***************

 

Title:  Old Janx Spirit

 

Author:  BJ Stahl

 

***************

 

Rating:  Oh please, NC-17.

 

Spoilers:  Nope.

 

Archive:  Why not?

 

Feedback:  Direct your hate mail to: [email protected]

 

Disclaimer:  The setting, not to mention Obi-Wan, are borrowed from

Godfather Lucas.  (salute)  The Old Janx Spirit is from the liquor cabinet

of Douglas Adams.  I'll put them back when I'm done.  Promise.

 

Author’s Notes: I'm shocked this crossover hasn't occurred to anyone else.   Oh well, more

for me.   :-)  Warning; plotless smut ahead.

-BJ

---

"Two contestants would sit either side of a table, with a glass in front of

each of them.

 

Between them would be placed a bottle of Janx Spirit (as immortalized in

that ancient Orion mining song,

'Oh don't give me no more of that Old Janx Spirit,

No, don't you give me none more of that Old Janx Spirit,

For my head will fly, my tongue will lie, my eyes will fry and I may die,

Won't you pour me one more of that sinful Old Janx Spirit').

 

Each of the contestants would then concentrate their will on the bottle and

attempt to tip it and pour spirit into the glass of his opponent, who would

then have to drink it.

 

The bottle would be then be refilled.  The game would be played again.  And

again.

 

Once you started to lose you would probably keep losing, because one of the

effects of Janx Spirit is to depress telepsychic power . . ."

-Excerpted from 'The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy'

---

The bottle didn't move.

 

Keita Thuderflare's eyes narrowed.  Her jaw clenched hard enough for the

veins in her temples to pop out.  Her fists clenched.  Her lips parted in a

snarl.

 

The bottle didn't move.

 

Across the broad expanse of table, Obi-Wan Kenobi waited, entire being

focused on the lone shot glass next to the bottle, one hand on the table,

the other dangling limply between his knees.  If she couldn't pour the next

shot, the game was his.  Not that he really cared; he could barely feel the

chair beneath him by now.

 

The bottle didn't move.

 

Keita's throat opened enough to let out a curse, although her teeth remained

locked together.  The Force was with her, it always was, but at the moment,

it wasn't exactly obeying her wishes like it should.

 

The bottle tipped.  It wobbled on one edge of it's broad base.  Around her

snarl, Keita grinned.  <<Just a little farther . . .>>

 

The bottle of Old Janx Spirit finally rose completely off the table, pouring

a sloppy shot into the glass.  It straightened and dropped back onto the

table.

 

Keita let out an explosive breath as her concentration relaxed.

 

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, steeling himself.  He aimed one hand in the general

direction of the shot glass, missed at least once,  (neither Padawan kept

track) and finally fit his hand around the tiny cup.  Gathering his courage,

he raised the glass to his lips and bolted the shot.  <<Thank the Gods I

can't taste this stuff anymore.  It's revolting.>>

 

"Y'know Keita," he started, pleased his voice was only slurring a little,

"if you don't feel up to cont'uing, we can always do this some other time."

 

"Just pour the slaggin' shot," she shot back.

 

His heart sank.  She sounded one *hell* of a lot more sober then he did.

 

Obi-Wan gathered his focus, calling the Force around him, asking it to flow

through him and lift that bottle off the table.

 

It didn't listen.  In fact, he could almost hear it cheerfully telling him

to go home and die.

 

Oh how he wanted to.   Go home, throw himself onto his bed, and go about the

tedious, (not to mention *painful*) business of forgetting this night ever

happened.

 

Keita grinned as his thoughts came through her booze-foggy brain.  "I heard

that.  You're slipping."

 

"I know!" he snapped as he tried to recenter.

 

"Remember the bet; last one to drink . . ."

 

"Loses, I know.  Now shut up and lemme think."

 

She snorted.  "Like you ever think."

 

He was in too much pain to take offense.  Grunting with the effort of

focusing his will, he concentrated on the bottle, tracing it's contours in

his mind, feeling it's weight and texture.  Asking it to *please* rise and

pour itself into the little glass.

 

If the Force could make an obscene gesture . . .

 

He felt something behind the bridge of his nose break and his head thunked

down on the table.  Keita slammed her fists down in triumph.  "I win!  I

win!  I win!  I win!  Lo-ooser!"

 

The surrounding patrons of the bar were distinctly unimpressed.

 

Obi-Wan groaned, sick dark bolts of pain hammering into his skull.  He

didn't need to check to know he had a nosebleed.  For a moment he felt like

dying.

 

"You're not dying ya big baby.  C'mon, I win, let's go home so's we can

sober up and I can collect."

 

She hauled him to his feet.  The two apprentice Jedi, leaning on one another

for support, staggered to the door and exited the bar.

---

Obi-Wan woke up and wished he hadn't.  His entire body ached, like he'd

spent the night sitting in a tub of pain, soaking it up like a sponge.

 

<<You did genius.>>  Even the concentration it took to form that one little

thought made his head ache.

 

He slowly became aware that he really should move.

 

He should move.

 

He needed to move.

 

He *really needed* to move.

 

Right now!

 

He bolted up from the bed, dashed for the 'fresher, dropped gracefully to

his knees before the commode, and threw up everything inside his body.

---

In his own way, Obi-Wan was lucky.  At least he had his quarters to himself

while his Master was away.

 

Keita did not.

 

Rivia d'Octine pounded on the 'fresher door.  "Kei get your pickled ass out

of there!"

 

Keita's reply was blue with profanity.

 

"I mean it!  *Some* of us have things that need accomplishing this fine

morning."

 

"Shut up and let me die," Keita moaned.

 

"You're not dying.  Now let me in!"

 

Keita rested her head on the side of the commode, dreaming up *exactly* how

she was going to make Obi-Wan Ke-fuckin-Obi pay.

---

It was almost sunset when Obi-Wan presented himself at Keita's door, ready

for whatever collecting on their bet might entail.  He felt better, although

that wasn't saying much.

 

The door slid open, and his mouth dropped when he saw a shower-moist Keita

Thunderflare, dressed in scarlet silk men's pajamas.  Along with half a

dozen of her girlfriends.

 

"Oh great," she growled with a leer, grabbing him by the sash.  "Room

service."

 

Obi-Wan groaned.

---

The next six hours were spent being at the beck-and-call of seven downright

sadistic females.  From fetching drinks (on all fours) to doing the dishes

(with no shirt on), they raked him over the coals and enjoyed every blasted

minute.  Obi-Wan spent half the time cursing Keita for beating him and the

other half swearing never to touch anything resembling alcohol ever again.

 

Finally it was over.  The other girls (including Rivia) were gone, the last

of the fondue packed away, and every last crumbling of pastry swept off the

rug.

 

"*Now* can we call it evens?" he asked Keita, hating the plaintive note in

his voice.  He wanted to go home and sleep for a year.

 

She considered.  "Oh!  There is just one more thing . . ."

 

"What now?!?"

 

She was in his arms before he knew it, planting her lips on his for a firm,

albeit chaste, kiss.  His hands splayed themselves across her back, holding

her against his body.  Still shirtless, he could feel her nipples stiffen

through the silk of her pajamas.

 

She pulled away.  With a smoky expression, she licked her lips.  "Sure. 

Evens.  Go home.  I'll tip you later."

 

That did it!  He yanked her firmly against him, and *his* kiss was far from

chaste.

 

She moaned as his tongue swarmed into her mouth, sweeping across the inside,

deep enough to choke.  Angrily, she stabbed her tongue back, swirling it

around his, wrestling for control.

 

They listed, knees buckling.  By virtue of height and weight, Obi-Wan drove

Keita backwards.  Her body hit the wall with a firm thud.  Neither Padawan

noticed or particularly cared.  She gasped as he ground his hips against

hers, making his state of arousal painfully obvious.

 

"Wait just . . . a minute!" she cried.  "I didn't give you permission . . ."

 

"You forfeited the right to tell me what to do!" he snapped.  As if to

punctuate his statement, his hips bucked, the steely bulge stabbing at her

hard enough to hurt.  "Evens, remember?"

 

She might have marshaled a reasonable argument except for the new sensation

of his hands stroking her breasts.  The calluses caught and snagged on the

soft silk.  He bent his head to kiss her again.  Of their own accord, her

hands slid behind his neck, holding his head against hers.

 

His arms locked around her like durasteel cables, he half-dragged,

half-carried her to the bedchamber, aware of nothing save her tongue in his

mouth and her body against his.  The press of her breasts through her silk

pajamas sent waves of heat rolling through his body.

 

They tumbled onto the bed together, landing in a heap.  Obi-Wan scrambled to

the top, pinning her to the sheets with his weight and the Force, both of

her hands trapped over her head in one of his, raining hot kisses over her

face and neck.  She thrashed under him, fighting his grip, rearing up to

kiss his neck.

 

He hooked the fingers of his free hand into the collar of her pajama top and

tore down with all the strength in his arm.  Buttons flew as the fabric

parted like water.  His hand went under the silk, caressing one breast,

pressing into it with firm fingers.  He fixed his lips over the nipple and

suckled hard enough to bruise.

 

Keita squealed, feeling hot jolts of electricity flare from her breast to

the rest of her body.  She flailed for her control of the Force.  Where she

found the focus to undo his trousers she never knew, only that suddenly a

layer of clothing between them wasn't there anymore.  Moisture seeped from

between her legs at the thought of his cock inside her.

 

Obi-Wan's lips split in a shark's grin.  He kicked his pants off the rest of

the way.

 

And just lay there for a moment, letting her feel his heat through the thin

silk of her pajama bottoms.

 

"Ask me to fuck you," he rasped, equal parts demand and plea.

 

She snarled something decidedly unladylike in Huttese, twisting her arms out

of his grip.

 

"Oh no you don't!" he snapped, grabbing her wrists in both hands and

straddling her thighs, enjoying the feel of the still cool silk on his hot

flesh.  He reined himself in.  It wouldn't do to come all over the place

now.  He still had a drinking buddy to torment.

 

He scooted down a ways and started kissing her, lips covering every bare

inch of accessable skin.  She squirmed as he blew a cold gust over her wet

nipple, drawing it tighter.  Acting on a quick idea, he rubbed his unshaven

jaw over her neck.  She arched her head back, blowing her breath out in a

long moan.  He nibbled his way up to her mouth.

 

"If you don't ask me, then I'm going to leave," he whispered against her

mouth.

 

Keita's glare was withering.  "Yeah right."

 

"That?  I can take care of that myself.  But you don't want me to leave now

do you?" he purred.  To give her a little more incentive, he ran his tongue

under the shelf of her jaw, flicking underneath the earlobe and drawing down

the long tendon to her shoulder.  "No, you don't want me to leave now do

you?"

 

She arched up, growling a challenge; "Fuck me Padawan."

 

He let go of her wrists and slid his hands down her body, kisses covering

her belly as he worked the pajamas over her hips and off her legs.  She

tried to rear up and tackle him.  He caught her and forced her back onto the

bed.  Just.

 

"Naughty naughty," he chided, grabbing her hips and sliding into her hot

sheath.

 

They moaned together, deep, tearing cries.  Their control of the Force,

still shaky after their bout with the Janx Spirit, spun completely out of

control and their minds linked, sharing their sensations.

 

Keita's hands slid around Obi-Wan's waist, fingers twining together in the

small of his back.  He supported his weight on his hands and knees and

started thrusting, harsh, savage.  She moaned a prayer to the gods of her

parents when he hit that nest of nerves inside her, sparking.  She bucked

under him, meeting his thrusts.  Their hip bones slammed together hard

enough to hurt.

 

Bright flashes arced through their bodies, crossing their vision with

lightning bolts.  Their mouths came together in a brutal, desperate kiss as

they climaxed, bodies and minds linked, flung into the stratosphere.  They

swallowed each other's cries as they flew through space and time and spun

back down into blackness.

---

"Kei?"

 

She muttered something sleepy.

 

"Kei?"

 

<<Well okay, so I'll wake up now.>>  She opened her eyes and looked at

Obi-Wan.

 

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, mortified at his behavior.

 

"Nothing a nice . . . long . . . hot . . . bubble bath wouldn't fix," she

suggested between kisses.

 

He kissed her nose.  "That can be arranged.  And maybe some of those tuber

spikes?"

 

More kisses.  "In the freezer."

 

"In a minute."

---