[Lustoria] PG-13: Ferus/OC
Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. This story is purely a work of fan fiction, from which I am not making any profit.
Author's note: I wrote this for estora yesterday. It belongs to an AU which I may or may not be calling the "Fast Women" verse. In any case, what you need to know is that in this 'verse, Ryn never went to the Temple … but she did come to Coruscant. As Evinne's partner in wacky hijinks. Together they caused a sensation …
Anyway, Lustoria belongs to estora , and this fic was partly inspired by a conversation we had the other day about Lady Gaga's Bad Romance, to which there are some fairly obvious references in the fic.
[Lustoria]
She’s ridiculously hot, up on the stage, working the crowd. So ... wanton. Or, well, that’s probably an act, but Ferus is having trouble telling the difference. She doesn’t have a lot of tells.
Maybe she’s just that good.
Tonight she’s singing, without Evinne on stage to take lead vocals. She has a pretty decent voice. It lacks Evinne’s heart-rending vibrato and superhuman range, but it’s clear and strong, perfectly on pitch with a sweet tone. She sings one ballad that shows her range is better than Ferus thought, but mostly it’s that ... Ryn has the kind of voice you could imagine singing lullabies to kids - though why a Jedi would think of that, Ferus doesn’t know.
He still doesn’t understand why she is so ... captivating, to so many. The galaxy has plenty of beautiful, talented young women. Why her?
And then he catches it, lurking around the edges of her stage persona: the teasing glint of a mischievous grin. She thinks it’s funny.
He can see it now, peeking out from under the facade every time she pulls some outrageous stunt: a brief flash of the real thing. She’s so good because she isn’t, because the mask doesn’t fit perfectly. It’s more provocative than a striptease. It’s personal.
She quirks that grin again, not stage-perfect at all, and Ferus feels his heart slip a little.
She works it down to the stage floor, still singing as her back arches, hips undulating. Touches herself in one slow drag from ribs to crotch. And then she’s up dancing again before the move can do more than suggest. Ferus catches a glimpse of her under the lights, glancing over her shoulder as she marches across the stage away from him, and he’s almost sure she’s laughing under the beat.
~
Two songs from the end of the set she threw Ferus a wink, cupped one hand over the microphone in her headset, and yelled at her band. “Lustoria!”
“But we -”
“Play it anyway!” she shouted, and the band cued up the beat for the surprisingly catchy tongue-in-cheek song dedicated to the truly abysmal romances of one pseudonymous author.
It should have been funny - several lines were clever send-ups of genre romance - but Ferus had never seen anyone driven like Ryn was driven that night. She took the song over and owned it, wailing out lines about consuming passion and making them suddenly real, selling it straight for the first time.
It took the audience a moment to catch the change; Ferus could feel them holding their breath.
It quickly became apparent that Ryn had gone off-script completely; the looks on her back-up dancers’s faces said pretty clearly that they thought she had lost her mind and they were just trying to keep up.
A moment later, Ferus began to question her sanity, too. She left off the floor show, where she’d been gyrating and riding various dancers with a little more enthusiasm than usual, and swung herself up the acrobat’s scaffolding at one end of the stage. Since she was upside-down for half the process, and belting out another verse the whole time, that would have been impressive all by itself. But then she reached the top bar, flipped out of her handstand, and started dancing there. On a round metal bar not even as wide as a man’s hand. The same wildly energetic routine that had burned up the floor, five meters in the air. While singing lead vocals.
It was crazy and dangerous and a feat of skill not many of Jedi could have matched. Ferus held his breath with the crowd and found himself thinking, rather dizzily, that this explained her friendship with Skywalker. It was exactly the kind of unnecessarily reckless move he might have pulled.
Ryn somersaulted to the floor as the band took over, leading into the bridge, and landed on her feet to strut back and forth for a minute, waving her arms at the crowd in the universal signal for give me more, working them higher. And then somehow ended that by planting herself at one end of the stage, facing Ferus, just as she took the cue for vocals again. “I don’t want to be friends,” she announced, still on pitch after all the acrobatics.
And then she gave up the pretense and threw herself into a rare display of unvarnished sexual ecstasy. Raw energy that she somehow channeled through her body into hypnotic magic.
She screamed the last line, her delivery rendering it pornographic, and hit the floor on her knees, prostrating herself right in front of him once, twice, three times.
She was already on her feet by the time the next beat fell, and she worked her way back across the stage in time as the chorus began to play again, ending the song in a frozen pose of provocation.
The sense of release in the concert hall was almost orgasmic in its intensity. The stage crew - clever bastards - cut the lights and the place was plunged into a darkness filled with deafening screams. Then the lights came back up and Ryn bowed once to the crowd, but they kept screaming over her shushing motions. It was nearly five minutes before she could be heard again, yelling: “Do you want more?”
The answer was a resounding yes, so Ryn nodded to the band and picked up with a song about the joy of dance. It seemed innocuous enough, but she caught Ferus’s eye as she sang the first line, and he felt the message hit him below the ribs - this is for you - right before she tore the song apart.
~
This isn’t Ryn playing her way through another performance. This is Ryn showing off, saying: watch me, look what I can do, you want this?
It’s a brilliant performance. Spectacular. And perhaps most strikingly, it’s somehow private. Everyone sees it, but in some unspoken but powerful way these last songs are only for Ferus, her invitation to him.
Her bodyguards try to find him after the show, but Ferus steps back and gets lost in the crowd, overwhelmed.
There’s no way he’s ready for this.
~
The next morning, every available news outlet is calling it the performance of a lifetime. The repeats of the set change are running everywhere. And every time, the holocams catch the barely-there instant when she looks out past the crowd, straight into Ferus’s eyes. The gossip columns are rife with speculation: why is the famously restrained member of the duo going wild in her partner’s absence?
In the afternoon, a package comes to the Temple marked for Ferus Olin.
Ferus opens it cautiously - there a lot of reasons someone might want to send a nasty surprise to a Jedi - but then he laughs.
Inside are the complete works of Lustoria, and a handwritten note on something that is definitely not flimsiplast:
I think we could write a bad romance. If you aren’t familiar with the genre, I can assure with perfect confidence that all these are terrible.
~Ryn~
Author's note: I wrote this for estora yesterday. It belongs to an AU which I may or may not be calling the "Fast Women" verse. In any case, what you need to know is that in this 'verse, Ryn never went to the Temple … but she did come to Coruscant. As Evinne's partner in wacky hijinks. Together they caused a sensation …
Anyway, Lustoria belongs to estora , and this fic was partly inspired by a conversation we had the other day about Lady Gaga's Bad Romance, to which there are some fairly obvious references in the fic.
[Lustoria]
She’s ridiculously hot, up on the stage, working the crowd. So ... wanton. Or, well, that’s probably an act, but Ferus is having trouble telling the difference. She doesn’t have a lot of tells.
Maybe she’s just that good.
Tonight she’s singing, without Evinne on stage to take lead vocals. She has a pretty decent voice. It lacks Evinne’s heart-rending vibrato and superhuman range, but it’s clear and strong, perfectly on pitch with a sweet tone. She sings one ballad that shows her range is better than Ferus thought, but mostly it’s that ... Ryn has the kind of voice you could imagine singing lullabies to kids - though why a Jedi would think of that, Ferus doesn’t know.
He still doesn’t understand why she is so ... captivating, to so many. The galaxy has plenty of beautiful, talented young women. Why her?
And then he catches it, lurking around the edges of her stage persona: the teasing glint of a mischievous grin. She thinks it’s funny.
He can see it now, peeking out from under the facade every time she pulls some outrageous stunt: a brief flash of the real thing. She’s so good because she isn’t, because the mask doesn’t fit perfectly. It’s more provocative than a striptease. It’s personal.
She quirks that grin again, not stage-perfect at all, and Ferus feels his heart slip a little.
She works it down to the stage floor, still singing as her back arches, hips undulating. Touches herself in one slow drag from ribs to crotch. And then she’s up dancing again before the move can do more than suggest. Ferus catches a glimpse of her under the lights, glancing over her shoulder as she marches across the stage away from him, and he’s almost sure she’s laughing under the beat.
~
Two songs from the end of the set she threw Ferus a wink, cupped one hand over the microphone in her headset, and yelled at her band. “Lustoria!”
“But we -”
“Play it anyway!” she shouted, and the band cued up the beat for the surprisingly catchy tongue-in-cheek song dedicated to the truly abysmal romances of one pseudonymous author.
It should have been funny - several lines were clever send-ups of genre romance - but Ferus had never seen anyone driven like Ryn was driven that night. She took the song over and owned it, wailing out lines about consuming passion and making them suddenly real, selling it straight for the first time.
It took the audience a moment to catch the change; Ferus could feel them holding their breath.
It quickly became apparent that Ryn had gone off-script completely; the looks on her back-up dancers’s faces said pretty clearly that they thought she had lost her mind and they were just trying to keep up.
A moment later, Ferus began to question her sanity, too. She left off the floor show, where she’d been gyrating and riding various dancers with a little more enthusiasm than usual, and swung herself up the acrobat’s scaffolding at one end of the stage. Since she was upside-down for half the process, and belting out another verse the whole time, that would have been impressive all by itself. But then she reached the top bar, flipped out of her handstand, and started dancing there. On a round metal bar not even as wide as a man’s hand. The same wildly energetic routine that had burned up the floor, five meters in the air. While singing lead vocals.
It was crazy and dangerous and a feat of skill not many of Jedi could have matched. Ferus held his breath with the crowd and found himself thinking, rather dizzily, that this explained her friendship with Skywalker. It was exactly the kind of unnecessarily reckless move he might have pulled.
Ryn somersaulted to the floor as the band took over, leading into the bridge, and landed on her feet to strut back and forth for a minute, waving her arms at the crowd in the universal signal for give me more, working them higher. And then somehow ended that by planting herself at one end of the stage, facing Ferus, just as she took the cue for vocals again. “I don’t want to be friends,” she announced, still on pitch after all the acrobatics.
And then she gave up the pretense and threw herself into a rare display of unvarnished sexual ecstasy. Raw energy that she somehow channeled through her body into hypnotic magic.
She screamed the last line, her delivery rendering it pornographic, and hit the floor on her knees, prostrating herself right in front of him once, twice, three times.
She was already on her feet by the time the next beat fell, and she worked her way back across the stage in time as the chorus began to play again, ending the song in a frozen pose of provocation.
The sense of release in the concert hall was almost orgasmic in its intensity. The stage crew - clever bastards - cut the lights and the place was plunged into a darkness filled with deafening screams. Then the lights came back up and Ryn bowed once to the crowd, but they kept screaming over her shushing motions. It was nearly five minutes before she could be heard again, yelling: “Do you want more?”
The answer was a resounding yes, so Ryn nodded to the band and picked up with a song about the joy of dance. It seemed innocuous enough, but she caught Ferus’s eye as she sang the first line, and he felt the message hit him below the ribs - this is for you - right before she tore the song apart.
~
This isn’t Ryn playing her way through another performance. This is Ryn showing off, saying: watch me, look what I can do, you want this?
It’s a brilliant performance. Spectacular. And perhaps most strikingly, it’s somehow private. Everyone sees it, but in some unspoken but powerful way these last songs are only for Ferus, her invitation to him.
Her bodyguards try to find him after the show, but Ferus steps back and gets lost in the crowd, overwhelmed.
There’s no way he’s ready for this.
~
The next morning, every available news outlet is calling it the performance of a lifetime. The repeats of the set change are running everywhere. And every time, the holocams catch the barely-there instant when she looks out past the crowd, straight into Ferus’s eyes. The gossip columns are rife with speculation: why is the famously restrained member of the duo going wild in her partner’s absence?
In the afternoon, a package comes to the Temple marked for Ferus Olin.
Ferus opens it cautiously - there a lot of reasons someone might want to send a nasty surprise to a Jedi - but then he laughs.
Inside are the complete works of Lustoria, and a handwritten note on something that is definitely not flimsiplast:
I think we could write a bad romance. If you aren’t familiar with the genre, I can assure with perfect confidence that all these are terrible.
~Ryn~