Jedi Mastercard
By S B

One set of severely bitchin' formal tunics and cape ... 50 Republic Credits

Extra crystals to enhance and lengthen your lightsaber ... 1700 Republic Credits

The look on your Master's face as you hone your rage and rise up to strike him down ... Pricele--

Heart pounding, Obi-Wan woke up with a jerk that dumped him off the couch. He closed his eyes, seeking to calm himself, but all he could see was the expression of utter surprise on Qui-Gon's face as the lightsaber pierced his Master's chest. With a growl, Obi-Wan abandoned his attempt to mediate and rose to his feet, then began pacing.

It wasn't that the nightmare bothered him, at least not because it represented any conscious--not even a subconscious--desire on his part. Of course, were he still on Perkium (now in yummy mint flavors!), undoubtedly he'd be appalled. But Obi-Wan had long ago gone through the traumas of desires and dreams; just because you dream it, doesn't mean you want to do it.

Or want it done to you.

Not that all of those types of fantasies were without merit ...

No, this nightmare was the result of falling asleep on the couch after a near all-nighter of Mountain Jolt, Cafwater and Toydarian Stiks while trying to figure out Qui-Gon's taxes. Obi-Wan had left the television on with the noise turned up only to subliminal, and infomercial after infomercial had been playing over the last hours, interrupted only by advertisements.

Meditation or sleep, neither held any more appeal than trying to decipher Qui-Gon's handwriting or sorting the incomplete receipts into some semblance of chronological order. Nor would Obi-Wan be able to accomplish much, not until he had a chance to work out the kinks in his neck and shoulders left by his unexpected nap on a totally inadequate bed. Of course, a vigorous workout this time of night--morning--would result only in pissing off his neighbors.

Automatically Obi-Wan's attention drifted over to the patterned holes in the wall between his apartment and that of his closest neighbor. The only sounds out of there, however, were rumbles that came either from a thunderstorm raging over the pizza box civilization tucked under the end of his neighbor's couch, or from said neighbor's congested sinuses.

For an instant Obi-Wan debated the merits of waking his on again, off again lover. Maul's temper could scorch the paint off of the walls on the apartments two stories away. On the other hand, angry sex, followed by making up afterward was often worth it.

Obi-Wan grabbed up a pack of cigarettes, then headed out onto his balcony, using his empty hand to try and rub out the sudden sharp pain. No use disrupting two people's sleep; since one wouldn't be able to properly move.

Despite the noises coming from next door, Obi-Wan didn't find it too surprising to see the telltale red glowing from Maul's balcony. He lit up his fag and took a couple of puffs, then pitched the match over the railing, before leaning over himself, chin on his crossed arms.

"You're up late," came the voice that sent shivers crawling across the back of his neck.

Obi-Wan shrugged and nodded without lifting his head from his forearms, unable to keep silent the hiss of pain the movement brought to his cramped muscles. "Had a weird dream involving my Master." He turned his head Maul's direction, lifting it only an inch.

"Me too."


Maul dropped his cigarette over onto Obi-Wan's balcony then followed it over, grinding the butt under a booted foot upon his graceful landing. "Had a weird dream of my own about your Da."

Obi-Wan shrugged. "I don't want to hear about it. After all the things he makes you do, I'm surprised you can even think about sleeping. The nightmares I'd have ..." He shuddered again, harder, this time letting out an angry curse as again he twisted wrong against his stiff neck.

"Yeah, well, even Si--students need to sleep sometimes." Maul came up beside Obi-Wan and placed fingers unerringly against the protesting muscle. "Beer helps."

"I know something else that keeps nightmares at bay." As Obi-Wan's body began responding to Maul's ministrations, his voice dropped about an octave and held a purr that rivaled that of Maul's cat.

"A stuffed Wookiee?" Maul's voice was all innocence and brightness.

"Too soft." By now Obi-Wan had to brace himself more directly against the railing, hands gripping the metal, elbows still bent but locked.

As if unwilling to walk a step farther than he had to, Maul shifted and draped himself across Obi-Wan's back to reach the opposite shoulder. "A security blanket, then?"

"Not hot enough." Obi-Wan growled and pushed himself backward until his arms were rigidly straight. Maddeningly, Maul slid about a half a step farther back than he should have.

"You are awfully tense." No longer quite able to reach his shoulders, Maul trailed his fingers down Obi-Wan's back, hard enough to raise welts beneath the t-shirt yet not enough to do anything more than awaken the nerve endings before moving on.

"And you're a tease," Obi-Wan groaned. Any move he made to prolong contact was countered. Maul's random touches seared in places unanticipated, causing Obi-Wan's muscles to bunch and contract, his skin to pebble and flush.

"I'm not the one bent over and wiggling his arse," Maul laughed.

All at once contact between them ended. Obi-Wan jerked his head over his shoulder to see Maul pull away completely. Before Obi-Wan could protest, he abruptly realized his stiff neck was gone. All of his stiffness, in fact, was gone.

Well, not all...

Meditation or sleep still held no appeal. And although a workout had been rendered unnecessary, it didn't look as if his neighbor would be complaining about it this time.

Obi-Wan uncurled his fingers and pulled away from the railing. He ground out his own cigarette before following Maul through the door he'd left open, ignoring the piles of receipts, checks and bills that fell from the table when the couch proved much closer than the bed. A flailing hand managed to brush against the remote control, plunging the room into full darkness and a silence interrupted only by the occasional throaty growls and heartfelt moans. But then, neither man needed sight to map out expanses well known, well traveled. And any sounds other than those which signaled spiraling pleasures and triggered increasing responses would have served only as distractions.

A night at the Gray Side of the Force with a pitcher of Hamster Death Gulps ... 120 Republic Credits

A kilt and suntan lotion ... 80 Republic Credits

A full body search and a partner willing to turn a nightmare into a dream ... Priceless.



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