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Summary
"What would you have me do, Jedi?" Fett's breath ghosts over Obi-Wan's lips and he cocks his head to the side like a Loth-wolf, his grin all teeth.
Hungry, hungry.
"How about you fuck me?" Obi-Wan suggests glibly, like he's suggesting lunch, and something angry sparks in Fett's gaze. Bingo. "Or don't you think you'll be able to do that, Fett?"
