Saga of the Spare Prince #1: Appetency

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Kourt gathered up his bags and made his way down the exit ramp of his transport, mentally reviewing his assignment. One day I'm going to figure out a way to convince royalty that the Jedi aren't their personal bodyguards. THEN I'm going on vacation.

The sovereign system of Eab Nanoorn had problems. Everyone knew that, everyone accepted and planned for that, everyone was pretty much okay with that. Everyone, of course, except the denizens of Eab Nanoorn. As one of the oldest, wealthiest, most peaceful of the Republic sectors, Eab Nanoorn represented an enclave of stability in the minds of other Republic systems. That they had gained their position mostly by luck made no nevermind, of course. Now that the position was established, it behooved the Senate to preserve it.

Of course, the simplest, least complicated way to stir up trouble in the Republic was to cause problems for some seemingly insignificant, peaceful sector and work one's way out from there. So when some 'revolutionary' group decided to prove they had power, were ruthless, or whatever, Eab Nanoorn suddenly transformed from a relaxed, safe environ to a borderline-paranoid government under siege.

Kourt blinked in the bright sunlight and sighed. At least the capitol city had good weather and better beaches. A Jedi could do worse than be assigned to stand guard over the rulers of Eab Nanoorn. With any luck the Sgatt would move on to other targets now that a Jedi Knight stood at the ready. Hopefully Kourt himself would not be moved to do the Sgatt's work for them before that happened. The Council had assigned him to this post for the next year, at minimum. To Kourt's thinking, a year was a pretty long time to put up with Royal nonsense and a terminal case of boredom.

The high-pitched hum of a groundskimmer caught Kourt's attention and he turned towards it. A black transport was in the process of hurling itself towards Kourt's ship at a high rate of speed. Ignoring the impulse to step back from the arriving skimmer, Kourt got a better grip on his luggage and put on his 'serene' face. The skimmer came to a stop some few paces away from him and the lone passenger stood up, peering over the windshield with open curiosity.

Thank you, Force. Bless you, Council. Please, oh please let this be what it looks like, Kourt mentally begged.

The young man who was piloting the groundskimmer raised a hand in welcome. "I bring you greetings from His Royal Majesty King Silas Garu and His Royal Highness Prince Bail Kyle Garu."

Kourt bowed. "I thank Their Worships for their greetings. I am Knight Kourt Crowe of the Jedi. Whom do I have the honor of addressing?"

The young man stepped down from the speeder and came closer. "Don't think it a slight, but I'm Bail Blaine Garu, SP. Pardon the alliteration."

Kourt was surprised into a chuckle by that. "A slight? Being met by one of the Royal Family? However could it be so?"

Blaine picked up one of Kourt's bags and led the way back to the speeder. "Well, that's the SP part. I'm the Spare Prince. They're all so busy getting ready for the Making that they flat forgot about you. I thought it would be simpler if I just came and fetched you myself."

Kourt laughed outright at that. "Simpler and less stultifying, at least. I hope you don't mind my saying so, but you don't really look like a prince."

"All part of my charm," Blaine assured him. "Besides, I'm not really a prince. I'm a Bail, SP. You'll see the difference once we get back to the palace."

Kourt took his place in the passenger seat of the skimmer and decided to hold his questions for a time yet. If this 'Bail, SP' said answers were forthcoming, Kourt had only to be patient and watch for them.

---

The instant the skimmer cleared the spaceport's security, Blaine's comm chirped. To Kourt's surprise the young man had an earpiece attached to his handheld link. Of course, there was a certain privacy issue involved with everything a prince did, so perhaps it wasn't all that surprising. He spoke rapidly, taking one call after another while occasionally tossing Kourt a reassuring smile. The more Kourt observed, the more relaxed he became about this assignment.

Cruising along the trafficways of Kais, Bail Blaine Garu SP might have been your average club kid. With his slightly-too-long blond hair, sapphire blue eyes (currently hidden by expensive sunglasses) and lush mouth, the young man could have easily passed for a fashion model as well. That his clothes were flashy and patently becoming lent to the argument that Blaine might be more than a handful to his relations. Black silk pants, black shoes, a brightly patterned blue shirt with silver jacket over all made for a striking, almost startling presentation. However, the young man wore these as if they were no more unusual than the bland tones of Kourt's Jedi uniform.

A curiosity, was all Kourt could think. But an attractive one, so he simply sat back and enjoyed the view. Blaine seemed aware of the scrutiny, but made no sign that he was displeased by it. Instead, he continued his many conversations, driving one-handed as he spoke.

"Kerol, he's a JEDI, not a monk. No, he's not... well I hardly think that's relevant. Humanoid, I told you! Hang on. Hello? Rigyl! Glad you made it back in time! Sure, as many as you like. Well, no, we're moving it to Secoladu. I know, I know, but it's so much closer to the beach. Okay, well, get in touch with Meranda and let her know I said so. Later. Kerol, hey. Look, if you put him all the way in the servant's quarters I'm going to dismiss you myself. He is NOT a servant, he is a VERY honored guest and you're just going to have to deal with that. Don't MAKE me come re-write the protocol again. Well, put him in my wing, then. Of course there's room! No one wants to deal with me, remember? Well, he doesn't seem to mind." Blaine turned to Kourt. "Do you mind the music?"

Kourt blinked, then said "No. It's good. Why?"

"He says he doesn't mind the music. Put him in the green verandah rooms and do it before I get there. Good. Goodbye. Hello? Marcus!" And so it went. As near as Kourt could tell, about half of the calls regarded arrangements for the arrival of a Jedi to the Palace. The rest seemed related to a party of some sort. The last call ended just as they pulled onto the private drive of the Palace proper. A guard stood at the gates, blaster in hand.

"State your business," the soldier ordered.

"I'm going home," Blaine patiently explained.

"Name?"

"Bail Blaine Garu, SP."

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry Your Highness! I... I..."

"Didn't recognize me. I know. Don't worry about it," Blaine sighed. He turned to Kourt with a shrug. "Newbie."

Kourt cleared his throat. "Your security could use some work," he opined.

"Tell me about it. Though I think it might help if I looked more like my action figure," Blaine replied.

"You have an action figure?" Kourt weakly inquired.

"Part of the PR gig. When I was younger I was eminently marketable and the family needed the income. They made the models for it years ago, so there's not a lot I can do about it now but hide and hope for the best," Blaine pulled the skimmer into a parking space and hopped out. He glanced around, then shrugged again. "Guess we're on our own, here."

"Fine with me," Kourt assured him. "State welcomes can be... complicated."

"Oh, they'll get you later tonight, I'm sure. For now, though, let's see if we can't smuggle you into your rooms without stirring up any trouble." Blaine grabbed some luggage and led the way into the palace.

---

Kourt and Blaine stealthily made their way through the palace via servant's halls and back stairways. What little Kourt saw of the palace proper made him rather glad he could avoid it. Vaulted ceilings, marble pillars, velvet window hangings and lots of silence seemed to be the basic design elements. One day I'm going to convince Royalty that palaces can also be homes. THEN I'm going to walk on water.

They came out of one servant's hall into a tastefully decorated corridor. Blaine stopped at the large double-door and kicked it, by way of knocking. It was opened by a chubby servant in red and white livery. He bowed, disturbing a puff of talcum from his powdered wig. As he rose, he announced "Bail Blaine, Garu Baru Bo-Baru, Banannafanna Fo Faru, Me My Mo Maru. Garu."

Kourt's eyebrows made a credible effort to join his hairline. Blaine merely smirked and led Kourt into the chambers. "Kyle? You here? I brought you a Jedi."

"What?" demanded a deeper voice from somewhere within the chambers.

"Jedi. Knight. Here. As requested. I just picked him up from the spaceport," Blaine elaborated. "Did you know your doorman is still doing that... THING to my name?"

"Yeah, well... you started it. I think he's trying to out-stubborn you." Kyle appeared in a doorway. "Good gods. You're going to blind someone with that jacket. Can't you dress more..."

"Conservatively?" Blaine supplied.

"At least until we're done with the Making," Kyle continued.

"Sorry. No can do. Moral imperative," Blaine shrugged.

"Are your pants supposed to fit... like that?" Kyle inquired.

Blaine nodded. "May I present Knight Kourt Crowe of the Jedi?"

"What?" Kyle blinked, startled. "Oh! Oh, you're here here. I thought... well... ahem. It is my honor to meet you, Knight Crowe."

"The honor is mine," Kourt bowed, trying to hide the fact that he still had his luggage in hand.

"Please forgive my absence at your arrival," Kyle said.

"By all means," Kourt assured him. "I'm sure that between your wedding and... the other things... going on, you have more than enough to occupy you."

"Ah. Yes. The... other things. You realize they come at a very bad time for us, don't you?" Kyle inquired.

"I've never known there was a good time for assassination attempts," Blaine remarked.

This earned him a frown from his brother. "Indeed. I hope you can put a stop to them with all due haste."

"It is my plan to do so," Kourt assured them both. "Though I will, of course, remain at your brother's side until his safety is assured."

"My... my BROTHER?" Kyle demanded.

"To be sure. It is his life that is in the most danger at this point," Kourt explained. "I'll need to look over his rooms immediately to begin security measures."

"Of course," Kyle frowned.

"If you'll permit me, Your Highness, I'll show Sir Crowe to his quarters. He's in the Slum, in case you need us for anything," Blaine explained.

Kyle nodded, then turned away, already dismissing the pair from his mind. "Do change clothes before dinner, Blaine. Aunt Syra's just arrived and you know what your wardrobe does to her heart."

Blaine made no reply but led Kourt out of the Prince's quarters.

---

As they made their way to Kourt's rooms, the knight kept a watchful eye on the people they passed. Most seemed to recognize Blaine; some bowed or smiled to him. None, however, offered to help him with his load, nor did they take much notice of Kourt himself. Kourt knew for a fact that it was unusual for a Jedi to be in the palace of Eab Nanoorn, so he was at a loss to explain such easy dismissal.

Blaine turned off the corridor and into a slightly less well maintained hallway. "Welcome to the Slum. Originally this part of the palace was a sort of entertainment center. Then someone came up with the bright idea of storing us Bails down here and..." Blaine shrugged. "I've done what I can with it, but like me, it's not high on the priority list of Their Majesties."

Blaine thumbed the lock on one of the doors and ushered Kourt into his rooms. "Oh my," the Knight breathed.

The rooms were done in creams and silver, with natural wood furnishings. There were three rooms connected to the main room, all of which Kourt could see through beaded curtains. From the wardrobe to the four-post bed an understated elegance permeated the setting. Potted plants added to the sense of Living Force within the chambers. Best of all, on the far side of the sitting room was a wide balcony with a breathtaking view of the ocean.

"I hope you will be comfortable here," Blaine smiled.

"Oh indeed," Kourt assured him. "I'm sure it will be quite fine."

"Make yourself at home. I'll be three doors down, if you'd like to join me for lunch?"

"Of course," Kourt gratefully accepted. "Just let me get out of this uniform."

"That's a uniform? Thank the little gods. I thought you chose to dress like that," Blaine grinned.

"Not by a long shot," Kourt assured him, turning towards the bedroom. "I'll be along as quickly as I can."

---

Kourt stripped out of his uniform and began digging through his luggage. After a few moments of searching he came up with what he was looking for. A pair of pale grey, thin, soft leather pants with matching vest and a pair of sandals. I'll lay cookies to credits this is PERFECT for lunch with Blaine. IF I'm not overdressed.

Kourt went down the hall to the room Blaine had indicated and paused outside the door. A low-grade sort of thuddy-humming noise was coming from within. With all senses on alert, Kourt knocked on the door. The thudding stopped and after a moment the door opened.

Kourt took one look at Blaine and decided that he had indeed overdressed. The Bail wore a knee-length vest of many colors, sky-blue, skintight kneepants and nothing more. "Welcome to my humble abode," the young man said, sweeping one arm towards his private dining room. "Don't mind the mess. The servants near faint every time they come in here, so I just told them not to bother.

Kourt stepped inside and inspected the rooms. Skies above. An assassin wouldn't hide in here. He couldn't possibly be colorful enough. Blaine's room looked like a secondhand clothing store and a junk shop had borne an unholy love child which was in the process of suffering a rather messy nervous breakdown. Kourt adored the effect. The furniture was strewn with clothing, toys, colored paper, stacks of data chips, musical instruments, dishes and more. The floor was buried under a thick detritus of shoes, sloughed laundry, feathers, empty boxes, stuffed animals and more musical instruments. Blaine led him through the chaos to the lunch table. A simple repast of soup and sandwiches waited for them. Though there were several chairs, none matching, surrounding the table, only two were cleared for sitting. Kourt took his place in a sadly abused armchair and smiled across the table at his host. "So... I thought I heard something right before I knocked..."

"Oh, that's a song I'm working on for my Non-Inheritance party," Blaine shrugged. "Do you like the soup?"

"It's good, thanks. Non-Inheritance party?" Kourt dutifully inquired.

"Yeah. Assuming everything goes as planned. You know about the Making tomorrow?" Blaine asked. Kourt shook his head. "Oh. Well, see, there are all these laws about how to establish the next in line for the throne. First, you have to have a king. That we've got. Next, you have to have a Prince Bail. Again, we have one. Then you need a Princess Bail, which, unfortunately, we're fresh out of. Not a single Noble house in all of Eab Nanoorn managed to have an appropriate daughter. All the girls are either in line to inherit their own Houses, or they're pre-betrothed or just about any damn thing you can think of and here's us without someone to marry our Prince Bail. Luckily, we managed to find a lady among the Commons who was qualified to be raised to Nobility and who was also willing to marry my brother and STAY married... so I'm off the hook."

"If all goes as planned," Kourt re-iterated.

"Well, she could turn out to be a virgin," Blaine shrugged. "I doubt it, though. Took care of that question myself not too long ago, but don't let that get around, okay?"

"You... you fucked your... your sister-in-law..."

"Just to make sure she could BE my sister-in-law," Blaine specified. "Things were starting to look a bit dicey for me."

"In what sense?" Kourt inquired.

"Well, see... if Kyle isn't married and working on an heir by the end of this year, they'll name me regent to his line. Which puts me directly on the throne if anything happens to him and dad. Since everyone in my family is mortal, something's sure to happen to them both eventually... so I'd have to plan for that contingency. I'd have to get married, have kids, you know... all that. No way." Blaine smiled, but it didn't touch his eyes.

"You're... not very happy with your family, are you?" Kourt ventured.

Blaine snorted. "Love 'em to pieces."

"But... look. I've seen quite a few royals in my time and you're nothing like any of them. Even the 'youngers' I've known haven't..." Kourt was at a loss.

Blaine put his spoon aside and sat back, studying Kourt with a careful eye. "Do you want the truth?"

Kourt nodded. "I'll need to know before I can plan how best to protect you and yours."

Blaine glanced away, every feature etched with a seriousness that had not been present before. "When I was... I don't know, fourteen or so, my brother fell ill. It was a very serious thing, some kind of virus I believe. I was at the chapel every day, on my knees, praying to all the little gods to save him. I said 'Please, don't take my brother away from me. He's the best brother in the world. I love him very much. Please make my brother all well again.'

"One day, I was walking down to the chapel and I heard someone say my name. Not like they were calling me, but like they were talking about me. There's a difference, one I learned very early on. I stopped to listen. There were these maids cleaning a room and talking about me and my brother. One said 'Blaine's been down at the chapel praying for his brother every day. Such dedication. You'd think he'd know it was in his best interests if His Highness slipped away.' She was completely serious.

"Then the other one snorted. 'Like as not, he's praying for just that. There's the problem with having a spare, you know. The spare can never really love the heir.' She was perfectly serious, too." Blaine looked at Kourt, eyes steady and cold. "I've never, ever wanted the throne. That's my father and my brother. I'm a spare, a contingency measure, and I'm damn well going to stay that way. I'd lie down and die for Kyle if that's what it took. But that doesn't mean I have to like the fact that I'm valued for what I am and not for who I am. Are we perfectly clear?"

Kourt nodded.

"Good. Now, what do we do about these assassination attempts?"

"I'm really going to have to meet Their Majesties before I'm certain, but my suspicion is that if I protect you, the rest should be fine," Kourt said, not meeting the Bail's eyes.

"And why would that be?" Blaine inquired.

"Well... I think this isn't really a coup or a declaration of war. Just some freaks trying to make a name for themselves. Now, if they take out an actual head of state, or the heir, they're going to get the full force of the Republic and all local law enforcement on them with a swiftness. You make a... softer target." Kourt winced inwardly, hating himself for the callousness of his own assessment.

"Because I'm expendable," Blaine elaborated.

Kourt pinned the younger man down with a steady glare. "Not on my watch, you aren't."

Blaine's mouth twitched once, then his eyelids drooped back to their accustomed place of languid observation. "Dessert?"

"Yes, please," Kourt sat back in his chair, glad to retreat into his more accustomed attitude of relaxed watchfulness.

"I'll be right back," Blaine said, picked up Kourt's dishes and disappeared through a beaded curtain.

I'm being waited on by royalty. Sarafel's gonna kill me if she finds out how high-profile I'm becoming, Kourt smiled to himself. Blain returned with an armful of plates and bowls, which he set out next to Kourt's placemat. Then, to Kourt's complete and utter shock, the Bail seated himself on the table and planted one foot on each of Kourt's armrests. Oh, this should be interesting...

A slow smile crept across Blaine's lips as he studied Kourt for a long moment. "As Bail of Eab Nanoorn, I welcome you to our Kingdom. With my hand, I offer thee the fruit of the vine, the yield of the field, the pleasure of the bittebark and my thanks for your safe arrival."

Kourt swallowed, wondering if he should make some sort of reply. The smoldering gaze being directed at him from above indicated that he wasn't here to talk.

With slow, deliberate motions Blaine selected a thick slice of a pale orange fruit. He swirled it in a brown sauce and delicately placed it between his teeth. Then he slowly leaned forward, offering the morsel to his captive audience. With no plausible reason to resist, Kourt simply opened his mouth and accepted.

Once Kourt had a grip on the fruit, Blaine let go and sat back, watching while Kourt chewed and swallowed. Once Kourt had done so, Blaine selected a handful of round, purple fruits and a bowlful of thick, golden honey. Kourt's breathing became less regular as the Bail dipped one fruit in the honey and held it out to him. He hesitated, unsure of his position. The playful half-smile Blaine gave him told Kourt everything he needed to know.

He took the fruit from Blaine's fingers and carefully licked a stray drop of honey from the young man's fingertips. Another purple globe, another lick and Kourt was suddenly grateful that his own erection reflex was under his conscious control. When Blaine selected another slice of the orange fruit, Kourt decided that perhaps serene patience wasn't appropriate for all situations and stood up.

Blaine's eyes went wide with surprise, but there was no time for further reaction before Kourt pushed him down on the table and claimed his mouth with frankly lecherous intent. Blaine's mouth was lush, sweet, more than willing and, most importantly, open. Kourt flicked his tongue along the inside of his upper lip before diving in for a deeper taste. Blaine moaned appreciatively, one hand burying itself in Kourt's hair while the other moved to explore the inside of Kourt's vest. Long, supple limbs twined about Kourt's hips, drawing him closer and more plainly demonstrating Blaine's desires.

Kourt drew away from Blaine's mouth and trailed a line of kisses down the younger man's throat. He nuzzled his way towards his chest, pushing Blaine's vest aside as he went. As the cloth fell back, he made a rather interesting discovery. Blaine possessed an odd number of nipples. "Is that a cosmo job?" he asked.

"Nope, supernumerary," Blaine cheerfully replied.

"That's different," Kourt murmured, leaning down to taste the one on the right. "Anything I need to know, here?"

"Nope. It's standard-issue and in good working order," Blaine gasped as Kourt nibbled and suckled between right side and left.

"Great. Perfect. Hold still," Kourt growled.

"Ahem."

Kourt and Blaine sat up, casting about for the source of the interruption.
"Sorry to break you two up, but Her Majesty is asking for you, SP."

Blaine frowned. "Kerol, I'm going to say this one more time. Write it down if you're having trouble remembering. DO NOT simply walk into my rooms."

Kerol frowned. "Well, it was either that or come up with some excuse as to why YOU were indisposed, the JEDI was missing and the QUEEN was being ignored. I mean, a reason that didn't involve me suggesting that you had dragged said Jedi off to... learn the ways of the Force."

"Out, Kerol," Blaine pointed to the door.

"Am I still invited to the party?" she innocently inquired.

"Only if you manage to survive! Tell mom I'm on my way," Blaine snapped, pushing Kourt back so he could stand.

The servant bowed and made her exit.

"Well. Dammit," Blaine stalked out of the dining room. "I guess we'd better do this. We won't get any peace until we do, anyway."

Kourt turned away, hiding his own smile at the boy's fit of pique. "I'll just go get into my formal robes, then," he said, making his way towards the door. And into my game-face as well. Any parent who could raise a child like this isn't going to be a pushover.



Kourt adjusted the hang of his lightsaber and studied himself in the mirror. There was something... impressive... about full-dress Jedi robes. His plain field robes, which he normally wore in transit, were definitely less... attention-getting. For one thing, the dress trousers were more... ahem. Yes. Whereas field uniforms were perfect for anything from combat to triage, the Dress costume was only fitting for extremely upscale events.

Or full-on seduction. Either one, really.

The cloth was a sort of silken material, but was actually stronger and less given to wrinkling. The tunics were a delicate eggshell, the pants a slightly warmer ecru, and the obi a sort of chalky pale. The stole was almost but not quite off-white, with pure white embroidery providing a very subtle but nonetheless elegant touch of class. That Knights were required to embroider the stole for themselves was a closely guarded secret of the Jedi. Over all, Kourt had draped his midnight-brown cloak and raised his hood to conceal his tightly-bound hair. A few moments' meditation had brought him back to his calm center and made him ready to face any challenge.

Except, perhaps, a particularly audacious son of the Throne.

Well, even there, Kourt had more than one trick up his sleeve, yet. He very much doubted that Blaine had any idea of the things Kourt was capable of, but he very much intended on learning the Bail's opinion on the matter. A knock on his door brought Kourt out of his musings. Blaine was waiting there, and with a bow he turned to escort Kourt to his reception. The appreciative look towards Kourt's uniform did not go unnoticed, nor did Kourt's perusal of Blaine's new outfit escape the notice of its wearer.

Blaine's appearance was much altered with the donning of a formal court costume. From the ruby-red knee breeches, the matching doublet, the pearl-grey slippers, stockings, feathers and flourishes of pearl over all, his tall, lean frame seemed more suited to the task of bearing the office to which he was born. The thin silver circlet that sat upon his brow was the only indicator of his rank. Kourt walked a pace behind and to the right of him, both out of deference and to admire the view.

The Palace proper was everything one could want in a grand domicile. Marble and velvet were the dominant themes, offset by a rather oppressive silence. Blaine was also silent as they walked, seemingly conscious of his position and trying to maintain some semblance of respectability. For that, Kourt was grateful. Though he was here to protect the Royal Family, he had all but decided to throw in with this younger member. The Council would frown on such a move if it were more publicly acknowledged that the gentleman in question was a rogue and troublemaker. Though Kourt had nothing to fear from the Council, he thought it best to keep in their good graces for a time.

They made their way up a rather grand and opulent staircase, at the head of which stood an enormous double-door emblazoned with the crest of House Garu. At seeing Blaine's approach, a small flurry of activity set the doors swinging open. Kourt took a deep breath, drew on his mask of Jedi Unflappability, squared his shoulders and checked his fly. Blaine led the way down the hall, past courtiers and hangers-on, politicians and so on, all of whom bowed or curtsied as he passed. They DO respect him, at least this much, Kourt noted, keeping his eyes forward.

Their Majesties sat upon their thrones, with Kyle seated at his father's right hand. A young, slightly intimidated-looking young woman sat on the Queen's right hand. An empty chair was between the thrones. Upon it was a mantel and short sword. Kourt made a mental note to ask about that.

Blaine bowed to the Crowns and spoke, his voice much calmer and slightly deeper than it had been in private. "Your Majesty, I present Knight Kourt Crowe of the Jedi Order, who has answered thy request for help."

Kourt stepped forward and bowed.

"Greetings and welcome to you, Sir... Crowe. And odd name, don't you think, my love?" The king directed this question to his wife.

"Perhaps it is common among his people, your Majesty," the queen murmured with a smile. "Is it, Sir Crowe?"

"Indeed no, Your Majesty. It is a courtesy to those around me. There is some doubt as to the ability for most to pronounce my given name, therefore I took one more fitting." Kourt laid the trap for them as carefully as he could. The insult was one he could not let pass. At least, not this early in the game.

"Really?" The Prince Bail raised an eyebrow. "I am fluent in several languages. Perhaps I am up to the challenge."

Kourt bowed again. "As your Highness wishes. My given name is, then, Knight" and here Kourt tilted his head back and let a cry echo forth, a bizarre ululation that dragged up the scale and spiraled through the upper registers, nearly shrill enough to shatter glass, before diminishing to a low series of chuffing sounds which culminated by a single exclamation that was not unlike the caw of a crow. "Of course, it sounds a little different under water. I could try to..."

"No, no," the king stopped him. "I believe your use-name will be perfectly acceptable."

"My thanks, Your Majesty," Kourt bowed once more.

"Have you made a plan as to your efforts on Our behalf?" the king inquired.

"Yes, Your Majesty. In my opinion, these attacks will not be aimed towards your Heir or your royal persons so long as Bail Blaine still lives. Therefore, I will concentrate upon his preservation and protection. In this manner, I may stand between the Crown and all danger from whatever quarter these attacks originate. It will only be a matter of time until they either tire of failure or slip up and are caught," Kourt explained.

"And you are certain you can protect Our child from all attacks, at all time?" the Queen inquired.

"It is my function," Kourt replied.

Something tugged at his Force sense and he stepped back, pushing Blaine to the floor and standing over him. His lightsaber leapt to life in his hand as he moved to deflect the first blaster shot back into the teeth of the being who had fired it. He shifted, bringing the blade across his back, then to the left, and again to the right, disabling the attackers before deactivating the blade and helping Blaine to his feet. He leaned close to the Bail. "Did you know?"

Blaine shook his head, eyes wide with surprise.

Kourt nodded once, and turned back to face the throne. "As you see, your Majesties. Anywhere, any time. May I suggest you have a healer see to your men?"

The king made a motion with one hand. "Thank you again for your service, Knight Crowe. You are dismissed."

Kourt bowed and took three steps back, waiting for Blaine to join him.

"Son," the queen said, pre-empting his departure. "You have not named a champion for the games."

Blaine's back stiffened. "I have no champion, mother."

"It has been weeks, Blaine. You must have a representative. We know the loss of Wenet was a deep one. We all miss him. However, we must insist that you name a champion for the games before sundown today."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Blaine bowed.

"You are dismissed," she smiled.

Blaine turned his back on his parents and preceded Kourt from the throne room.

---

"Why do you need a champion, Highness?" Kourt murmured as they made their way out of the throne room.

"Don't call me that," Blaine growled. The Bail threw a quick glance over his shoulder, then turned down a corridor near the throne room's entrance. "C'mere. Let me show you something."

Kourt tucked his hands inside his sleeves and silently followed. The corridor led them out onto a verandah that overlooked some sort of garden. Blaine seemed disinclined to speak for a long moment, then he pointed to what looked like a kind of arena. "Do you see that?"

Kourt nodded.

"Tonight there will be a grand display of ritual combat. The Royal Champions versus the Champions of our dear sister-to-be. Since I'm theoretically her Herald, I absolutely must have a champion there to win her. It all goes back to when House Garu was little more than a barbarian horde who went out and stole a bride as often as they wooed one. See, um, part of the festivities is the winning of the bride," Blaine shrugged.

"So your family versus her family for the hand of the Lady? Okay, I can see that," Kourt allowed.

"Except that my champion... is no longer with us. Wenet was my bodyguard, sort of, more a friend than anything else, and when someone decided I'd be more interesting without a pulse he protected me. And he died. And now..." Blaine hung his head down. "So mom's pissed because I haven't chosen anyone to replace him."

Kourt took a deep breath and studied the arena. It looked to be set up for a race or somesuch, nothing too complicated. "I'll do it."

"What?"

"If you want me to, I mean. Obviously, it's up to you... but don't you think sending a Jedi Knight as you champion would have... an element of style?" Kourt grinned. "Besides, it's bound to be miles better than anything your family can come up with."

"You'd really do that?" Blaine squeaked.

"Sure. I'm here to protect you. Whether it's your body, your honor or your reputation, I live to serve," Kourt sketched a bow. "Check your contract."

Blaine struggled to contain his elation, a battle he had no chance of winning. Moments later he was striding down the hall, talking a mile a minute. "Okay, well, first thing is to get you some clothes. I mean, you'll have to wear my colors but dammit, wouldn't that look great with the Jedi robes and the whole nine? I mean, if we can do that. Are we allowed to do that?"

Kourt didn't even try to get a word in edgewise. Blaine was clearly in his element and Kourt was clearly along for the ride.

He followed the Bail back to his rooms; by the time they got there, Blaine was very nearly bouncing with excitement. Kourt cut ahead of him a the last minute, intercepting him at the door.

"Pardon, Highness -- no, I know, not that, but what am I to call you?"

A dazzling smile. "Blaine. My friends call me Blaine."

"Then Blaine, and call me Kourt. Let me go in first, make sure no one's lying in wait for you."

The blond nodded and opened the door for Kourt; the Jedi walked in and quickly surveyed the rooms. Not a sign of trouble, and everything felt right, if slightly chaotic -- but that seemed to be the usual state of things for the Bail. He waved Blaine in; the boy led him back through a bedroom -- yes, that was a bed, under what appeared to be a metric ton of scarves, velvet clothing, and dishes with the remains of what looked to be a dinner party. Sunlight streamed in through open midnight-blue curtains; candles stood on most horizontal surfaces, presumably for darker hours. Kourt decided not to comment on the fact that there was a length of chain with what appeared to be wrist cuffs looped through the ornate brass headboard. This assignment kept getting more interesting.

Blaine opened a door on the far side of the room, revealing what was either a large closet or a small room. "Come on in here, and we'll figure out what'll work."

The closet was a riot of colors and textures; hanging on rods were a selection of pants, shirts, tunics in various lengths, along with other, less identifiable garments. At least three dozen pairs of shoes and boots, in all colors of the rainbow, were arrayed on the floor, while a number of hatboxes (presumably containing hats) were stacked on shelves. In one corner was a section of varying shades of purple.

"Here we are, the colors." Blaine ran a hand down a long silken sleeve, and became quiet for a moment. "These were Wenet's." The boy closed his eyes, and Kourt detected a sound that might have been a very quiet sob, or possibly just a hitch in breath. He put a hand on Blaine's shoulder, silently offering support.

"I'd be honored to wear them."

"I appreciate that." Blaine took a deep breath, then started pulling things off of hangers and piling them in the Jedi's arms. "All right, we've got the top, the vest, the pants -- it's a good thing these are supposed to fit loosely. And here's the collar --"

"The collar?"

"It's mostly ornamental. Symbolizes service to the Crown."

"Sure, whatever goes with the outfit. Are my own boots going to be all right?"

"They're fine, you'll want to be sure you're comfortable in them. And you've got, you know, protective gear? For under?"

"No problem. Look, let me go back to my rooms and get changed into this stuff, and then you can fill me in on what exactly I'm going to be doing."

"If you need help with anything..."

"I'll know exactly where to come looking for it."

A few moments later, Kourt was back in his own rooms, changing into what he could scarcely believe was the fourth outfit of the day. And it's not even dinner time yet. No one had warned him that a major part of this mission would involve playing dress-up with a master of the game.

There were simple pants, quite loose, with drawstrings at the waist and ankles; they were made of a rough raw silk fabric, the color of wine spilled in sand. The shirt was somewhat closer-fitting, in a purple silk so dark as to be almost black; the sleeves were long, but Kourt noted that they could easily be tied up. Good; flowing sleeves were dramatic, but not particularly practical for much of anything active. The neck, a deep vee, left Kourt feeling oddly exposed. The vest was a dusty violet suede; it came to about hip length, with slits up the sides to the waist.

Then there was the collar. It was smooth, soft leather, deep purple with silver fittings, and about an inch and a half wide. Kourt had never worn anything remotely like it.

While he was turning it over in his hands, there was a knock on the door. "Come in."

It was Blaine, dressed in a particularly odd garment, something like a short dress, in what looked like raw silk; it was a light oatmeal color, with deep purple edging. It was draped over the Bail's right shoulder, leaving most of the left side of his chest exposed, including both the customary and the spare nipple. His left shoulder appeared to be lightly dusted with a pale violet glitter.

Kourt blinked. "What IS that thing you're wearing?" Blaine appeared slightly confused. "A toga. Why do you ask?"

"No particular reason. I'm just not... familiar with that mode of dress."

"Traditional. It's amazingly comfortable."

"I see." Kourt wondered whether the Bail was wearing anything under it, and briefly considered dropping the collar on the floor to find out.

"You need help with that?" Blaine reached out for the collar, then stepped close to fit it around Kourt's neck. Very close, close enough that the Jedi could smell the light perfume in his hair, and the more subtle scent of fruit on his breath. Once again, he was thankful that his physical reactions were under his conscious control; this time, however, he became aware that the Bail's own reactions were not. The boy leaned in and fastened the elaborate silver catch, then stepped back and looked Kourt over appraisingly.

"Very good. Very good. And with the robe..." He nodded.

"So, what exactly is it that I'm going to be doing in this outfit?"

"Ah, well... that's the thing. I don't know. No one will know until Dad pronounces the terms of the trial," Blaine sheepishly admitted.

"And when will this announcement be made?" Kourt inquired.

"There will be an early dinner for the Court today. I suppose he will make the announcement after the Champions are presented."

Kourt nodded once. "Then could I have a closer look at the course before we are to dine?"

"By all means. I'll come for you when it is time," Blaine assured him.

---

Kourt took his time studying the layout of the arena, then settled into an out-of-the-way corner to center himself and meditate. Once he was firmly ensconced in the Force, he did a deep recon of the area, searching for threats to his ward. There were vague eddies and fluxes around the idea of dinner, but nothing concrete. The tiny disturbances were all the warning Kourt would need, though. If someone was going to try for Blaine, they'd have to get past Kourt to do it. He somehow thought the cut-rate thugs hereabout wouldn't stand much of a chance against a classically trained assassin. The Council felt that a Jedi with Kourt's particular skills would best be able to protect against the various attempts being made against the Eab Nanoorn crown simply because he would know what to watch for. It was an opinion that Kourt happened to agree with.

He briefly considered how Blaine might react to the knowledge that Kourt was, himself, a stone-cold remorseless killer when the occasion called for it. Some part of him sincerely hoped he never had to find out for sure. Something about the young prince was very attractive. Other than the obvious, Kourt inwardly smirked. No, there was something here that the Force definitely wanted preserved. Very well. The protection of a highly attractive, deeply sexual and welcoming young man was a job Kourt felt more than inclined to accept. All things considered, it was miles better than anything else the Force was likely to offer him.

Kourt brought his wandering thoughts back into focus. He did a broad-spectrum scan of the palace inhabitants, and though there was more than enough scheming and dirty dealing to choke a bantha, none of it seemed to be pointed at Blaine. Fine. The operator was either out of Kourt's range or had some sort of psychic skills. In either case, they would be easily identified once Kourt came in contact with them. Still, he suddenly felt every inch of distance between himself and the Bail, SP. A moment's concentration pinpointed Blaine's location and confirmed his security. Kourt spared a moment to stretch before going to seek the other man out.

It took some doing to actually reach the Bail. Kourt finally found him in a wildly overgrown section of a hedge-maze. Blaine was lounging in the crook of a tree branch, lightslate in one hand, bowl of apples wedged into a nearby cranny, shoes cast aside, an air of complete absorption in whatever he was reading permeating the scene. Kourt made his presence known by way of clearing his throat. Blaine looked up, startled. "How did you find me?"

Kourt blinked, momentarily disoriented. "I, uh... sniffed for you?"

Blaine narrowed his eyes. "I've been sitting here reading for the past hour. I don't think I've so much as sneezed since I arrived. Nobody knows about my coming to this place and I know you couldn't smell me from the arena."

Kourt shrugged with one shoulder. "That doesn't really matter, to a Jedi. I could listen to your heartbeat from the other side of the garden if I needed to."

"Why would you want to?" Blaine demanded.

"To make sure you were safe and alive," Kourt replied. "These were the skills you wanted when you and yours sent for a Jedi. Don't get all pissy when I use them."

Blaine swung down from his tree branch and came closer to Kourt. After a long moment of silence, his mouth twitched in frustration. "I just don't understand. You don't talk or act anything like I thought a Jedi would. And yet you seem to have the Jedi skills... I just don't understand."

Kourt shrugged again. "I'm not like most Jedi."

"Why not?"

"My Master wasn't normal. I'm not normal. She trained me the same way she was trained. I came out a Jedi of a different color." Kourt chewed his bottom lip, considering how much he could trust this young man with. "I'm more fun than most Jedi," he offered.

Blaine seemed to consider that. "Tell me how you sniffed for me. Is it true a Jedi can read other people's thoughts?"

Kourt considered the question. He'd never really tried to explain the Jedi arts to someone from outside of the Order. Most people were too embarrassed or shy to ask, straight out. He sat down and tried to order his thoughts, put them in terms that a regular person could understand. "Read thoughts? No..."

"Oh," Blaine sighed, disappointed. "I always heard..."

Kourt shrugged. "I usually... sort of hear thoughts. As if the person were talking, but inside of my mind. Memories are kind of like reading, I guess. More like watching a holovid, really..."

Blaine's jaw hit his chest. After a moment he collected his wits. "So you listened for my thoughts?"

Kourt frowned, trying to think of a good way to explain. "No, it really is sort of like tracking by smell... but not really. Have you ever heard the term 'Force-sensitive'?"

Blaine snorted. "Of course. That's how they pick Jedi. If you can sense the Force, you can go to the Temple."

Kourt decided to forgo explaining the intricacies of Padawan selection for the nonce. "Yes, but think about that term. Being able to use the Force is exactly like having a whole other set of senses. We, the Jedi, have names and words for these senses. You have sight and hearing and smell, like that. I also have mindspeech, foresight, Force-touch... lots of different things. What I did to find you we call 'reading a Force-signature', but again, it's not really reading. To me, it's more like smelling."

"You lost me," Blaine smiled.

Kourt looked around him, searching for inspiration. His gaze fell on a cluster of white flowers. He leaned over and sniffed them, and decided the tiny, star-shaped blossoms would work as an example. "Okay, let's take these flowers," he said, plucking a few. "Smell them." Blaine leaned forward and sniffed. "What is that?" Kourt asked.

"They're jasmine," Blaine replied.

"Right, good... okay." Kourt reached up and rubbed the skin on the back of his neck, where his hair rested. "Now smell this," he invited. Blaine obliged, his breath on Kourt's neck sending a chill down the Jedi's spine. "That's me. The smell of me. I'll always smell like that. Of course, there can be differences in my scent. If I exert myself or give up bathing, it will change. But the essentials should remain the same." Blaine nodded once to indicate his understanding.

"Okay, now say you could sense the particular life-energy in these flowers, or in me. Just like the particular smells, everything has a particular energy in the Force. Because I have those extra Force-senses, I can tune in to those energies. So, just like you can follow your nose to a fresh-baked pie, I can follow my Force-sense to you. Like that," Kourt shrugged again, slowly crushing the flowers in his fingers. "It doesn't really touch your mind."

Blaine flopped back on the grass. "But you could read my thoughts if you wanted?"

"Yeah, sure. If I don't block other people out I can't escape them. It's kind of irritating, to tell the truth," Kourt admitted.

"Why?"

"Imagine if all the walls in the Palace were made of paper. Now imagine if everyone shouted their every inane thought, all the time, but only you were quiet. Since you aren't shouting, you're receiving all that noise-input. That would drive you quite bonkers very quickly, I promise."

Blaine thought about that, then nodded his understanding.

"So, well, I build walls of something thicker than paper to protect myself, since I'm the only one who hears or notices. It makes more sense if you consider that most people couldn't stop mentally 'shouting' if their lives depended on it," Kourt grinned.

Blaine grinned at that. "I just wonder if I should stop thinking what I was thinking about you."

Kourt's smile was just as wicked as the Bail's. "I don't need to read your mind to know what you're thinking."

"Yes, but what am I thinking?" Blaine leaned back on his elbows and lifted his chin in challenge.

Kourt cleared his mind and focused down on the surface thoughts within Blaine's mind. There were no verbal expressions, but the mental images and emotional responses to them were plenty expressive enough. Kourt decided that, for once, he would use his powers for a different kind of good.

Moving quickly, fast enough that Blaine wouldn't quite be able to see him, Kourt straddled the young man's knees and pinned him to the ground with a light Force-touch. A sultry smile crept across his lips as he pushed the hem of Blaine's toga up his thighs, over his hips to gather across his belly. Kourt took a moment to appreciate the view, noting with pleasure that Blaine was quite thoroughly shaven. Blaine's erection twitched as the cool breeze caressed the heated skin. Kourt slowly raised his eyes to meet the younger man's gaze. "You see?"

Blaine nodded mutely, eyes wide with wonder. "Please..." he whispered, hips stirring slightly.

"Are you sure you want me to?" Kourt whispered. "You barely know me."

"If you think I'd have a single qualm about being with you, then clearly you barely know me," Blaine returned. "Not that I think that should stop either of us. Yes, I'm sure. I want you..."

Kourt leaned forward and captured Blaine's mouth, pouring all the desire and passion within him into the kiss. The tartness of apples blended with the taste of Blaine. Kourt was beginning to associate the flavor of fruit with the young man. The quality of that association brought him pause. "I'm not a toy for a prince to play with," he growled, biting along Blaine's throat. "Don't start this if you think I'm..."

"I know the nature of your position, Jedi," Blaine returned.

"Then be still and appreciate the nature of your own." Kourt slid down along Blaine's body once more, mouth and hands stroking and exploring what bare skin was available. Kourt closed his eyes, focusing down on the taste and scent of the man beneath him, the feel of his skin, the heat and sweetness there. The scent of jasmine clung to the places where Kourt touched, adding another taste-association.

Kourt kissed reverently along the length of Blaine's cock, moistening the flesh as he went. As was his habit, Kourt took note of his partner's member in case he needed to emulate it at some point in the future. The length was goodly, if not overly generous, as was the girth. The removal of pubic hair had quite enhanced the attractiveness, overall. There was an elegance to the curve of it, and the pale pink flesh, darkening to red at the tip was, all in all, quite worthy of some careful attention. As his mouth familiarized itself with the most sensitive places there, Kourt's fingers mapped the insides of Blaine's thighs and stroked gently across his testicles, drawing sighs and gasps from the prince's throat.

When Blaine truly began to moan and writhe under Kourt's ministrations, he let go the Force-pressure he'd used to subdue the Bail. Strong fingers twined into Kourt's hair, encouraging him to continue. Kourt was quite happy to oblige, shunting aside his own arousal in favor of leaving a lasting impression on this most pleasant of partners. The Jedi shifted the muscles in his throat towards a new use. He then took the tip of Blaine's cock into his mouth, inhaled a deep breath and swallowed.

Blaine's fingers clamped down on Kourt's scalp, a strangled scream heralding the prince's pleasure. After a moment the hold on him relaxed and Kourt began sucking in earnest, now applying strong pressure, now laving and stroking with abandon, now humming softly while holding perfectly still. His fingers wandered from nipples to testicles and all points between, unabashedly using the Force to supply all manner of sensations from rough scratches to feather-light licks, shifting from heat to cold in the span of a heartbeat. Blaine struggled to keep still, moaning and gasping for more, now, deeper, harder... all of which Kourt readily supplied. Soon Blaine was thrusting into Kourt's mouth with a wild abandon that the Jedi found himself quite enjoying.

Kourt spared part of his concentration to prepare a tendril of Force-touch, stroking gently at Blaine's anus. When that warm, moist-seeming presence elicited an excited scream from the recipient, Kourt was encouraged to stroke deeper. He coupled this intrusion with a more concentrated suction on Blaine's cock, then crooked the inner pressure up and in, a sudden and firm pressure to Blaine's prostate.

Again Blaine's fingers pressed in on Kourt's hair and the Jedi had to swallow quickly to keep up with the seed that filled his mouth. A moment later and he let Blaine's softening member slip from his lips. Reverently he drew the toga down to cover the young man's genitals. Blaine shivered as the light cloth brushed over his sensitive skin. Dazed and sated, Blaine looked up at Kourt, seeming to search for words.

Just then a chime sounded from the direction of the palace. "I think that's the half-hour dinner," Kourt said. "We'd better dust off and head in. This would be a bad occasion for us to be late."

He helped Blaine to get up and brush the leaves and sand off his clothes. After a moment, the Bail helped Kourt do the same. Somewhere between the garden and the dining hall, Kourt realized that Blaine's expression had gone from satiation to scheming. Unfortunately, Kourt's sense of foretelling had begun to assert itself, and the news did not seem to be good.

Kourt found himself seated at a small table near the High Table, just to the left of the Prince Bail. Blaine was seated at Kourt's left (a trifle closer than strictly necessary, but the Jedi found himself firmly not-minding at all) and their table mates were all dressed similarly to Kourt. "My entourage," Blaine had introduced.

Kerol was seated at Blaine's right, her purple-on-purple ensemble that of a page or valet. To her right was an elegantly viperous young man by the name of Sarad. Though his clothes were the proper colors, they defied description on terms of rank or class. Kourt decided that this must be Blaine's master of spies. On the other side of Sarad, and therefore on Kourt's left, was a red-haired young pixie of a girl dressed in the most outlandish dancing-girl costume Kourt had ever laid eyes on. The frightening thing was that Melik made it look good.

Blaine, in his (slightly dusty) white toga stood out among them as would a dove in a patch of violets. Kourt's instincts registered a complaint about that, but nothing could be done. There were other tables similarly color-coded, each with one white-clad leader presiding. His table mates were chatting, the talk of long friendship well met. Kourt did not try to insert himself into the conversation. He was well aware of the awkwardness that would cause. All Kourt could do was watch everyone who came close to Blaine and inspect everything the Bail came in contact with. That would have to be enough.

The first course was served, a light broth in tiny ceramic cups, just dark enough to arouse Kourt's suspicions. Without pausing to think, he dipped his own spoon into Blaine's serving and tasted, bringing all of his skills and training to bear. Nothing. He nodded to the Bail and turned to his own serving.

After a moment he realized a silence had fallen over the others. He glanced up and saw that they were staring at him. "What?" he asked.

"Sir Crowe... did you think this might be poisoned?" Blaine's tone was perfectly polite.

"I always thing everything is poisoned until I can prove otherwise," Kourt replied, mildly perplexed. "You are at risk, Blaine."

The Bail frowned at that. "But you just... just... even though you thought... you could have been..."

Kourt gave an exasperated sigh. "Am I not here to protect you?"

"Yes, of course, but..."

"Let me do my job. There is less risk for me than you, I promise." Kourt leaned closer to the Bail. "It is a Jedi art..."

Finally his table mates relaxed, willing to accept the 'mysteries' of the Force when they could not accept common sense. Over the next three courses, Blaine simply waited for Kourt's clearance before touching his food. As each course passed, Kourt became more enthralled with the conversation around him.

"Honestly, Blaine, I don't know why you insist on going forward with this party. It's only going to destroy what little credibility you have," Kerol complained.

"Well, that's rather the point," Blaine returned, reaching for his wineglass. Seeing it was empty, Blaine held the glass out to a passing waiter and returned to the conversation. "If I don't destroy my credibility, I'm going to end up with one of those offices I'm nominated for."

Sarad chuckled. "You can't avoid it forever, you know. You're going to have to be a governor or martial or something eventually. You are far too popular to be left out of the elections for much longer."

"It's just not fair," Blaine complained. "All I want is to be left alone. If I did get an office, I'd want to do my best. If I did my best, I'd have to stop having fun. I'm not ready to stop having fun yet."

"And that very attitude is what will get you elected," Kerol triumphantly declared. "The people know you would do your best to serve them rightly and they want that service out of you."

Blaine stuck his tongue out at her, then smiled. "But not this year. Not if this party goes as planned."

The waiter returned with a glass of red wine and placed it in Blaine's waiting hand. Kourt looked at his own glass. White!

Kourt seized the glass from Blaine and smacked him on the back of the head, shouting "Spit, dammit!"

Red wine splashed out of the glass and over the table, swiftly followed by a spray from Blaine's lips. Kourt handed what was left in the glass to Sarad and leapt from the table, dashing in the direction of the sideboards. A young man in purple clothes saw his approach and appeared to panic, bolting for the nearest exit. Kourt pursed his lips in a second of indecision, then executed a Force-assisted vault and flip over the tables between himself and his quarry. He landed just behind the young man and seized him with Force-bonds.

A moment later the palace guards arrived on the scene, Sarad at the head of their group. "Test the wine, retain this one... wait. Give me that." Kourt ordered, holding out his hand to Sarad. The young man delivered the cup to the Jedi, who sipped it experimentally.

Kourt turned his head and spat. "You idiot! You're trying to kill a man, not a dewback! Skies above. Sarad, this is laced... no, spiked with selloys. He served it to your Bail. Prosecute as you see fit."

Sarad nodded once and gestured to the guards. Kourt returned the evidence and went to check on Blaine. "Are you okay?"

"My mouf feelth numb," Blaine smiled. "Ith that bad?"

Kourt rested his hands on his cheeks and effected what little bit of healing he could in this case. "Better?"

"Yeah. Thanks. That was... how did you know?" Blaine asked.

Kourt gestured with his own glass. "Mistake in protocol. Palace waitstaff can't afford to be wrong. Assassins rarely know dining protocol. I, however, was more classically trained."

Blaine smiled, taking Kourt's wine and downing it at one go. "Classical Jedi training includes dining protocol?"

"No, classical assassin training does."

Blaine blinked, then shook his head. "What?"

"Why do you think they sent me?" Kourt leaned back in his chair, displaying an ease he did not feel. "Who else would know what to look for and when?"

Blaine frowned, then gave up and shook his head. "The Jedi sent an assassin to protect us from assassins. What an odd sort of logic."

"But it does work, Blaine," Kerol asserted.

"I see that it does," Blaine sniped back at her.

Just then a bell rang at the high table. Everyone turned their attention to the head of the hall, waiting for the word of the King.

---

"Let the Protector of House Garu approach," Blaine's father looked every inch the high monarch of his office. His robes were cloth-of-gold. His crown was the Flame Jewel, an ornament carved from a single fire-ruby and gifted to the Throne, one brother to another. Blaine stood, chin high and expression grave as he faced down his father in some contest of wills. "Protector, have you your Champion?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Blaine replied.

A shuffle at the other side of the table drew Kourt's attention. He nodded once to Sarad as he slipped into his place again. "All is taken care of," the presumed spy murmured.

Kourt nodded once and returned his attention to the high table.

"I name the challenge for this Making," the king continued. "Bloodsport."

A horrified gasp ran through the hall and was silenced.

"I call the Protectors of House Sedzan to take the challenge," Blaine's father continued.

A dozen voices called from the back of the hall, accepting the challenge in the name of Kyle's bride-to-be. Their tone was nothing less than battle-hungry.

"Garu, who will be your Champion?"

Blaine turned and looked at Kourt, who stood and bowed to the Bail.

"You bring a Jedi as your champion, son?" the king inquired, surprised.

"The best for my house and family, Father," Blaine bowed his head as he spoke, hiding a smile.

"Name the weapon of the Sport, Champion," the King ordered.

Kourt turned towards the back of the hall where stood a handful of brawny types. Hired muscle, more than likely, but an awful lot of it. The Bride's family apparently meant to make a good showing on their part. "Lightsaber," Blaine announced.

A murmur and a chuckle ran through the dining hall, half of the voices not believing what the younger Bail had managed to pull off this time. Kourt frowned at the young man's presumption, inwardly blaming himself for not setting conditions on his service when he had the chance. The Bride's Champions bristled at the laughter. One finally stepped forward, growling "He's no Jedi. He looks more like a harem boy. Maybe the princeling has brought his eunuch to stand against us."

Kourt's frown narrowed dangerously. He thumbed his lightsaber on and brought it up to shoulder-crossed guard. "Come at me now, if you've not the nerve to wait the king's Arena. I will protect this family's honor."

A gasp accompanied his speech. It was not a common thing to see a lightsaber in its power, nor a Jedi in the cool grip of the Moment. Kourt hoped this display would simply end the discussion, preventing him from debasing his weapon in a public entertainment.

The Bride's Champions turned a glance towards the bride's father, who made a small gesture with one hand. The hired muscle seemed simultaneously relieved and vexed as they bowed, conceding the fight. Kourt closed his eyes with a sigh, glad to have wiggled out of his obligation with his little display. Blaine nodded for him to sit, then bowed to the King and returned to the table.

"Good going. Now they'll satisfy themselves with some other amusement tonight and I can fail to attend," Blaine smiled, sliding into his chair.

"Happy to be of service," Kourt suppressed a condescending smile.

"Not as happy as I will be," Blaine returned, starting on his dessert.

"Meaning what?" Kourt inquired.

"Well, you're the victor tonight. To the victor go the spoils. I'm about the most spoiled person you're likely to meet on this planet."

---

Kourt leaned against the doorframe, looking out over the ocean. Blaine was moving around behind him, trying to make some kind of order from the chaos that was his bedroom. Kourt wished him luck, but made no move to assist him. The wind was whispering, and he wanted to listen. It would have made Sarafel happy to know he remembered the arts she had taught him, beyond the killing and the lies. Her voice had been ruined in some past illness, but she had been careful to teach him the use of his own in case he should ever need to return to their home planet.

"Just because you're what you are, that doesn't mean you've got no piece of what you might have been." She'd said that over and over, trying to make him understand. He'd tried. Skies knew he'd tried so hard to understand the strange and impatient woman who had taught him the ways of the Jedi. And now the wind was whispering to him, telling him to stay, be still, be true to himself, that there was more here than met the eye. More than shallow, tawdry, cheapening lust, if he had the courage to seek it. Something precious because it must be transient. Who had ever measured the depths of this flashy and flamboyant man?

Be strong, the wind whispered. Stay and see what you can learn of joy.

The balcony was hung with dozens of windchimes, but Kourt had surreptitiously stilled them with the Force so that the breeze could carry its message to him. The noise had been quite unpleasant, too many conflicting harmonics to make any true beauty. He wondered how Blaine could stand to have that clamor near him all the time. Perhaps the wind did not normally kick up such a fuss. Warmth at his back told him he was no longer alone and he breathed a calming breath, waiting for the Bail to make the first move.

Sarafel, for all that she had abandoned him after his knighting, had left no part of his education untended. "Always let the royalty make the first move. Never seduce anyone with any power, or you'll lose what credibility you might have had with them. Especially the humans. I don't care what culture they're from, a human will think less of you for wanting to fuck them. Every time. They all have esteem issues, I think."

Kourt's own experience had taught him this was not totally true, but close enough to be a good rule of thumb. So he held still, waiting. Blaine moved to stand beside him in the doorway. "You know, I... I suppose I was expecting some sort of priest. I always heard the Jedi were..."

"Stodgy? Stuffy? Too boring for words?" Kourt supplied.

"Well, yes. Either fighting for justice or meditating on the nature of order, always above or separate from the common frivolities of the galaxy around them." Blaine shrugged one shoulder.

"I was meditating just now, if that helps your image of me," Kourt replied with a tiny laugh. "I just prefer not to fold myself into a pretzel when I do so."

Blaine smiled at that, then turned to look over the ocean. "It's so quiet tonight," he murmured, as if he had just noticed.

"I'm silencing your chimes," Kourt said with a shrug. "The cacophony was not conducive to meditation."

Blaine frowned, studying the chimes that hung perfectly still despite the winds around them. "How are you doing that?"

"It's called a Force-touch," Kourt explained.

"Is that... is that what you did to me in the garden?"

"No, that was a blow job," Kourt instructed, perfectly serious.

Blaine laughed, then said "No, I mean what you did to my ass. That felt... really good, in fact."

Kourt crossed his arms across his chest and smiled. "Yes, dear Bail. That was a Force-touch too. Though not as complicated as the one I'm doing on these chimes."

Blaine nodded but kept quiet, as if he were considering this explanation. Kourt could just see the thoughts stirring in the younger man's mind as he wondered what else such a talent might be put to. "Yes," Kourt said.

"Yes what?" Blaine asked.

"Yes, whatever you were thinking, I can probably do."

Blaine blinked rapidly, a flutter of lid and lashes, then brought his fingers to his lips. "But you are Jedi. It is incredible to think of you on those terms."

Kourt turned away again. "It is well. I will go to my quarters then, and..."

Blaine put out a hand, not quite touching Kourt's arm, then withdrew again. "I didn't mean... that isn't how I meant it."

"Don't," Kourt said, refusing to pull away from the gesture. "I am well aware of how wealthy young persons like yourself tend to see those of us who are sent to protect them. As you royals have stories about us Jedi, we Jedi tell tales about you royals."

Blaine frowned. "That's what I meant. I can't think of you like that. And I'm seriously insulted that you think of me on those terms."

"Well, Your Worship, how else am I supposed to think of you? You've thrown yourself at me, seduced and tempted me, all the while feeling perfectly certain that I will fall into your bed as a matter of course. And so I shall, if you wish it. But do not expect more than par for that course if you don't try for better. I'm here for a standard year, at least. I don't pretend to know you, but I do have to live with you. Therefore, I am attempting to keep this less than complicated. With your permission." Kourt was glad that, in this light, the younger man could not see the degree to which he was blushing. He was not often in a position where such speeches could be made.

"You are perfectly impossible," Blaine pronounced, a petulant tone creeping into his voice.

"And you are perfectly right," Kourt returned just as sharply, letting the chimes go in his ire. Their discord was total and shocking, causing Blaine to jump in surprise. "I know you must have expected some emotionless, saber-wielding, wisdom-spouting monk from the mountain, but I'm afraid that isn't what you've got. I know several Knights who would bed and bounce you good, just to keep you under surveillance. I, however, am more discriminating about the terms with which I share my body and my not inconsiderable talents."

"Well, I might be the biggest slut on the planet, but that doesn't mean I'm ashamed of it," Blaine returned hotly. "My advances were not designed to insult."

"Nor were they designed to compliment. It is hardly the manner in which one pursues a lover, as opposed to a casual fuck," Kourt pointed out.

"Well, I wouldn't know," Blaine sniffed. "It's not as if I've ever been in a position to keep a lover. Casual fucks are about as good as it gets for me. And I happen to like it that way."

"So why are you dead set against me turning you down when a casual fuck isn't good enough for me?" Kourt sweetly inquired.

Blaine squirmed before answering. "I thought... I hoped that, since you would be here anyway..."

"You were hoping for something more?" Kourt gently inquired.

Again Blaine shrugged with one shoulder. "Foolishly, yes."

"Then stop treating me like some very exotic servant you're wanting to bed and start treating me like something... more. I'm not here to serve you. I'm actually not here to protect you. Protecting you is a side-effect of my business here. If you want more out of me, you're going to have to do better than this."

Blaine blushed furiously at Kourt's speech. "Why are you being like this?"

"Because, damn it all, you're worth more than a casual screw and I'm a better person than one who would try to deny that," Kourt shot back.

Blaine was silent for a long moment. "Well, what am I worth, then?"

Kourt sighed, realizing that this conversation would not be ended for a very long time. "Remember what you said about being valued for who you are rather than what you are?"

Blaine nodded, a fierce challenge rising in his eyes.

"Frankly, Blaine, I don't give a fuck what you are."

The Bail turned his gaze back to the ocean. "And I've been so caught up by what you are, I haven't given a second thought to who you are."

"So stop that, and I'm sure we can come to some kind of agreement," Kourt finished.

"Fair enough," Blaine agreed. "Show me something about who you are."

"All right," Kourt agreed. "But it's going to feel... a little weird."

"Weird is good," Blaine said.

"Take off your clothes, then," Kourt instructed, then reached out to still the chimes again. When Blaine was nude, Kourt closed his eyes and spoke in a regular cadence, as if guiding a meditation. "Watch the moonlight upon the surf, let it sooth your eyes. Listen to the song of the wind, feel it stirring within you. Relax your thoughts, and let me give you something... special."

Kourt deepened his communion with the Force, reading Blaine's reactions there and letting the young man's vague nervousness guide his actions. "Listen. Feel. Let go your conscious self."

He knew Blaine didn't have the lifelong discipline to truly obey those commands. Not in the way a Jedi would. But Blaine did his best, relaxing his posture and enjoying the play of breeze against his bare skin. Good enough. Kourt let one of the chimes go, allowing it to sing a crystalline song of freeform tones. At the same time, he slipped a tendril of warmth around Blaine's hips, a slithering presence that might have been a warm breath of air, but wasn't. Blaine's fingers traced the path of that warmth, suspecting that it wasn't quite what it seemed to be.

Kourt opened his eyes, observing the effects of his actions. Blaine's cock was lengthening, though the Jedi believed it had more to do with the nudity that the present company. Well and well. Another chime sounded in the breeze, a harsher tone than the first, and Kourt flicked sharply cool touches across Blaine's nipples. Blaine gasped, jerking away from the sensation, then arching back for more. Kourt smiled and provided.

"How are you doing this?" Blaine murmured, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts.

"This is who I am. Not some battle-mad warrior, nor an esthetic recluse nor any other thing you might have previously thought. I am a being who wishes to treat you to the finest sensual experiences in the galaxy. All you have to do is agree that I am a person and not a prize to be won." Kourt slid a wide tendril down Blaine's back, nudging at the base of his spine and going no lower.

"I can't... this is... incredible," Blaine stuttered. "I can't stand it..."

Kourt withdrew his touches, cursing himself for being so casual about his abilities. In the Temple such touches were standard, part of regular lovemaking. Outside of it, they were so unusual as to be virtually unheard-of. "I did not mean to frighten you."

"Frighten me? Oh, no. You've only made me hungry," Blaine rushed to assure him. "I've had fantasies..."

"Tell me," Kourt encouraged when it seemed he would not go on.

"Fantasies of being touched, being filled until I was so open, so taken that I could barely breathe, barely move, and yet..." he shook his head. "I can't explain."

Kourt reached out and laid his hand against Blaine's shoulder, touching him at last. "Gentle or hard?"

"Oh, hard. So hard it makes me scream and beg and tremble," Blaine replied without a trace of fear or hesitation.

"Well skies. I can do that without the Force," Kourt grinned.

Blaine turned an unbelieving eye on the Jedi. "I don't think..."

"Actually, you do. More often than you want people to realize, but that's neither here nor there. What you don't, at this point, is feel." Kourt took Blaine's wrist and used it to guide his hand. Together they made a long, slow journey up Kourt's thigh, giving him enough time to shift his shape.

Blaine gasped, biting his lower lip and struggled to make eye contact with the Jedi. "Are you...? Is that...? Can we...?"

"No, yes and if you want to," Kourt amicably answered, tugging Blaine towards the bed. "Have you anything in the way of lube?"

Blaine favored the Jedi with a lopsided grin, then lifted the lid on a wide, deep chest that stood at the foot of the bed. "In a variety of textures, colors and flavors."

Kourt looked and saw that it was so. He also perceived that lube was the least of this trunk's offerings and took a moment to peruse the items in question. "Are these for you, for your paramours, or what?"

"Mostly for me," Blaine replied, smiling. "There is very little I don't enjoy and less that I won't do. Is there something here that particularly interests you?"

Kourt eyed the jar of Heaven Dust but decided to stick with his own peculiar attractions for the moment. "Not now. I have something I want to show you. Make yourself comfortable and do try to relax."

Blaine lay belly-down upon the bed, resting his cheek upon his crossed arms and letting his legs spread wide. Kourt took a long moment to admire this young man, whose body was all elegance and easy welcome, rounded lush limb and no end of vanity. His slightly-too-long blond hair fell over his pillow, an abbreviated cascade of soft highlights and richer darkened honey. Kourt could also see the places where recent bruises were nearly faded away. He turned his attentions back to the trunk, noting some of the more exotic toys there. At least he had a good idea where the bruises had come from. He selected a plain, water-based lube and tossed the tube onto the bed. From a different section of the trunk he took a vial of jasmine-scented massage oil. True desire was only just beginning to gather in his belly, a low and suggestive warmth that Kourt intended to draw out, prolong and fully satisfy at least once with this beautiful young man. Skies only knew when next he would meet someone capable of handling his more eclectic of skills, anyway.

He stripped down to his pants, pulled the tie out of his hair and settled down on the bed next to Blaine. "Just relax, Tenka," he crooned, warming some massage oil between his hands.

"Name's Blaine," the Bail grumped.

Kourt laughed, then sobered. Must remember he's not a lover from the Temple. "I'm sorry."

"What's a Tenka, anyway?" Blaine inquired, somewhat mollified.

"Um, well... it's something my Master used to say," Kourt replied, beginning to massage Blaine's lower back. ""Ese a ete y ese a nei, tenka solna, tenka dui."

"Meaning?"

"It's for you and it's for me, heart strong and heart sweet. I think it was supposed to be some kind of lullaby," Kourt explained. "I think of it at the oddest times."

"Like when?" Blaine turned over to get his tummy rubbed.

"Like just before battle, or right after a job. Like now. When I feel like I'm walking a razor's edge, reaching out to touch something lovely that I have no right to..." Kourt closed his eyes and cleared his mind, then simply leaned forward and swallowed Blaine's cock. He's not from the Temple, damn it! He doesn't want philosophy or poetics. He wants a hard, hot fuck with someone who can at least pretend to be normal, so get on with it!

Blaine's fingers tangled into Kourt's hair as his hips snapped up, thrusting deep into the warm, welcoming mouth that surrounded his aching flesh. Kourt moaned his encouragement, lapping quickly as Blaine's shaft slid between his lips. One of the Bail's hands slid down to curl fingers under Kourt's collar, tugging the Jedi up off of his lap. "Kiss me, Kourt..."

Kourt hesitated, hiding the pause by licking his lips. Not from the Temple. He can't read the Language. Their lips met in a gentle starburst of rich sweet flavor and the enticing hint of Blaine's need, Blaine's desire and a piquant spice of Blaine's hidden and unmentioned loneliness. Kourt's heart ached at the unbearable dark and beautiful combination, then bent his will to cleans everything but pleasure from Blaine's conscious thoughts.

Blaine's breath came in tiny pants and pleading sounds as his body undulated between the sheets and the firm weight of Kourt's body. One long leg slid up to grip Kourt's hips while a sweet and hungry tongue invaded the place where Blaine's cock had so recently thrust. Kourt ground his cock down against the inside of Blaine's thigh, stroking in time to the openmouthed sucking kisses he used to plunder and claim first the Bail's mouth, then jaw and along his throat before dropping petal-soft touches on each eyelid and returning to those welcoming lips.

There was a brief moment of confusion, then Kourt found himself upon his back, the lithe and nubile body of his lover writhing in artful graces to stretch above him. Then his mouth was filled with hot taste and sharp lustgreed as Blaine dove back in for more. Don't project, just touch, Kourt reminded himself and wrapped his arms tight around Blaine's ribcage. He brought gentle filaments of the Force to bear, hypersensitizing the nerve endings beneath his fingers as he traced cascades of feather-light caresses along Blaine's back and hips. "Blind skin," he murmured, bending his head to kiss Blaine's shoulders.

"What does that mean?" Blaine whispered back.

"Your skin doesn't see me," Kourt tried to explain, then sank his teeth into one tight, peaked nipple, causing Blaine to arch first away, then into the contact.

"Ohfuckyesitdoes," Blaine moaned, twisting to present another nipple for similar treatment.

"Not as mine sees you, my sweet and aching silent beauty," Kourt murmured. He pushed Blaine back to kneel, then sat up to bite one long line of red marks down Blaine's chest and belly before lapping a serpentine path up the inside of his arm. He heard Blaine's breath gentle to yearning sighs, then startled a yelp out of him by sinking his teeth into the curve of his shoulder.

Kourt slid his hands under Blaine's arms, rubbing circles into the sensitive skin, pressing and easing him down to lie between Kourt's legs. The flexibility he displayed, simply tucking down into that pose, quite inspired Kourt's plans for the evening. Long fingers once again tugged at Kourt's collar, pulling him down to lick and suck at Blaine's navel, then taste the rich fluid gathering at the tip of his cock. Kourt sighed, enjoying the musky taste of Blaine's wanton body, loving the sound of his strained cries as Blaine tried in vain to thrust into Kourt's sucking and nuzzling. Kourt fumbled for the lube, managing to open it with one hand while stroking Blaine's balls with the other.

"Relax, Blaine, just relax, it's just me touching you. Open up to me," Kourt whispered, unsure as to what kind of treatment Blaine was accustomed to. He circled the Bail's opening with one slick finger, testing the tension there. He felt the younger man take a deep breath, then utter relaxation flowed through Blaine as he did exactly as Kourt asked.

Kourt slid the tip of one finger into Blaine's loosened passage, breathing a hot groan over tight balls as he took in the silky smoothness of inner flesh.

"More, please," Blaine groaned, still trying to thrust. "Open me, please, use me..."

Kourt pressed deeper, waited for Blaine to catch his breath, then slid a second finger inside the welcoming heat. He began to pull out, then froze as Blaine's inner muscles... fluttered, flexed, then relaxed once more. The half-smirk Blaine favored him with told Kourt the young man was more than pleased with the effects of his little trick. Kourt leaned forward, tracing the rim of Blaine's navel with the tip of his tongue. "Do you really want to be so full you can barely breathe?" he asked.

"Oh yes," Blaine sighed, wiggling his hips ever so slightly.

"Turn over," Kourt ordered, then moved to help Blaine do so.

Kourt tucked a pillow under Blaine's hips, canting them to his preferred angle. He let Blaine get comfortable before leaning down to suck and lick at the very base of his tailbone. A delighted whimper from Blaine brought a smile to Kourt's lips as he spread the younger man's knees wide apart, exposing him to any number of attentions. Kourt applied a liberal amount of lube to two fingers and began slowly working his fingers in and out of Blaine's ass, stroking and tickling at his sensitive and delightfully available prostate.

Kourt settled back onto his knees. One hand made quick work of his pants fastenings while the other continued to reduce Blaine to a mindless, babbling, terminally horny pile of nerve endings and need.

Kourt drew Blaine up onto his knees, pulling him back until he was nearly sitting on Kourt's thighs. He pressed the tip of his cock to Blaine's opening, hesitated then thrust in, stroking deeply, then withdrew almost completely. He struggled for a long moment, throat contracting over a near-scream of pleasure. "Be still," he finally whispered, steadying Blaine's hips in both hands. "Just... be still." With every scrap of focus and concentration he could bring to bear, he began expanding himself within Blaine's body, drawing the younger man back, letting his weight settle his body open and around the growing intruder. Blaine moaned, little dazed gasps panting in his throat as he moved back, kneeling over Kourt's thighs. Kourt shifted his hold, supporting Blaine with one arm around his chest and one steadying his hips.

"More," Blaine whispered, beginning to circle his hips with tiny motions. "Oh, please, I don't know what you're doing, but do it more."

Kourt pulled out, then expanded, then thrust again, asking "More?"

"Yes!" Blaine groaned, falling forward onto his elbows and lifting his hips higher. Kourt scrambled to follow, settling his weight onto his arms and knees again, curving his chest and belly over Blaine's back, stroking his cock in and out, slowly opening and thickening and lengthening. After a few minutes, he paused to add more lube and continued his efforts.

Blaine's hips continued to strain backwards, his words became less coherent but remained pleading and encouraging until finally Kourt heard just the right strain of need, bordering on tears and laughter. He buried his face into the curve of Blaine's neck and began to thrust in earnest, gripping hip and hair as he fucked deep into Blaine's needy flesh.

Kourt extended his senses, burning all input into his memory. The barely-salty scent of the breeze, the mad cacophony of the windchimes, the soft grunts of his own breath and the sweetmusky taste of Blaine's skin as they joined their efforts in a hard, driving rhythm of passion and insanity. "More, more, more," Blaine chanted, thrusting back with each demand. Kourt complied, pushing his body and his lover's to the very limits of possibility, stroking deeper and harder, pushing more and better, effortlessly and with no apology whatsoever.

Blaine shifted ever so slightly, pulling the pillow up from under his belly. He buried his face into the hot cloth, tears and sobs breaking out of him as he screamed into it, gathered his breath and repeated his wild cry, but without the pillow. "Kourt! Gods! Yes! Again!"

Kourt was more than happy to provide that, and more. He closed his hand around Blaine's cock, enhancing the slick strokes with flashes of heat and cold, softness of wrist and rough scrapes of fingernails as his cock pistoned within Blaine's ass. The Bail's arms went out from under him, pitching him forward onto the bed. Kourt followed him down, never pausing in his forceful claiming. Blaine's legs wrapped back and around his thighs, hanging on for all he was worth as hands fisted into sheets and hips slid back and forth, claiming and offering both at once. Kourt drew a deep breath and slowed his taking, rolling his hips now, slowly filling, slowly retreating, hands caressing and soothing and arousing, mouth blessing and tasting until Blaine had calmed himself to mere panting gasps of pleasure.

"Will you come for me?" Kourt whispered, speeding the strokes of his hand over Blaine's cock once more.

"Yes, oh yes, please, oh yes," Blaine readily agreed.

Kourt fastened his teeth onto Blaine's earlobe and slowly withdrew, then thrust deep, pushing Blaine down into the bed as his slender body began to tremble and undulate of its own accord. Deep cries of satisfaction welled up out of Blaine as he drove himself back onto Kourt's erection again and again. Each thrust brought louder exclamations, more tremblings and more powerful writhings as Kourt continued to fuck, take, give everything he could to the beautiful young man under him. Seed spilled over Kourt's hand, slicking him as he continued to stroke, to give, to tease reaction and shuddering cries from Blaine's willing body. Then Blaine's inner muscles contracted, hard, demanding of Kourt what Kourt had taken from Blaine, dragging them both down into a greywash nothing of pleasure and satiation.

Kourt shifted his body back down in stages, letting Blaine's ass contract and close around him. The younger man lay perfectly still during the long process, leading Kourt to check his breathing and pulse. It was then that he discovered that the Bail had passed out cold, a situation that caused Kourt no end of amusement. He slipped free of his lover and dragged them both up onto the pillows, arranged them more comfortably and waited for Blaine to come around.

When he finally did, it took a moment for him to get his bearings. "What happened?" he finally managed.

"Um, you fainted," Kourt explained.

Blaine's eyes immediately went to Kourt's now-softened penis. He blinked, frowned, and turned an accusing stare at Kourt. "No WAY," he declared.

Kourt shrugged. "I'll do it again for you, if you like. Or I'll do something similar, but less substantial, if you'd prefer. I'm not what you'd call restricted to definite parameters."

"Your dick chances SIZE?" Blaine demanded.

"Among other things, yes," Kourt shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal of it.

"That's it. I'm keeping you. Where do I send the check?" Blaine said, only half-joking.

Kourt pulled him closer and snuggled down for sleep. "Nowhere, for now. I'm here for the next year, remember?"

The Bail did not reply, but the glint in his eye could only be described as avaricious.

Kourt awoke to the sound of rain and the feel of loneliness. He stretched his hands, skimming the surface of the sheets and trying to call up threads of whoever was supposed to be there. No imprint, just chaos of an untrained mind, the scent of jasmine and tension...

He sat up, instantly alert and on the search, throwing his senses away from him, seeking Blaine in the rooms... there, on the balcony. Kourt sighed in relief and headed in that direction, pulling his collar off as he went. "Blaine?"

The Bail did not answer, but as soon as Kourt pushed the balcony doors open, he could see why. Blaine stood on the slick tiles, balanced on one foot. His left foot was pressed into the top of his right thigh, knee pointing flat-out and perfectly aligned. His right hand rested on his waist, elbow also flat out and aligned. His right arm extended straight up, palm as flat as the foot that gripped the tiles and held him exquisitely balanced. The Bail was gloriously nude, slicked by the downpour that fell in perfectly vertical torrents and soaked everything in sight, including the posed prince. Kourt didn't need his lessons in cultural anthropology to recognize this particular vision as a variation on the ancient Raintree pose. Of course, his inner hedonist was more than happy to take the theme and run with it. Blaine's limbs were neatly aligned, but his back... hmm.

Kourt reached out and applied pressure below Blaine's right shoulder blade, easing the muscles to their proper tension and placement. There. Perfect. Kourt made a mental picture of the pose and went to stand in front of Blaine, mirroring him. This might not be part of Blaine's own school, but it was a tradition so strong in the Jedi that there wasn't even a name for it. If you wanted to be with someone, and that someone was meditating, you took up their meditation and waited so that you could be in the same frame of mind with them. Alternately, a pair could join in meditation together to achieve that sameness of mind. Masters and Apprentices did so, working pairs did so, lovers and friends and oh, just everyone meditated together in the Temple, even when they didn't realize it. Kourt wanted to be with Blaine so he joined him in the poses. Simple as that.

The rain was a nice touch, though. Each individual drop was as warm and welcoming as a kiss, as intimate as a smile. Together they created an embrace that seemed quite the perfect way to begin a new day, especially one intended to be spent in such lovely company. Kourt extended his thoughts towards Blaine, an action so long natural to him that he was quite surprised when he wandered into a totally unshielded mind. The chaos and fiery energy that flashed and whorled quite took Kourt's breath away. How could someone live in such total disorder, he wondered, projecting feelings of calm and peace while seeking out the reason for his partner's unsettled state of mind.

When the thoughts finally collected themselves, Kourt was reminded of a pet he'd once had as a child. A tiny rodent, picked up on some mission or another, had lived in an enclosure by his bed for some few months. Sarafel had installed a sort of wheel in the tank, and upon this wheel the rodent would take its daily exercise. It would seem that Blaine was letting his mind do laps for some reason. Kourt couldn't quite understand why. His tensions and anxieties seemed to center on their activities the night before, but the Bail was finding no resolution within his thoughts, centered as they were on the problem rather than a solution.

"Do not focus on your anxieties, my friend," Kourt murmured. "The solution lies before you."

It was a standard piece of commentary, not meant to upset or insult. Blaine's reaction was less than encouraging, however. His eyes flew open, regarding Kourt through the fringe of hair plastered to his face. "You think you're the solution to my problems?" the Bail demanded.

"It was a figure of speech," Kourt explained, breathing in deeply and releasing slowly, as long training had ingrained in him.

"You ARE the problem," Blaine exploded, dropping his posture and planting his feet wide apart.

"Oh," Kourt said, relaxing his body as well. "I'm sorry." The rain had washed away all tension, brought Kourt to a calm and solid center from which the whole universe seemed an ordered and sane place. "How can I help?"

"Get out of my sight," Blaine spat, turning to go back inside.

Kourt blinked, unsure as to what had caused his lover's outburst. He wasn't shielding his emotions, but Blaine's feelings were in such uncontrolled chaos Kourt couldn't make heads or tails of them. Well, maybe he just needed some time alone. Kourt looked to the left, then to the right, making sure there was no one else on the balconies. Seeing that the way was clear, he stepped up onto the railings, hopped onto the next landing, walked across and jumped to the balcony of his own rooms. He shook the water out of his hair on the way to the bathroom. Rain was nice, but it had nothing on a nice, long soak in a hot tub. While he measured bubble solution into the whirlpool, Kourt extended his senses towards Blaine, just to keep tabs on the younger man. Better safe than sorry.

Kourt was just settling into the water when he felt Blaine coming closer. His bedroom door thumped open, the beaded curtain of the bathroom arch swung noisily aside and Blaine stood across from him, mad as a wet, naked prince can be, but not nearly as intimidating as a dry, clothed prince might aspire to be. "You left!" the moistened Bail accused.

"You told me to," Kourt pointed out.

"Yes, but..." and here Blaine floundered. After a moment, he found his footing again. "Didn't you want to know why I told you to?"

"Yes," Kourt assured him, reaching for the back-brush.

"Well?"

Kourt fished for the soap and waited. "Well what?" he finally asked.

Blaine flapped his arms in futility. "I don't understand. You stayed the night, you didn't sneak out when you could have, you stood in the rain with me, but you don't seem to care that I'm angry with you!"

Kourt blinked, considering this. "You're not angry with me," Kourt announced. "You're confused and upset and well-fucked, which could, I suppose, be a little disorienting, but you're not angry."

Blaine's frown deepened.

"Why don't you get in here, get clean and warm... we'll go someplace for breakfast and get everything sorted out to your liking. Then when it's time for the Making, we can make mischief and eat sweets and generally irritate your family all you like. Won't that be fun?" Kourt held out a hand and ushered Blaine into the space between his knees.

Blaine complied, partly out of confusion and partly for lack of a better idea or offer. Kourt began soaping his shoulders and back, turning the bath into a soothing massage. Perhaps this is some courtship thing I haven't heard about, the Jedi mused. I'll have to check their libraries for it.

---

Blaine didn't say another word to Kourt as they dressed for their morning excursions. Kourt silently donned light cotton clothes in varying shades of green, to offset his eyes and skin. Sarafel had been meticulous in teaching him how to sham at vanity and self-display. "If you're going to play at being a human male, you're going to have to be so full of yourself that no more of you would fit. And you have to act like your dick and its doings are the most important interests of the galaxy."

And so it had been.

Blaine had been talking nonstop on the comm link, arranging more party affairs, seeing to the comfort of guests in the palace that he was doing his damnedest to avoid, discussing music and lighting and food and guest lists until Kourt just tuned him out and followed him around, pocketing credit chips and knickknacks that were handed to him. When the Bail was finally ready to set out, he simply walked out of his rooms, expecting Kourt to follow. Having nothing better to do with his time, Kourt did so.

Blaine settled in behind the controls of his black skimmer once more, driving far too fast, steering with one hand, talking a mile a minute all the time. Kourt found himself again simply sitting back and admiring the view. The silver jacket was putting in an appearance once more, this time covering a white silk shirt that hung open to Blaine's navel. About the Bail's hips was wrapped a red and orange sarong, and gold sandals graced his feet. Blaine had spent an inordinate amount of time applying a cobalt blue lacquer to his finger and toenails, then spent another eternity adding a layer of glitter. Kourt had spent the time sharpening his stilettos, only to belatedly realize that Blaine was attempting to try his patience. Kourt wondered what manner of person would lose patience over such a studious and focused effort of self-adornment when it was plain to see such actions were more a force of Blaine's nature than anything else.

The effect was, after all, rather charming.

Blaine led Kourt into a rather posh and upscale restaurant, where they were seated near the front windows. Kourt frowned at the lack of security, but nevertheless made appreciative noises over their lovely view of the beach. Blaine ordered for them both, elaborate dishes of the local cuisine. Their food arrived in such highly artistic arrangement that Kourt had to inquire after the proper manner of eating it. The headwaiter delivered such instruction as was needed in perfect elegance and understatement, a courtesy that seemed to vex Blaine to no end. Again, Kourt came to a belated realization: the Bail had been trying to embarrass him.

Kourt frowned at this realization, wondering what had happened while he was asleep. When they had fallen asleep, Blaine had seemed rather pleased with them both. Kourt again wondered if there was some local custom he was forgetting, and finally resolved to ask. "Have I done something to offend you?"

"What?" Blaine asked, all innocence. "Why no, of course not. Why do you ask?"

"Because you've been acting strangely all morning," Kourt replied. "I thought I might have done something wrong."

"Wrong? No... I can't think of anything you might have done wrong..." Blaine was again perfectly polite in his speech.

Kourt frowned at that. "Blaine, I don't know what game you're playing at, but I hardly think you can expect me to follow along without knowing the rules."

Blaine smiled, a blast of sheer rakish charm fit to disarm the most surly of aggressors. "Well, Kourt darling, I don't know what you Jedi normally do after fucking someone unconscious, but I certainly hope this isn't it."

Oh. Sex. Of course. "Did I not please you in some way?" Kourt wanted to know. "I thought I did what you asked, down to the screaming and the begging and the trembling. I put in the mind-shattering orgasm just as a courtesy, you understand. Or perhaps it was the post-coital cuddle that has so offended you? Or the fact that I didn't sneak out under cover of darkness? Maybe it is my consistent attempts to do as you ask this morning, rather than an immediate leap for your cash or your power? I'm sorry, Blaine. Power, money... a Jedi craves not these things. I only wanted to pleasure you last night. Today I want to enjoy your company. I am enjoying your company. I wish you would do the same."

"You did as I ASKED? I thought you were pleasing yourself pretty handily as well, there." Blaine sat back more comfortably in his chair, a razor-sharp smile curling across his lips.

Kourt blinked, considering. " Well, yes, of course I was well pleased. You are beautiful and delightfully flexible, enthusiastic and accepting. Why wouldn't I have enjoyed being with you? I'm trying to understand..."

"You could have MENTIONED that, at the time."

"You weren't conscious," Kourt replied, reaching for his fork.

"Oh, details."

"I prefer for my partners to be capable of higher thought before I compliment them." The cold fish and warm bread were an odd combination, but one Kourt found quite pleasant.

" Well, I suppose you'll be waiting a while for me to measure up to THAT sort of standard. I'm not a highly trained mystic or anything. I haven't even been off-planet much. I'm just... Me." Blaine stabbed his breakfast, reducing it to its component parts without eating a single bite.

"I'm not a highly trained mystic, either. And I'm not often given to being anyone but myself. That gets complicated."

"I feel like... There's all this I'm supposed to KNOW, and I thought I DID know, and now... I don't even know what you ARE, really! What are you, anyway?"

"My people are shapeshifters. I'm human, most of the time, but my body can be re-arranged to many different appearances. I'm still just a person, Blaine. I thought..." Kourt set his fork down and laced his fingers together in his lap. "I thought you liked me..."

Blaine looked stricken. "I do like you. A lot. I think maybe... I don't know why I'm acting this way. I'm scared. Last night was a big deal for me. I'm not sure if... well, if you... Do you do this kind of thing all the time?"

Kourt snorted. "Oh please. When would I have time to do this? I haven't been with anyone since... oh, wow. That's the most depressing thought I've had in a long time." The Jedi turned his eyes back to his plate, picking at his meal with one hand. "I'm not ashamed of what I am, if that's what you're thinking. I didn't mean to scare you, I just didn't think to tell you. I mean, everyone I know... KNOWS about this. They know I'm... not right..."

"Not right? Kourt, you seem pretty damn right to me!" A bit of a crooked smile.

"'Seem' being the operative term, Blaine. I can 'seem' to be anything I want, and I chose to look like this... because in my own person... well, you wouldn't have let me within arm's reach, much less your bed." Kourt directed his gaze towards the ocean. "I spent a long time learning to act human because there are a lot of you around. I decided to be attractive in this body because I am not, in my own. I never thought being attractive and trying to please someone would make them angry with me."

"You don't know what kind of looks I let in my bed. You might be surprised. I think I was upset because... well, it's like you made yourself for me. And it makes me feel... selfish, I guess."

"I did make myself for you. I don't have a choice," Kourt shrugged. "And if you ever let a goblin into your bed, yes, I would be very surprised.

"A goblin? I think you're being dramatic, and I should know. If you mean you're not humanoid, well, that's different, but I've got used to some strange things before. Have you ever let anyone... give you a chance?"

Kourt closed his eyes, exerting all his not-inconsiderable control over the emotions that welled up within him. "Once."

"And I take it that didn't work out so well."

"Your capacity for understatement is quite enthralling."

Blaine favored Kourt with a steady look. "And you think I'll do no better."

"It's not possible for one such as yourself to stomach what I actually look like. Just leave it alone, Highness. You really don't want to know."

"Don't call me that. And don't tell me what I want," Blaine shot back.

Kourt sighed, regretful of what he was about to lose. "Very well."

He dropped his hand back into his lap and thought for a moment. From skin to bone, he let his hand shift, watching with sick fascination as his skin turned sallow, then paled further and washed towards an ashy greycream pallor. Fine green veins stood out, pulsing sluggishly as the skin pulled tighter over lengthening bones, his first two fingers stretching out disproportionately with his now-stunted third finger and nearly-vestigial fourth. His thumb hooked under, uselessly clawing at his palm before Kourt eased the muscular tremors there. The fingernails-turned-claws were thick and yellow, darkening to orange around the blood red cuticles. The slender lines held hints of both lizard and bird, with just enough humanity to be pitifully alien. Kourt swallowed once, then nodded to Blaine.

The Bail leaned over, looking under the edge of the table, then popped back up, aghast. "My gods. Is that what you..."

"Well, the rest is worse, but isn't this bad enough?" Kourt asked, shifting back more quickly than was comfortable, refusing to make eye contact with his assignment. "I'm nothing special, Blaine. Just another monster trying hard to not be noticed. I'm sorry."

Blaine took a deep breath, and then asked, very quietly, "Does it hurt?"

"Yes."

"Can I help?"

"No." Kourt kept his eyes on the beach for a long moment. "I don't really mind the pain. It's the rejection that bothers me most."

At this, Blaine closed his eyes, then reached across the table and took the hand that had been a claw only moments ago, and laid a kiss like a butterfly's wing in its palm. "Then let's not have any."

Kourt swallowed convulsively, struggling for calm and strength. "Highness, you needn't... I would protect you, no matter what lies between us..."

"Yes, I know that. I'm not..." The Bail sighed, searching for words. "Look, we all have secrets. Parts of me aren't very pretty, either. You... Last night, you were talking about what we are, and who we are. I like you for who you are."

Kourt raised a doubting eye, not sure what he would find in the sense and look of the Bail. "When you consider that the things I've told and shown you are the least of my secrets, you might begin to prefer the facade of Jedi stoicism, you know. I'm not... adept at the sorts of games most people play. All I can be to you is honest and just. It is all I know, and no less would only insult you. I won't lie to you, and I won't mislead you or use you. Other than that is not mine to give."

"It's a good deal more than some others have given me."

Kourt watched the glint of sunlight on the breaking surf, trying to assimilate all that had passed between them. "Why did you tell me to leave?"

"I was beating you to the punch," the Bail admitted, blushing. "Making you leave before you snuck out."

Kourt offered a tentative smile. "I hate waking up alone. Especially if I didn't go to sleep that way. I can never work out what happened while I was asleep."

Blaine smirked at that. "I sorta hate that, myself. Hey, you want to do something fun? It's illegal."

Kourt smiled right back. "Illegal is good. Especially since neither of us can be prosecuted in this jurisdiction."

"Okay, let's just walk out onto the patio, jump the fence and go."

"We're stealing breakfast?" Kourt demanded, incredulous but ready to go along with it.

"Sure. And if you're as good as I think you might be, it won't be the last thing we pinch today," Blaine replied, ambling casually away from the table. Kourt followed in his role of bodyguard, shadowing his charge with the careful ease of his station. A moment later they were across the wrought iron fence and in the skimmer, speeding towards the beachfront shopping district. Their laughter mingled with rock music all the way down the road.

---

Kourt ambled along in the wake of Blaine's energy, watching their surroundings almost as much as he watched the beautiful young man he was protecting. There was something to him, something so basic that even Blaine himself couldn't see it. A sort of perfection, a kind of peace and acceptance that was impossible to grasp and too attractive to ignore. An honesty with life and circumstance. Just beautiful.

Blaine surprised people, for one thing. Pleasantly so. They had been standing by a fountain, watching the water ripple and glitter in the sunlight while Blaine ate some sweet pastry. A little boy had been walking along the fountain's rim, ignoring his mother's cautions to be careful, totally immersed in putting one foot in front of the other. Of course, the stone was slippery, and the child tipped off-balance. He would have fallen, perhaps hurt himself, had Blaine not reached out and caught him against his hip. The harried young mother had arrived at a run, spouting thanks and scoldings as fast as she could talk. Then she had recognized Blaine, and stopped cold.

Blaine had given the boy a handful of candies from the bottomless supply in his pockets and flashed the mother an easy smile, shrugging the whole thing off. Another murmured apology and both mother and child retreated from the plaza. Blaine had watched them go, something like sorrow in his eyes and the set of his shoulders. He had seemed ready to ask Kourt some question, but instead finished his pastry and lead them to yet another shop.

Kourt was more than happy to just amble about, poking through knickknacks and oddities until they were wanted at the palace. The Making would not be until late afternoon, and though Blaine was supposed to be at the morning's ceremonies, it was doubtful that he was actually wanted there. For himself, Kourt was satisfied to miss that as well. Better to be here, in the sun and salt air.

Blaine was perusing another display of jewelry, this time a collection of heavily carved silver. It looked to be an expensive sort, from the way the proprietor kept a close eye on the seemingly penniless man who bent his lean form over the case. Kourt slipped up next to Blaine and spoke a little too loudly. "Is there anything to your liking, Highness?"

"I told you not to call me that," Blaine replied, as if by rote. "And no. This is far too heavy for me. See?" He laid his hand down on the velvet, showing the unattractive way the jewelry would have overwhelmed his fine lines.

Kourt shrugged. "The rings and bracelets, maybe. What about this?" He lifted a webwork of silver and laid it against Blaine's throat. "This is nice..."

Blaine stepped back, shaking his head. "I have a dozen, and better, back at the palace."

Kourt replaced the necklace, noting the approach of the salesperson who had just realized whom he was snubbing. "Well, this is the best of their lot. We'd better try somewhere else."

The two made a hasty retreat, ignoring the stricken look in the eyes of the proprietor. Blaine stifled his giggles as they pushed through the door, reaching to take Kourt's hand. "Do Jedi wear jewelry?"

"We never have jewelry to wear," Kourt explained. "I do have this, though. It was a gift from my Master." Kourt held up his hand, showing Blaine the Group ring on his smallest finger.

"Well, then a little more won't hurt you." The Bail smiled, letting Kourt's hand go.

Kourt looked down and laughed outright. The finest, most beautifully wrought bracelet dangled there, a testament to Blaine's light fingers and skills at misdirection. "He's going to know it was you," the Jedi called, stepping quickly to catch up to his charge.

"Then he'll know where to send the bill," Blaine returned, laughing as well.

Kourt shook his head and slowed his pace, letting the energetic young prince wander where he willed. If they had a destination in mind, Kourt remained uninformed of it. Well and well. He turned his face up towards the sun, thoroughly enjoying the play of warmth upon his skin as they headed back to the skimmer.

They rode in companionable silence, aside from the blasting music that seemed to annoy everyone they came within twenty feet of, until Blaine looked thoughtful for a moment. "You hungry?"

"I could eat." In fact; Kourt wasn't particularly hungry; he was more curious as to what the Bail was up to. This was proving to be an interesting adventure.

"Let me take you someplace you'll like, this time. Breakfast was sort of..."

"Breakfast doesn't count, because we stole it, remember?"

Blaine laughed out loud. "You're right! Well, I'll actually pay at this place, because I want to come back. Do they have pasta where you come from?"

"At the Temple? We have things from everywhere. I have this theory, every civilized culture has some form of fried breakfast cake, some form of sweet, some form of noodle..."

"So, by that standard, we're civilized? Well, that's nice to know... Hang on, there's a shortcut..." Blaine executed a few high-speed turns in the skimmer, at one point barely missing a transport whose driver's curses he answered with a cheerful wave, and came to an abrupt stop in front of a small restaurant. As they got out, he tossed his keys, along with a wicked smile, to a uniformed young woman out front.

"Go play with it, you know you want to."

She stood gaping in astonishment for precisely three seconds before grinning, leaping into the front seat, and taking off.

"She's new. It always takes them a little while to get used to..."

"Being told to go ahead and do what they were thinking of doing anyway?"

They walked into the restaurant. This one was much different from the one they had visited for breakfast. The walls were covered in evocative and engaging murals, the tables and chairs were colorfully decorated and the diningware was a hodgepodge of designs. No cup matched any plate, and though the flatware was silver, it ranged from heavy antique to sleek-lined deco. The Bail, clearly a regular customer, was greeted graciously by the owner, and they were shown to a table in a back corner. Kourt, mentally slipping back into his role of bodyguard for a moment, found this table a great deal more to his liking; it was far more defensible. You could easily take out any assailants from behind that tablecloth before they even realized you were armed.

A boyish, dark-haired waiter in black knee-length shorts and a white T-shirt, both equally baggy, showed up almost instantly, bearing mismatched glasses of iced water and a plate of crusty bread.

"Jules, could you get us some menus? I think I know what I want, but my friend..." The waiter nodded and smiled, showing a gap between his front teeth that was just too charming to have fixed.

Kourt looked over the menu; the selections were mostly unfamiliar.

"I can tell you what's good. I mean, pretty much everything's good, but --listen, do you have any dietary restrictions or anything? I don't even know if Jedi eat meat --"

Kourt smiled at Blaine's concern. "Jedi vary. A few don't, but it's more an individual thing."

"And you?"

"Pretty much anything that sits still."

The Bail blushed, and Kourt smiled, thinking of the garden again.

"Well, that's a good thing, because I sort of ordered you something at breakfast that had -- well. Never mind that. Now, this appetizer is sort of a shellfish thing, it's fried --"

When the waiter reappeared, Kourt gave him his order, then was amazed to hear Blaine order at least twice that.

"You're really that hungry?"

"Starved."

"OK. Now I've got a personal question for you."

Without looking up from the bread he was demolishing, Blaine deadpanned, "Yes, I am a natural blond."

"That, I figured out. No, it's that you ate a lot more of that breakfast than I did, and two of those sweet rolls while we were shopping, and just about every other time I've seen you, you've had something in your hand -- you more or less eat like a starved Wookiee, and you're..."

"Just a little bit of a freak of nature. My metabolism runs very, very fast."

"Naturally?" Kourt had heard of dancers who had this sort of thing chemically induced.

"From birth. Drove my mother crazy, between that and -- " here he put on a perfect impression of his mother -- "the anomaly." He rolled his eyes. "Kyle was a perfect baby, meaning he was nice and quiet and ate on a schedule just like she wanted him to. Then I came along, and I not only had the extra nipple that they couldn't take off --"

"Take OFF?"

"To make me normal, of course. My mother's greatest desire. Only there's this taboo against damaging the body of a Bail; you can sort of get around it for life-saving surgery, but not cosmetic stuff, so I got really lucky there, didn't I? Anyway, I was really noisy and fussy, and I didn't grow much, and it took a little while before they figured out that I sort of... run hot. After that they just gave me whatever I wanted, and I was fine."

"So you're always hungry."

"Pretty much, except when I'm distracted by something else I want. And it takes a lot to fill me up."

"That, I noticed. But that's definitely not a problem."

"I'm still sort of noisy and fussy, too. And maybe hard to keep up with. But I don't see you having much trouble."

"It's my job. Also my pleasure."

"Speaking of pleasure. Jules must've put in our order. Here he comes with his guitar."

"This is one of those singing-waiter places?"

"Didn't start out to be, but Jules started working here, and..."

The waiter dragged an unused chair a few feet from their table and jumped up on it, thick-soled black shoes clattering a little on the wood. People at other tables looked up; after a few whispers, conversation stopped, and an expectant silence took over. Jules pushed a handful of his floppy dark-brown hair out of his dark-brown eyes, then played a few preparatory chords.

"OK, this is new, it's about having a good friend. For Blaine, and his friend... what's this guy's name?" Blaine stage-whispered it to him. "OK, Kourt. It's called 'Two Dogs'." And with that, he began playing a simple tune, and singing in a clear voice. "I've got two dogs and a bottle of crazy glue
Two dogs and a bottle of crazy glue
Can't think of much that I'd rather do
And I've two dogs and a bottle of crazy glue
I glue 'em together, and I get
Two dogs who are better than ever
I glue 'em together, and I get
Two dogs, together forever

Kourt raised an inquiring eyebrow at Blaine, who shrugged with cheerful good humor. "I have no idea."

Kourt covered his mouth with his hand and returned his attention to the waiter.

Got two cavemen and ten feet of rope
I've got two cavemen and ten feet of rope
Don't got no beer and I don't got no dope
But I've got two cavemen and ten feet of rope
So I tie 'em together, and I get
Two cavemen who are better than ever
So I tie 'em together, and I get
Two cavemen, together forever

"Well, I'm sure that part's literally true," Blaine whispered to Kourt, leaning over the table.

"What?" Kourt managed, while stifling giggles.

"Never has any beer or dope. Or trolley passes, or clean laundry, or rent money, or... well, when he finally meets this One True Love he's been holding out for, he'll probably be borrowing lube and condoms from me as well."

Kourt bit down hard on a slice of bread and focused his thoughts on serenity, composure and not choking to death.

"Of course, it's always been traditional for the Crown to be patrons of the arts..."

Well, I've got one me and I've got one you
Yeah I've got one me and I've got one you
Don't got no rope or no crazy glue
But I've got one me and I've got one you
So hey, let's stick together
We'll be two people who are better than ever
Let's stick together
And we'll be two people, together forever."

The boy jumped off the chair and sprinted for the kitchen, applause rattled through the place, and Kourt found himself facing a suddenly serious and sober Bail. "What?"

"I... I didn't mean to insult you this morning," Blaine began, hands twisting in his jacket pockets. "I just... didn't know what to do with you."

Kourt sat back and sighed a gusty breath. "What was your first impulse?" he asked.

Blaine broke out in a wide smile. "As I recall, it involved ten feet of rope."

"Then let me give you some advice my master spent years giving me: Follow your instincts."

"I'll remember that. But see, I think I sort of... I freaked a little. You're kind of completely outside my range of experience. And I'm not used to that. I thought I had a fairly wide range of experience, you know?"

"I get that impression."

"Well, good, because I've been trying really hard to give it!" Blaine laughed. "And you just... Gods. I had no idea. I mean I literally had no idea. "

"And I was trying not to scare you!"

"Oh, no, that's not it. It's... you sort of handed me everything I ever wanted, and then some. Last night..." Blaine gave a tiny shudder that spoke of a brief and delicious mental re-enactment. "You're, uh, really good, you know that, right?"

"I just make use of natural attributes. I don't feel I can really take any kind of credit for my configuration."

"It's not the... you know. The thing. The... transforming..." Blaine squirmed, blushed intensely, a seriously becoming shade of pink, Kourt thought. "I mean, that was incredible, but that's... It was the level of focus, I think."

"You deserve it. If I'm going to be in someone's bed, I'm going to be giving them my complete attention. Only fair."

"But it's not... Look, a lot of people, they're fun, they're nice, but I can almost see the little wheels turning, how they're THERE, but part of them is already rehearsing just how they're going to tell their friends they had Bail Blaine Garu, SP. Like they're restraining themselves from just whipping out the commlink right then and gloating. But last night, I felt like the center of the universe."

"Last night, you were the center of the universe." Quietly.

"And that's what scared me, and that's why I freaked, and I treated you really badly, just horribly, and I'm very sorry."

Kourt leaned across the table, tilted Blaine's head up with a gentle hand, and kissed him once, softly. "Forgiven."

"Appreciated." A crooked smile. "You know, I might even have handled it better if there weren't so much else going on. I mean, the whole thing with the Making, and my family, and someone's really, seriously trying to kill me..."

"Which I'm going to do everything in my not inconsiderable power to prevent. And the Making's tonight, and that'll all be over, and then..."

"And then I think I'd like to just disappear for a good long time, just hide away in my rooms with you and not come out for, oh, weeks and weeks." A dreamy expression.

"That would be a very good way to keep you safe, wouldn't it?"

"Mmm-hmm. And happy. And we'll get Jules a speeder-bike, and every few hours he can come by with food and just sort of open the door and avert his eyes and drop it off and run. Until he trades the speeder-bike for an antique mandolin like he did with the last one I got him..."

"And then he can play us a song, and then we can send him out for another speeder-bike and something really messy for dessert."

"And then we can take a long bath, and start over..."

And then Jules arrived in a clatter of plates and trays, and lunch was served, and it was a pure pleasure, Kourt thought, just to watch the very graceful and pretty way the Bail ate his tiny fried squids, and his linguine in clam sauce, and most of Kourt's duck tortellini. "You know, people have died for less," Kourt pointed out as Blaine snagged the last little square from his plate with a quick fork-stab.

"Mmm. Died happy, I bet. And you weren't going to finish it..."

"Well, no, probably not. But it's nice to have the OPTION..."

"You're the Jedi, you should be quicker. Anyway, I need it more."

"I'm still trying to figure out where you're putting it."

"I'm hollow. Like wasps' nests. Like cactus trees. Like those little painted eggs for Buying Day."

"You're prettier than any of those things. And a hell of a lot more fun."

"I do my little best." Blaine shrugged one shoulder. "So. I think we've probably done all we can here, for the time being." He stacked a few credit chips in the center of the table, among the wreckage. "That'll get Jules through the week, anyway. Now let's get back on the street, I need to make sure the club's set up right for the party tonight."

"I need to check the place out too, see how it's laid out, how I can best protect you in case anyone takes the opportunity --"

"There's no way anyone there's going to try to hurt me. These are my friends. I'm safe with them." A small frown.

"Humor me. I have to at least consider it. You're going to be distracted, you're going to be having a good time, you're going to be, well. Whatever. And I'm going to be watching your back, just in case."

"Because it's your job?"

"That, and because I care about you. And because you have a damn nice rear view."

Blaine laughed. "Well. In that case, I guess I won't complain. It's not everyone who gets to have a Jedi checking out his ass all night." And that set Kourt off laughing again, and they had to leave, and after an exchange of surprisingly sturdy hugs from Jules they were back out on the sunny street.

---

Blaine was very pleased with Kourt's reaction to his gift. Something about stealing from the rich and giving to the poor just made the whole thing that much sweeter. Never mind that Kourt might not care, might not want to understand, or might even have been reading every thought that flickered behind his eyes.

Energy was bubbling up and out of him, a heady rush. The kites and windsocks that danced from the overhangs perfectly reflected the Bail's spirits, all colors and happy motion. He's going to LOVE the club, I just know it! the younger man thought in easy enthusiasm.

Cabasy was at the door of the Secoladu when they got there, one hand waving them in, the other offering a dubes. Blaine took a hit, just to be polite, not so much because he need it. "Did you get the gear set up?" he asked, hoping everything is ready to fire up and run. "I want to show Kourt about my own chameleon abilities, but I need my boards to do it."

"Sure, just like at Chamberlan, except I ran it directly to the lighting rig rather than emulate and mirror. It'll give you a faster response time," Cabasy replied, eyeing Kourt up and down. It was a mutual thing, one professional to another, and Blaine pretended he didn't notice just to preserve their comfort zones. "Who's this?"

"That's Kourt. You'll be seeing a lot of him," Blaine said, not adding the 'I hope' that pretty much screamed its presence anyway. "What did the caterers say?"

"They're putzing around like always, but they'll do it up right. They know better than to fuck with you," Between Cabasy and Kerol, there was nothing that couldn't be done in Kais, whether a tea for two on a volcano rim or an all-night rave for six hundred of one's closest friends. Blaine's simple nod acknowledged this fact. "I'm just worried about the contraband supply."

"Don't worry. I told everyone it was BYO, so there'll be plenty."

"You sneaky little fucker. Well, you want to fire this up and see how it screams?" Cabasy was already headed for the mixing booth, and the Bail was already on the foot of the stage steps.

"Kourt, go stand... yeah, right there," Blaine said, putting him in the best spot for the room's harmonics. "Do you like music?"

Kourt nodded, smiling.

The touchpads burned dully under the houselights, but Blaine could have played the boards even if he was blind. Or blind drunk. That last one had been proven, at least. He drew sweet tonals from one side and anguished screams from the other, then set to laying out the rhythms he wanted.

The jangle of tambourine and ululation of badzi were the overlay, and dembik drums created a sort of heartbeat for the club. The houselights came down, blue and green patterns tracing mad illustrations of sound. He opened his eyes and let a strain of paired sound flow out of his throat, stuttering to an end, not ready for it. Kourt stood watching, something unreadable in those Jedi eyes, and suddenly Blaine knew. He's up here with me, sharing this, helping me to be everything I am, all within this moment. Jedi magic, or maybe just that thing he did last night. Giving what I want, just because I want it. Oh, little gods, please don't let me get my heart broken again. Please.

Words started pouring out of the Bail, and he was suddenly, totally aware that Cabasy was watching him, was going to see this and all its horrific reality. He can't make himself care. Cabasy had seen him in the floor of a green room taking it in every orifice and giving it in a couple others, so maybe this wouldn't be too bad. He could hear what Blaine was singing, chanting and it was so perfect and about a million miles away from what he wanted to say and couldn't let himself say. So he sang instead, letting the words bleed together and convey whatever the listener wanted it to mean. "I see it I want it I get on it/ You make me want to doitdoitdoit/ but you're not who I was..." and on and on, like he was some stuttering virgin who never backed a sweet, tight body against a wall and took what it wanted to give.

The lights drew down on him, sinking into his bones like latticework sweetness that slowed the song. Kourt was swaying, hands moving in tiny gestures, like dancing in miniature. Such a perfect day... and somehow there seemed to be a garden, perfectly rendered, behind his eyes. He was making the music be the air, and the light danced like sunbeams of cataclysmic hue down through the atmosphere and Kourt was dancing to the music. Oh Yes, Kourt Crowe, Muse of this mad Musician. Oh yes, please do that...

Strings and bells welled up from under his hands, and he was moving all over the place, calling up samples and new tones, setting them to blend in the crisp air between them, trying to bind them up in the web of that moment, trying to follow dance with sounds, reaping what he'd sown so many times, finally tasting the fruit of his labors.

And then Kourt was up in front of Blaine, hands grasping the microphone, and Blaine slapped his headphones on so he could hear Kourt working his voice in with voice, sound, the lights that Blaine controlled with some left-out portion of his brain that liked the pretty colors. Blaine suddenly didn't care what Kourt had shown him at breakfast, this man was everything the galaxy ever promised and never sent him. Oh please, I want to love you, make me love you...

Kourt began pushing words at Blaine, and everything came down to just a drum, just a cymbal and a drum, and his words were nothing new, but Blaine know he absolutely meant them. Kourt was scaring Blaine when the guitar came in, but Blaine knew he was still telling the damn truth. Oh yes, be honest with me. I'll give you anything you want.

Once that you decided on a killing
First you make a stone of your heart
And if you find that your hands are still willing
Then you could turn a murder into art

There really isn't any need for bloodshed
Just do it with a little more finesse
If you can slip a tablet into someone's coffee
Then it avoids an awful lot of mess

He was just telling the truth. That's all. Kourt had said his body was the least of his secrets, and that was as close to a confession as anyone was likely to get. Blaine drew the lights into pale blues and let them dance like rainwater, scattering the ghosts of the past into every corner of the club. He glanced up towards the control room, saw the glow of Cabasy's cherry hovering there. Cabasy was watching with all the avaricious need he wore when he saw Blaine's sportfucking. Blaine didn't care at all, because he couldn't possibly know what they on about.

Cause it's murder by numbers, 123
It's as easy to learn as your ABC's
Yes, murder by numbers 123
it's as easy to learn as your ABC's

Just a job. He could see that in Kourt's eyes as plainly as if he spoke the words. But there was pain there as well, and maybe that was why he was there. Blaine had heard that all killers cracked eventually. Maybe Kourt already had, and now he was trying to patch himself together. Or maybe he was here just because of the reasons he'd said.

Now if you have a taste for this experience
If you're flush with your very first success
Then you must try a twosome or threesome
You'll find your conscience bothers you much less

Cause murder is like anything you take to
It's a habit forming need for more and more
You could bump off every member of your family
And any one else you find a bore

Blaine turned towards Kourt, surprised to see a flicker of fright in the Jedi's eyes. Then something else entirely burned there, and Kourt grabbed Blaine's wrists and pulled him close, kissing him hard, making him be silent. The emulators squawked in protest, then silenced themselves. "It's okay," Blaine whispered against Kourt's teeth. "I don't mind."

And that was the end. The moment hung between them, then crumbled like a crystal under a boot heel. Soon they were headed back to the skimmer and then the palace. Blaine ran the scene over in his mind as he drove, not sure what Kourt thought he was saying, and uncertain what Kourt had been saying either. It made even less sense than Kourt's staying the night had. He's not like anything I've ever touched. Blaine decided. He makes me high.

---

Kourt remained silent on the drive back, and they shared the silence together. Blaine even had the stereo turned off so he could hear their silence more clearly. It's going to hurt, the scrutiny we'll be under at the Making, Blaine suddenly realized, remembering how attuned Kourt had been to Blaine's feelings all morning. He has no idea how stultifyingly unreal it will all probably be, the boring speeches, the long and irritating blessings for the happy couple. The ceremonious and unpleasant interrogation I'll undergo. Blaine was still a little surprised at how very polite the terms for the question "Did you fuck this woman?" could be put into. A question, however polite, he would be made to answer truthfully before the gods and everyone.

Having never done such a thing in his life, not even once, not even when he really, truly wanted to, Blaine was rather uncomfortable with the idea. I've never told anyone what I've done with anyone else. It's just rude, dammit, and I shouldn't be made to start at this late date. The questions, he knew, were just going to lead to the sorts of whispers he was really, totally sick of hearing. They'll be saying things about my handsome young bodyguard and how well-fucked we both look. Disgusting speculations, as if I'm some kind of indy program for their lives. They love me because I shock them, they hate me because they think I just don't give a damn about them. When the hell are they going to learn that I love them, too much, so much it hurts every time they prove how much they hate me?

"Stop it," Kourt said, frowning at Blaine.

"What?"

"Stop thinking about it, if it upsets you that much. Don't focus on your anxieties."

"That's the second time you've said that today. What the hell does it mean?" Blaine's tone says he really wants to know, thinks it might help to understand.

Kourt sighed and looked out over the road, muttering something about paddles, or something like. "Okay, listen. When you have a problem, or something that worries you, don't think about it. Think about what you can do to make the problem go away. Think about things you can do other than what upsets you. Think about something you'll do for yourself once you've gotten through whatever it is that's pissing you off. But don't think about the thing itself. A grain of sand looks huge if you stare at it for long enough. Problems are the same way. Don't focus on your anxieties, and they won't look so bad."

"Is that how you Jedi stay so cool under fire? You just don't think about it?" Blaine scoffed. "That sounds too childlike, too simple. Then again, I always heard the Jedi were into simplicity and aestheticism..."

"Essentially. Not focusing on anxieties is a lot more complicated when you can see the entire universe in a single sand, but it boils down to the same thing," Kourt explained, then fell silent again for the rest of their drive.

The palace was crowded and Blaine was grateful that he rated his own parking space. They sneaked upstairs to change clothes, each in his own rooms. Blaine took his time putting together something properly conservative in pale creams and royal purples. After a moment of deliberation, he even took the time to remove his nail polish. Hestia is a nice girl, he reminded himself. She deserves a nice wedding. Seeing that she was getting a state circus, he was of a mind to do what he could to help. Considering that she had to fuck me just to get here, I owe her at least that.

Blaine straightened his shoulders, tossed his hair out of his eyes, put on his best 'You Can't Afford to Fuck Me' look and went to collect Kourt from his rooms. The Jedi was in his formal robes again, but his hair was gathered back in such a way as to make him seem like death on two feet. Blaine shivered, looking away.

"What's wrong?" Kourt murmured, falling into step next to Blaine.

"You look... bloodthirsty," Blaine replied, not looking.

Kourt was silent for a long moment, then said "How about now?"

Blaine glanced over, then stopped dead in his tracks. "How did you do that?"

By changing nothing but his carriage and expression, Kourt had gone from silent watchdog to peaceful, serene, almost holy in his calm and reserve. A slight smile tugged at the corners of the Jedi's lips, as if he were chuckling inwardly at some joke shared only with the little gods. "It's a Jedi Thing," he explained, directing his gaze at the floor.

Blaine pulled him over to a nearby window, arranging him in the glittering sunlight. "Do that again," he murmured, dropping to one knee. Kourt obliged, clearly curious as to his companion's motives. "Pull your hood up," Blaine further instructed, a wide smile creeping across his face when this was done. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

"What?" Kourt demanded.

"Well, now that I look at you like this, I notice you bear more than a passing resemblance to one of the little gods," Blaine said, standing and dusting the knee of his breeches.

"You're kidding. I look like one of your deities?" Kourt demanded, stepping quickly to catch up with Blaine.

"Yeah. A little. I had to look at you from below, to be sure. I mean, the statues and pictures are always, you know, up above the viewer. But you two could be cousins. Oh damn. There's the summoning bell." Blaine picked up his pace and Kourt hurried beside him. "Ask me about it later."

They scooted down the halls and skidded to a halt outside the bride-to-be's door. Blaine hadn't really had time to explain everything to Kourt, but the files for this ceremony had been sent along with the request for help. Surely the Jedi had at least read over the day's plan. Blaine took a deep breath, let it go and knocked on the door, three sharp raps. The doors swung open, revealing the Lady and her Maidens. Blaine and Kourt bowed in unison then stepped back to let them pass. Blaine stepped forward to offer Hestia his arm, escorting her before their respective attendants with all the grace and nobility one could ask for in a king's son, but with all the joyful energy of his own spirit shining through. "Is there anything you wish of me, Lady Hestia?"

"Well, I did have one request for you..." she began, hesitant.

"Name it, and it is yours," Blaine assured her.

"Do you remember that song you used to woo me?" she inquired, nose wrinkling with contained mirth.

Blaine nodded, hard pressed to keep his own laughter behind his teeth.

"Will you sing that instead of that awful thing they chose for us?" she whispered, squeezing his arm in playful conspiracy.

"Your boon is to my liking, dear Lady. I grant it with all gratitude and hope you will call upon me to help you with such endeavors in the future," Blaine readily agreed. "Champion?"

"Yes, Highness?" Kourt replied, stepping closer.

"Be prepared. I'm going to raise a little SP hell on interplanetary holovid."

That little smile tugged at the Jedi's oh-so-serene mouth. "I look forward to it, Highness."

"Are you familiar with the Gamehendge concerts?" Blaine inquired, as if he was discussing some great piece of art rather than the works of a very strange yet delightful rock band.

"Oh yes. My master was somewhat fond of that story, particularly the bit about the lizards," Kourt assured him.

"Then perhaps you would lend your voice to Tela?" Blaine grinned outright. "With appropriate adjustments for the occasion, of course."

"Of course," Kourt returned, stifling another laugh. "May I commend Your Highness' choice of music?"

"You may," Blaine granted in a lofty tone that tried everyone's composure to the fullest.



Kourt tucked one hand into the small of his back and flexed his shoulder, easing the tension from standing still for so long. A long, deep breath also relaxed the muscles along his back, settling him in for the long haul. The trouble with state weddings, as Kourt saw it, was that it had nothing to do with the couple in question and more to do with those who were observing. Not that the observers in question much wanted to be there. Still, there was something to be said for a 5000-plus guest wedding in a royal sanctuary presided over by the head of the state church and witnessed by at least one member of the Jedi order. What that thing to say might be, Kourt had no clue, but it was probably lofty, dry, long-winded and as boring as old boots. Even Blaine had been required to make some speech of ritualistic and mind-numbing length. The Bail had blushed a bright, rich red the entire time, an event that had quite surprised Kourt.

Blaine, now at least, seemed to be enjoying himself. He had slipped into place with the musicians, calling a huddle with them between pieces and putting in selections of their own, rather than the very sober and elegant pieces listed on the pew-cards. Kourt merely stood behind him and lent his voice as instructed. At the moment, a greybeard with an enormous hat was delivering a reading on the nature of filial love and commitment to duty. Blaine was again blushing beyond all reason and tuning a ukulele, which Kourt took to be a bad sign. The Queen was shooting Blaine any number of warning looks, to which the Bail seemed naturally immune. The reading ended and the congregation turned expectant eyes on Blaine. As well they might. He had replaced 'Den Nachte pel de Amo' with 'Hot Nights under the Moon' and Durgatu's 'Hymn of True Devotion #9' with 'How Deep is My Love' otherwise known as 'The Woo-Woo Song.'

Kourt took a soothing breath and prepared to defend Blaine against his mother's not-improbable attack. To his surprise, only Blaine's sweet, clear voice and the cheerful yet somehow reverent ukulele filled the air. Kourt's soothing breath froze on the intake as his eyes fixed on Blaine's hands. Such elegant fingers... he nonsensically thought before an oboist poked him in the ribs to make him breathe again.

The rest of life pales in significance
I'm looking for somebody with whom to dance
With whom to dance
With whom to dance
I'm looking for somebody with whom to dance

Rings and strings, what use have I for these things?
Bells and carousels, I'd just be fooling myself
The rest of life pales in significance
I'm looking for somebody with whom to dance

Kourt staunchly refused to let the sentiment touch him. First songs about glued-together dogs, then murders, now this... there just wasn't that much synchronicity in all of the galaxy for that. Then again, with Blaine in charge of the music... maybe he was trying to send some kind of message. Kourt stole a glance at Blaine, but the Bail's eyes were firmly on his father's face, which were glittering with tears. As was the Queen's. What under the skies?

And you, you look like heaven
An angel who stepped from a dream
Seven hundred and seventy seven times lovelier
Than anything I've ever seen

The rest of life pales in significance
I'm looking for somebody with whom to dance
With whom to dance
With whom to dance
I'm looking for somebody with whom to dance

The song ended simply, and to Kourt's amazement the King and Queen exchanged a tiny kiss. "What was that?" Kourt whispered to Blaine.

"My dad sings that to Mom on their anniversary every year. I have no idea what they're on about," Blaine shrugged.

Kourt stepped back, stunned. If anything was likely to get the Bail pardoned for this stunt, that little song would be it. Maybe that was what made Blaine so well-liked: an honest desire to make other people comfortable and happy. Kourt considered that while the preacher began another long-winded reading and the musicians scrambled to re-arrange themselves for the next song, under Blaine's iron-willed control.

Kourt was set up on the singer's platform and he glanced about nervously when he realized no one was joining him. Blaine flashed him a reassuring smile and took his place at the piano. Oh no. Surely Blaine didn't mean for Kourt to...

He did. The reading came to an end and the guitarist began the opening strains of the song. Oh boy. Adjust for the occasion... so no bitterness, no angst, and try to be on key. Good. Okay. " The sky is burning in this lonely land/ And I kneel by the river and I feel the sand and the wind/ The wind from beyond the Mountains/ The wind from beyond the mountains." To his surprise, Blaine's voice joined his with all the crystal clarity of a lifelong performer. Which was no wonder, now that Kourt thought about it. They skipped the verse and went on into the bits about Tela riding the glorious multibeast and how beautiful she was and so on and so forth until the electric guitar kicked in and Kourt found himself belting out the final lines with no regard for rank or place. It felt wonderful.

The bride started the applause, causing Kourt to retreat from the singer's platform with more haste than was seemly. "If I weren't here to protect you, I'd kill you myself," Kourt whispered into Blaine's ear.

"You say such things," Blaine flirted back. "I'll just have to make it up to you."

Kourt resumed his post, not at all mollified. Luckily, there was only the recessional ('Dance 'till We're Dead' as opposed to the advertised 'Solne Doce Bira') left before they could make a quick getaway for a clothing change and sneak in, slightly tardy, to the post-Making banquet.

---

Kourt was standing in front of his closet, frowning in indecision when Blaine came in to find him. "Trouble, love?" the Bail inquired, slipping his hands around Kourt's waist.

"Yeah. I brought just about every scrap of clothes I own but..."

"You have nothing to wear," Blaine finished.

"This is so un-Jedi I can't even begin to explain," Kourt sighed, letting his head fall in shame.

"Well, I'd suggest basic black for an afternoon affair," Blaine said, stroking his fingers over Kourt's belly.

Kourt grabbed Blaine's wrists and stilled his fingers, taking a few deep breaths to release the sensation and emotional reactions sparked by those innocent touches. "Don't," he finally ground out, letting Blaine's wrists go.

"Don't what?" Blaine asked, concerned.

"Don't DO that. We have to be somewhere very soon," Kourt explained, returning to his wardrobe problems.

Blaine came around to stand in front of him, a determined glint in his eye. "What?"

Kourt rolled his eyes and pointed at his lower belly. "Not human. No actual penis. Do the math."

Blaine's eyes widened with shocked realization. "Right there?" he squeaked. "Where?"

"Blaine, we don't have time..." Kourt began, then lost his words in a choked cry as Blaine fell to his knees and began mouthing a path of wet kisses from Kourt's navel downwards.

"Tell me or I'll just work it out for myself," the Bail ordered, smiling up at his captive audience.

Kourt tried to take a step back, but was stopped by strong arms twining about his hips. "Blaine... later... I promise..."

"Now," Blaine demanded, dipping his tongue into Kourt's navel. Getting no reaction from that, he began his explorations once more. Kourt groaned, seizing the Bail's hair and pulling back to end the torment.

"Okay, okay! Just... skies, how am I supposed to explain anything when you're sucking my brains out through my gurden?" Kourt demanded, laughing.

"Gurden, huh? What is that, exactly?" Blaine sat back on his heels and looked up at Kourt.

Kourt sighed and sat down on the floor, putting one leg on either side of the Bail. He loosened his pants further and pushed them down, exposing his groin. He then picked up a sock that had been abandoned near the closet and took one of Blaine's hands in his own. With one hand he straightened the sock and with the other he held two of Blaine's fingers out straight. "This is the gurden," Kourt explained, indicating Blaine's fingers. "The most sensitive bits are... somewhere in your palm, more or less." He held up the sock. "This is what passes for my cock. So. Hand. Sock. Like so," he said, encasing Blaine's hand in the footwear. "Voila. Erection, human-style. Add a little here and there, and you get custom-ordered dick."

Blaine nodded, understanding but slightly overwhelmed.

"Nowthen. Since I don't actually ever get an erection, my sex organs have to go somewhere so I don't have a constant stiffy," Kourt continued. "I keep them here, right behind the base of the penis and extending up towards my navel. Just as sensitive, just as pleasurable, just not where it's supposed to be. And normally not a problem, unless some careless boy happens to go fondling them while I'm trying to get dressed."

Blaine extended his unsocked hand, then pulled back. "Can I...?"

Kourt lay back. "I doubt you'll let me out of here until you get to," he said with a resigned sigh and tucked his hands behind his head. "Just pay attention to how I react. I doubt this will happen very often."

"Why?" Blaine demanded, removing the sock from his other hand.

"I like guys. Guys who like to sleep with me mostly like guys, too. This is supremely un-dick-like, but you're welcome to try it if you want."

Blaine ran one thumb from the base of Kourt's cock up towards his navel, noting the shuddering sigh this elicited from the Jedi. "You really like that?"

"That is rather a pale term, but the answer is yes," Kourt replied, trying to keep his tone light but failing utterly.

"And where are the most sensitive bits now?" Blaine asked.

Kourt took both of Blaine's hands in his own and set his thumbs together, spreading his fingers and palms to lay flat across his lower abdomen. The tips of Blaine's thumbs ended up about an inch above Kourt's pubic hair. "Press in and... ohskiesafuckingbove..." Kourt moaned, hips lifting up off the floor in an obvious bid for more.

"This is just..." Blaine began, eyes clinging to the unresponsive member between Kourt's legs.

"Very weird, I know," Kourt managed, pushing Blaine's hands away. "Transpecial sex usually is. Which is why it rarely happens. Don't worry about it." He sat up and straightened his clothes, then stood and returned to the closet.

"If your sex organs are inside you, how do you... um... mate?" Blaine boldly inquired.

"You mean, mate to make little ones? Normally we don't. We can't conceive unless we're in molt, and then we need another who is also in molt. Well, I guess we could cut our way in, or something, but they're just damned difficult to get at when we have our outer skins on," Kourt explained.

"Like crabs?" Blaine suggested.

Kourt considered that. "Well, yes. Like a crustacean, except both male and female have to shed, plus a male won't molt unless in the presence of a near-molt female, plus our skin comes back in a matter of two or three days, not months. And no one is definitively male or female. And we have to either fly or swim in order to... ah... join."

"Really?"

"Mmm-hmm. Not that I really know. I've never had sex with one of my own." Kourt pulled out a pair of black leather pants and tossed them onto the bed.

"Why not?"

"I'm deformed, duh. Nobody would want to have sex with me, much less bear my children. Or have their children borne by me. Whatever. And yes, we can fuck without it being for procreation... sort of. It's like very involved mutual masturbation, I think. Or we can just pick another species and do it like that," Kourt explained. "I like human men. I think they're really lovely, so I decided to be one. I also decided to have sex with them, which makes me about nine different flavors of perverted but I find it satisfying nonetheless. So I have sex like a human and just leave it at that."

"This... mutual masturbation thing..." Blaine began.

"Can we just drop it?" Kourt asked, deciding on a slate grey silk shirt and a pair of boots.

"Um, no. We can't. Tell me," Blaine insisted.

Kourt sighed gustily and sat down on the bed. "Like dry-humping, but without the penises, without the mess and often with multiple orgasms. Um... more like two female humans rubbing against each other for pleasure... but less sticky."

"Stop trying to put it into human terms and just TELL me!" Blaine cried.

"Heaven. Sex like that would be like heaven. Now drop it."

---

"No."

"Oh come ON, Kourt! Where's your sense of adventure?" Blaine wheedled.

"I left it in my other pants. I pass, thank you very much."

The Bail waved the server on, and the next without even consulting Kourt. The Jedi raised an eyebrow and Blaine explained. "It doesn't meet your standards."

"How do you know?" Kourt hazarded.

"Well, at lunch you said you'd eat anything that held still. Se'po'lakue Stew doesn't qualify."

Kourt returned to the bowl of fruit before him and tried not to think about that. He nodded to a passing courtier and continued to scan the room for Blaine's friends. "What happened to the gang from last night?" he finally asked.

Blaine sipped his wine as he considered his answer. "Well... they decided you could look after me well enough, so they're out getting ready for the party."

Kourt tactfully hid his surprise that there had ever been any such question. "And so here we sit, the Bail's table all to ourselves and not so much as a toast offered you."

Blaine shrugged one shoulder. "Ah me. Such is life."

"This music is..."

"Driving me up the wall," Blaine finished for the Jedi. A mischievous glint in his eye said he knew it was doing the same to everyone in the room. "Me too, but mother insists. Of course, she hasn't eaten more than four bites since it started, so maybe she'll listen to me next time."

"Next time you'll have more say," Kourt pointed out. "Next time it'll be your wedding."

Blaine threw his head back and laughed long and hard. "ME? Marry? Oh please."

"Well, why not? An eligible young bachelor like yourself..." Kourt began.

Blaine waved a hand for silence. "No, lover. Not me. I'm far too... giddy and overzealous in my lust for life."

Kourt scanned the room slowly, looking to see if anyone was even paying attention to the Bail. "I don't see what makes you say that. You just sit quietly to the side, raise hell in small ways and... ohskiesabove."

Blaine's hand had sneaked under the tablecloth and up into Kourt's lap, then higher, two fingers pressing playfully just above his belt buckle. "Oh yes, I'm quiet and unassuming in public. But my friends, you see... they tend to be demonstrative."

Kourt took a deep breath and focused his not inconsiderable attention on Blaine. "Do you really want to play this game?"

"I don't see why not. I don't have a lot to lose, here," Blaine pointed out.

"Except that if you lose, I'll know you lost... and there will be a penalty to pay," Kourt pointed out. "Plus, I know some tricks to this particular amusement that you might not have considered."

Blaine's eyes narrowed consideringly, then he leaned one elbow on the table and propped his chin there. His eyes dipped lazily once, twice, then two fingers unfastened the top button of Kourt's pants and began drawing slow lines up and down Kourt's gurden.

Kourt closed his eyes, drifting on the sensation, feeling with every fiber of his being the tiny motions that played across his most sensitive of body parts. With careful artistry, he let the feelings flow through him, out of him and into the Force around him, that very act drawing him down to a calm, placid center. The pleasure filled him, and yet he did not brim. The excitement touched him, and yet he was serene. A tiny frown creased the Bail's forehead as he began to touch more aggressively, reaching for the deeply hidden pleasure centers of Kourt's body.

Kourt swallowed once but remained focused, channeling the overwhelming pleasure out of his nervous system just as he might have done with crippling pain or vast, unsettling emotions. A careful shift on his chair and Kourt could easily reach the inside of Blaine's arm. "Are you really, totally sure you want to play this game?"

"Oh yeah. The way your eyes look, the way your voice is so deep and rough... just from rubbing your tummy. This might be the sexiest thing I've ever seen. I can just press here and your breath catches in your throat, your lips part... oh yes, I want to play this game for a very long time," Blaine murmured, leaning closer to Kourt as he spoke. "And your scent changes, too. You smell more... it's not musky, not like sex... something... it's so good..."

"Well, as long as you're sure..." Kourt let an evil smile creep across his lips as he slid his fingers down the inside of Blaine's arm and dumped the residual pleasure of his own body directly into Blaine's nervous system. The Force-touch let the contact spill over the skin-to-skin contact, buffering the sensation... but not quite enough. Kourt pulled Blaine's head down onto his shoulder, pressing the younger man's mouth down to muffle the sobbing cries his sudden and intense climax produced. For his own part, Kourt simply breathed deeply and slowly, letting the crest and break of orgasm push him slowly away from, then back towards his calm center. "I think I should tell you that sometimes Jedi fight dirty."

Blaine nodded weakly, then whispered "I can't... I don't think I can walk."

"No problem," Kourt assured him. He stood and lifted the unprotesting Bail into his arms and carried him from the dining hall, to the amazement and consternation of all the assembly. The Jedi quelled the guard with a single razor-edged glance, then proceeded swiftly to Blaine's quarters. He soon had the young man laid out on his bed, slowly beginning to regain control of his motor functions. "I'm sorry. I had no right to do that," Kourt began.

"Right? Right? Do Jedi often spring that on one another?" Blaine demanded, eyes still closed from his unexpected orgasm.

Kourt shrugged. "Those who can do. It's a strange skill, being able to project your physical sensations into another person's body. I can only do it at extremely short range."

"Damn," Blaine sighed. "And here I was hoping you could do that from miles away."

Kourt blinked, surprised. "You're not mad at me?"

"For THAT? I'm only pissed that it took you this long to show it to me!" Blaine opened his eyes at last. "Between that and the Force-touch, I might never leave this room again!"

Kourt smiled at that. "But we have a party to attend. I don't think your parents will be expecting you back at the banquet, so... why don't we make an early getaway."

Blaine sat up and slid his arms around Kourt's neck, then dropped a short, hot kiss onto his mouth. "I really think I could get used to having you around."

---

Kourt lay on the bed watching Blaine prepare for their night out. It was, he decided, a singularly enthralling way to spend the afternoon. It had begun with a long shower, followed by some incredibly complicated hair treatment that left Blaine's mop looking exactly as it had before, but more stylishly so. Kourt hadn't quite figured that out yet. The next step was something Kourt was observing with a great deal of interest. Blaine was shaving.

Being not-really-a-mammal had certain advantages, one being a lack of whiskers if he so desired. In that Kourt didn't want any facial hair, he just didn't get stubble. Blaine, however, was at something of a disadvantage on that point, so Kourt watched with some interest as he lathered up and drew a straight-edged razor over his skin, smoothing himself once again to baby-fine silkiness. Kourt's fingers fair itched to go and see how striking the difference might be, but held himself content to merely watch. "Why don't you use one of those electric thingies? Or that stuff... the Padawans use this depilatory..."

Blaine shrugged the shoulder that wouldn't complicate the process of shaving. "I've just always done it like this," he replied, attention fixed on the full-length mirror before him. He removed the last bit of foam, wiped his face and turned to other matters. Kourt understood his intent only moments before Blaine shaved the first swath through his pubic stubble. The frown of concentration that creased Blaine's brow was so artlessly becoming that Kourt found himself openly staring at the proceedings, taking in every nuance and gesture. Wicked blade against innocent skin, fingers following to test the closeness, then another swath. "The key, here, is to keep the skin taut."

Kourt just shook his head in consternation. "I'm glad I don't have to do that."

Blaine snorted. "What do you do if you don't want your hair any more? Shed?"

Kourt laughed at that. "I guess I could, but no. I just... change it."

"Hmmm."

When Blaine was done, he rinsed off in the shower once more and came back out wearing a black g-string. He tossed a white one to Kourt. "Game for a game?" he mischievously inquired.

"Anything for you," Kourt agreed, stripping out of his clothes and pulling the scanty underthings on. For all that Kourt generally wore no smallclothes at all, the flimsy bit of silk made him feel more exposed than he would have in nudity.

"Come here and I'll paint you," Blaine offered. The Bail was holding a palette of make-up and body ornaments, patiently waiting for Kourt to obey.

"Just show me what you've got in mind," Kourt said, sitting on the floor by the mirror.

Blaine sighed, but nodded and faced himself in the mirror once more. He painted an intricate design over his ribs and arms, legs and feet, everywhere he could reach to decorate. A riot of colors made swirls and flourishes, starbursts and glitters and paisleys of his skin. The detail was amazing, and Kourt found himself leaning closer and closer to observe. He was not at all surprised when Blaine handed the brush over and turned for Kourt to cover his back. With the base art applied, Blaine began adding highlights with sequins and glitter applied in gels and with adhesives. Then, with a completely different sort of paints he decorated his face and sprayed his whole body with some kind of protective coating. "So can I paint you now?" he asked, turning slowly for Kourt's perusal.

"Nah. We'll do better than that," Kourt decided. He took Blaine's hand and drew his fingers down the inside of one forearm, smiling as the Bail gawped at the sudden transformation from tan skin to emerald green stripes. "I mean, what's the point of being what I am if I can't show off a little?"

Blaine grinned foolishly for a long moment. "Can we do textures and stuff?"

Kourt shrugged. "Scales and hair are quickest, but sure..."

They settled in to work on Kourt's body, giving him short yellow hair with dark spots all along his buttocks and hips, then changing to elegant whorls on his legs and feet. His arms they gave ruby-red scales, starting at the shoulder and narrowing to a fine point on the back of his hand. His chest and back Blaine traced and patterned while Kourt shifted colors and textures into a sort of mosaic pattern that might have been paint but somehow wasn't. And just to be confusing, they left his face entirely alone. Blaine stepped back, studying the effect, then said "It's almost there. Your hair is still too mundane, though."

"I could do some horns," Kourt mischievously suggested.

"Nah. I have just the thing," the Bail replied and began digging through the drifts of debris that cluttered his quarters. After an intensive search, he returned with a long box. "I forget where I got these, but I never grew my hair out long enough to wear them, so...." He lifted the lid and Kourt grinned what could only be described as a bloodthirsty smile. The hair ornaments were made from tiny sculls and bones, connected with fine, glittering wire and embellished with tiny jewels in the empty eye sockets and opened jaws. These Blaine arranged in Kourt's hair, creating a sort of Deathcrown for the Jedi. "NOW you look like a properly exotic Jedi assassin/guard for me," Blaine pronounced.

Kourt turned to look in the mirror and smiled widely at the sight. He was exotic, a strange melange of every color and pattern possible, and it was beautiful, even to his own eyes.

"Here," Blaine said, throwing him a black vest with long fringe at the shoulders. Kourt pulled this on and was also given black pants made of silken net. Blaine had donned a similar costume, but in pure snowy white. "This is going to be great," the Bail announced as he led the way to his skimmer.

Kourt certainly hoped the Bail was right.

---

The club was quite transformed when at last Kourt and Blaine arrived. Thousands of lights and a bank of scented fog combined with the onslaught of loud, thumping dance music worked to create an atmosphere of exhibitionism while lending the feel of anonymity. Kourt recognized the canned music from their earlier visit. The style was the same, and everyone seemed to be quite pleased with its effects. They were certainly pleased to see the Royal contingent arrive. The moment they entered the club proper, they were assaulted.

Kourt's reflexes kicked in a little too strongly, he supposed. He pressed Blaine against the wall and set his back to the Bail, turning to face down his assailants with just bare hands. Their shocked expressions and the sound of Blaine's laughter took a moment to penetrate before Kourt understood that these were friends of the host. As they waded through the crowd, Kourt slowly began to realize that everyone here was a friend of the host.

They made their way to the bar, Kourt taking water and Blaine taking something purple, fizzing and so packed with stimulants that the Bail was soon three or four times as hyper as normal. Which really was saying something, considering the constant motion he generally lived in. For a moment Kourt lost sight of him, then the tone of the music changed and the entire club started screaming. Kourt turned towards the stage and was suddenly and totally unable to breathe.

The stage was lit in a bizarre hologram trick, making one half monochrome while playing up every color on the other half. The music diminished until it was but one beat, a rapid staccato fire that brought everyone to a dead standstill, watching the stage from all points in the cavernous venue. A low, ululating tone crept in, and then Blaine was there controlling the sounds and lights with a touch so sure and calm Kourt was drawn to him, the music a tonal compulsion as total as the strongest Suggestion.

Blaine saw him approaching as he cut a path through the crowd, an easy smile playing across his lips, invitation to join the game. Kourt nodded once, let the rhythm command his motion and raised his hands above his head, swaying as he slowly made his way up the steps to the thrust of the stage. The fringe of his vest was a distraction, so he shed it, which elicited another scream from the crowd. Blaine pulled the microphone closer to him and began to sing, a chant of enticement and desire.

You took me to a place, to the mountaintop
You're not what you seem to be, but that won't stop
Me from taking you, it makes you mine
Dance for me boy, angeldemon divine

And Kourt knew what Blaine was asking. His actions said 'take joy in what you are, show it and be counted as one of us. One of the Others.'

Kourt dropped his head forward and slowly drew his hands over his face, turning a slow circle so that no one could quite see him for a long moment. The angles to his body slowly shifted, lengthening to something not-quite-human as they watched. The music picked up and Kourt began to move with all the flexibility now available to him in this new form. He kept the beat with hands and arms, but his body moved in slow motion, impossibly extended and graceful, with neither tremor nor strain showing as he boosted his coordination with tiny Force manipulations.

As he slowly arched over backwards, he completed another shift, lengthening and thickening his hair, letting color changes shoot from root to tip, until he bore a mantle of mad colors that would reach as far as his knees. His hands met the floor and he stretched up into a handstand and held, then let the arch continue over until one toe rested on the floor, his other leg at a full extension upwards and away.

Clearly, it's too much for me to experience
Truly, but I keep moving
Nearly, you are a deliverance
Calmly, it's too much for me to keep doing

Change me, make me an animal
Same as me, but more complete
Be me, and I'll share my skin
Be you, and together we feast

Kourt stood quickly, then turned three quick handsprings, ending directly before the Bail. When he turned to face Blaine, he saw the shock in his eyes as the full impact of Kourt's shifting struck home. Like a dream-wraith, Kourt spun and leapt, landing on the dance floor and hiding in the madness there long enough to re-assume his costume-form he had entered with, though without his vest. Stealthily he moved along the front of the stage, stalking his own ward. The music continued, but Kourt could see Blaine searching for him in the crowd. With all the silence and skill available to a Jedi, Kourt slipped in behind Blaine and whispered a kiss down his neck, making the younger man shiver and turn in surprise. Kourt's hands took up the music where Blaine had left them, maintaining until the Bail grinned and turned back to his work. Kourt stood as close to him as he could, the scent of his lover filling his senses as he reached towards him with the Force, running nearly imperceptible tendrils of cold over his body.

Phantom-touch, spiritual desire
It's too much, you only get me higher
Dreamed to death, now made real
You take my want, I take your feel
Show me shadows, make them dance
Show me sunlight, take the chance
To show me something you hold dear
I'll give you love to replace the fear

And then the music was shifting, no longer under Blaine's control, and Kourt's mouth, arms, body were filled with the warm yielding flesh of his lover. The Jedi drank him in, not caring that there was an audience of hundreds watching as he slowly reduced Blaine to so much mush and lust.

"Let me show you one of the back rooms," Blaine suggested when Kourt let him up for air.

"Sounds like a plan," Kourt rasped, taking Blaine's hand in a deathgrip as they headed towards the back of the stage.

Blaine led them down a darkened corridor, shadows and dim half-light obscuring the beings that could be sensed and heard all around them. Kourt focused his attention on his lover and their destination, fighting the urge to simply push him up against the wall and do what so many others seemed to be quite happily doing all around them.

Something crashed somewhere in the darkness, and Blaine's hand was pulled from Kourt's, leaving the Jedi alone in shadow.

He closed his eyes, casting his senses like a net as he reached for Blaine. Without thought, Kourt quickly adjusted his eyes for low-light and filled in the rest through the Force. With that, he found Blaine, just a few feet away and fighting like a wildcat. One of the assailants went down when a thumb jabbed him sharply in the eye. That free hand was soon controlled by another attacker, who received a nasty kick to the kneecap for his trouble. There the Bail's luck ran out as three others came to the assist. Unfortunately for them, Kourt arrived at just the same time.

One assailant held each arm while a third controlled Blaine's head and upper body and dragged him further down the hall. Kourt spun to the left, leaping to deliver a sharp kick to the side of his target's head. He staggered, pulling the others off-balance as Kourt's fist connected with his chest and he was sent stumbling away. From the affronted shouts that followed, Kourt thought he might have ended up where he wasn't welcome. One.

A quick Force-choke took care of the second, collapsing his windpipe and leaving him gasping for breath he was never going to get. Two.

"Blaine, duck!" Kourt shouted, boosting the command with Suggestion. He leaped again, one foot planting on the inside of Blaine's upper thigh, the other clearing his form and connecting solidly with the face of the man standing behind him. Kourt followed his body's momentum around, flipping over backwards and landing in a crouch over the fallen Bail's body. The collapse of his attacker had dragged him down. Kourt scooped him up and dragged him down the hall and back towards the club proper. "Where?"

Blaine pointed to a door and Kourt took it, surprised to have arrived in a completely abandoned and totally plaid room.

"Plaid?" he asked, incredulous.

"Keeps the others out," Blaine explained as Kourt set him down on the nearest sofa. "What it lacks in ambiance, it makes up for in privacy. Ow," he gently complained as Kourt searched him for injury.

"They knock you on the head?" Kourt asked, stilling Blaine's movement when he would have nodded. "Okay, hold still. This is kind of difficult for me, but I need to be sure..."

Blaine closed his eyes, relaxing as Kourt stroked the bump on his scalp with gentle fingers. Kourt focused what little healing abilities he had on the injury, soothing away the minor damage and ending the ache that had clouded the Bail's eyes. "Better?"

Blaine smiled. "Remember that the next time I have a sunburn," he saucily suggested. "I'm fine, really."

"Oh, so you're accustomed to being attacked and... good skies above, nearly stripped, not that you had much to begin with..." Kourt indicated the tatters of Blaine's net-pants and absence of vest.

"You didn't do much better with all that flying around, you know," Blaine pointed to Kourt's clothes, which now hung in frayed strings where the thread had given way under his exertions. "I guess you get to be a true exhibitionist now."

Kourt eyed the room's decorations with consideration. "Maybe not."

Blaine surveyed his new clothing with barely-contained derision. "I can't believe you dressed me in a wall hanging. What did you call this?"

"A kilt. Used to be very popular in Perrys some years ago. Look, you said you liked mine," Kourt said, checking his hair-ornaments.

"Yeah," Blaine replied dreamily as he looked Kourt up and down.

"Then yours looks good too," the Jedi reasonably concluded.

"Oh, all right," Blaine huffed. "But I'm not staying here like this. I look... goofy. This just doesn't go with the paint."

Kourt bowed, the very image of a scraping servant. "Lead me, my liege, and I shall follow."

Blaine scowled at that, but moved to pull one of the chairs away from the wall. "Escape hatch," he explained. "I always ask one of all my clubs."

"Good idea," Kourt commended, following the Bail out through a short hallway and into the alley behind the club. "Any idea who those guys were?"

Blaine shrugged one shoulder. "Cabasy's having them picked up for assault, though he's keeping it quiet as to who they whupped up on. Why?"

"I'll be wanting to question them later, along with that waiter from last night," Kourt explained. "It usually helps to let them sit around and think about what they've gotten into before I lean on them."

"What do you mean?" Blaine asked, taking his hand and leading him towards the street.

"It's a Jedi thing," Kourt explained. "Fear can be a powerful ally."

"How?"

"Oh, you know. Get someone to be afraid of you, they'll do pretty much anything you want. That's why we Jedi go to so much trouble to keep from frightening people. Sometimes that makes us look weak, but it's better than... unduly influencing those who are best left alone," Kourt said, slipping an arm around Blaine's waist.

"That's what Dad always said," Blaine said as they crossed the street and headed towards the sand dunes on the other side. "That we were a monarchy because our people loved us instead of fearing us."

"Well, that and the electoral element to your Republic dealings," Kourt couldn't help but add. "If your Senator were appointed rather than elected and all of your local government were passed through familial lines, I think your little system would suffer for it."

Blaine nodded, head down as they strolled through the loose sand down towards the beach. "Though they seem to be gunning for me," he murmured. "It seems like every time I turn around, somebody wants me to run for office."

Kourt said nothing. This was not a thing he could influence the Bail on. The decisions of the body politic must be made from within. A Jedi could only enforce those policies as Republic charter provided.

"I mean, I've never had to do anything more than choose which shoes go with what coat. What business have I got trying to run the system? That's Kyle's job," Blaine continued, a trifle huffily.

Kourt couldn't help but smile, glad that the moonlight and shadow only served to disguise his expression. "Well, if nothing else, you do have a Jedi advisor in your bed now. That can't hurt..."

"Oh, no. That doesn't hurt at all." Blaine tugged on Kourt's hand, leading him into a copse of scrubby trees. "In fact, I can even do without the bed."

A moment later Kourt was flat on his back and writhing, not quite sure how he'd been put there, but also not quite upset that it had happened. He reached up, tracing his fingers over the smooth skin of Blaine's lips. "Kiss me," he whispered.

Blaine leaned down to comply, mouth a little sour from the stimulants he had consumed at the club. Kourt drank of the tart flavor, enjoying it as much as the fruity undertone that seemed to be Blaine's own taste.

"Promise me something," Blaine murmured, never quite ending the kiss.

"What?" Kourt asked, twisting his hands into Blaine's hair and getting comfortable for the proceedings.

"Don't play human."

Kourt blinked. "What?"

"Just... I just want to try it," he smiled. "I mean, what's the point of suddenly becoming a xenophile if I can't have kinky alien sex?"

Kourt tipped his head back and laughed, pulling Blaine down into a rough hug. "If I don't play human, how will you know what to do?"

Blaine wiggled free and started working on removing Kourt's kilt. "I'll wing it. C'mon, I've been fucking humans since I was sixteen. I want something new. Gimme."

Kourt rolled his eyes in resignation. "Okay, but if I don't think it's working, I'm going back to human mode."

Blaine leaned forward and thrust his hips against Kourt, rubbing an already-stiff cock against his thigh. "Trust me, it's working. I just have to work on you." The Bail's fingers parted the last fold of the kilt and slipped it free of Kourt's hips, exposing his highly decorative skin to the moonlight. For a long moment, Blaine simply sat and admired the effect, then with sure hands began exploring the curiosity that was his lover's body. "Here, wasn't it?" he asked, pressing his fingers in just below Kourt's navel.

The Jedi squirmed, then stilled. "A little lower, actually," he managed to instruct.

"Ah, yes... of course," Blaine moved his thumbs and pressed in, rising up onto his knees as Kourt twisted in the sand beneath him. "I think you like this. I think you want this," the Bail murmured, beginning to rub little circles all along Kourt's gurden. "I think this feels as good to you as your hands feel on my cock. Is that so?"

"Yesssss," Kourt hissed, but whether he was answering the question or simply stating a general approval was difficult to tell.

Blaine sat back long enough to unwind his own kilt, then leaned down and pressed his cock to the place his fingers had teased to such sensitivity. "And I think, with just a little practice, I could probably work out a way to overwhelm you with this," Blaine's tone was polite and conversational as he explained his intent. "Frankly, I think I deserve the chance to fuck you stupid. I mean, fair is fair."

Kourt couldn't help but chuckle, though the situation was hardly a laughing matter. "Blaine, it's okay... you don't have to..."

"Which is good, because if I had to, I probably wouldn't. I want to. Will you please just shut up and let me figure this out?"

Kourt folded his hands behind his head and sighed. "Ah me, such is life." "And you suffer so prettily," Blaine grinned, sliding down Kourt's body. He sank his teeth into Kourt's navel, then sucked, pinking the skin brightly before moving lower.

Kourt moaned, arching up into the wet heat of Blaine's mouth as it teased and worried at his skin, tongue finding every sensitive place and exploiting it with a single-minded aggression that left Kourt panting and mind-mangled, belly filled with a lustneed he couldn't even begin to describe. Part of his instincts clamored for him to release it, let it go, push it away. The rest of him just whimpered and begged. "More, please, oh skies, Blaine... more."

"Now that's what I like to hear," Blaine grinned down at him. "Don't move."

Kourt obeyed this command as Blaine got up and began stripping leaves off the trees around them. "What the hell are you doing?" Kourt demanded, stroking fingers over his gurden to keep it from aching too badly as he waited for the Bail's return.

"Lube. I can't believe I forgot lube," Blaine replied, thrashing around the underbrush.

"Not like you had anywhere to carry it," Kourt excused.

"That's not the point," Blaine huffed, resuming his seat over Kourt's hips. "I had a plan here."

Kourt decided he simply didn't want to know. Instead of inquiring further, he watched with open curiosity as Blaine bundled a pile of leaves and flowers together in his hands and squeezed. A trickle of fluid flowed down onto Kourt's stomach, delightfully cool and scented of the trees around them. "Let it never be said you couldn't improvise with the best of them."

Blaine's fingers made slow and pleasant work of spreading the oil over Kourt's skin. "Well of course I can. Who do you think I learned from? Now then..."

Kourt closed his eyes as Blaine leaned in for another kiss, filling his mind again with the feel of Blaine's skin as it moved over his own, the stretch and relax of muscle as he was arranged to the Bail's liking, the angles and lines of his lover when he pressed, full-length, along Kourt's body and offered all that he was. Kourt sighed into Blaine's mouth and twisted fingers into the sand, afraid that if he touched he would go quite mad from the pleasure.

Instead, he offered something that Blaine had seemed to enjoy the day before. Warm brushes of Force-touch began etching paths over the Bail's flesh, bringing soft gasps to the lips of his partner. Blaine twisted against him, trying to arch into fingers and lips that simply weren't there but which aroused and pleasured him nonetheless. "Kourt," Blaine moaned, eyes wide and unseeing as his cock was surrounded by a firm grip and stroked with patient surety. "Can you... inside me... like the garden..."

"Oh yes," Kourt replied, stroking feather-light touches down Blaine's back and centering them at the base of his spine. "Do you want it like last night?"

"Not so much, no..." Blaine said. "I want to feel you, not just your technique."

Kourt entered his body with gentle pressure, sighing as Blaine thrust down against his gurden and writhed. The oil between their bodies made them slip slickly together, arms reaching for purchase, legs grounding their weight and centering their contact. Kourt let go his handfuls of sand and pulled Blaine down firmly against his belly. "Here, right here," he gasped, eyes closing against the slow rhythm Blaine initiated, rocking his hips between the smoothness of Kourt's skin and the pressure as he was opened and filled.

Kourt bent his knees, planting his feet on the sand as he pushed up into Blaine's slowly undulating hips. The burn of desire within him was quickly rising to a full-fledged agony of need. His hands slid up Blaine's chest, teasing and tugging at his nipples before sliding into his hair and pulling him down for a savage kiss. The hot steel of Blaine's cock burned a path of tormenting delight, stroking firmly along the whole of Kourt's gurden with a mindless determination born of curiosity and blind passion. The sweet flavor of Blaine's sighs coupled with the silken flex and stroke of his body dragged openmouthed groans out of Kourt, adding his own flavor to their embrace.

Blaine twisted his hips, changing the angle of their contact and Kourt screamed, body arching off the sand with eager rapture. Blaine pulled back far enough to grin down at the Knight's reaction, then began playing it for all it was worth. His hips thrust easily, playfully, as if he really had nothing he wanted to do other than make his lover scream and beg for more, for him, harder, now. Kourt's fingers closed around Blaine's arms and he surged up into the motion, screaming his orgasm to the stars.

---

Kourt blinked unsteadily for a moment, trying to work out what had happened. He'd been... oh yeah. A slow grin crept across his face as memory returned. Now the only question was this: where had Blaine gone?

Kourt sat up, amused to find himself covered with the cloth that had been his kilt. After a moment he spied Blaine down by the water, playing in the surf. He gathered up their makeshift clothes and made his wobbly way down to join him. "Hi there. Are you going to disappear every time we fuck? Is this something I should just get used to?"

Blaine shrugged and grinned. "Well, you were out for a lot longer than I was, I think."

"Out?"

"As in passed. Out. Cold."

Kourt blinked. "So you just left me there?"

"I was watching you," the Bail assured him. "But it's almost bedtime and I wanted to rinse off before the sand joined permanently with my skin."

Kourt looked down at himself and laughed. "I've always wondered what it was about dried semen that made it such a perfect adhesive."

"Protein," Blaine replied, kneeling down to wash Kourt's belly. "Not that you have that problem."

"Oh really?" Kourt smiled. "Then what the hell is this, exactly?"

Blaine laughed and splashed at him, which just demanded a retaliation. Soon they had chased one another far up the beach and away from their little copse of trees.

Kourt carefully wound Blaine up in his kilt once more and they settled onto the sand, the Bail leaning against his chest and tracing pictures in the sand. "You know, we're closer to the shopping district than the club now," he casually mentioned. "It's going to be a pain in the ass going back to the skimmer."

Kourt grunted noncommittally. "I didn't know we were on a time frame."

"We're not... not really," Blaine allowed, settling back again. "I'm feeling too good to move anyway."

"Me too," Kourt whispered, stroking Blaine's hair.

"Hey! Blaine!" a voice called from somewhere down the beach. Kourt peered at the figure and finally recognized their waiter from lunch.

"Hey Jules," Blaine smiled, not moving.

"Are the trees free?" the dark-haired young singer asked, blushing around the edges as he made a valiant attempt to stare a hole in the sand.

Blaine's eyes widened with apparent shock, then smiled when a blond-haired young man came up behind Jules and handed him his guitar. "You left this," the newcomer said.

"Oh. Right. Uh. Blaine, can you watch out for this?" the waiter inquired, thrusting the instrument towards the Bail.

Blaine rolled his eyes and accepted it. "Sure. The trees were up for grabs when we left, but you're welcome to borrow the skimmer and go someplace less..."

"Gritty," Kourt supplied.

"Hey, thanks!" Jules grinned, dragging his companion back towards the dunes. "I'll bring it right to you when we get back," he promised.

Blaine settled back against Kourt, guitar cradled across his lap. "There, see? Valet service."

Kourt began stroking his hair once more, happy to just be quietly in the moment. After a time the Bail began to strum the guitar, then to sing as the surf crashed below them. Kourt pillowed his head on his arm and closed his eyes, incorporating the sense of his companion into the serenity that soothed his soul.

What a beautiful face
I have found in this place
That is circling
All round the sun

What a beautiful dream
That could flash on the screen
In a blink of an eye
And be gone from me

Soft and sweet
Let me hold it close and keep it here
Let me

And one day we will die
And our ashes will fly
From the aeroplane
Over the sea

But for now we are young
Let us lay in the sun
And count every beautiful thing
We can see

Love to be
In the arms of all I'm keeping here
Let me

What a curious life
We have found here tonight
There is music that sounds
From the street

There are lights in the clouds
And there's ghosts all around
You're a voice that is rolling and ringing
Through me

Soft and sweet
While the notes all bend and reach above
The tree

Now how I remember you
How well I pushed my fingers through
Your mouth to make those muscles move
and make your voice so smooth
And sweet
But now we keep where we don't know
All secrets sleep in winter clothes
With one you loved so long ago
Now he don't even know his name

What a beautiful face
I have found in this place
That is circling
All round the sun

And when we meet on a cloud
I'll be laughing out loud
I'll be laughing
At everyone

I see
Can't believe how strange it is to be
Anything at all

-end-

---

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