Author: Sethra
Title: Liberty
Category: Humor
Rating: R?  NC17?
Archive: Please!
Feedback: Like Jimmy Hendrix, my dears!
s_lavode@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: Please send any money to George Lucas,
alas.

“Oh, shit.”  She read the message over again, but it
didn’t get any better.  The captain of the ship stared
at her.  “What’s the matter, Lieutenant?” he asked
mildly, which was fortunate.  Usually he was a
stickler for proper military courtesy, but as General
Kenobi’s second-in-command, she got a little leeway.
Well, she would need it now.

“I just got a message from dirtside, sir.  Comm
officer, please get me the shore patrol, then see if
you can’t locate the General.”

“So what does it say, Lieutenant?” the captain
insisted.

She sighed, wanting to howl, or at least hide.
Unfortunately, she knew all too well that the General
could find her anywhere.  “’Your crew had a wonderful
time’,” she read aloud.  “’Please come get them.’”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The sergeant who led her down to the holding cell was
amused.  “We picked them up downtown.  They were
standing on a traffic island, shouting at passing
women.  They were quite drunk; one of them wore our
flag as a toga—and nothing else, mind you—while three
others sang what was believed to be an…alternate
version of your company’s fight song.”

The lieutenant shook her head in misery.  “How much
property damage was there?”

“Oh, none to speak of,” she was reassured.  “We are
used to sailors, Lieutenant, although we do ask they
not use our planetary colors as clothing.  Relax.
There won’t be an incident out of this, although we
didn’t tell them that.”

“Good.  I intend to make them sweat this.”  She was
grimly looking forward to their punishments when a
sudden thought stopped them.  “Umm, what were they
yelling, if I might ask?”

The sergeant grinned.  “They were trying to find
some…companionship for your General, apparently.”

“Oh, shit.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

With the able help of the shore patrol she got the
errant squad back to the ship without further
incident.  Now they stood at a rough approximation of
attention before her in their various states of
undress and inebriation.  “Explain,” she demanded
coldly, hiding her laughter by thinking of how she
could keep the General from finding out.

They all started babbling until she silenced them
again and pointed at the one in the tri-color toga.
“Your actions alone could have lost us the good-will
of this planet.  And you,” she pointed to the one who,
by all reports, had instigated a spirited betting pool
on the actions of the first, “are worse than he is.
Now, you,” and she indicated the petty officer in the
group, “will explain what happened.”

He gulped.  “Well, ma’am, we all had port liberty, and
we was planning out our time, when someone pointed out
that the General had been really good to us, getting
us out alive and all.  So we was thinking, what could
we do to, you know, say thanks?”

“Yeah,” a corporal jumped in, “I mean, we thought he
should have some fun too, see?  So we thought, well,
what were we going to do?  We could do something for
him, right?  So we were going to go see if we could
find a pretty lady…and then…”

“Then we found this place,” the petty officer jumped
back in. “Marvelous place!  Best wine!”

“Wine, schmine,” the one in the toga mumbled.  “It was
the tequila that did it.”

“And we got sort of…side-tracked.  And then…”

The lieutenant could only gape as the story went
on…and on…and on, until ending up in the middle of
traffic half-dressed and still trying to get their
commanding officer laid seemed almost reasonable.
They finally wound down until the petty officer
finished up with, “So after the elephant, that’s what
happened, Lieutenant.”

She shook her head, still bemused.  “And what the hell
are you going to do when the General gets wind of
this?” she asked conversationally.  “You do realize
what sort of situation this puts him in, don’t you?
Really, boys, I’d prefer to bury this incident along
with you in the deepest bowels of this ship, until we
leave port at least, but you know the General is going
to find out.”

“We was only tryin’ to help,” the corporal muttered,
but his words were overridden by another voice.

“The General already knows,” Kenobi said from the
door.  The squad finally managed to come to real
attention, backs straight and everything, as he strode
into the room.  “You lot are confined to quarters
until further notice.  Dismissed.”  They double-timed
it out of the room.  As soon as the door slid closed
behind them, he slumped into a chair and groaned.

“Er…good evening, sir,” the lieutenant greeted him
nervously.  “I was, umm, hoping to get this cleared up
before you—“

“Found out?  Ha.”  He swung his boots onto the desk as
he continued, “Unfortunately, the General found out
quickly, since the General was seated two tables over
from them.  With, I might add, a friend I haven’t seen
for several years.”

His second-in-command put up a hand to hide her smile.
“Oh, no, sir.”

“Oh, yes.  They were very loud.  Said friend thought
it was all highly amusing.  He had many remarks on the
topic, up to and including the fact that if I wanted
to keep my reputation, I had to let them go and
pretend I wasn’t there.  He might, if I remember his
birthday every year, let me live it down someday.  Oh,
go ahead and laugh, lieutenant,” he told her
irritably.  “I expect I’ll find it amusing, too, in a
couple of years.  In the meantime, go hang them out to
dry, but make sure some of the sweets rations turn up
in their path, will you?”

She saluted.  “Yes, sir!”

“Oh, and why don’t you meet me in my quarters when
you’re finished.”

She smiled.  “As you say, General, sir.”

Part 2

The Lieutenant arrived at her final destination for
the night and signaled at the door, but it whooshed
softly aside at her touch.  She took five steps into
the room and called, “General?  I’m here to report.”

“Just a moment.  Stay right there,” his voice called
back.  She heard the footfalls of his entrance behind
her, then the sound of something being set down.  “All
right, Lieutenant.  Report,” he commanded.

“Yes, sir.  The squad has been disciplined as you
instructed, sir.  They have all been assigned waste
reclamation duties for five weeks, except for the
petty officer, who will be scrubbing sick bay until
further notice.”

“Sick bay?  That doesn’t sound too onerous,” the
General commented as he prowled around into her sight.

Oh, shit, she thought.  Bad enough that he had already
gone off duty and had accordingly exchanged his trim
black uniform for a brief loose robe, the sort worn by
farmers…and Jedi (although usually there were more
than one of them—the robes, that is).  But he had shed
his on-duty stride as well, reverting to a smooth,
well trained, disconcerting glide.  Disconcerting as
well as bad for posture, as her knees tried to turn
traitor.  “Well, not normally, no sir.  But lately
there’s been an outbreak of the…er, trots, sir.  I
think it’ll be suitably chastening.”

“Oh, good,” he commented.  His mind was apparently on
other things, however.  “Lift up your chin.”

She complied and continued talking as he began to
unfasten the buttons of her uniform.  “As per your
other instructions, the squad will, ah, uncover some
“excess” luxury rations in the course of their duties.
A glance at their personnel jackets suggests they are
unlikely to mention this luck to anyone, but enjoy the
results.”

“Yes, well they did try hard to…reward me, didn’t
they?”  He had apparently decided to try undoing
buttons without seeing them; his words came from over
her shoulder.  She resisted the temptation to turn her
head, to rub her cheek against his…

“Did you want me to make it clear where the luxury
rations came from, sir?  I’m sure I could manage it
discreetly.”

He had finished with the buttons; he came around to
face her and pushed the tunic gently off her
shoulders, letting it fall disregarded to the floor.
“No, I think not.  We really shouldn’t encourage
behavior like that.”  He began unfastening her belt.

“Quite right, sir.  Detrimental to morale.”  Breathing
normally was getting to be a problem; he was too
close.  The smell of the soap and shampoo he used, of
him, his body heat…  Shipboard was really too cold to
be standing around in trousers and an undershirt, with
or without the boots, but she didn’t feel it.  Her
hair was unpinned now, its silky warmth falling around
her bare shoulders.  “Will that be all, General?”

He finally crossed directly into the line of sight
she’d stoically maintained to gaze into her eyes.
“Yes, that’s all.  Dismissed, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, sir.”  She took one step forward, threw
her arms around him, and kissed him cross-eyed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Part 3

She cursed the limitations of flesh even as she
enjoyed the benefits; molding herself to his body was
the closest she could come to him.  For the moment,
that is.  Being in a helpful mood, one of his hands
pulled her hips closer as the other tangled itself in
her hair.  A swift tug, learned early on in this
relationship, brought his robe sliding to the floor to
join her tunic.  Her bare arms gloried in the rub of
skin against skin while the rest of her clamored to
join in the fun.

Oxygen deprivation, however, catches up to the best of
lovers; the liplock broke momentarily.  He took the
opportunity to divest her of her undershirt while she
sat on the bed and began the by-now traditional
argument.

“Court martial,” she murmured.
“Yes,” he replied indistinctly, his lips now on her
throat and descending fast.  “D’care.”

“M’neither.”  The time for (semi) coherent speech was
over and her boots were now strewn to either side of
him as he knelt between her feet, his face buried in
her stomach and his hands busy at the waistband of her
uniform trousers.  The now completed five word
exchange (seven, really, if you count the
contractions) could be loosely translated as the
protestations made on their first night together and
made every time since in a sort of habitual
remembrance.  Namely, she pointed out that, both of
them being in the same chain of command, they could be
court-martialed for doing what they were rapidly on
their way to doing and that would be very bad for
their careers (for obvious reasons) and for the war
(because he was the General); he retorted that that
may very well be, but that he really didn’t care as he
loved her and if they (an indistinct “they”: the
fleet, the Jedi, whoever) couldn’t give him some time
off and a little joy they could jolly well fight the
war without him; and she replied that it all sounded
very well and would his Generalship get on with it and
fuck her already.  Not in so many words, of course,
but that was the gist of it.

Loving the General was an exhilarating madness; she
sometimes wondered how she’d ever found the courage to
go through with it.  One glance into his eyes reminded
her.  But wanting him was often the same feeling as
the urge she’d get when driving a ground car to floor
it and find out how far she could fly off the elevated
road or, better yet, to skew around in a tight turn
and challenge the oncoming cars.

Clothes were now something of a memory that didn’t
care to resurface without major prompting, all
excepting the silk boxers that she found incredibly
sensual on him.  She let her hands revel in the feel
of smooth silk against firm, warm muscle as he
captured a breast in each hand and an earlobe between
his lips.  The motion of his hands was that of a
talented masseuse: firm and soothing, letting her
concentrate on what his tongue was doing to her ear
and rubbing his beard along her cheek…until he pressed
an insistent thumb into each nipple.  A jolt shot
through her of something indescribably midway between
discomfort and extreme pleasure; her head fell back
and her back arched as she gasped.

He took the opportunity to push her back onto the bed
and straddle her, the boxers outlining in black silk
every tantalizing detail they purported to cover.  She
pulled him down on top of her, needing his warm skin
next to her, his tongue against hers, her hand…well,
he intercepted the hand she tried to slide to the silk
between them, but that was all right.  He took the
hint and lay between her legs, nibbling on an
electrified nipple and letting a certain silk-sheathed
length make its presence known.

She moaned, burying one hand in his hair while the
other clutched the bed covers in the rhythm that his
hot mouth set on her breast.  She ground her hips into
him, wet and aching with need.  The sound that escaped
him made her moan again; it was male and feral and
hungry for her, and somewhere under all that, it was
joy.  It was exultation that she was herself and that
he was there and that no one could ever take this from
them.  It was now, in these moments, that she could
believe in the Force: something greater than herself
and him and every other individual the galaxy had ever
held.

Not that the fragile clarity ever lasted long; she
worked a hand downwards and heard/felt him gasp as she
stroked his silk-lined length.  The silk slid
enticingly over his hardness; as she measured the
inches with her fingers there were more to be found.
He buried his low-pitched moans in her chest as she
explored up and down, his hips helping her along as
she increased her pressure.  Suddenly he looked up,
his eyes smoldering with passion before he grinned and
shifted slightly.

She still had a hold on him, but he now had two
fingers pressed to a certain wet, aching bundle of
nerves; once more that jolt of pleasure/pain burned
along her nerves, but stronger this time.  He kissed
her, his madly sparkling eyes daring her to continue.

She moved her hand, he moved his: simple.  Simple and
highly intoxicating, as she soon found out, but that
wasn’t what she wanted.  As much as she loved the feel
of the silk under her fingers and between his hardness
and her, it was now in the way.  With a swift movement
she tugged the boxers off his hips; they soon
disappeared off the edge of the world.  She nuzzled
his neck insistently and wrapped her legs around him,
but had very specific ideas as to the pace.  He teased
her with his hand and hardness, exploring the damp
flesh that hid behind her curls.  She panted against
his flesh, straining against the hand that held her
hips to the bed.  “Please, Obi-Wan, please.”

He groaned at her words, his touch coming harder.  He
broke away to look into her face, then rubbed his
cheek against hers.  “Please what?”

“Please *now*!”

He kissed her breath away as he slid slowly into her,
savoring every tiny movement.  She accepted him,
tightened around him until their bodies were as close
as flesh could be.  He lay for a moment inside her,
lips, hands, hearts all rejoicing, and then he started
to move.

The rhythm bound them tighter and tighter, in and out,
in the oldest dance.  Instinct overtook them as their
bodies strained to be closer.  Clutching, kneading,
moaning, gasping, they brought each other to a summit
neither could reach without the other—and soared off,
a shared climax sweeping idiotic metaphor along with
thought into an irrelevant corner.

She slept beside him until the next watch changed.
Then she pried herself out of bed, reluctant to leave
his side.  She reassembled herself until she was
presentable, then slipped out into the stream of
people coming off watch to seek their beds.  Love was
all very nice, but discretion had its firm place in
her own chain of command.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~
the end.