Of Swords and Lightsabers

Author Notes: Thanks for all the nice reviews! I appreciate them. :D



Again, this is not meant to be taken seriously. Those of you who are taking it seriously and are flipping out and wailing and gnashing your teeth, or attempting to apply logic...take a chill pill.



Oh, and there are even more stupid euphemisms (had fun pulling them out of my ass!), and more stupid in-jokes. Also, there’s a dickgirl in this one. :) Have fun!



Disclaimer: Grievous, Dooku, and other characters you recognize belong to Lucas. I no makey teh monies off it. Also, I am not responsible for broken brains.



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Grievous sat in a small ship, which he had stolen from Dooku’s ship. Two Magnaguards stood beside him, and a battle droid piloted the ship.



“Coordinates set for Kalee, sir,” the droid said in its nasally voice.



“Good,” Grievous replied, stalking around the ship. Finally, he was getting away from that scum of a Sith lord. And yet, Grievous couldn’t help missing him somehow. He sat in a nearby chair and ran a finger over the hole Dooku had made in his groin. The human wasn’t completely undesirable, he thought.



Standing up before his instincts led him to be lewd in front of his droids, he walked over to the window and gazed out into the stars, trying to find the one which shone on his destination.



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Only a few parsecs away, a young, blonde Jedi sat at the command area of a small ship, about ready to enter into hyperspace.



Obi-Wan Kenobi could feel the presence of his dearest love moving away from him at an alarming rate. The presence was moving towards the Outer Rim. He would be in danger.



He recalled the first time he had met General “Grievous” Sheelal. It had been years ago, when the republic had gone to take care of the mess in the Kalee system of the Outer Rim. He had been love-stricken by the dark-skinned reptilian General Sheelal; he recalled his piercing golden eyes, and how they’d burned so intensely into his. It had excited him then, and the mere memory made his crotch tingle.



He remembered hearing about General Grievous over the holonet. Recognizing the name, Obi-Wan had gone to research this mysterious murderer, only to find the same catlike eyes gazing back at him from the ‘net. His beautiful reptilian body was gone, replaced by sleek metal and machinery. This did not stop Obi-Wan from being aroused by the thought of meeting Grievous once again.



The ship slowed down, then sped up suddenly and disappeared into hyperspace.



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Grievous stared at the gold-and-blue planet as the ship began its descent. Kalee, his homeworld, lay only a few thousand miles away from him now. His beloved Jenuwaa Village, the rich, salty seas, his wives and children, they were all so close now.



“Sir,” said one of his Magnaguards.



“What?” Grievous snapped, annoyed at being shaken out of his thoughts.



“Do you seriously think your people are going to accept you?”



“Don’t make me destroy you, droid,” Grievous growled.



“Think about it logically, Sir,” the Magnaguard said. “According to your ever-so-secret personal diary, which you make me keep locked away in my chest cavity to prevent Dooku and stray Jedi from accessing and processing the information contained within, your people were rather primitive and had little understanding of the inner worlds and of technology in general. Perhaps the sight of you would alarm them and trigger a natural attack response.”



Grievous stared incredulously at the Magnaguard. “You’re a Gods-damned MACHINE! I’m a war-hardened general, with years of experience stored in a real brain! How is it that you saw what I had overlooked?”



“The Creator of Events has designated me to relay this information to you.”



“Who is this Creator of Events you speak of?!”



“They are omnipotent in our world,” the Magnaguard said. “We are all their messengers. There is no reality but that which they create.”



“Are you telling me you’re a droid prophet?!” Grievous roared. “Ridiculous! Droids have no religion!”



“Clearly, the Creator of Events desires you to say that.”



Grievous pulled out a lightsaber, ignited it, and shoved it through the head of the annoying thing. He carefully opened its chest cavity, removed his journal, then stabbed the droid there, too.



“Stupid machine,” Grievous snarled under his breath.



“I’m lonely,” said the other Magnaguard.



“Shut up.” Grievous turned back around and stared out the window, watching Kalee grow closer and closer...



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Dooku stalked angrily into the General’s quarters for a fourth time, not wanting to believe what the droids had told him, and what he himself sensed within the Force.



“Where is that damn sexy beast?!” Dooku screeched at a random battle droid.



“As we said, sir, he has left the ship and returned to his homeworld.”



“I told him, he’d never be accepted there! The only place he fits in is with ME!”



Storming out of the room, he returned to the command area and barked orders at the droids controlling the ship. “Set destination coordinates to the Kalee system! We have an escapee heading in that direction.”



Dooku imagined the General, with his gorgeous body and sleek appearance, acting smug and superior with whatever droids he had taken, thinking he had escaped Dooku’s desire once and for all. But the Sith had no intention of letting the cyborg out of his grasp.



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Grievous was unaware that he was being followed by the jedi and the Sith. As his ship touched down on the tall landing platform which rested atop the Jenuwaa Temple, he wondered what those who had seen his ship were thinking. They must have thought he was an invader; something else coming to ruin their lives.



The boarding ramp extended, and the door opened. Grievous cantered out of the ship, followed by his one remaining Magnaguard. He looked over his old village—not much had changed since he’d last seen it. The tan, clay buildings still shone under the sun, and the barren desert still sat beyond the outskirts of the village. People milled around the streets, except they weren’t milling anymore. They’d stopped to stare at the small ship which had just landed on the platform which overlooked them all. Several people at the base of the platform stopped and stared at him. He slowly stepped towards the stairs which led to the ground, and started down them. He felt the dry wind pick up his cape and flutter it. He continued down the stairs while the curious and somewhat frightened people continued to stare at him.



“Stay here and guard the ship,” Grievous ordered to his droids. They stopped following him and returned to the top of the platform.



Grievous reached the bottom of the stairs, and all Hell broke loose. The people who had been staring at him in awe leapt, various objects wielded as weapons, teeth and claws bared. They jumped and bit and scratched and swung at him. Grievous stared at a little old lady as she whacked him with her staff.



“Crazy kids! Constantly adapting to outworlder habits of wearing odd clothing! Away, demon-spawn! Away!”



He also had a rather large kibbac attached to his ankle by the teeth, a grown woman trying to rip his arm off, and a smitten adolescent carving his girlfriend’s name into Grievous’ leg.



“Off my body! All of you!”



Nobody budged. They continued biting and carving and whacking. Ignoring them (they’d never break his duranium body, he figured), he continued down the familiar streets, trying to walk with all the added weight. As he walked, he also collected the old woman’s husband, an udinga who thought his knees were mushrooms, several small children, a greedy banker, and a hobo transvestite hippy.



He finally reached his house. It hadn’t changed much either. The shutters were freshly painted and the ornamental karabbac statue was polished. He approached the door and went to knock. The kibbac had somehow migrated up his body and made its way down his arm, until it was attached to his hand, rendering him unable to knock. He screamed in frustration.



The scream was enough to bring someone to the door. It swung open violently, and he found himself staring at another man.



“What in the Gods are YOU doing here?!” Grievous screamed. His wives, had they so easily gotten over him? This man, who was wearing HIS old clothes—



“Uh, I live here,” the man answered. The voice sounded vaguely familiar.



“...Zeashi?” Grievous asked.



Zeashi stared at him angrily. “Who are you, and why is there a child attached to your chest?”



He looked down and, indeed, a little girl was swinging from his chest plate. He removed the offending spawn and gently laid it on the ground. “It’s me, your husband, Qymaen. Don’t you remember me?”



“My husband died ages ago,” Zeashi replied. “Do not try to fool me.”



“No! I didn’t die!” Grievous slowly began to remove the things which had attached themselves to him. “I was rescued by Count Dooku, and had a new body built! I left him because he was a sadistic bastard who did nothing but order me around and burn holes in my crotch.”



Zeashi watched as Grievous peeled the hippy off his foot. She looked up into Grievous’ eyes, and stared at them for a moment. They did indeed appear to be her husband’s eyes. They were the same golden color that she remembered from so long ago...



“Impossible. I saw the ship crash! I saw it land in the Jenuwaa Sea! They never found your body...I was devastated. As you can see, I...” she looked down at herself. “I’ve become a man, Qymaen.”



It was only natural. A widow, over several years, would change her sex. Grievous ought to have expected this.



Grievous stared at his wife. “That’s okay, my love,” he said. “I’ve lost my manhood.”



“Come inside, Qymaen. Don’t be a stranger,” Zeashi said, opening the door all the way for him. Grievous squeezed through the door, staring at the inside of his house. The children were away; at school, he presumed. The other wives were not around, either.



“Where are Saibea and Duikra?” asked Grievous.



“They are out gathering food right now,” Zeashi said. “Which leaves us...alone.”



Even though his face was essentially gone, Zeashi could recognize the fire of lust burning in his eyes. Grievous growled softly, turning to face his manly wife.



“And what do you propose we do?” he asked, teasing her.



“Oh, I don’t know,” Zeashi answered. She crouched low, preparing to pounce, and eyed his crotch. “I see you have a new orifice...”



Grievous purred, remembering the feel of Dooku’s member as it thrust in and out of him. Would Zeashi’s newfound manhood feel the same way?



Zeashi leapt at Grievous, and he allowed himself to be brought to the floor by her. She nuzzled him affectionately, letting out the loud bursts of purring typical of Kaleesh arousal. Grievous wrapped his arms around his wife’s waist, bringing her body close to his, and rubbed his face against her neck, returning the eager noises.



“So long...” Grievous muttered, letting his wife turn him over and exposing his back. “So long it’s been since we’ve done this.”



“Qymaen...we’ve NEVER done this. Not like this, anyway.”



“You know what I mean!”



Zeashi just let out a soft giggle and undid the tie on what were, years ago, Grievous’ pants, letting them fall to the ground. Indeed, she had become male—her member had emerged from the genital slit. And yet, she still had her female parts. One finger was inserted into her pussy while another rubbed along the base of her cock. Grievous narrowed his eyes enviously, staring at the fleshy rod. He’d had one of those once.



“Are you jealous?” She asked, noting the expression in his eyes. She reached a finger down and rubbed it along his crotch, searching for a hole to place it.



Finding the hole which had been made earlier by Dooku, she grabbed his bottom roughly and, wasting no time, thrust her dick inside her husband.



Grievous roared with pleasure. The feeling now was different from the feeling he’d had when Dooku had removed his iron maidenhood; it was stiffer from the penile bone which all Kaleesh males (or shemales, as the case may be) have. It felt better than Dooku’s boneless chicken. Zeashi was stiff. Zeashi was hard. Zeashi was a whole five inches of Kaleesh she-man meat.



These thoughts rushed through the cyborg’s mind, intensifying his desire; he purred louder, the purr slowly turning into an pure, untamed erotic growl.



Zeashi pounded harder. The cold metal felt good against her pulsing hot wank-plank. The metal glided over her cock. She looked down at her writhing husband, who was growling loudly, and knew that he was approaching release. She thrust harder, wanting to please her husband after not seeing him for so long. She herself began to come, shooting Kaleesh splooge into her husband’s durasteel delicates.



Grievous came loudly. He cried in excitement and pleasure as his wife filled him with her she-man sauce. Zeashi collapsed on top of Grievous, and whispered to him.



“I’ve missed you, my husband. It’s nice to see you once again.”



Grievous leaned his head back as she lovingly stroked his duranium cranium and purred softly.





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“How DARE he!” Dooku cried angrily, slamming his fist on the control panel.



“You’ve been saying that for the past hour, sir,” said a battle droid.



“He’s having sex with other people! It’s not fair! He’s supposed to save himself for ME!”



Dooku had sensed Grievous getting laid by someone else. His powerful cybernetic orgasm had radiated through all of the force, not only causing Dooku to throw a fit but Mace Windu to fall out of his chair and yell “AY CARUMBA!” while twitching madly.



Count Dooku whined and pounded his foot on the floor, acting very un-Sithly and childish.



The droids looked at each other, and, ignoring Dooku’s now incoherent rambling, left the room.



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Obi-Wan Kenobi cried out in pleasure as he shot semen all over the control panel.



“Oh, bantha poo, I did it again,” he muttered, pulling out the baby wipes and wiping off the buttons gently. He had felt his dear love, Grievous, experiencing pleasure. Obi-Wan had pleasured himself along with Grievous, imagining himself making love to the Kaleesh general.



He could see his destination, Kalee, in the distance. His love was there.



Little did he know, there were others who would compete for Grievous’ attention.





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