The following work of fanfiction contains scenes of implied sex for comedic effect, including the usual amount of double-entendres involving "lightsabers" and a drunken Ewan McGregor completely breaking character. If you're not physically, emotionally, and/or legally able to read stuff like that where you're at, please push the Back button on your browser NOW.
The characters and settings in this story are the property of Lucasfilm Ltd. and its subsidiaries, affiliated companies, and third-party licensors, and are being used here without permission. No profit is being made from this file. All humans, clones, and multi-limbed cyborg killing machines depicted are over the age of 18. This isn't the Happy Fun Ball you're looking for. (No, really. Trust me. It isn't.)
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Sith Academy: Episode Two and a Half
by Apricot the Gerbil
It started out as a good day, as hamsters' days go.
Dusk was beginning to cloud the sky with pastels, yet Fluffi-Wan the Third still seemed to beam with accomplishment. His Force training had reached a new milestone earlier that morning when he managed to run upside-down along the roof of his hamster wheel for well over an hour. Even more notably, his caretaker Anakin remembered to refill the cage's food dish without a single mindwhammy to remind him-- and considering the lad's mental capacity had remained much the same since his days as the shaggy-haired moppet tugging at the cuff of Obi-Wan Kenobi's robes and begging to name his two new hamsters for him, this was an impressive change indeed.
The Third was busy Force-floating food pellets and sunflower seeds into the shape of some star system he'd seen in one of Anakin's recent channel-flipping binges when he heard it. There was chattering out in the hallway, several wobbly attempts to stab a doorknob with a key... and then, at the squeak of the door's hinges, what sounded like a battle cry:
"Fookin' yeeeah!"
The sunflower-seed microcosm rained to the floor of the cage, forgotten. The Third's ears twitched. That voice... Could it be?
He sensed his Master's presence!
From the other end of the cage, The Third's elder, Fluffi-Wan the Second, poked her head up through the top of her nest-bedding heap and sniffed at the air. She heard it, too. Perhaps it was the binding ties of the Force that let them recognize Obi-Wan so clearly... or, possibly, the fact that the dorm room walls held all the privacy of damp tissue paper.
"Professor Kenobi," Grievous rasped through his mystery accent, "I must apologize for the state of my place. I do not often expect evening company."
"Nonsense! Looks fine t' me." A short creak of bedsprings was heard, followed by an opening bottle's tssst-chnk. "Ah! Just look at-- y'got my old room, you lucky fecker!" Giddy laughter. "How weird is that?"
The hamsters blinked at each other. Something was different. The Third had only heard his Master's voice a scant few times before Obi-Wan entrusted his pets to his padawan's care years ago, but the slur in the usually level-headed Jedi's tone struck both The Second and himself as unnatural. Scottish, even. "So, were ye goin' to-- What're you goin'a show me? ...Or not?"
"As you wish, Professor," the exchange student replied. Cloth shuffled against metal, and the sound of two igniting lightsabers singed the hamsters' ears.
"Oh... oh, my!" Obi-Wan's words faded for a moment, leaving nothing but heavy panting. "Don't tell anyone I told y' this, but... a long time now, I've got a fancy for anyone who knows to-- knows how to handle two a' once. Did'ja know that, like?"
Grievous only chuckled. With the clank of rotating gears and a dual snap, the air quivered from the tzom-tzommm of two more sabers stretching tall.
Obi-Wan whimpered, barely able to choke out the words: "You. Those. Sex. NOW!"
As the next room's headboard began to slam against the wall for the first time in years, Fluffi-Wan the Second shook her head and sank back into her bedding shelter.
She had a very bad feeling about this.
---
"...And so I was like, yeah, I know he's done more to keep the Academy's arts programs in place than anyone on the board put together, and he's been great to me and the rest of the Poly Sci department, but-- okay, if Palpatine's going to amend the dress code so students can't wear traditional tentacle coverings in the classroom, that is totally going against the diversity-friendly mission statement he's got in the handbook they give to new padawans! And then he doesn't even let anyone know about it until he's already having it enforced... I mean, that's just two-faced, you know?"
Anakin noted the sudden upwards tilt in Padmé's voice. He nodded numbly to her, the action nearly a reflex by now, and kept staring at the KEEP KASSHYYK GREEN! poster on the far wall, eyeing the tear rolling down the sad cartoon Wookiee's face with mute understanding.
He should be grateful to be where he was, he reminded himself. How many guys would give their right arm to hook up with their childhood crush after so many years spent apart? Especially when that crush ended up looking as smoking hot as Padmé did now, cuddled up next to him in nothing but a blanket and about a thousand beaded hairclips...
Still, it was always around this time, when his afterglow was only a bittersweet memory and her pillow talk officially became pillow mileage, that Anakin found himself questioning why he bothered bedding the bright-eyed young Political Science tutor at all. Not even counting how creepy it was to have her giant poster of Noam Chomsky staring at them whenever they got busy at her place, he added silently. He tilted his head on Padmé's all-natural-cruelty-free-et-cetera hemp pillowcase and debated which of the limbs she was spooning against was the most chewable.
As though the Fates decided to answer his prayers at last, Padmé sat upright, her eyes widening at the bedside clock. "Oh no! I totally forgot, the Union Rights For Droids committee meeting this week is in like a half hour!" she cried, sliding out of bed to scramble for the clothes draped in a haphazard trail across the floor. She rustled a skirt encrusted with tiny metal bells over her hips as she glanced over her shoulder at Anakin. "Sweetie pumpkin, I'm sorry, I've got to go! Lock up for me when you leave, could you? And make sure no one sees you, or the landlord's going to have a fit." She paused from fumbling her bra into place to ask, "Where's my underwear...?"
Anakin pointed to the ceiling fan.
"Oh. Right," Padmé said, looking up. She fished a fresh pair from her dresser drawer instead, remarking, "We have got to try that again sometime... Anyhow, I'll see you later! Hope you find what you need in those old yearbooks." She shrugged on a shirt and bounced onto the bed to give Anakin a parting kiss, then grabbed her bookbag, slipped on her sandals, and flung the dorm room door open and shut as she left.
Anakin stretched out upon his tutor's bedsheets, sighing in relief. He was filled with a newfound respect for droids' rights.
---
Fisto, Kitt.
Kenobi, Obi-Wan.
Ki-Adi-Mundi, Bob.
Anakin kept edging his finger down the list of graduates. He was already down to the last yearbook in Padmé's collection, with only a few pages left to flip through, and there was still no sign of anyone at the Academy named 'Maul.' He frowned. Who was this Maul person, anyhow? And why did Professor Kenobi moan their name instead of his last week, when Anakin finally managed to charm the pants off of the one person he didn't feel like throttling after the sex was over?
He turned the page and winced at the double epitaph he found there, once he could read it through the flowery clipart. So much for searching, thought Anakin, squinting at the photo in one of the reprinted newspaper articles. Kenobi was unmistakable, even with his short hair and a padawan's braid from ten years ago... or when hugging the tattooed top half of a dead body and wailing, for that matter. So he saw this Maul guy push his Jedi Master in front of a truck, and then Maul got hit by the next car in the road? Ouch. No wonder the Professor's never brought this up before. Noticing the date on the article, Anakin did a double-take. May 19th? That's tomorrow!
He took the last few steps up the stairwell, then stopped, staring down the row of doors ahead of him. Grievous's door was shut. Good, he thought with a fleeting scowl, and continued down the hallway. Anakin still wasn't sure if his next-door neighbor's hatred of all things Jedi was something picked up from his home country or, as Anakin suspected, was simply due to Grievous being a jerk. Anakin's only attempt to ask the cyborg why he chose a college run by Jedi had been met with vague grumbles about "scholarships" and a shove out of the way.
Whatever the reason, it sure didn't make coming home to his room any easier. If Grievous's door was open even a sliver, any chance of sneaking Padmé in for the night was as shot as Anakin's ears after the random Rammstein marathons Grievous was fond of shaking the walls with for hours on end.
Anakin dumped the pile of yearbooks onto his bed, then glanced at the cage on his dresser. That was odd... Why were the hamsters shivering? He didn't claim to be fluent in Hamster, yet he could swear they looked terrified. The racket coming from next door was louder than usual, but sounds of Grievous doing... well, whatever gigantic cyborgs did to get off... were unfortunately fairly common for Anakin and his pets to have to sit through.
When a second voice cut into Grievous's clanking and grunting, however-- a very familiar voice-- Anakin joined the two balls of fur huddled nearby in shuddering. "Oh... oh yes... Just like that! Yes! Harder! Please-- oh, Qui-Gon, harder!"
The thumping stopped, leaving a shuttle-crash's silence in its wake. Anakin could hear the murder in Grievous's eyes. "Who is this... 'Coo-why-gone'?" the cyborg's voice rumbled.
A pause. "I-- it's..." Obi-Wan stammered, then moaned, exasperated. "Just shut up and keep fucking me, all right?"
The low, vibrating growl that followed fell apart with a hacking cough. Soon enough, the wall-knocking resumed. "Stupid Jedi scum!" Anakin heard Grievous snarling between lunges.
Anakin was still brain-deep in shock. That can't be Obi-Wan. It can't. He's my Master. He was just with me! He climbed onto his bed to frown at the Sith Raider 3: Most Raidiest Ever poster taped above his faintly jiggling headboard. Anakin felt the hole in the plaster through what flimsy covering the poster offered; his finger picked and pried away the spiderweb of duct tape sealing the glossy paper's edges in place.
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