wan's hand catches yours and leads it to his discarded belt. "Comlink. Bring him here. Safe here."

You freeze, staring down at the face of your friend and sometime lover. Obi-Wan has known you for a long time, knows your past, and accepts the fact that you make your way through the world in a slightly less than legal fashion.

Qui-Gon doesn't know of your existence--but if he did he certainly wouldn't approve. After all, Qui-Gon is a Jedi Master, paragon of morality and protector of the weak.

You're just an assassin. A rather successful one at that. And now Obi-Wan wants you to invite a Jedi Master into your hiding place.

As well march down to the police headquarters and lock yourself into a cell. With a full confession.

"He--he won't judge," Obi-Wan says suddenly, his trembling hand reaching up to touch your cheek. "Please--save him."

"Let me at least help you first," you temporize, reaching down to sort through the first-aid kit for a bacta spray. Before you can find it his hand clasps yours again--bruising strength despite his injuries.

"I won't let you touch me until you've called him," Obi-Wan says, his voice shaking with exhaustion. "He's my Master. I need to take care of him."

Biting off your comment that you thought it was the other way around, you reach out and snag the comlink. "You owe me, Kenobi. A week of mind-blowing sex. Flowers. A five course meal that you cook for me. By yourself. Wearing nothing but an apron. Maybe even new boots."

"All of it and more, love," Obi-Wan promises.

"Just don't forget it, Kenobi," you growl, flipping the comlink on and waiting for a reply. "Assassin's always get paid."

Obi-Wan smiles, sinking back to the bed in relief as he hears the strained voice of his Master over the comlink.

Sighing, you invite the Jedi Master into your lair.

~~~~~~~~~

His eyes have been on you for a half an hour now, staring at you as you go through your morning stretches. How the man can sit so insufferably still is beyond you, but he has been there for at least an hour, only his eyes moving as they follow you about the room.

Disapproval practically rolls off him. It only took him ten minutes to discern your profession--how he figured it out so quickly will always be a mystery to you--but it was only a few moments more before he was on his feet, ready to toss Obi-Wan over his shoulder and leave. If it hadn't been for Obi-Wan's rather serious wounds, chances are he would be long gone by now, probably tipping the police off to your whereabouts on his way.

That had been last night. He'd insisted on sleeping next to his Padawan, as if you were some man-eating spider who was planning on sneaking into the bedroom in the night and devouring Obi-Wan whole. Upon rising this morning he had refused to speak to you, staring at you from that horribly lofty height as if you were a dangerous animal that was necessary, but far from friendly.

And you had even cooked him breakfast. Ungrateful bastard.

Trying to ignore the force of those blue eyes on you is difficult, but somehow you succeed in finishing your morning workout. Settling to the floor you begin your stretches, a routine designed to keep your body in acrobatic shape.

"You're overextending," he says suddenly, startling you enough in the middle of one of your complicated back bends that you lose your balance and sway dangerously. Feeling the muscles in your back screaming you carefully readjust, you finish the move before bouncing to your feet to glare at the Jedi Master.

"I thank you to keep your comments to yourself," you snap, eyes blazing.

"I was trying to be helpful," Qui-Gon says, voice unreadable.

"Well I /am/ being helpful," you reply harshly. "I'm feeding you and sheltering you while your Padawan heals. The least you could do is keep your disapproval and your smart comments to yourself."

"Are you Force sensitive?" Qui-Gon asks, voice as even as if he hadn't even heard your angry outburst.

"I'm dead as a stone," you reply, rolling your eyes. "I've been through this with Obi-Wan already. He's got more of the midichlorian things in his damn little toe than I've got in my whole body." Glaring suddenly you bite your lip, angry at having given in this much information up. "It's not any of your business anyway."

"I'm just curious. You're in remarkable shape for someone who has had no training and is not in tune with the living Force." You can almost hear grudging respect in his voice, but the strains of disapproval are still there.

Is the Jedi Master trying to have a conversation with you? With an assassin?

"I've had plenty of training," you reply a little bitterly. "More training than you, I'd imagine. And I spend a great percentage of my time keeping my body in this shape."

"So you can kill people," Qui-Gon says calmly, springing the trap you so blindly walked into.

For a few moments you stare at him, at loss for words. "So I can survive," you finally respond, turning slowly on your heel and drifting towards the door. "If it's okay with you, your worship, I'm going to go check on my friend."

"My Padawan would not be friends with an assassin," Qui-Gon says suddenly, his voice so confused it makes you pause. Have you actually managed to push a Jedi off balance?

"Maybe you should keep closer tabs on him," you reply, casting a mocking smile at him over your shoulder. "He's certainly more than made friends with me."

The last thing you see as the door slides shut is Qui-Gon's mouth, hanging slightly open.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"You're goading him," Obi-Wan snaps, disapproval in his sea-gray eyes. "Please don't."

"He's being an arrogant ass," you respond calmly, ignoring Obi-Wan's soft growl. "Stay still--I'm checking your arm."

"I told you we healed it," Obi-Wan replies, rolling his eyes as you continue to unwrap the bandage. "I'm perfectly fine--all I need is a little rest. I wore myself out healing."

As much as you'd like to disagree, the horrible gash on his arm is healed to a thin white scar, held together carefully by medical tape. "I can't win with you," you grumble, wrapping his arm back up and shaking your head.

Before you can pull away strong fingers sneak up around your neck, pulling you down so that your face is close to his. "I believe I promised you something about mind-blowing sex," he says softly, brushing a soft kiss across one cheek. "I dare say you'd win with that."

"A weeks worth," you correct, leaning down to capture his lower lip between your own, sucking gently. A low growl rumbles through his chest as his other hand comes up, pulling you onto the bed as his lips latch onto yours, kissing you with deep intensity.

He has you rolled over and trapped beneath him, lips still devouring yours, when the sound of the door whisking open makes you jerk back. Obi-Wan rolls over with a grimace, his face flushing as he closes his eyes and shakes his head.

"What do you want," you growl softly at the imposing figure of the Jedi Master. "And haven't you ever heard of knocking?"

"What are you doing to my Padawan?" Qui-Gon thunders in response, striding forward to pry you off of the bed with one large hand.

Before he can lever you off the bed you flip, body twisting as you push off of his shoulders for leverage, spinning around in the air and landing with a muttered curse on the floor behind him.

"Don't touch me, Master Jinn," you spit as the man twirls, his robe flying out behind him.

"Don't touch my Padawan!" Qui-Gon responds, voice low. "He is injured, and I will not let you take advantage of him--"

"/Me/ take advantage of /him/?" you choke, the accusation so comical you can't help but laugh. "Don't know Obi-Wan very well, do you?"

"Hey now--" Obi-Wan protests from the corner, propping himself up on one arm and leveling a glare at you. "Don't you start with that . . ."

"He started it, braid-boy," you snarl. "Next time you want to bring a friend, bring one who isn't so stiff and proper that he can't sit down!"

"There will /be/ no next time," Qui-Gon exclaims at the same time Obi-Wan mutters, "Never complained about stiff friends /before/, have you?"

Both men stop and stare at each other, Obi-Wan slightly startled and Qui-Gon pale as death.

"You come here often?" Qui-Gon demands, crossing his arms and tucking his hands into the sleeves of his robes.

"She is my friend," Obi-Wan responds softly, eyes cast down. He struggles to sit up and only Qui-Gon's gentle hand on his shoulder prevents him. "No, Padawan--save your strength. We need you healthy."

"As you wish, my Master," Obi-Wan replies, voice subdued as he lets himself be pushed back into the bed, the blankets settled around him. You roll your eyes at his submissviness--and at the fact that you can tell he's not faking it. Obi-Wan really would defer to this walking mountain in anything.

That thought gives you pause--you know that Obi-Wan is a smart man with an independent spirit. What kind of a man would Qui-Gon have to be to demand his immediate and total respect and obedience?

"Obi-Wan, I would like to ask you just one question." Qui-Gon has settled on the edge of the bed, one hand still resting on Obi-Wan's forehead. "How did you become friends with an assassin?"

Obi-Wan flushes slightly, and you fight to hide a grin. Obi-Wan shoots you a wild-eyed look, and you can almost see his mind frantically groping for an explanation what won't disgrace him totally.

"He saved me," you blurt suddenly, shooting a glare at Kenobi as his eyes widen and he opens his mouth to protest. "I was being attacked on Coruscant several years ago in a back alley. He beat off my attackers and got me back to my hotel and took care of me. We became friends."

Qui-Gon's piercing blue gaze roots you to the floor, and you suddenly know what your targets must feel like when they turn to see you coming for them. No escape, no hope--just fate, rushing at you too fast to stop.

::I didn't lie,:: you tell yourself, wishing you believed it. One of you /had/ been drunk, and the other one /had/ saved them and dragged them back to a hotel to heal. But damned if it had been you overindulging . . .

"We will discuss this later," Qui-Gon says sharply, shaking his head at you as if he knows you're lying. Turning back to his Padawan, he smoothes the tousled hair back. "Time for you to sleep, Obi-Wan," he says, his voice suddenly gentle. "You need rest."

Standing, Qui-Gon opens the door and gestures to you, his actions saying more clearly than words that he's not going anywhere until you're safely out of seducing range of his Padawan.

"I'll talk to you when you wake up, Obi," you say, shooting him an exasperated glare. "Go to sleep, braid-boy."

~~~~~~~~~~

It's almost impossible to sneak up on you, but Qui-Gon does a fair job of it that evening as you're trying to cook dinner. Used to only taking care of yourself, making complicated meals is totally beyond you--but with no help in sight your inferior talents are just going to have to suffice. You are in the process of swearing vehemently at the vegetables when you feel a presence approaching. Spinning, you find Qui-Gon a few steps behind you, backing you neatly into a corner.

"Back off, Jedi man," you say cheerfully, brandishing your cutting knife. He gives you a level look, his entire demeanor screaming louder than words that you're behaving immaturely.

"You lied to me," Qui-Gon says softly, taking another step forward. "That story you told me about how you met my Padawan--it wasn't true. Somehow I doubt that you ever need saving."

Staring up at the massive man towering above you, you'd be willing to argue that point. You've never regretted your small stature before--being small gives you a distinct advantage in your profession--but when faced with a man like Qui-Gon, you have a hard time not feeling dwarfed.

Well hell, you could always bite his elbow.

"Who's to say that I didn't just overindulge?" you ask with a fake smile, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other when the Master continues to just stare down at you. "It happens to the best of us."

"It doesn't fit," he says, almost musingly, his eyes still pinning you to your spot.

"Doesn't fit?" you repeat dumbly. "Hey, if this is Jedi-talk, could you go have it with someone who will appreciate it? I'm trying to make dinner."

"According to my Padawan, 'trying' is the operative word," Qui-Gon says with a slight smile. "He sent me in here out of self-defense. Apparently he's not a big fan of your cooking."

"Ungrateful bastard," you mutter, turning your back to Qui-Gon and resuming your butchering of vegetables. "You'd think he'd at least refrain from telling bad stories. I haven't told any about him."

"I'd rather not hear them," Qui-Gon says ruefully. "I was just told by my oh-so-respectful Padawan that, to put it bluntly, I'm a frump."

"A /frump/?" you exclaim, spinning around to face Qui-Gon again.

A smile lights the older man's face. "I believe that was the word he used. I believe it was something I deserved." Shaking his head, he holds out a hand to you. "I have not behaved fairly--something my Padawan brought to my attention rather forcefully. It is not in my nature to be judgmental, but I must admit that you are the first person I've met who is a professional--"

"Killer?" you finish mildly. You reach out a hand to Qui-Gon and clasp his briefly. "No offense taken--well, not really. I knew it would happen when I called you to come here. I didn't expect a Jedi Master to approve of me."

"And I lived up to that expectation," Qui-Gon says sadly, dropping your hand. "Or should I say that I lived down to it . . ."

"Don't worry," you say briskly, shrugging one shoulder uncomfortably. "Just help out with supper, and we're straight."

"Straight?"

"Even. Clear. Assassin talk." Rolling your eyes, you hand the knife over to Qui-Gon. "You do vegetables--I only have one use for knives, and this isn't it."

From the startled look on his face, Qui-Gon isn't quite prepared for jokes about your profession.

::Well too bad,:: you think to yourself as you watch him start to carve into the vegetables. ::Jedi man can stuff it.::

~~~~~~~~

Despite the oddity of the situation, you and Qui-Gon seem to have formed an uneasy truce, aided by the fact that Obi-Wan is running a fever that has both of your worried

"Infection," Qui-Gon mutters as he closes the door to your bedroom, moving to where you're hovering anxiously over the medkit. "He'll be okay by tomorrow, but I had to throw him into a healing sleep."

"I--uhh, I have to go out in a few hours," you say softly, eyes focused somewhere above Qui-Gon's left shoulder. "Will you be okay for the evening?"

"I'll be fine," Qui-Gon responds, one large hand settling on your shoulder and engulfing it. "Do you need help?"

Looking up at Qui-Gon's eyes you see kindness and compassion--emotions that you know will vanish when you tell him that you've got to go out and kill tonight.

Unable to stand the prospect of seeing those blue eyes go cold you force a smile onto your face. "No, I've just got a friend I need to meet. Backed out on him three times already." That much is true--you were supposed to take this target out the night Obi-Wan stumbled through your door. You have to do it soon, and tonight is the last chance you'll have in a week.

"I will care for Obi-Wan while you're gone," Qui-Gon says, hand squeezing your shoulder gently. "Thank you for giving us this place to rest."

"Anytime," you say softly, ducking away from Qui-Gon's hand and heading towards the bathroom. "Don't worry about it."

As you lock the door behind you though, you're furious with yourself for how much you're dreading the moment when Qui-Gon locks up again. When you walk past him dressed for work, and he sees that you're going out to kill . . .

"Stupid Jedi," you mutter under your breath, slamming on the water controls in your fresher. "I should have known better after the first one."

~~~~~~~~~

"I'm headed out," you call out cheerfully, sticking your head around the open doorframe to smile at Obi-Wan where he's lying in your bed. His face is red and flushed with fever, but he still manages a weak smile--

--until you move the rest of the way around doorframe and he catches sight of your 'work clothes.'

"Going out," he repeats softly, eyes flickering to his Master before landing back on you. You can see the resignation in his face as Qui-Gon starts to turn around.

"Master--" Obi-Wan starts, reaching out a hand to touch Qui-Gon's arm.

The blue eyes bore into you, stripping away your barriers and leaving you totally exposed to this man. You can see the disapproval rolling off him, the disappointment and censor in his eyes as they sweep over your fitted black body suit and assorted implements of death strapped to your arms, legs, and hips.

"Going out?" Qui-Gon asks, his voice quiet with deadly menace.

"I believe that is what I said," you respond, your heart sinking as all the warmth sweeps out of his face.

"Don't count on us being here when you get back," Qui-Gon says softly, eyes tearing into you.

"Master," Obi-Wan repeats, this time firmly. Staring up he meets Qui-Gon's eyes, obviously communicating in some way other than speech.

Qui-Gon sighs and shakes his head, flowing gracefully to his feet. He glides past you without a second look, refusing to even acknowledge your presence as he leaves the room, letting the door whir shut behind him.

"C'mere," Obi-Wan says softly, reaching out a trembling hand to you. Tentative steps bring you to his bedside and he pulls you down, stretching you out beside him.

"Don't mind him," Obi-Wan whispers against your cheek, one hand coming up to caress your hair softly. "He doesn't mean it--he's just off balance. The part of him that is accepting to all life-forms is having problems adjusting to genuinely liking someone who kills for money." Nuzzling his nose into your cheek he sighs, his breath tickling your skin. "He does like you, dear one. Against his will, he can't help but respect you. He sees somehow what I know--that you're a good person."

"I kill for money, Kenobi," you respond, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "There's nothing noble about that. Don't pretend there is."

Strong fingers clasp your jaw, tilting your head to face him. Aqua-gray eyes catch and hold yours as one finger traces tiny circles on the soft skin under your eye. "I've seen you come home from a kill, shaken and crying. I know the kind of jobs you accept. You kill killers. You kill rapists. You kill slave-dealers. The world is a better place without them, and yet you still regret their passing. You are more noble than many people who only make pretensions at helping others. You /do/ help others. You help the weak."

"And I do it at the expense of human life," you snap, shaking your face free of his grip and sitting up, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Before you can stand up legs and arms wrap around you, cradling you back against a broad chest. You sigh and let your head fall back, enjoying the feeling of being held for just a few moments.

"I know what you are," Obi-Wan murmurs into your neck, brushing a kiss against the skin beneath your ear. "And I love you still. Go out and do your job, dear one. Come back to me, and I'll show you how much I love you."

"You're sick," you protest with a faint smile, squirming out of his arms. One hand catches the thick braid running down your back and pulls you back into an embrace.

"I'll be healthy soon enough," Obi-Wan says softly, catching your earlobe between his teeth and purring. "I can't wait for a chance to prove it to you."

Smiling you pull back out of his arms, leaning over to kiss him soundly before pushing him back in the bed. "Go to sleep, braid-boy. I'll come wake you up when I get back."

"Good luck," he replies, brushing his fingers across your cheek as you retreat. "I love you."

"I know," you mutter softly, slipping out the door and pulling your large robes on over your work clothes. "I know."

~~~~~~~~~~

Getting into the building was no problem--you've had your target's lair cased out for almost a month now, and you know his schedule perfectly.

However, posed above his bedroom in a claustrophobic air-vent, you suddenly realize that this mission is going to be a lot more difficult than you thought.

Don Tuilo W'Quiot lays sprawled on his bed beneath you, arms crossed behind his head. Tuilo is a well known business man whose real business is slightly less well known--the buying and stealing of twelve to fifteen year old children to sell as 'Moldable Pleasure Slaves.'

The contract on him was paid by five separate parties, all anxious to have him taken out before he can cause any more harm to the children of this planet. You accepted it willingly, and in all honesty would have done the job for almost nothing. Child-slavers are a definite sore spot in your past, and you will do almost anything to save more children the trauma and pain.

As you watch three young girls are dragged into the room for Tuilo's approval. Voices are muffled, but you can clearly hear the words, "Leave this one here. Chain her to the bed, please--but no drugs. It's better when they can struggle."

The first lesson you ever learned was that an assassin must always kill in cold blood. Emotions make people sloppy, and anger almost always get you killed.

Watching the terrified girl being tossed to the bed neatly erases all of those lessons from your head. You're literally trembling with rage by the time the guards empty out of the room, leaving only the target and his young victim.

Logic says you should wait until he's distracted before breaking in. It won't be hard to kill him, and you already know where the secret exit from his room is, leading to a building a few doors down. You already have a change of clothing and a disguise stashed by the exit of the tunnel--five minutes after dropping down and you'll be away.

You know, however, that you would rather die than watch him break this child.

By the time you finish the thought you're already in the room, landing nimbly in the remains of the ceiling vent. Before Tuilo can even turn around you're on him, one hand tangled in his hair and yanking his head back on his neck.

He manages to get out a scream before you slit his throat, but the scream is enough to bring pounding in the hallway. Cursing yourself for forgetting to lock the door you spin and bolt towards the door, hoping to latch it to buy time.

Just as you reach the door one guard bursts in. Grabbing his wrist you fling him into the room, slamming the door shut behind him and jamming the door lock. The pounding on the other side of the door grows louder as you spin to jump the large man behind you, hoping to catch him off guard.

A fist catches you across the face as you bounce up, sending you reeling for a few moments. Groping at your side you stand, a throwing knife appearing in your hand. A few moments later it's lodged in your attackers throat as he goes down with a gurgled scream.

Trying to catch your breath you move to the side of the bed, gathering the trembling young girl up as gently as you can. "You need to run with me now," you say softly, fiddling with the locks holding her hostage until you manage to pop them with your lockpick. "No noise, just run. I'll make sure you're safe."

The girl is crying silently but she nods, scrambling to her feet and dancing quickly away from the bed.

It only takes you a few moments to figure out how to operate the hidden door behind the large desk, and then you're both in a dark hallway, the door sliding shut just as the guards burst into the room behind you.

"Run," you hiss at the girl, prodding her in the back as you search for somewhere to lay in ambush for the guards. "Don't look back."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You have no idea how long you've been running for, but you know that you don't have much left in you. Being small and fast you're perfectly suited to the life of an assassin, but assassins rarely have to fight two or three large men at once--and you are now at a distinct disadvantage.

Blood is seeping sluggishly from three shallow cuts and you count yourself lucky to still be alive. You've cut down nine guards since you started running, hiding around corners and ambushing groups before disappearing into the tunnels again. You can only hope that the young girl got away--you can't even save yourself right now, much less find the energy in you for a daring rescue.

You clamp a hand over the worst of the cuts as you hear voices approaching your hiding place again. From the sounds of them there are at least five, far more than you should take on by yourself.

"C'mout here, little bitch," a rough voice calls out from just around the corner. "Lest you wanna just hide and listen to us break this little chit."

There is a sickening sound of fist hitting flesh, followed by a high keening whimper. You run through every curse you know silently, face curling into a snarl. They found the girl somehow--

--and you can't just leave her.

"Sith," you mutter, running a quick weapons check. You lost one of your two blasters some time back. Most of your throwing knives are gone, leaving only one small blade and your vibro-knife. You're shaking with exhaustion and badly wounded.

And you're going to go try to take out at least five guards.

::Idiot!:: your mind screams at you as you start to move. ::Thrice damned blubbering fool!::

You ignore the little voice, drawing your blaster in one hand and hefting your remaining throwing knife in the other. From around the corner you can hear the sound of tearing fabric, drowning out the soft sobs as the young girl.

Fear clenches your heart. If they catch you, chances are they'll use you for their fun too. You've come a long way from the young girl who was brutalized by men like this, but you really don't crave another dose.

Shoving the fear down you think a curse at Obi-Wan for implanting all his damn morals into you. You should walk away. You should turn around and sneak out of the tunnels. Go back home. Collect your paycheck and move on.

A loud keening wail makes you wince, a wail followed by a hollow thud and a low whimper.

It's enough. You level your blaster and fly around the corner, taking out two men before you've even cleared the corner.

It's then you see how badly you miscalculated. Not counting the two that are down, nine men face you in the hallway, three of them hovered over the prone body of the young girl. Snarling low in your throat you take aim at another one, pulling the trigger and sending his body flying backwards into two of his friends. Another shot and two more go down, stumbling together into a bloody heap.

You've gotten two more shots off when one of them shakes off his surprise, pulling a blaster and beginning to return fire.

There are only three left standing when you catch a blaster bolt in the leg, tumbling down with a harsh cry and muttered curse. Hands grasp you immediately, tugging your arms painfully behind your back.

"Lookee here," the man holding you rumbles, staring down at you tauntingly. "She's nothin' but a wee little chit."

"Awful young to be a killer," one of his friend responds, moving across the room to tower in front of you.

Without missing a beat you fling your foot up, catching him in the groin with a kick that could easily break through a wall. The man goes flying, his voice coming out in a high-pitched squeal.

Your arms are yanked even more painfully as your entire body is forced to the floor, a boot impacting with the side of your head. "Do that again and you'll wish your mother had never met your father."

"Least I had a father," you snarl, spitting on the face only inches from yours. "My mother didn't have to look to a bantha for a bedmate."

A fist the size of three of yours impacts your face, swinging your head around hard enough to make your neck creek. "Keep your mouth shut, whore," your captor spits, his hand tangling in your hair and yanking your head back until you can feel the muscles straining in your neck.

"Let the girl go," you rasp out, letting your eyes slide shut. "You can have me, let her go."

"Something tells me you won't be as much fun," one of the men says with a mocking grin, prodding you roughly with one foot. "I bet you've spread them legs plenty of times before. Nothing special about bedding a slut--I can get me one 'a them at any street corner." You're slapped again, this time feeling your lip split open. "However, I intend to make you suffer. You killed my boss and a whole lot of my friends."

"Take the little thing now," the man behind you snarls. "Make her watch. That should make her feel like shit, since she knows it's her fault."

You snarl low in your throat as the brute approaches the young girl, who has backed herself into a corner with a look of utter terror on her face. The man is just reaching out a hand to drag her forwards when something amazing happens.

Your discarded blaster suddenly appears out of nowhere in her hand, and the young girl pulls the trigger, sending her attacker flying back into the wall. She spins and levels the blaster at the man behind you, her hands only shaking a little.

His shock is all you need. Twisting you thrash out, breaking his arm hold and grabbing his hair in one hand. A few moments later and it's over, the large man lying prone at your feet with a snapped neck.

Behind you the blaster clatters to the ground as the girl starts to sob.

You turn and move slowly towards her, feeling the pain in your leg now that the adrenaline has worn off. You won't make it too far in this shape.

Sinking to the ground you gather the girl up against you. She sits stiffly at first, obviously nervous about being too close to you after your blatant display of violence, but her terror soon overcomes her nervousness. Before long she's clinging to you, sobbing into your shoulder.

"Come on, little one," you finally whisper, forcing yourself to your feet and pulling her after you. "We need to get out of here. I'll take you somewhere safe. They'll take care of you and contact your parents."

"Th-th-thank you," the young girl whispers softly, looking up at you shyly. "Thank you."

"Let's just get out," you say softly, taking her hand and leading her forwards.

~~~~~~~~~~~

A little under an hour later you've dropped the young girl off at one of the safe houses, clad in the clothing you were supposed to change into. You simply threw your spare robe over you, clutching it closely so that no one can see how badly injured you are.

As soon as the young girl is settled you leave, shaking the hand of the kindly old woman who runs the safehouse. This isn't the first child you've brought, and it most likely won't be the last. Accepting her soft thanks you smile, heading out the door.

Indulging for once you take rent a car to take you back to your apartment, spending every bit of energy you have left not to pass out.

Or cry.

When you finally make it through the door you find Obi-Wan pacing frantically, Qui-Gon standing with his arms crossed, obviously in the middle of reprimanding his Padawan.

"What are you doing out of bed?" you snap, letting the door slide closed behind you and leaning up against it.

Obi-Wan is at your side in a moment, hands trembling as he tugs at your robe. When he hears your swift inhalation of pain his face hardens, and long gentle fingers coax your robe off of your shoulders.

"Oh dear gods . . ." he breaths softly, taking in your bloody, bruised, and torn body. Your face is so tender you know it must be a mass of bruises, and you don't even want to know what your body looks like.

"Master--"

"Bring her into the bedroom," Qui-Gon snaps, voice taunt with tension. Letting your gaze shift over to him you can see that he's torn between the need to help you and the need to dislike you.

His compassion wins, barely. "I'll follow with the medkit. Get her lying down immediately."

"You're sick," you protest as Obi-Wan sweeps you up into his arms, striding towards your room. "You can't waste your energy."

"Hush," Obi-Wan whispers, settling you into the blankets and cupping your face gently with his hands. "Go to sleep now, love. You'll wake up when you've had some time to heal."

"No . . ." you protest softly, but you can already feel your mind succumbing to the pressure of Obi-Wan's. You don't want to sleep. You don't want to take the chance that you'll dream.

"I'll be here," Obi-Wan whispers, fingers caressing your face. "Sleep, love. Sleep."

~~~~~~~~~~

When you wake up next it's dark, and for a moment you fight the urge to scream as you feel an arm slung over your body. The dreams that had chased you out of sleep had been terrible, dreams of pain and suffering and rape and abuse . . .

Twisting you catch sight of Obi-Wan's familiar face, shadows playing over his face from the light cast by the open door.

You take a few steadying breaths before shifting slightly, moving Obi-Wan's arm carefully to the side so that you can swing your legs over the side of the bed and sit up. Even that slight movement makes you grimace but you persist, holding out your arms and taking careful inventory.

Four tight bandages cover the four shallow cuts on your arms and waist. Your entire left leg is wrapped tightly in white cloth, and you can feel the throbbing where the blaster singed your leg.

So lucky--an inch to the left and you never would have walked again.

Shivering at the thought you lift a hand to brush against your face, wincing as seeking fingers encounter bruises and your split lip. You've been hurt on missions before, but never this badly.

You've never had to fight face to face before--something you would be wise to prepare for in the future.

Sliding from the bed you limp across the room to the corner, curling up with your good leg pulled up to your chin. Feeling your shoulders beginning to tremble you give in to the urge to cry, tears rolling down your face as you recall memories from long ago.

The pain will never end . . . you're sure of it now. Four days, beaten and taunted by day, abused and used by night--the pain just won't stop.

Clenching your eyes shut you try to escape within your mind, try to find somewhere to hide from the hurt, from the pain . . .

From the expression in his eyes . . .

And then the man above you stills, eyes wide. Collapses on top of you as you cry out in terror. You can see the lifeless eyes staring at you, blood starting to drip onto you from the wound in his throat . . .

And the man his torn off of you, tossed aside as a man in black kneels at your side. "Come with me, little one," he says, wrapping you in a blanket. "I'll take you somewhere where there is no pain . . ."

"I don't want to," you spit suddenly, eyes wide as you gaze at the fallen body of your tormentor. "Teach me how to do that."

"It is not an easy life, little one," the man protests, running a finger down your cheek. "Do you think you could stand living by death?"

"Teach me how to do that," you repeat dully, eyes fixed to the knife handle blossoming from your attackers throat. "They will die."

"Yes," he agrees, pulling you to your feet. "They will die. And you will help me, my apprentice."

You're torn from the memories as a shadow falls over you. Glancing up you see the Master, face unreadable.

"You should be in bed," he says, tone even. Although there is no sign of dislike or disapproval, there is also no warmth. He is cold and cool, proper and professional.

"I saved her," you say softly, eyes focused on his deep blue ones. "I saved her--but how many did I leave behind? How many will be the toys of the guards tonight, now that there is no one to punish them for it?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Qui-Gon responds, eyes narrowing. Crouching he reaches out to adjust one of your bandages. "You're bleeding again--you can't be moving. You need to keep your wounds clean so that we can heal them without danger tomorrow."

"Don't heal them," you reply, ignoring the hand he's holding out to you. "Everything has a price, and I'll pay it myself. It's no more than I deserve."

What hurts the most is the agreement in his eyes. Turning your face away you burrow it into the wall. "I'll be fine. I've been hurt before."

"You are /not/ sitting in that corner and bleeding!" another voice interrupts, and you turn your face back to see Obi-Wan shouldering past his Master. He drops to the floor and carefully gathers you up, lifting you effortlessly despite your protests.

"Padawan, you should not be out of bed," Qui-Gon states smoothly, his face still passive.

"Master, she is bleeding from five different wounds. I rather think her medical concerns are slightly more urgent than my own."

"Padawan--"

"Master." You see Obi-Wan meeting Qui-Gon's eyes, and then he's moving again, laying you on top of the bed with heartstopping gentleness. "You're going back to sleep while I talk to my Master," Obi-Wan whispers against your forehead, lips caressing you gently. He slides down to kiss each of your eyelids, one finger tracing a cheek. "Don't get up again, dear. Let yourself sleep."

"I don't want to," you respond, opening your eyes to gaze into his. "I'm having the dream."

"I'll be back in just a moment," he replies, closing your eyes again with gentle fingers. "I'll make sure you don't have the dream again. Now just sleep."

"Yes, Obi," you sigh, giving yourself over to his gentle urgings. You can feel the love that surrounds you as his mind coaxes yours down into sleep again.

~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake again to find Qui-Gon seated across from you, studying you with haunted eyes. There are deep bruises under his eyes as if he hasn't slept, and you can see the faint traces of tears on his cheeks.

Startled, you struggle to sit up. "Is Obi--"

"My Padawan is cooking dinner," Qui-Gon responds softly, a large hand coming to coax you back into the bed. "He is fine."

Qui-Gon continues to stare at you, the blue eyes boring into your very spirit. You feel as if nothing is hidden from this man, and a feeling of shame washes over you as you remember the prior night. "I left them," you say numbly.

This time he knows what you are talking about. "Obi-Wan apparently knew someone to contact--they sent a rescue team in after the other children. They are all safe." His eyes roam your face restlessly, refusing to meet your own. "I--I owe you a great apology."

"For what?" you ask, puzzled. Instead of answering, Qui-Gon slides to the floor to kneel next to the bed, one gentle hand coming out to brush at your hair.

"I wronged you greatly. I was close-minded and foolish. I hurt someone who deserved far better."

Your eyes slide shut and you blush. "He told you."

"Everything," Qui-Gon confirms, the hand still tracing patterns through your hair. "How you became an assassin, how you chose your jobs. That half of the money you makes goes to fund safe houses for abused children. That you have done more for the removal of child slavery than anyone save the man who trained you." Qui-Gon shakes his head, staring at the floor. "And I shunned you. I behaved poorly. Truly, you are a better person than I."

"I kill, Qui-Gon. In cold blood, with little remorse. The men and women I target are bad people, but their guards and friends and employees are often innocent. I kill them as well, kill anyone who gets in my way. I am not noble."

"I disagree," he says softly, raising his eyes to meet yours.

The kindness and caring that pours forth is overwhelming. Within a few moments, you are sobbing.

"Shhhh," Qui-Gon whispers, gathering you into his lap and holding you cradled against his chest. "It will be all right."

You cling to him, your face buried in his tunic as your shoulders shake, fingers clutching broad shoulders. Feeling the warmth beneath you, the large hands stroking your back, and the soft lips murmuring into your hair, you feel safer than you have in years.

And that terrifies you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I want real food," you growl softly, staring at the bowl of soup in front of you with a scrunched up face. "I've been healed for three days, and asleep for most of it. I need real food. Meat. I'm a carnivore."

"You were sick," Obi-Wan says evenly, draping his arms across his chest and staring down at you. "You'll eat the soup, or I'll feed it to you. Your choice."

"Feed it to me," you reply instantly, licking your lips and staring up at Obi-Wan through hooded eyes. Along with forcing more soup and tea down your throat than any sane person should consume in a lifetime, Obi-Wan has been very strict about how active you're allowed to be--and apparently mindblowing sex is on the prohibited list.

"Nice try," Obi-Wan says with a grin, settling down on the bed next to you. "Not for another day, at least." Snatching the spoon out of your hands he collects some soup, holding it up for you. "Eat."

"No," you respond, clenching your lips together tightly and glaring at Obi-Wan. Bed confinement is not something you've ever been fond of, and taunting Obi-Wan is probably the only entertainment you'll get until the Jedi decide you're fit to be on your feet again.

"What seems to be the matter here?" Qui-Gon asks from the door, leaning up against the frame and wiping his hands on the towel he had been drying dishes with. "Is she refusing to eat again?"

"Won't even open her mouth," Obi-Wan grumbles, shooting you an annoyed look. He knows damn well that you're just playing with him, and it doesn't seem to amuse him as much as it does you.

"Well that's easily remedied," Qui-Gon says with a smile, dropping the towel and pacing into the room. "Don't tell me you haven't figured out how to fix a minor problem like that, Padawan."

"I'm afraid I missed that lesson, my Master," Obi-Wan responds tartly, transferring his exasperated expression to Qui-Gon. "Please, show me."

Before you can even blink there is a large hand cupping the back of your head, fingers weaving into you hair. You only have time for one thought--::Sith, he's fast!::--before lips descend to yours, slanting sideways and parting slightly, coaxing your lips apart. A burning tongue slides out to tease the curve of your lower lip, tracing the outline before dipping inside to trace your upper lip.

Some things are just instinct. Your mouth parts beneath his without conscious thought on your part, leaving you open to a teasing exploration from a rather skilled tongue.

It takes you a few moments to realize that Qui-Gon has pulled back. Your mouth is hanging open, your eyes wide and focused on the large Master who is smiling down at you somewhat smugly.

You're not the only one staring. Obi-Wan is a study in comic disbelief, eyes round as saucers and his hand frozen in midair, spoon still clutched between trembling fingers.

Almost as an afterthought Obi-Wan sticks the spoon into your mouth, dumping a mouthful of cold soup over your tongue. Your jaw snaps shut automatically as you shift your gaze to Obi-Wan, who is still staring at his Master in shock.

"Yes, Padawan?" Qui-Gon asks, his voice entirely to pleased.

"Nothing, Master," Obi-Wan chokes out, voice strangled. "Thank you for the lesson."

"Mind that you practice," Qui-Gon says with a positively mischievous smile, turning and heading towards the door. "I expect to see improvement by the time I return."

You wait before the door slides shut before pulling the spoon out of your mouth, reaching out and smacking Kenobi across the head with it.

"Hey!" he cries, rubbing his abused skull with one hand and snagging the spoon away from you with the other.

"Your Master is a lunatic!" you exclaim, wrapping your hand firmly around your long braid to hide it's trembling.

"You're the one who's shaking," Obi-Wan replies, voice suddenly smug.

"Soup?" you ask hopefully, shying back from the predatory look in his eyes.

"Later."

Practice makes perfect, or so they say. As the Padawan kisses you into submission you're forced to agree with that simple statement. Practice has definitely given Obi-Wan a competitive edge over most of the men you find yourself kissing . . .

. . . but you can't help think of the Master. If his kisses were that skilled . . .

"Stop thinking so loud," Obi-Wan says suddenly, batting you across the head with one hand. "It's disconcerting to kiss a woman who's thinking of my Master."

"Sorry," you say softly, lifting your eyes to meet his.

"Don't worry," he replies, running a finger down your cheek. "It takes a stronger woman than you to resist the charms of my Master, especially when he starts mouth to mouth."

"I didn't think there were women stronger than me," you reply, groaning as Obi-Wan retrieves the soup and begins feeding you again.

"Well--there are the ones who don't like men," Obi-Wan says with a grin. "Most of them can resist Qui-Gon. Not all, but most."

Well that's hardly encouraging . . .

~~~~~~~~

"Go play Jedi games or count sand grains or something," you grumble, burrowing deeper into your blanket. "You've been sleeping on this couch for a week, and it's half the size you are. Sleep in the bed."

"I am /not/ letting someone recovering from major wounds--"

"--recovered, thank you--"

"--sleep on a couch. I've slept in worse places than your couch--so you /will/ be sleeping in the bed."

"Sod of, Jedi-Man, and don't you dare try any of that waving your hand in the air shit. Maybe Obi-Wan jumps when you so much as glance at the ceiling, but I take a whole lot more persuading than that." Sticking your tongue out at him you roll over, nestling deeper into the couch. It's actually rather comfortable, and hardly the first night you've spent on it. The bed is big enough to sleep both of the men comfortably, and it's the least you can give them after the way they cared for you.

It's getting them /into/ the bed that's the hard part.

"Persuading?" Qui-Gon rumbles dangerously, voice low. "If I recall correctly, you needed very little persuading earlier today. I barely had to do anything to get your mouth open."

"You cheated," you reply sleepily, letting your eyes drift shut. "That's why you won."

"Jedi don't cheat," Qui-Gon says softly, voice very close to your ear. Your so close to sleep that you don't care, however.

"D'to," you mumble, letting sleep wash over you.

Of course, you wake up in your bed.

"Slaughtering fool," you mutter, rolling over and snuggling into the Padawan who's cuddled up behind you.

A warm arm curls around you and drags you back into a hard body. "Go back to sleep," Obi-Wan mutters in your hair, shifting slightly. "And stop kicking."

Sighing your close your eyes and fall back into dreams.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"You want him."

The words are soft, spoken against the side of your neck. Squirming around in Obi-Wan's lap you tilt his face up so that you can see his eyes.

"Does that bother you?" you ask just as softly, not bothering to hide the fact that you are indeed attracted to the older Jedi.

"No," Obi-Wan says with a narrow grin. "I actually expected you two to be enamored of one another. You drive him crazy in a way he can't understand, and he's probably one of the few people you'll ever meet who is stronger than you."

"You're stronger than me," you protest, poking one firm bicep. "You're certainly /bigger/ than me . . ."

"And you like it," Obi-Wan purrs, leaning forward to nip at your neck. "So why don't you be a good girl and go play with my Master?"

"Hey, are you trying to wriggle out of our deal?" Smiling you lean forward until your forehead is pressed firmly against his. "One week of mind-blowing sex, remember?" Pulling back a little you plant a soft kiss on the tip of his nose. "I'm healthy now--I demand my payment. Assassin's /always/ get paid."

Firm hands drag you closer to his body, massaging your lower back gently. "There is nothing I'm looking forward to more than repaying that debt," Obi-Wan whispers against your throat. His lips trace the fading scar gently, one hand creeping up to tilt your head back. "Though I wonder . . ."

You pull back when you hear the mischievous tone of his voice. "What, Kenobi. Spill it now. You make me nervous when you talk like that."

"Well . . . I'm sure I can manage the mind-blowing sex on my own," he says with a distinct leer, "but if I could get some help from a certain Jedi Master I know, I could discharge the debt so much more efficiently."

"You wouldn't!" you exclaim, eyes going round. When Obi-Wan only continues to look thoughtful your eyes narrow. "Would you? Would /he/?"

"Only one way to find out," Obi-Wan says with a predatory grin. "However, since he's out buying food, the question is moot for the time being." He's on his feet in one smooth gesture, tossing you casually across the intervening space to the bed. "Let's make sure you're up to it first. I'd hate to see you take on more than you can handle."

"Full of yourself, aren't you?" you ask as Obi-Wan appears by the side of the bed, looming over you. "I've yet to meet a man I couldn't handle."

"Ahhh, but you've never /really/ met my Master," Obi-Wan purrs, lowering himself down onto the bed. "And there is the fact that Qui-Gon and I do our best work as a pair."

"I'll believe that when I see it," you retort, wrapping his braid around your fist and hauling his face down to yours.

"Which may be sooner than you think," Obi-Wan whispers before claiming your lips with his.

~~~~~~~~

You'll never know what Obi-Wan said to Qui-Gon--and upon reflection you decide you don't really /want/ to know. All you know is that one minute you're lying in bed by yourself, indulging in your somewhat embarrassing hobby of reading thriller novels. The next minute your novel is half way across the room, and you've got a Jedi stretched out on either side of you.

Obi-Wan is his usual self, squirming against you with one hand already wandering restlessly down your back and over your leg. Qui-Gon, on the other hand, is almost inhumanely still, lying on his side with one hand propping up his head.

"You intrigue me," he says softly, reaching out a finger to trace the lower curve of your lip. "How can someone so noble have a profession so cold?"

"I usually keep business out of the bedroom," you reply lightly, parting your lips a little more so that you can kiss the tip of his finger. "If I didn't, chances are I wouldn't be able to keep very many lovers."

"You've kept my Padawan quite impressively," Qui-Gon responds, his finger continuing to trace along your lips before straying off to follow the path of your chin up to your ear.

"I resent being spoken about as if I weren't here," Obi-Wan says from behind you, leaning over so that his chin rests on your shoulder. "And I also resent being spoken about as if I were a pet."

"Be a good Padawan and do something with your mouth other than talk," you retort, pushing back against his body firmly. "This is hardly mind-blowing."

"Mind-blowing?" Qui-Gon asks with a wide smile. "Is that our goal, Padawan?"

"Yes, Master."

They both fall silent, but from the way they're looking at each other you know they have to be saying something. Hoping to gain the upper hand you squirm around until you're within kissing distance of Qui-Gon. "Stop playing with the Padawan," you pout, brushing your lips against his earlobe before catching it between your teeth and tugging. Moving your mouth slightly you speak your next words directly into his ear. "Start playing with me."

In retrospect it probably wasn't a good idea to issue a challenge to a man like Qui-Gon Jinn.

You're flat on your back before you know it, wrists trapped above you in one massive hand. Blue eyes stare at you from only a few inches away, but he does nothing but look.

"Padawan, make yourself useful," he commands softly, still hovering just above you.

Obi-Wan does just that, nimble fingers creeping up to unwrap your sleep shirt with practiced ease. As the pieces fall apart he leans down, brushing warm lips against the skin above your navel. "I forget how good you feel," he whispers softly, tongue snaking out to trace teasing patterns across your side.

Still Qui-Gon does nothing, breath tickling your face as he breaths, eyes still fixed to yours. You can't look away, can't break the gaze even as Obi-Wan's tongue sweeps up over the swell of your breast, causing you to inhale sharply.

Gentle teeth catch your nipple, coaxing it to almost painful hardness in a few short moments. A rough tongue sweeps across the sensitive skin, causing you to cry out softly, arching up.

Qui-Gon's other hand slides up to press against your abdomen, easing you back onto the bed. The warmth of his hand penetrates the thin cloth easily, causing you to squirm.

You groan as Obi-Wan sucks in sharply, teasing your aching nipple with sweet suction and slow nibbles. Arching again you whimper slightly, eyes fixed on the deep blue ones above you.

"Please," you whisper softly, arching your head up towards his.

"Yes," he responds, leading your head back down to the bed. A moment later his lips are on yours, not teasing or slow. Fast, hard--demanding.

Your mouth opens beneath his and he breaths in suddenly, capturing your breath as he keeps his lips sealed carefully over yours. The feeling of his tongue stroking against yours is heady, and as he breaths back out your lungs fill with air--air that tastes of him.

The hand on your abdomen moves up to cup the back of your neck as he tilts your head back, slanting his mouth across yours as he increases the depth of the kiss. Tongues duel with frantic haste as you start to squirm, aching to feel that tongue on other parts of your body.

You're reminded forcefully of Obi-Wan's presence as strong fingers suddenly grasp your hips, fingers spanning outwards before carefully massaging. As his fingers move downwards he catches the band of your pants between his teeth, tugging on the pants as he lifts your hips off the bed.

Feeling dizzy you break away from Qui-Gon, your head lolling against the pillow. Deprived of your mouth his lips attack the line of your chin, nibbling and sucking a slow line down your jawline to the center of your chin. You can feel his beard rasping against your skin as he nuzzles your cheek before continuing his kisses, drawing a straight line down your throat with his tongue.

You feel the whisper of fabric against your knees as Obi-Wan manages to coax the fabric down further, baring a fair amount of skin. Lips attack the inside of your knee, tongue sneaking out to tickle you. One hand is massaging your thigh, fingers brushing against the bottom of your undergarments.

"Qui-Gon," you gasp out as his face pauses between your breasts. The feeling of the coarse hair of his beard brushing the sensitive swell of flesh is indescribable, and you arch up to find more contact.

Fingers creep up to your lips and trace them, coaxing them apart with gentle caresses. Obeying his unspoken command you catch one finger between your teeth, curling your tongue around it and reveling in his harsh groan of need.

The large hand recedes, trailing down your shoulder to circle your aching nipple. As he draws damp fingers across the straining bud you arch up again, this time with a vocal whimper of need.

"Padawan," Qui-Gon murmurs softly, fingers trailing across your other nipple as he shifts back to the side. A few moments later Obi-Wan has tossed your pants somewhere off into the dark and is there next to you, above you, kissing you ravenously.

Qui-Gon still has your hands trapped above your head, and you struggle slightly to free one, wanting to feel the spiky softness of Obi-Wan's hair between your fingers. Wriggling your fingers against his hand you began to pull in earnest, freeing one hand. You bury it immediately in Obi-Wan's hair, fingers pulling at the short ponytail in the back.

After a long few moments, Obi-Wan pulls back and catches your lower lip between his teeth, sucking hard enough to make you moan. Teeth worry your lip as his hand snakes up to clasp yours, guiding it back up above your head with it's mate.

"Now, Master," Obi-Wan says softly, pulling back and catching your eyes with his. "Let's see about blowing her mind."

"Yes, Padawan," Qui-Gon responds, free hand already tracing patterns on your stomach. "That seems an admirable goal."

Within a few moments Obi-Wan is on top of you, body stretched out against yours and fairly vibrating with energy. All of his slow patience seems to have evaporated somewhere along the line, and you groan as his hips rock against yours.

"Not--not so--" your words break off in a harsh growl as he deliberately attacks the spot on your neck that he discovered so long ago--the one that makes your entire body shudder as you arch your head back, pushing your skin closer to the heat of that mouth. "Obi--please!"

"Yes," he mutters against your neck, lips still caressing roughly. "Oh, yes. So long . . . so very long . . ."

When Obi tries to slide down your body you pull one hand free from Qui-Gon's grasp and twine your fingers in his hair, pulling his face back up to yours. "Too long," you moan, legs coming up around his hips. Your feet push frantically at the thin shorts he's still wearing, and you silently thank whatever gods are listening for your exceptional flexibility. Within a few moments his shorts are hanging from his ankles, and a swift kick sends them flying. "Now."

Muttering something intelligible against your neck Obi-Wan tries to slide down your body again, but stops when your legs clamp around his waist. "Please, Obi. Please."

"I want to--to touch--" His words come in harsh gasps as you rock against him, begging him with every touch to complete you. It's been so long since you had a man--so long . . .

Obi-Wan moans and obeys, fingers clenching into your legs as he repositions himself, sliding into you quickly with a harsh growl that takes your breath away.

He collapses back to the bed, dropping kiss after kiss along your jaw as he begins to move, a small circling of his hips that makes you cry out for more.

Soft lips attach themselves to the inside of your wrist, flowering open to caress the sensitive skin as teeth scrape ever so gently across your pulse. Letting out a groan you squirm against the bed, your movement causing Obi-Wan to gasp and bite down softly against your shoulder.

"Qui-Gon," you murmur softly, arching your neck back to catch a glimpse of the man who is torturing your with soft touches. His hair hangs like a curtain around his face, hiding his mouth and your hands from your view. Tugging your hands you try to coax his face down to yours, but he refuses to speed his pace, still pressing soft kisses against your inner wrist.

Your eyes roll back in your head as Obi-Wan finally pulls back a little and thrusts, latching on to your neck and sucking for all he's worth at the same time. Your hips snap up to meet his pushing insistently, but he merely sinks to the bed again and begins the slow circling, driving you mad.

"Forgot," you gasp out, tossing your head weakly from side to side as the grinding circling continues.

"What?" Obi-Wan demands roughly, his lips moving to your ear and tugging the lobe into the hot suction of his mouth.

"Damn Jedi and your damn . . . damn . . . restraint . . ." your voice rises slowly, cracking on a whimper when Qui-Gon's procession up your arm stops when his teeth close over your opposite ear.

"People do not usually complain," Qui-Gon murmurs, finally releasing your hands and guiding them back down so that he can stretch out in the space above you. "In fact, I've noticed that lovers are usually grateful for restraint."

Damn him, he sounds like he's taking a leisurely afternoon walk. Growling you reach up and sink your hands into that hair, pulling him down into kissing range.

The first two times he kissed you he was at a distinct advantage, surprise and need on his side. This time you have control, and you show him exactly what he's gotten himself into. Tongue playing against his, lips devouring him, you take incredible pleasure in the way his mouth flowers above you, the way his breathing increases, the way he lets out a low moan as your tongue strokes slowly against his . . .

You're the one moaning suddenly as Obi-Wan pulls back out and slams into you again, growling in appreciation as your body tenses around him. Arching your back up you cry out softly, hands pulling Qui-Gon's face down to your neck.

Lips brush against the sensitive spot where Obi-Wan already marked you, and you whimper lowly as Qui-Gon parts his lips to lick carefully at the spot, tongue twirling around before sliding back up to your mouth, teasing your lips relentlessly.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon says suddenly, his head raising so that your face is surrounded by a waterfall of hair. There is a few moments pause before Obi-Wan grunts, pulling his hips back and snapping them into you again before wrapping his arms around your back, pulling you off the bed and holding you tightly against him.

You groan as Obi-Wan settles you for a few moments across his thighs, your legs still locked tightly around him. Your head falls to his shoulder, lips parting to kiss and then bite at the strong muscle there, fingers digging into his back as you try to lift yourself enough to continue the friction.

"Move," you command roughly, fingers struggling to gain purchase in the smooth muscles of his back as you writhe against his lap. Warm lips catch yours, kissing you deeply as long fingers press into your back. "Patience," he whispers against your lips, spending a few moments catching his balance before slowly lowering you back to the bed.

Only it's not the bed--not really. Your back is pressed slowly into a hard chest--a bare, muscular chest. Warm hands sneak around you to cup your breasts as you feel cloth covered thighs on either side of your hips, trapping you securely between two men.

Obi-Wan begins thrusting again, this time slow even strokes that make you quiver. Both of his hands are spanning your hips, tilting them up to give him a better angle to torture you with.

Letting your head fall back onto the strong chest you reach up, grasping the wide shoulders as your only anchor to the real world. Even as your fingers tighten involuntarily on Qui-Gon's skin, you feel his hand beginning to creep down, first caressing the swell of your breasts before gently tweaking each nipple, circling the sensitive skin repeatedly. One large hand continues to caress the skin of your arms and neck as the other sinks lower, searching and finding the bundle of nerves nestled between your legs.

One gentle brush against it and your hips jerk up, sinking Obi-Wan deeper into you than you've ever felt him before. Both of you groan, your eyes slipping back into your head as Obi-Wan's fingers tighten spasmodically on your thighs, his head falling back as he lets out a harsh groan.

Forcing your eyes open again you look at him, watching the sweat roll down his golden chest as he snaps his hips forward with ever increasing speed, braid moving hypnotically against his body. His eyes are open and focused on you, green and hazy with passion. Without thinking you tighten your legs around him, drawing him even closer, and he lets out another primal growl.

Between Qui-Gon's ministrations and Obi-Wan's steady thrusting, you're soon teetering on the edge. Reaching up one hand you draw Obi-Wan down by his braid, latching your lips onto his as you arch up one more time, grinding yourself against him as your body begins to tremble.

"Force--" Obi-Wan gasps out, dropping his hands to either side of his Master's hips as he buries his face in your neck, hips snapping forwards with blinding speed. Your body is still trembling when he bites down on your neck, collapsing on top of you with a harsh cry that sounds like your name.

For a long time you lay languid, enjoying the feeling of the large hands caressing you and Obi-Wan's body pressing into you. Obi-Wan nibbles languidly at your throat, lips teasing the sensitive skin and spiking desire in you even though you know you're too exhausted to move.

Only when you feel the hardness pressing into your lower back through Qui-Gon's pants do you realize that there is still unfinished business--and that you'd better get to finishing it before things get any more uncomfortable for the man behind you.

Nudging Obi-Wan off of your body you lever yourself up, turning to Qui-Gon and dropping into his lap and straddling him. You ignore Obi-Wan's muttering as you slowly raise your head to meet the Jedi Master's eyes, stifling a gasp at what you see in them. Reaching a finger out you cup Qui-Gon's cheek, leaning forward to catch his lower lip between yours.

Gentle hands capture your face and push you away. "You are my Padawan's lover," Qui-Gon says gently, holding your face away from his. "What I gave you, I gave you willingly. There need be no return of the favor."

"Like hell," you mutter, batting away his hands and diving in to latch onto an earlobe. "Are you saying you don't want me?" you ask plaintively against his ear.

"No," he groans softly, shifting uncomfortably as his pants become too restricting. "It isn't right--this was for you . . . not--"

"If it's for me . . ." you growl, biting the earlobe before traveling down to trail kisses across that broad chest. "If it's for me, than I expect you to let me play."

"You are my Padawan's--"

"Good friend," you interrupt, latching onto a nipple and smiling as Qui-Gon lets out a low moan. "I am your Padawan's good friend--and sometimes he sees fit to share his body with me, as I do with him. In my profession it isn't wise to form lasting attachments--and I can't have a lover who is weaker than me for fear that my enemies will destroy them." Raising your eyes up you stare Qui-Gon directly in the face. "I don't have to fear for Obi-Wan's safety--and I certainly don't have to fear for yours."

Before he can respond you dive down again, capturing the other nipple and worrying it gently with your teeth. Qui-Gon's only response is a low moan as his large hand cups the back of your skull, holding your head cradled against his skin. "I concede to your--your superior--" A low groan as you sink lower to nuzzle the bulge through his thin pants, grinning as his hips jerk off of the bed. "Your logic," he gasps out, hand tightening in your hair.

"Thank you," you respond, fingers dancing over the fastener to his pants. "I knew listening to Obi-Wan prattle on about rhetoric would be good for something."

Qui-Gon doesn't even bother to respond, growling softly as your fingers finally work the clasp to his pants and urge it off of his hips, working it slowly over the large erection. Smiling you dive down to nuzzle it, rubbing your cheek against the silky softness before letting your tongue trail up the underside.

"Padawan--" Qui-Gon chokes out. You pause, lifting your head to try to catch Qui-Gon's eyes.

"Certainly, Master," Obi-Wan responds to something you can't hear. Next thing you know you're flat on your back, fingers tangled with Obi-Wan's and pinned above your head. Qui-Gon rises to his knees, towering over you as he stares down, hands slowly pushing the pants the rest of the way off of his body.

"Don't tease a Jedi," Qui-Gon says softly as he kicks the pants off of the bed.

"I tease Obi all of the time," you respond, ignoring the way your body arches up as Obi-Wan's finger trails down your neck and across your collarbone.

"He's only a Padawan," Qui-Gon responds, stroking one of your thighs gently before coaxing them apart, sinking to his knees between your legs.

"And?" you challenge, grinning at Qui-Gon and licking your lips teasingly. Bending one knee you lift your foot so that it trails up his side before sliding around to rest on one well muscled thigh, toes only inches away from his jutting erection.

"I'm a Master," he responds, catching your foot and caressing your instep with a callused thumb.

"I'm not impressed yet," you shoot back, letting your eyelids droop as you stare up at him. "Go ahead, Master Jedi. Impress me."

Your bravado lasts perhaps two seconds after he attaches searing lips to your swollen nub, wide fingers stroking you expertly as his tongue makes your hips jerk. Moans give over to whimpering, and before long your fingers are clenching tightly around Obi-Wan's, your hips trying to buck up against the restraining hand he has planted across your abdomen.

You cry out again as Obi-Wan suddenly decides to start tracing patterns on your chest and neck with the tip of his braid, swirling the bristly hair over ticklish skin and hard nipples teasingly. Combined with the warm lips on your forehead and Qui-Gon's expert ministrations, it is all you can do not to bite through your lip as you climax hard, eyes rolling back into your head as you whimper throatily.

"I'm impressed," you whisper softly when you finally get your breath back, willing your eyes to open.

You almost wish you hadn't. Qui-Gon is hovering above you, braced on hands and knees. His weeping erection tickles your stomach as he drops lower, rubbing against your body slowly as his eyes plead with yours.

With a moan you part your legs, drawing them up and around his back and using them to shakily pull his body flush against yours. Rocking your hips slightly you reach up with your mouth to kiss him deeply, tongue playing over his. "Now, Master."

He slides into you with painstaking gentleness, pausing whenever your face tightens at the exquisite feeling of fullness. He's large, larger than anyone else you've been with, but not painful--not quite. Rocking your hips gently you groan, feeling your entire body coming alive as he shifts his hips slightly, grinding even deeper into you.

"No teasing," you beg softly, knowing you can't take much more. Blue eyes stare down into yours, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips. "No teasing," he agrees, pulling out slowly and pushing back.

As much as you want to keep your eyes open you can't, so you give yourself over to the sensation. The feeling of Obi-Wan gently caressing your painfully tight nipples. The feeling of Qui-Gon, one hand buried in your hair, tilting your head back to give his lips better access to your sensitive neck. The feeling of Obi-Wan, lips brushing your forehead as he plants gentle kisses all over your face. The feeling of Qui-Gon, hips rocking with increasing speed as his breathing begins to come in shallow gasps.

One large hand gently cups your thigh, lifting your hips enough to change the angle slightly. On the next stroke you feel lighting erupt inside you and you scream out, thrashing as Qui-Gon manipulates sensitive spots inside you.

The next three strokes brush across that electric spot, eliciting a scream from you each time. Your body is beginning to shake again, and Qui-Gon groans as he feels himself nearing the end of his control. Shaking a hand free of Obi-Wan's you tangle it in Qui-Gon's hair, pulling his face up to yours for a kiss as strong hips finally thrust into yours with reckless abandon, slamming against you with all sense of control gone.

A few swift strokes by skilled fingers and you're screaming out for the third time of the night, convulsing against Qui-Gon as he explodes inside you, collapsing at your side and rolling over, pulling your body against his as you continue to shake.

It's a long time before your breathing stills, longer still before the Jedi manage to get all three of your heads on the pillows, blankets draped on top of you. You are still beyond coherent speech, drained mentally and physically. You allow yourself to be handled like a rag doll, tucked down between the two Jedi and soothed into the pillows.

"Mind-blowing enough for you?" Obi-Wan asks drowsily, snuggling up on one side of you and kissing your eyebrow lightly. Rolling your eyes you simply snuggled back into him, letting him see the wide smile on your face.

"I would hope so," Qui-Gon responds, shifting closer and draping an arm protectively across your stomach. "And the fact that she can't talk seems to argue the point in our favor."

"Ca' to talk," you mutter, letting your eyes drift shut as Obi-Wan caresses your hair gently. Smiling at the caress you let sleep come up to claim you.

The last thing you hear before you drift off is, "You should know, Master--I promised her a week of mind-blowing sex."

Smiling you sleep, knowing that all is right in the world. At least for the next week.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~