At Peak Efficiency

by Selion

The Sith warrior helps Quinn alleviate some of his tension a few days after a gathering on Alderaan went south. Porn with a bit of plot. M/M pairing. No game spoilers.

Most Sith used meditation as a tool to work themselves into an unholy storm of righteous anger; fury pouring like a waterfall through their bodies and minds. Strengthening that thin, but ever-present thread of connection to the darker side of the Force into something as deep and wide as one of the great chasms that split the surface of Malachor V.

But that wasn't what Lord Amon wanted or needed. He meditated as the Jedi did, quietly and peacefully, gathering the cool calm from the invisible fields of the universe and letting it soothe and relax him. The deep, humming quiet and dim lights of his personal chambers further aided that easy slide into utter peace.

Distractions were usually easy to deal with. Identify them and then tune them out, like a buzzing radio signal fading away to fall into perfect silence. This time, however, it just wasn't possible. Roiling waves of frustration intermittently swept over him, the source being the only other person currently aboard the Fury. Each time it happened it jarred him loose from that placid place in his mind and it didn't appear to be stopping any time soon. His brow creased and he finally concentrated his will on the locking mechanism on the wall behind him, letting the durasteel door shush open to frame the distraction in the middle of striding by.

"Oh! My lord. I wasn't aware you were on board. I apologize if I've disturbed you."

Quinn had been stomping all over the ship for the better portion of the last hour, bootheels tapping through the halls, stopping to pause in the briefing room, then angrily stalking off again to the cockpit to jab his elegant fingers at his datapads and holocom. He was very obviously incensed at something. Among Quinn's mutterings he'd heard the words "diplomatic nightmare" and then later "mountains of paperwork to sift through".

Perhaps it was about the incident with the vile little Alderaanian representative they'd been cornered into speaking with the day prior. The man had been somewhat drunk, but not nearly enough to excuse the constant touching of the Sith's forearm and bicep as he continually stepped over the bounds of personal space, carrying with him a reeking, flowery stench. There had been many overly-familiar words and a lot of unwanted staring, but the eventual open insults at Captain Quinn's expense had been the final, unforgivable straw. There had been a gratifying squelch as the delicate inner workings of the perfumed and and powdered throat had suddenly collapsed.

Quinn's own face at that time had been one of concern and restrained revulsion, a model Imperial officer as always, though the emotions flowing off him like little streams had been pure excitement. He'd made a perfunctory effort to chide Amon at the time, his words outwardly lamenting the loss of life as a small crowd gathered but his mind instead calculating what sort of a mess this would put his lord into and how to gracefully avoid as much of the trouble as possible. Yet under that, reveling in the death.

But then the calls had started. Yes, that may well be the source of the captain's current ire.

Amon's back was to the door but he knew exactly what he would see had he felt the need to turn around and open his eyes. Quinn standing stock-still in his doorway, eyes cast deferentially downwards, hands tightly clasped at the small of his back, heels together, and not a fiber of his light grey officer's uniform out of place. Trim and neat; all long lines and sharp angles. His face perhaps hot with anger, but the expression itself carefully packed away and hidden under a professional facade. Chest heaving and nostrils flaring with the exertion of his marching, but not one of his hairs fallen into disarray. Amon guessed at most of that, drawing from experience, but he could also reach out and feel some of it. Quinn was frustrated and full of anxiety and approaching the boiling point of some kind of loud, messy outburst. While that may have been amusing to watch at some other time, right now, he just wanted quiet. An end to this irritation.

Without turning or moving, he spoke, "Sit with me, Quinn."

He could feel the resistance to the command, though Quinn voiced no actual objections. Quinn wanted to continue his mad pacing and worrying, the rhythm of it satisfying some nasty feedback loop of manic energy. And now he probably thought he was about to be punished or reprimanded. Pausing and fretting about it now.

"Quinn."

A low breath. "I... yes, my lord."

Quinn sank down beside him, lip no doubt curling at the undignified thought of sitting on the floor. But he made no vocal protest, obediently sinking to his knees and folding his hands in front of him to mirror the towering Sith at his side. Amon smiled to himself. That distinguished persona of Quinn's, no matter how riled on the inside, always amused him to no end and was also something he dearly loved about him. Exquisite and cold and aloof was ever his captain's exterior.

As he'd guessed, even after a long while Quinn was unable to mentally settle himself at all. He made no fidget nor sound as they sat there, but the aura of emotional chaos was battering against Amon's senses like a deranged flutterplume and pulling his own attention away from his center again. Worse even, now that the source was so near and constant.

"You realize I'm not going to let you leave until you are calm?" As soon as Quinn had entered, Amon had let the heavy door slide closed again, shutting out the hallway light. Not locked, but the closed door sending a very blunt message nonetheless.

"I had picked up on that, yes."

"Good."

They sat in silence for a another unknown span of time with absolutely no change. Quinn stayed cool and serene on the outside, but jittered and raged within his mind. It was impressive, but not surprising, the way he was still trying, albeit failing, to obey his lord's wishes.

"I can still feel your tension quite strongly, Captain." The Alderaanian dunce must have been quite a big deal to end up causing so much backlash.

Quinn's eyebrows ticked down, a small frown finally crossing the solemn face. "This has never worked for me in the past. And I really should get back to trying to clean up the current mess with Mister Aurelish and his estate, rather than... sitting here on the floor."

Amon finally let his eyes open, the brassy yellow of them gazing down at his red-skinned hands and the thin golden bangles adorning the connected wrists. He was clad only in a loose pair of woven trousers and his long hair had been done up in looping braids to keep it away from his face. The two of them must look like quite the mismatched pair kneeling together, he thought as he decided against rising to Quinn's bait. "You know, there are other ways to relax or work out stress if meditation isn't for you."

"Is that so?" Quinn said, a frustrated snap to his words. "...my lord," he hastily amended, remembering himself.

"It is," he said lightly, ignoring Quinn's impatience. "Teas, breathing exercises, taking a walk... though I notice that didn't do much to help you." Amon turned to look obliquely at Quinn. He'd tilted his head back in an exasperated pose, looking at the ceiling and blinking at it through his frown as he realized his protest was being soundly disregarded. The pale column of Quinn's neck canted back at a sharp angle and Amon found he very much wanted to press his lips there, if only just to hear what sort of noise Quinn would make. He imagined an undignified squeak and hid a smile.

"Or," he continued blithely, "the two favorites among the acolytes in the Sith Academy were sparring and fucking."

Quinn choked and glanced at him, the silent outpouring of distracted annoyance shifting to shock and curious interest. Even if he hadn't been able to feel that chilled sliver and then the hot pulse, the expressions had flickered over his face, there and then instantly gone.

"And sometimes the former turned into the latter as well. We were a very energetic group." He let a small smile cross his lips, amused at Quinn's lovely and usually unflappable face tripping into that bare, instant-long look of embarrassment and desire. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I don't..." Quinn made a weak noise of irritation. "I'm fine."

"I need my captain to be at peak efficiency at all times, Quinn, but you're letting this thing conquer you. It's hindering your abilities and trying my patience." Amon dropped his meditation stance, rolling the powerful shoulders back and twisting his thick neck side to side, letting the vertebrae crack. He leaned up and turned to face directly at Quinn and dropped into a relaxed, nearly bored position. Long legs crossed, left arm draped across his lap, right elbow on right knee, and chin nestled comfortably into right hand. Quinn turned as well and looked back at him apprehensively, seeing that he wouldn't be dismissed. "You need to get this out of your system."

He focused his concentration down to a narrow point and Quinn tensed in surprise, the blue-grey eyes darting up to lock onto his own. Amon had done this to himself enough times to know what Quinn was feeling right now: the sensation of a palm seemingly made of solid air resting against his bare chest. Amon couldn't feel Quinn's skin under the conjured hand, it was more of just a sense of pressure and resistance, but he could imagine and watch Quinn squirm, and that was nearly as fun.

"My lord, what are you doing?" Quinn whispered.

The ghostly hand slid down, past the gentle slope of his pectoral muscle, completely unrestricted by the stiff gaberwool of Quinn's uniform jacket, or even the tighter shirt underneath. It dropped lower, the lightest caress against the small muscles of Quinn's thin stomach and side.

"Helping you get this out of your system. If you're amenable, of course." Quinn sucked in a harsh breath as the hand fell to trace along the vee of muscle that led down his hip and past his waistline. Their eyes were still locked, tension mounting higher as the touches crept lower where they would soon become unable to be forgiven as mere play. Another hand was summoned, fingers dancing along Quinn's sharp jaw and then tilting it to the side as if for inspection.

"Ask me to stop, Captain," Amon said. "I will."

Quinn swallowed, loud in the quiet of the chamber and let his head be shifted around with no resistance. "This… goes against several regulations."

Amon smiled, cheek crinkling against his palm. Quinn was unsure about something, but that wasn't a 'stop'. "You know I'm not really one for regulations."

"That is becoming increasingly obvious to me." Quinn's eyes threatened to close as a hand moved to cup the back of his neck, combing through the short hair and rubbing against his skin. But they snapped back open after a moment, teeth gritted and hands jerking up as if to halt the movement of the projections touching him. He wouldn't be able to interact with them in any way without Force sensitivity, but Amon stopped the glide of the hands regardless, waiting.

"This is improper, my lord. We should not be doing this," Quinn whispered in a quick rush.

Probably not. They'd never overstepped that ever-important commander/subordinate line. But he very much wanted to. And underneath Quinn's weak protestations and aimless attempts at seeming demure, which were admittedly appealing, he could feel his lust raging. Ambiguous teasing, lingering glances, and touches that could easily be seen as accidental were part of their day-to-day life aboard the ship and elsewhere when it couldn't be readily observed, but neither of them had ever made such an overt play against the other like this. What was confusing was that the lust was merely a throbbing undertone to the rising disquiet he could also feel coming from Quinn. Too much too fast?

"Tell me what you're worried about. I know it can't be what our superiors might think; we're quite alone." The Force hand in his hair drifted back around, dragging under his ear, down the jawline, the thumb caressing Quinn's beautiful lips and making his eyelashes flutter with the sensation, and then down to loosely clasp his throat. Quinn stiffened again and moaned fearfully, having very accurate and recent knowledge of what that deceptively easy grip could turn into. Ah.

"Is it this?" The hand on his neck shifted, the fingers pattering against the skin in a short rhythm. "What I could do to you, if I had the inclination?"

He could see it again in his mind. Quinn standing a respectful step behind his elbow and holding a short glass of alcohol that had been merrily forced on him by the host of the party. He'd taken a polite sip of it and later confided to Amon that it was sunfruit liqueur and sickeningly sweet.

The shimmersilk-adorned and gem-encrusted Mister Aurelish had already accosted them some time ago, with insolent leers at Amon's jewelry-bedecked hair and face and constant "flattering" remarks on his height and physique. If it hadn't been so infuriating, it would have been funny how clueless the man was about having his advances rebuffed; it seemed he didn't experience it often or at all.

But it had turned serious when he'd finally gotten the hint and, quite loudly, said "Fine, you alien filth. If you'd rather keep company with your pet Imp, then I'll excuse myself." A drunken stumble and he'd almost pressed up against Quinn, catching himself right before contact was made. Murmuring his displeasure, Quinn had put his occupied hand out to stop the motion, the other automatically lowering to where his blaster grip would have been if they'd been armed at the time.

Amon's hackles had already risen and he'd felt the heavy surge in his mind, wondering if Aurelish was going to wise up or say something fatal. True to expectations, he slurred onwards: "He looks like a proper boot-licking whore anyway, so I hope you enjoy the feel of his tongue."

Amon had reached out, his hand in a tense curve, feeling the Force gather easily around the man's trachea and esophagus. Felt the rush of emotion from Quinn as he recognized the gesture. Saw the too-late build of fear in Aurelish's eyes and then clawed his hand shut into a tight ball, the man's throat completely crushed. He collapsed silently, unable to even gasp for air. Considering, Amon thought he'd been astoundingly patient with him.

Quinn closed his eyes and managed a slight nod. His lips parted, as if about to say something, but they closed again, the words unsaid.

"I may be ruthless to some, even carelessly so, as I'm sure you think after that horrid idiot, but never to my allies, Quinn." The hand on his hip vanished and reformed next to the other, both in a relaxed grasp, encircling the pale neck. "I could... but I won't." The fingers buried themselves in Quinn's hair, and the thumbs stroked harmlessly down the pronounced tendons to then slip over the ridges of his collarbones. A near-silent hum came from Quinn, nervous but still falling prey to the feel of the light touch.

"You see? Never to you. Have I ever been?" he murmured.

Amon had seen the way many Sith treated their peers and companions and had always thought it the absolute height of folly. Why sow mistrust and hatred among your confederates when that energy could be better spent on your enemies? He could feel Quinn's fear cautiously sliding into the background as he shook his head and was glad of it. Respect was welcome. Terror was not.

"No, my lord."

"I'll always take care of my own," Amon said in a quiet purr. The soft touches of the Force-projected hands had been an interesting exercise, but he wanted more. Wanted to actually feel that silky human skin and pliant muscle relent under his own fingers. To card his hands through the dark feathers of Quinn's hair and grip tight. He dissolved both phantoms from where they'd come to rest on Quinn's shoulders. "And you are mine, are you not?"

A shaky, held breath was released. "Of course." His head dipped down in a submissive nod. And still he sat there in the exact same way; always obedient, even when afraid for his life.

Amon was immediately reminded of the moment Quinn had requested to join his skills to Amon's own; kneeling before him in the echoing expanse of one of the hangar bays in Sobrik, speaking his pledge of loyalty and bowing his head in supplication. It was almost shameful how much that had enticed him. But Quinn was smart, devilishly so. His words had been precisely chosen, his pose as well, and the coy glance upwards through dark eyelashes had all been flawlessly orchestrated to appeal to the Sith's desire for control and power. And it had worked embarrassingly well. Even in that dirty, wide-open, public space with dock workers and mechanics all about, Amon's well-trained body had reacted strongly, knowing exactly what Quinn was doing but still wanting to possess all of this seemingly straight-laced officer, beyond just his professional skills, which were remarkable on their own.

"So say it."

"I am yours as always, my lord. All of me is for you to use as you see fit," he spoke with his face still downturned dutifully, but lightly flushed with pink.

A curl of hunger loosed itself at the words; Quinn knew him so well. "Come to me then," he said, gesturing with a long-nailed hand, bracelets clinking with the motion.

Quinn rose and took the one small step forward that he could, boots nearly touching Amon's crossed ankles. Amon reached up and lay his hand across the back of Quinn's knee, guiding him into his lap as the other hand pulled Quinn's wrist down. He wondered if Quinn would want to be kissed and attended to or if he preferred sex like his work: quick and impersonal with no time wasted on trivial matters.

Though with Quinn's slight weight now resting across his thighs and his delicate hands coming to rest atop his shoulders, he could see pretending to be detached wouldn't be an option for him even if Quinn wished it.

Thumbs on Quinn's cheekbones, he drew him in and kissed him, much more gently than he wanted to. He was soft and welcoming, responding to the press of lips by parting his own and sighing quietly into Amon's mouth. Quinn's hands clenched tighter onto the swells of muscle he held, and then clawed into them with a grunt when Amon broke away to kiss his way down Quinn's jaw and tongue at his pulse point. He smiled there, lips on the faintly scratchy skin and nose settled against the soft hollow behind Quinn's ear. Even the way he smelled was perfectly Imperial. The prickly scent of starch from his high-collared uniform jacket, the inoffensive soap and shampoo the military liked to use, some faint, herbal aftershave that still clung to his neck, and the bitter smell of unsweetened caf hanging around his mouth like a cloud. He inhaled again, pressed another wet kiss to his throat, then pulled away to begin the task of stripping his captain of his clothes.

"So," he started, the belt clicking a loud counterpoint as it came unlatched. "Tell me about this problem you're having."

It was unlikely that he could do much about it, bureaucracy and damage control was far more Quinn's strength than his, but Amon still wanted to at least ask and get some understanding about the depth of the trouble he'd caused for poor Quinn. And it would serve as a decent distraction to keep him from rending the clothes from Quinn's body and mauling him, besides. A test of his impulses. Perhaps it would even put Quinn at ease in some way; something familiar with something new.

Quinn looked down at Amon's hands as they threaded the end of his belt through its clasp and then pulled the whole thing off and away. "You want to talk about this right now?"

"Yes, I do."

"I don't know if I should be pleased you have an interest in this, or disappointed in your abysmal timing." A short huff was the only other signal of his indignation. "I filed the last of the reports on it earlier this morning, my lord. It isn't really as bad as it seems."

His hand slid through the large flap of Quinn's jacket, feeling for the snaps that held it closed and frowned at the denial. "I don't believe that for a second; I could feel your irritation screaming at me from all over the ship as soon as you got on board."

He passed his hands under the shoulders of the open jacket and pushed it off. Quinn leaned forward to facilitate the motion and kissed him roughly, all firm lips and angry teeth. He seemed impatient. Perhaps because of the forced discussion or perhaps because of the incredibly slow pace Amon was setting. Regardless, when he finally pulled back he sighed and then seemed to resign himself to both.

"It wouldn't even have been that much of a problem if it weren't for his ex-wife. She's the only one making a stink about it."

An ex-wife. That could throw an interesting knot into things. The low-slung gunbelt with the vibroknife and snub-nose blaster came off next, and was laid down more carefully. He would have placed the weapons alongside his own saber and shield gen in his trunk were it not on the other side of the room. "She still loved him?"

Quinn laughed, even through his elevated breathing. As he spoke his hands drifted, both curious and reverent, across Amon's massive arms and then up to twine themselves into his edifice of braids and heavy gold beads. Amon shivered at the ghost-light touch and then the ticklish pull at his scalp.

"No, not at all. She was going through a years-long process of trying to insinuate herself back into consideration for his properties when he eventually either moved off-planet or died. This sudden cessation of life seems to have brought a premature end to her endeavors and she isn't pleased about it."

Amon sucked his lower lip between his teeth and divested Quinn of his undershirt, rolling it slowly up and over the flat stomach and then pulling it over the nearly hairless chest and slender arms as Quinn arched his body to assist. And how easy it was to then wrap an arm around the narrow waist and stand with the meager amount of his added weight, Quinn's arms and legs suddenly clinging for support and pressing their bodies flush. The closeness revealed quite a lot about both their states of arousal, and Amon couldn't resist slowly dragging Quinn's body up his own to hear him gasp and grip tighter. He looked down and pushed his face into the soft quills of dark hair there, burrowing into the clean scent.

"So a spurned ex-wife is the cause of all this suffering for the great Malavai Quinn, hm?" Amon said, teasing amiably. He lay the captain down on his bed and then went to work tugging off his boots and socks. Damn Quinn and his love of going about in nearly full field gear when on the ship. Quinn rose up on his elbows to frown down at where Amon was crouching near his feet.

"Ugh, honestly. You're not quite as bad as Vette and her constant needling, but you were the one who got us into this mess. Respectfully, my lord, I don't think you're allowed to tease me."

Heh. Amon liked the rare times Quinn decided to challenge him back. He plucked at the calves of Quinn's uniform pants and then smoothed his hands down his legs, closing them around the small bones of his ankles and giving a quick tug. "I'm about to go quite a bit beyond teasing. But, go on, continue. What's the ex-wife done to you?"

Quinn heaved a long sigh. "Really, she's just being a nuisance. Non-stop holocalls, messages on my comlink, notices on the ship's terminal. Every time I block a frequency she starts hailing from a new one. Most of it is just incoherent rambling and insults but occasionally it's threats of mercenaries or bounty hunters."

He paused with an intake of breath as Amon crept up over his legs to work on unfastening his pants. Amon just looked up at him expectantly, stilling his hands until Quinn continued speaking. He did so with a look of misgiving. "On one occasion she even threatened to contact Darth Baras or… um."

The uneasy look on Quinn's face was beginning to get an edge of panic as he watched his pants and undergarments slide slowly down his legs. His next words had a breathy whine to them. "...Or going all the way up to the Dark Council. Over something as trivial as this. She's acting like a child, really. But even a child has some concept of how small they are. Not her."

Then Quinn cried out, his hands twisting into the bed covers and feet scrabbling for purchase. "My lord, please," he whispered.

Amon glanced up from his position, mouth hanging centimeters from Quinn's hipbone and the satiny soft skin next to it. Testing Quinn's decorum had never been so fun. He slowly and deliberately closed the distance again and licked a long line there, then sucked the skin into his mouth and bit down, teeth a razor sharp contrast to the wet drag of his lips and tongue. Quinn hissed and writhed against him. "I thought you were good at multitasking," Amon murmured reproachfully.

"I am, but you are severely straining my skills."

Amon smiled and kissed where he'd bitten. "I want to see how long you can hold out. And what you'll do once you can't."

Quinn's breath out was an aggravated strangle. "Something else you learned at the academy?"

"No, this is an exercise just for you." And myself, Amon thought. He sourly resisted the urge to lean forward and rut against the side of his bed, just to relieve the need for some kind of touch. Anything but the light whisper of his loose meditation clothes.

Amon ducked his head and pressed his face to the divide between thigh and torso, inhaling deeply and burrowing his nose into the pale flesh, so strange against his own. His hands grasped the slim hips and pulled Quinn closer. "She can't be bought out? It sounds like a few credits might be worth the peace of mind."

Quinn's hands settled back into his braids, not pulling or guiding, just holding. "I don't want to reward this sort of behavior, my lord." Amon held in a chuckle. It wasn't clear who Quinn was referring to.

"No? We could just kill her then. We're still planet-side."

"...You can't just solve all your problems by killing them," Quinn said after a considerable pause, his voice pointed.

Amon scoffed. "I could try. I know you enjoyed it." He moved closer, mouthing over Quinn's balls, tongue flickering over the loose skin and lips coming together in gentle pinches. Quinn's heartbeats were going at an alarming speed and each breath had a quiet rasp tacked onto the back end. But he was still standing strong, barely. Amon was oddly proud of him. "I could feel your satisfaction even as you stood there pretending to care for appearance's sake." Lovely, bloodthirsty Quinn. A soft-lipped kiss was pressed to the base of Quinn's cock and he moaned loudly, sounding lost. But still he kept going—

"Perhaps I did, yes, but that's beside the point. You don't want that kind of reputation, I know you."

—kept going and kept making legitimate points. Amon growled and continued his trail of lingering kisses upward. "Hrrrmmm, you're right, I don't. It's only been two days though, do you think she'll run out of steam, or is this going to become some kind of strange crusade?" His lips traced up the shaft, nearly to the top and his tongue came into play, lips teasing around the sensitive underside and tongue rubbing firmly in small circles. Quinn's hips jerked up under the heavy weight of his hands. "A spoiled Alderaan noble versus the Sith and his brilliant strategist." Amon smiled at the mental imagery and then firmly wrapped his lips around the head of Quinn's cock.

Quinn shouted and his hands finally did twist down hard into Amon's hair, dragging him down as he rolled his hips upward. The Sith relaxed his jaw and let him plunge deeper, surprised at the sudden ferocity of his movements. Panting breaths tore harshly out of Quinn's mouth as he spoke again. "I don't… know, my lord. I suddenly don't care much at the moment." He groaned at the lapping tongue and suction intensifying around him. "I'll figure out, nnngh, something appropriate later."

Quinn continued to pull his head down on his cock, spit-slick and hands trembling. Amon nudged down as far as he could, lips brushing against the dark patch of hair. Quinn groaned and let his head fall back onto the bed, hands falling out of Amon's hair and instead running down the jagged sides of his face. "You think I'm brilliant?" he asked.

Amon pressed in one last time, tongue teasing down before slowly drawing back up and letting it pop out of his mouth with a predatory look in his eyes. "Of course I do," he growled. "You know you are." He stood and grabbed hold of Quinn's hip, quickly flipping him over onto his stomach, long legs tangling together with the motion.

"Maybe," he said with a faint smile, looking back to observe. "I still appreciate being complimented."

"I'll keep that in mind. Hold still for… just a moment, if you please." Amon knelt behind Quinn and licked one of his thumbs. He spread Quinn's ass and held it apart with one hand, smoothing his wet thumb up and down the small entrance. Quinn jerked and gasped, causing Amon to grip harder and dig his nails into the soft skin. "Still, Quinn. My claws aren't meant for this, so just…"

Amon frowned in concentration and Quinn barked out a curse, though this time didn't move, to his credit. Another Force construct had formed and was now sliding its way into Quinn, making short, stroking motions within him. Amon stood and let the invisible digit continue to stretch Quinn's tight hole as he finally untied his trousers and dropped them to the floor, cock springing blessedly free.

In his locker he had some kind of slick silicone gel he'd picked up a long time ago on Nar Shaddaa and he moved to grab it, squeezing some into his hand and returning to the foot of the bed. He kneeled down again, and ran his clean hand over Quinn's ass and his other over his own cock a few times, entranced by the look of Quinn's ring of muscle slowly pulsing and expanding, seemingly on its own. Quinn himself was furiously winding his hands into the sheets below him, groaning and making short thrusts with his hips each time the thing in his ass pushed deeper and got wider.

"I think you might be about ready," Amon said, running the pad of his finger softly around the stretched hole and then trailing a sharp line down the inside of his thigh. Quinn whimpered and spread his legs further apart. "You think you can take it, Captain?" Amon's voice was hoarse and betrayed the hunger he felt.

"I don't know… I… please. Please, yes."

As soon as he slid partway in Quinn made a short buck back onto him, moaning and unrestrained, and all temperance was forgotten. A snarl creased Amon's face and his hands were quickly buried in the angles of Quinn's hips, pulling his slick tightness back down onto his cock, slamming his hips forward over and over to meet the pale thighs. Quinn cried out with a stuttering breath but rocked with the thrusts, pushing his hands against the bed to help with leverage.

"Gods..." he panted into the sheets. "My lord… please."

There was just something about the way Quinn sounded when he was begging. Desperate and subservient, professionalism gone; down to this raw core of need.

"Get up." Amon hooked an arm around Quinn's chest and pulled him upright, tearing into him from a new angle and crushing his slim body against his own. Amon lay his face alongside Quinn's, panting against his jaw.

"That's it." Amon's hand fell to encircle Quinn's cock, firmly stroking up and back down as Quinn sobbed with relief. "Just like that." He bit lightly into Quinn's shoulder, felt the way he jerked and spasmed around his cock. Amon's tongue smoothed over the pink marks left behind and trailed up the side of Quinn's neck to kiss there, murmuring into his ear as he thrusted and stroked.

"You can solve this, Captain, just let your frustration go." Amon smiled a little, letting the tips of his teeth graze over the wet skin. "It's okay," he soothed. "You can take care of this for me, can't you?" He grunted and rolled his hips harder, orgasm slowly sneaking up on him. "Take care of me, fix my mistakes."

Quinn laughed a little before it turned back into labored breaths and a quick hum of assent. Funny maybe, but it was true. Amon had his saber and the Force, and Quinn and Vette had their silky words and sharp insight.

If Quinn's frantic whirlwind of energy and sheer demand was any indication, he was as close to the end as Amon was Amon shifted to the other shoulder, digging his teeth in to even it out. He pounded up into Quinn even faster, fist tightening just a hair and feeling Quinn's cock begin to pulse in his grip.

"Oh, Quinn," Amon sighed. "Mmm, so loyal and devoted." Quinn's breath hitched. "Invaluable to me."

And his head fell back onto Amon's shoulder, hips swaying out and breathing huge, heavy gasps as he came and coated Amon's taloned hand in his spend. The taut arc of his back slowly softened and slipped, relaxing into Amon's chest as the Sith clung tighter to him. Amon followed him quickly, holding Quinn almost to the point of pain, surely, but there was no protest. The familiar buzzing warmth pooled and spread and then he was coming, filling Quinn and whispering nonsense compliments into his ear.

They slid forward together, Amon disengaging and doing the bare minimum of cleanup to prevent Quinn from protesting and giving him that you're-better-than-this look he'd perfected. He folded Quinn into his arms and held him there, legs entwined and face pressed against the back of his neck, stroking his hand through his mussed hair.

"Feel any better?" Amon asked. Quinn didn't really need to answer. The feel of worry and anger was gone, replaced by the familiar, tranquil cool of satisfaction and ease. He could meditate with this.

"I suppose the academy knew what they were about." Quinn drew in a deep breath and slowly let it back out, one hand reaching back to pet down the outside of Amon's thigh. "I should get back to work, my lord. Vette will be back soon, I have a few people to call, and we've still got to visit that disgusting pit Hutta before too much time elapses."

"Just here to do a job, hm?" Amon quirked an eyebrow and smiled against Quinn's back.

Quinn extricated himself from Amon's grasp and leaned down for a slow, soft kiss before standing and collecting his clothes. "It's why you accepted me onto your crew."

He straightened the creases on his pants, tugged his collar into place, swept his hair back into a reasonable facsimile of normal, and offered a short bow with a small smile before stepping back out through the door.