Back to the Archive!At first you are determined to ignore the car. You learned long ago that a young woman, driving alone after dark, usually shouldn't pull over to help strangers who are stranded beside the road. Although it isn't particularly neighborly, it's good sense--and after one of the girls in your class met with an unfortunate accident after pulling over to help out an attractive hitchhiker, you made a promise to yourself never to put yourself in the same position.
However, slowing down to inch past the broken down car that's sitting more in the middle of the road than on the side, you are forced to reconsider your decision when you see a familiar head of spiky blond hair peeking out of the hood, braid swinging around to catch on the latch and tangle. The man let out a curse, long fingers trying to disentangle his hair from the hood of the car as his eyes move to watch you drive past.
Half a mile down the road, you realize what you just drove past. It's not Halloween--or fan-day--so chances are it wasn't a remarkably well disguised Fanboy--and it's equally unlikely that Ewan McGregor is sitting on a back country road in the Midwest, dressed like a Jedi. Knowing it's foolish, you still turn the car around and decide to take another pass.
Smoke is coming out of the engine now, and the young man has resorted to kicking the tire weakly and swearing. He turns as he hears your car approaching, casting you a look of silent entreaty. It's dark. I'm alone. I don't have a phone to call for help. He's dressed like Obi-Wan Kenobi--chances are he's probably a little odd.
Of course, one look at those FM boots, and you find yourself pulling over to the side of the road a few feet down from him, gripping the steering wheel tightly.
"There is probably a reasonable explanation for this," you say out loud, looking over behind you to where the Padawan-look-alike is leaning against the trunk of the broken down car, arms crossed over his chest and one foot braced on the rear bumper, giving you yet another tempting glance at those obnoxiously sexy boots.
Telling yourself that this is probably just a weird dream anyway, you climb out of the car and head towards the man slowly, making sure you can still bolt back to the car if he proves to be a Fanboy who decided that this was the best way to pick up Chicks.
As you get closer, the resemblance to your fantasy-Padawan doesn't fade. As far as you can tell, you are approaching the entirely fuckable Obi-Wan Kenobi . . . on a dark road in the middle of nowhere.
His first words surprise you. "Where did you get those clothes?"
You look down at your jeans and T-shirt, baggy and slightly grimy since you've spent the last eleven hours driving from home back to college after a short vacation. "Ummm . . . Target?" you respond, slightly confused.
"I mean, you blend in with these primitives so--" The Obi-Wan-Clone looks at you narrowly. "Wait, aren't you a Padawan?"
"Huh?" you respond brightly. His hand darts out before you can flinch back, locking around the Padawan braid your Sisters in Forcehood convinced you to cut half a year before Episode 1 came out. "Why else would you have a Padawan braid?"
"Umm . . . it's kind of a long story. Look, can I ask you what you're doing here?" Not the most polite thing to say to what appears to be a Jedi--but you're still relatively sure that one of you is crazy--and you'd rather it were him.
"Qui-Gon and I are supposed to be checking this planet out for the Republic--but I have to say that I really don't think they are technically advanced enough to keep up with the rest of the galaxy." The young Padawan tilts his head back towards the car, still sitting in the middle of the road. "Take these transports, for instance. They're really rather odd."
"Where is Master Qui-Gon?" you ask, rather calmly you believe.
"He's resting at the hotel. He had a rather nasty experience this evening, so I was going to go and get him dinner so he wouldn't have to go outside again." Obi-Wan grimaces slightly, leaving you to wonder exactly what kind of an experience the Master had. Obi-Wan doesn't leave you wondering for long, however. "We went to see one of their primitive holovids--you know the two-dimensional ones."
"Yes, I know--they call them movies."
"Movies," Obi-Wan repeats, leaning back against the car again. "Yes, well--we went to a rather odd one. Star Fights, or Star Battle, something odd like--"
"Star Wars?" you choke out, taking in Obi-Wan's tunic, pants, and lightsabre. "You went dressed like that?" Of course, you suppose that people are used to a few freaks showing up in costume--but probably not ones who look identical to those in the picture.
"No, no . . . we had some of the local costumes on. I guess we arrived rather late to the picture. Have you seen it before?"
"Star Wars?" you ask again. At Obi-Wan's nod, you consider what to say. 'Sixteen times' would probably sound a little odd, so you decide to simply nod. "Yes, I've seen it."
"It's the oddest thing--they obviously know about Jedi, since it is about Jedi, but they had some that really rather resembled Master Qui-Gon and myself. I believe they even had our names."
Well, that explains Qui-Gon's shock, you think. If they recognized the characters as looking like them, what would he have thought when he saw The Mistake?
"Well, Master Qui-Gon felt a little odd at the end," Obi-Wan continues, oblivious to your wide-eyed stare, "--the man with his name did not meet up with a happy ending--" You wince visibly, muttering angrily out of habit about that scene.
"Excuse me?" Obi-Wan is looking at you rather oddly now.
"Nothing. What were you saying?" You try to give Obi-Wan your full attention, which is proving rather difficult. Well, not difficult exactly--but the wrong parts of your body seem to be giving him their full attention.
"Well as if the movie wasn't odd enough, we were standing up to leave and this woman just threw herself at him, sobbing and crying and saying over and over, 'I knew it was a mistake.'" Obi-Wan grins mischievously, making you wonder if your knees are going to continue holding up for much longer. "Qui-Gon could never stand to see someone upset, so he took her back to the hotel to try and calm her down."
"What was her name?" you ask casually. Having seen no small number of your friends leaving the theater gibbering with tears, you wouldn't be surprised if you knew Qui-Gon's assailant.
"Hmm . . Aloysius, I believe."
You attempt to stifle a giggle, imagining Aloysius being led back to a hotel room by the Master. If that man thinks he's going to be calming her down, he's in for a very entertaining surprise.
"Yes, I rather gathered that from the way she was looking at him." Obi-Wan responds to your thought as if you'd spoken it out loud, making you blink. He smiles again, giving your padawan braid another tug. "Well, even if you aren't a Padawan, how about a little help here? You seem to be doing better with your transport than I am with mine."
It only takes you a few moments to figure out what is wrong with the old car Obi-Wan was attempting to drive--it is flat out of gas--although how he managed to get the engine to start emitting black smoke you're not quite sure.
"I don't think there's anything I can do with it here," you say as you close the hood of the car. "If you could get it off of the road, I could give you a lift to wherever you need to be, and then someone could come get it for you tomorrow."
"That won't be too much of a problem," Obi-Wan responds, smiling. You had assumed he'd wave his hand around, toss it off the road with the Force or something. Oh no. Obi-Wan has apparently decided that you deserve a show for being so helpful. Grinning widely, he calmly undoes his belt and strips off his tunics, handing them to you before flexing casually.
Even in the faint moonlight, his well formed muscles are very obvious. He stares at you for a few moments before turning, tossing out the suggestion, "You might want to breathe," over his shoulder with a wink, and beginning to push the car off of the street.
Breathe. Yeah. With the half-naked Padawan showing off his muscles and his very attractive butt. You've got so many more important things to do than breathe. Like remain standing.
By the time the car is off the side of the road, Obi-Wan has worked up a decent sweat, and you've realized that breathing and blinking are both necessary functions of your body--but you can't seem to do either as you stare at the play of muscles accented by the moonlight.
Not even bothering to reclaim his tunics, Obi-Wan gives you one of those looks--the look that reminds you that he can read thoughts and yours have been less than PG lately. Trying to ignore the automatic response in several parts of your body, you open the door and start to get into the car, only to smack your head on the door frame when you're distracted by the sight of the Padawan stretching, his arms reached up over his head and his back arched. You're so entranced by the powerful play of muscle under tan skin that you don't even realize you're falling until it's too late to stop.
You find yourself sitting on the ground next to your car door, and a few seconds later he's there, bare chest only a few inches from your face as he examines the bump on the top of your head with strong, gentle fingers.
"You have to be more careful," he says. For all you care, he could be quoting the stock prices--you really can't be expected to pay attention to words when he is so close that you could stick your tongue out and lick that glistening chest. The urge to do so is overpowering--and you have a horrible feeling from the sudden chuckle above you that he knows exactly what you are thinking.
Your feeling is confirmed when you are suddenly faced with a pair of mischievous aqua-gray eyes, staring at you from a meager inch and a half. His nose is brushing against yours, his breath tickling your lips. "You should act on your instincts," he says softly, nuzzling you playfully with his nose.
"Even if they tell me to give a complete stranger a tongue-bath?" you respond, pleased that your voice is only trembling a little. Maybe not quite as seductive as Monica or Emmy could have managed--but not bad under the circumstances.
"If the stranger is me," he says in a low purr, leaning even closer so that he's speaking against your lips. Your breathing and heart stop as he presses his lips against yours, the tip of his tongue darting out to trace your lips where they meet.
You open your mouth to him, expecting him to deepen the kiss--which he probably would have if something hadn't suddenly shocked him badly enough that he goes stumbling backwards, eyes wide and one hand pressed against his forehead as he lands inelegantly on his well-rounded behind.
Now it is your turn to kneel in front of him as he gathers his scattered wits, shocked expression falling away to be replaced by an adorable smirk. "You'd think at his age he'd be able to hide his emotions a little better," Obi-Wan mutters, shifting his weight until he actually looks comfortable, sprawled gracefully in the road next to your car.
"Who?" you ask, slightly confused--and a little bit pissed off too. Whoever got in the way of your first chance to tongue wrestle with the Padawan is going to hear from you later on if you have anything to say about it.
"Master Qui-Gon," comes the amused response. "Your friend--Alyi--Alos--"
"Aloysius," you supply promptly.
"Ah yes, Aloysius--well, she seems to have gotten over whatever was making her cry, and has decided that Master Qui-Gon needs some comforting now." His grin is so sexy that you control the urge to show him a little comforting on the spot--the only thing holding you back is the knowledge that it is very illegal to strip down and play with sexy strangers in the middle of the street in this galaxy.
"Comforting, hmmm?" you ask, moving a little bit closer.
"Yes . . . very enthusiastic comforting, if his projection is any proof." The sexy grin is back, and you have the feeling that he knows very well how fuckable it makes him--the glint in his eyes as he stares up at you says it louder than words. "Master Qui-Gon is very good at keeping feelings like that shielded from me--your friend must be being very persistent."
Sparing a few moments to think about the many conversations you have had with Aloysius on exactly what she would do if given access to the Master, you send Qui-Gon a few thoughts of encouragement--and a quick prayer to whoever may be listening that he likes whipped cream and chocolate syrup as much as she does.
Of course, thoughts of what the two of you wanted to do to the Master lead directly to what you wanted to do to the Padawan--who is lying in front of you right now wearing only his pants--his pants and that smug grin. And the FM boots. Never forget the FM boots.
Before you can move, one of those boot-clad legs wraps suddenly around your back, pulling you off balance and leaving you to try and keep from falling by clutching at the first thing your hands close upon--which of course is a very muscular, very naked set of shoulders.
"Like the boots, do you?" Obi-Wan purrs softly, face only inches from your throat. You can feel the brush of his short spiky hair against your chin, making your entire body shiver. You whimper softly, one hand falling from his chest to rest against his knee where it is pulled up tightly against your waist. The other leg is still wrapped around the back of yours, making escape impossible.
Escape? For crying out loud, who wants to escape? Your only hope right now is that you can get him someplace where it's safe to rip his clothing off--even thought it would be fun to do it right now, it would be very difficult to explain to a cop why you had decided to get funky in the road with a Jedi Knight. Well, you think to yourself, your hand beginning to absently caress his firm leg though his pants. At least they'd send me to the loony bin as opposed to jail. Nothing crazier than screwing a fictional character in the middle of the road.
All attempts to think are shattered, however, as Obi-Wan decides he's had enough of staring at your throat, and opens his lips to begin sucking on it gently. Your head falls back and you don't even attempt to hide the moan as his lips slide up the front of your throat, over your chin, and finally to your own. He has shifted forward by now, taking his weight off of his arms so that one can slip around your waist as the other tangles in your hair, holding your face steady as he begins to tease your lips open with his tongue.
There is no hesitancy in the kiss this time. Your arms slide around his neck as you tilt your head, your lips sliding off of his to trail down his cheek to his neck, sucking urgently as you feel the approving rumble deep in his chest.
Before things can get any more interesting, however, you are reminded of your location by an approaching car, which obligingly slows down as it turns the corner, blinding you in its headlights.
You try to break out of Obi-Wan's embrace, but his leg is still locked firmly behind you as he simply stares at the car.
A window rolls down and a man who doesn't look to be much older than you sticks his head out the window, calling out, "You might be needing this, man!" He tosses something out the window before slamming on the gas, the laughter of his passengers floating back to you as he whips off around the corner, headlights fading and leaving the two of you in quasi-darkness again.
Obi-Wan picks up the small plastic package with a confused look that suddenly turns into a smug grin. You look at it more closely, rolling your eyes and groaning as you recognize the distinct shape. Well, never say that people in the Midwest aren't helpful . . .
"Don't worry," Obi-Wan says, grinning before tucking the present in one of your pockets. "We've got them where I'm from--you're not going to have to explain to me what it is."
"Small mercy that," you mutter, squirming around in his arms until he releases you. "Come on, Padawan. I'm not going to wait around to see what the next car throws at us. I'm taking you back to your hotel now."
"Am I going to have to stay alone?" he pouts up at you, reclining back on the road, one hand tracing circles on that perfect chest. He looks so damn sensual, sprawled out in front of you bonelessly--
--well, not /completely/ bonelessly.
"You've got your Master," you say teasingly, crossing your arms and staring down at him in mock-seriousness.
"Are you /kidding/?" Obi-Wan demands, rolling his eyes. "I'm going to get a different room when I get back--no way I'm staying with him while your friend is doing that kind of stuff to him."
"Still at it, is she?" you ask, not at all surprised. Aloysius has a deep passion for the Master, and the chances are that she'll have him tied up for a long time. Literally.
"And then some," is the sly response. The long fingers are now caressing his stomach, although his eyes remain locked on yours. "Am I going to have to stay alone?" he asks again.
"Get in the damn car," you growl suddenly, spinning around and flinging yourself into the driver's seat. You breathe deeply for a few moments, jumping as he slides into the passenger seat much more quickly than you expected he would.
"Any more orders?" he asks, his face very close to your neck.
"Behave while I drive," you say faintly, buckling your seat belt and starting the car. Obi-Wan sighs and gives your neck a teasing lick before settling back against the door, buckling his seat belt and giving you a heated look.
You've only been driving for about five minutes when you feel his hand on your knee, rubbing softly against the rough fabric of your jeans. As his hand starts moving slowly upwards, you realize that this is going to be a very interesting ride. . .
If you had known in the beginning that his hotel was half an hour away, you would have had him sit in the back seat for his own good. You don't know what kind of drivers training they get on Coruscant, but Driver's Ed sure the hell didn't teach you how to navigate dark, winding roads successfully with the distraction of a very strong, very talented hand caressing you through the thin fabric of your shirt.
Obi-Wan, damn him, is reclining against the seat as if nothing out of the ordinary is going on. His fingers brush lightly against your collarbone as they head towards the buttons on your shirt, undoing the first four so quickly that you barely have time to protest. The need to protest dies quickly, however, when he twists around in the seat and is suddenly pressing very warm lips to your stomach, sending jolts of heat throughout your body.
Concentrating on the road has suddenly become difficult, and you overcorrect from a turn, causing the car to lurch. Obi-Wan's face slides sideways across your stomach to your side, but he doesn't bother to move back, sucking instead on the sensitive skin at your side while using those nimble fingers to finish opening your shirt up.
You can feel your hands tightening on the wheel as he begins to lick his way back to your stomach, tongue swirling in lazy patterns across your warm skin. He moves slowly, intent on tasting every inch of exposed skin. Every once in a while he finds a sensitive spot--and your gasps are inevitably rewarded with special attention--usually teasing nibbles and intent sucking. By the time he's half way up your stomach you're surprised that you can still see the road.
Lust-induced as you are, it takes a few minutes for the meaning of the flashing lights behind you to sink in. The sirens are more direct, and you come back to earth with a crash, moaning as a glance in your rearview mirror reveals a police car.
Pushing Obi-Wan's head gently away from your body, you curse softly as you pull over to the side of the road and slow your car, realizing too late that your shirt is undone and your cheeks are flushed.
The officer knocks on your window and you oblige him by rolling it down, casting Obi-Wan a look that promises death if he misbehaves. The officer spends a few moments just looking at you, giving you the same look your parents would give you years ago when you came home from a date with a hickey that just refused to be hidden.
"You know how fast you two were going?" the man asks finally, giving Obi-Wan's bare chest a disapproving look.
Since we're both wearing pants, not fast enough, is all you can think of to say--and that is probably not the best idea. Actually, you really don't have a clue how fast you were driving--you hadn't looked at your speedometer since Obi-Wan's tongue decided to come out to play.
You shake your head, giving the officer a demure look. "I'm sorry sir--this speedometer isn't that reliable." You glance over at Obi-Wan, who is giving you a down-right sultry look, head tilted to the side, eyes hooded by long lashes. Stop trying to seduce me and start helping me, you think at him with all of your might. If he can read the thoughts you don't want him to see, he'd damn well better be able to pick up things you're screaming at him.
Right on cue, the Padawan leans across you, one arm resting on the window and the other sneaking behind your back. He simply stares at the officer for a few moments, while the hand behind your back creeps upwards until it encounters your bra.
"We weren't going that fast," Obi-Wan says casually, looking up at the officer calmly.
"You weren't going that fast," the officer repeats obediently, and you blink. I thought he had to wave his hand around or something-- He's most definitely not waving his hand around though, a fact to which you are alerted when you suddenly feel the first clasp on your bra give. You elbow him in the ribs, hoping he realizes that your shirt is hanging open, and flashing an officer of the law is not considered good form in this galaxy.
Obi-Wan looks at you briefly, murmuring, "You don't want that on anyway," before turning the force of his gaze back on the officer.
I don't want this on any-- the thought keeps hold of your mind long enough for him to undo the second clasp. Why that little bastard! Thinks he can mind whammy me, huh? It's too late, however--the third clasp is already undone, leaving your undergarment hanging precariously from your shoulders.
While you were distracted by the mind whammy, Obi-Wan apparently came to some agreement with the officer, who shakes Obi-Wan's hand before turning to walk back to his car. Neither of you speak as the engine starts up, and a few moments later you see the police car drive by, leaving you both in dark silence again.
You open your mouth to inform the Padawan how little you appreciated being stripped in front of a cop, but nothing manages to come out but a moan as Obi-Wan turns suddenly, pulling your bra down and dropping his mouth to your left breast, sucking and tasting with obvious enthusiasm. Your head falls back as you let out a loud whimper, one hand grasping wildly at his arm, still propped up against the window. He has one arm wrapped around you, arching your back as much as the seatbelt will allow and making it impossible for you to escape the warm prison of his mouth.
After what seems like an eternity he pulls back, and you're distracted by the feel of smooth metal sliding across your stomach as he moves his hand away from the window. Curious, you grab his hand and turn it over, blinking for a few moments at the handcuffs he's holding before the realization sinks in.
"You stole his /handcuffs/?" you ask shakily, your voice rising dangerously on the last word.
"I did not steal them," Obi-Wan responds primly, giving you a look that makes your entire body shudder. "He gave them to me."
"Why would you want them?" You're not expecting him to answer, so you're surprised when he leans over to place his mouth directly next to your ear.
"I don't want you getting away when I use my Jedi powers of sexual stimulation on you," he whispers softly, gracing your earlobe with a slow, heated lick. "Most people can't sit still after the first five minutes."
"You used the mind whammy to procure sexy toys from a public official?" Your voice, meant to sound stern, comes out far too approving. You can't seem to keep control of your body, which is telling you to strip down immediately and fuck the Jedi blind.
"Mind whammy?" Obi-Wan's voice sounds amused, and he chuckles softly against your ear, sending another surge of heat throughout your body.
You pull back slightly and turn to face him. "Mind whammy," you repeat. "You know, this one." You wave your hand in front of his face and intone, "You want to take off your pants right now."
Obi-Wan smiles and reaches down, grabbing the fastening of your pants in one hand and catching your face in the other, forcing you to look directly into his eyes. You try to ignore the fingers at your waist, so close to the wet heat that is crying out for him.
"You shouldn't try that if you don't know how," Obi-Wan says softly, his voice so throaty that you let out a little whimper of desire just hearing him speak. "You never know when it will backfire . . ."
Backfire away! is the only thought you're capable off. He is still holding your face firmly in one hand, holding you inches away from his own face. You whimper softly as his hand slips between your legs, rubbing you lightly through the fabric of your pants.
"Drive now," Obi-Wan whispers against your lips, tongue darting out to lick along them as he pulls back, settling into his corner of the car again. For a few minutes you're left gasping for breath, but it isn't long before you realize that the quicker you start the car, the faster you'll be in a setting where it's appropriate to rip his pants off and return the tongue bath.
Obi-Wan behaves rather well for the next fifteen minutes, playing contentedly with his new toy. The soft click of the handcuffs as he locks them and unlocks them with the Force is rhythmic--unlike your breathing.
By the time you finally pull into the parking lot at the hotel you're ready to scream with sexual tension. You ignore your bra, buttoning your shirt back up hastily before pushing Obi-Wan from the car and following quickly, bringing only your car keys with you as you herd him towards the hotel entrance.
Before you reach the door, Obi-Wan turns, bracing a hand on each of your shoulders.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asks seriously, eyes mysterious. You stare at him as if he's gone mad--do you want to fuck the Padawan? Is it a trick question?
"Yes," you respond, not trusting yourself to say any more.
"Good." His eyes take on a sly cast, and he gives you that irresistible, 'I-know-you-want-what-I've-got' look. "Now do you have anything you'd like to say before we go in?"
"I don't think so," you respond carefully. "Why?"
"Because, once we set foot in that hotel you're going to spend the next four or five hours whimpering and moaning--so if you have anything serious to say you'd better do it now."
"Confident, aren't you?" You can't resist saying it, staring up into those dancing eyes. You're every bit as confident in his abilities as he seems to be. Hell, you're probably more so.
"No, not confident," he replies, grabbing your hand and leading you toward the door. "Experienced." Casting you a heated look over his shoulder, he pulls you inside.
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