Title: Dance With Me

Rating: NC-17

Category: AU/PWP

Summary: After taking quite a nasty spill in dance class, you awake to a
Jedi who wants to learn how to groove.

Disclaimer: I do not own Kenobi. I do not own Anakin. Don't sue, Mr.
Lucas. All you'll get is two pair of Claire's earrings, a bottle of Vanilla
Coke, and a battered copy of Huckleberry Finn.

*Author's Note* I went dancing the other night and got roped into teaching
my best friend's HISPANIC boyfriend how to salsa. Now, I'm white as they
come. What's wrong with THIS picture? <g>

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Garcia was at it again. The bastard. It was bad enough that you had to
take Latin Dance and Rhythm for your fine arts credit, but he had to make it
living hell.

He expected everyone that came into his studio to be blessed with a natural
sense of rhythm. Were you one of the blessed? Hell no. To make matters
worse, in order to pass the class you needed to make an 85 or better on your
final exam. The final that required you to dance in front of the whole
class: solita.

You were number three of fifteen that first day. Alyssa Stiles went first,
her little blonde head shaking in time with her ass. Hell, she seemed to
actually ENJOY dancing in front of everyone. Damn cheerleaders. Then,
Juliana Peña went. It should be illegal for hispanic people to take Latin
Dance and Rhythm. Then, Garcia shouted your name in his heavy Columbian
accent. *Gulp*. It was now or never.

You did fine as you handed Garcia the tape, musing for the millionth time
JUST how much he resembled Juan Valdez of coffee fame. You did fine as the
strains of a simple bachata wafted out of the sound system. But, the second
you started to move your feet, it all went black.

You awoke a few hours later, or so it seemed. As you drifted from sleeping
to being fully awake, you sensed another presence in the room. Most likely,
you were in the campus infirmary and the man that was leaning above you was
Dr. Washington. "Damn," you thought, "When did Wussy Washington start
smelling so good?" You opened your eyes, expecting to see Washington's kind
blue eyes winking at you from behind his silver wire-frames. But, instead
of a balding, middle-aged doctor, you were greeted with a vision of sex.

He was almost enough to make you faint again. Almost. Reddish-blonde hair,
cut short, twinkling blue-green eyes, and a wide smile. If this was heaven,
he must have been St. Peter. He brushed a lightly calloused hand over your
cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair back behind your ear.

"Hello. Glad you finally decided to join us, milady. You've been asleep
ever since you arrived." You shook your head in confusion. Wait a minute,
this guy was a dead ringer for Ewan McGregor. For some reason, you didn't
believe the oh-so-fuckable Mac Daddy McGregor was frequenting college
campuses for kicks. That could only mean that this was Obi-Wan Kenobi.

"Where am I?" You ask, pushing yourself up from the bed. Other than a few
bruises, you seem to be fine, save your amazing auditory and visual
hallucinations.

"Coruscant, milady. May I ask what system you're from?" You KNOW you're
dreaming now. Coruscant was a place that the flannel god made up, right?
Boy, your list sibs would LOVE to hear about this one.

"Uh...the Solar system? In the Milky Way? Earth?" You throw out names,
hoping he'd recognize something. Science was never your strong suit. He
gazes at you, slightly perplexed, but lets it slide.

"What were you doing when you were thrust into our galaxy?" He gazes at you
some more, this time with tenderness and compassion. You stifle a giggle
and answer him truthfully.

"I was dancing. For school. Actually, I was taking Garcia's bitch of a
final exam. Latin Dancing." You ramble on as if he knew all about the
bastard Garcia, how much you hated Latin Dancing, and school. He continued
gazing, his expression melting into one of curiosity. Oh no. He wouldn't.
He couldn't. He did.

"Can you teach me? I mean, I can waltz...but nothing other than that. My
apprentice, Anakin," he pointed to a small boy of about ten seated in a
large armchair, "is constantly telling me I need to take lessons." You nod
weakly and go to survey his music collection. Anakin sidles up next to you,
eager to help you make a choice.

"I need something sorta fast, with a heavy drum beat..." you mutter, glad to
see Anakin reaching for a CD. He pops it in and you're greeted with a Star
Wars rendition of salsa music. It would work.

Anakin leaves then, a knowing smile spreading across his small features.
You're puzzled to say the least, but proceed to teach Obi-Wan to dance. You
try to teach him the simple hip thrusts that Garcia showed to you at the
beginning of the semester. He didn't get it.

"Here." You come behind him, and throw your arms around his waist. You
gently frame his hips with your hands and direct him in the suddenly-erotic
pelvic thrusts. He catches on quickly, and swirls you into his arms,
thrusting against you like there's no tomorrow. Hoo boy.

"You know, I rather enjoy this style of dancing." You're out of breath now,
having been thrust against his hard body one-too-many times for comfort.
The dancing becomes slower and more erotic, Obi-Wan seducing you with every
swirl and roll of his luscious hips. He eases your shirt down, attacking
your chest with his lips. You moan and roll your head back, allowing him to
explore more territory. He pulls the sweaty t-shirt away, leaving you in
your sports bra.

He slips it off you and gazes at your now-naked breasts. His lips quirk up
in a half-smile and he proceeds to lave them with long, slow
licks...flicking his tongue over the nipple carefully. Encouraged by your
moans, he takes one deep into his mouth, rolling the other between thumb and
forefinger before paying it the same attention. He strips his tunics away
and undoes the laces on his leggings, leaving him before you, naked.

You take his lead and shimmy out of the dance shorts you'd been wearing,
bringing your panties with them. On the next pulse-pounding beat of the
music, he thrusts into you with a strength that belied his gentle
expression. Over and over, he rolled into on time with the music, the song
repeating over and over in a sensual rhythm. Finally, he tweaked your clit,
making you shake in orgasm while he finally spilled his seed into you.
Spent and sweaty, you collapse on the couch. With a flick of his hand,
Obi-Wan changes the CD to some sort of classical chanting..the perfect music
for an encore. Perhaps he could teach you to waltz this time.

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The End.

Loved it, hated it? Let me know chickadee1013@hotmail.com