Summary: a response to Mac's first line challenge "Qui-Gon woke
to the feel of teeth at his throat." Obi-Wan attempts to, um,
revive Qui-Gon so they can continue their mission.
Feedback: yes, please
Disclaimers: Qui and Obi belong to Lucasfilm, Ltd.
Qui-Gon woke to the feel of teeth at his throat
This was not something that happened very often to Jedi
knights. A Jedi knight at the height of his powers, fully
attuned to the living force, yet mindful of the future, was
generally able to sense such things --- even while asleep ---
before they got within striking distance of one's vulnerable
neck.
Nonetheless, Qui-Gon wasn't really frightened or even
concerned. He kept his eyes closed, trying to hold on to sleep.
He actually felt very secure, very safe. Maybe it was just that
the pain had quickly been replaced by a rather pleasant
stroking sensation. And a rather pleasant smell. Ah, the smell.
That's why he felt so safe. So loved. It was the scent of his
beloved Padawan....
Qui-Gon jolted with a start. "Obi-Wan!" he hissed, "what are
you doing? And now that I think about it, what are you
wearing?"
"Shhh, Master," Obi-Wan said soothingly. "Don't worry, I've got
everything under control."
"What do you mean? What's happening, Padawan? I feel so
disoriented," Qui-Gon said groggily.
"Don't you remember our mission, Master?"
"Oh, no! I thought I was dreaming!"
"No, Master. It's real enough, and I'm afraid they're insisting
that you go through with it. They gave you a glass of wine to
relax you, and they've sent me over here to finish the job.
They accepted my cover story, put me in this little pink
outfit, and sent me in to take care of you."
"I must admit, however," Obi-Wan continued, "I was rather
surprised to find you asleep. As well as finding *this*,"
Obi-Wan gently lifted the weight in his hand, "just lying here
looking so damp and limp."
"It must have been the wine," Qui-Gon said unhappily. "After
one glass I felt like Jabba the Hutt must feel after drinking
his way through a full banquet. I have no idea what's been done
to me since I drank it."
"Don't worry, Master. Just sit here for a few minutes and allow
me to work on you. You'll be back up to full strength in no
time, and we can continue our mission."
"No wait, Padawan! It's not to late to back out. I'm not sure
if I can go through with this!"
"Shhh, Master. You'll have to go through with it. I don't see
any way out. And, it won't be too bad. I'll be here with you
all the way. And besides, this feels good, doesn't it?"
The beautiful young man once more began to stroke, down, down.
Down further still.
"Mmmmmmmmm," Qui-Gon murmured giving himself over to the
sensations his Padawan was arousing.
"You like this, don't you, Master?"
"Mm-mm," Qui-Gon said, getting into the mood. "You have hidden
talents, my Padawan."
"I have a confession to make, Master. I know I'm being forced
to do this because of the mission, but I've thought about doing
this to you many times before. Many, many times before."
"Have you now -- no, no, not that way, Obi-Wan. Don't tease it!
Be gentle! Ah, yes, that's much better. Well, now that you have
it in your hands, what do you think about it?"
"Frankly, Master, I expected it to be much stiffer."
Qui-Gon was, as always, philosophical. "It is not how stiff it
is that counts, Padawan. It is how well you use it and learn
from the experience."
"Yes, Master. Master," Obi-Wan suddenly asked, "why don't you
ever do this for me?"
Qui-Gon opened his eyes, and said, with an amused gleam in his
eyes. "Well, we tried it once or twice, but I didn't find it
particularly enjoyable. I didn't believe you did either, now
that I think about it. After all, yours is so short that after
one or two strokes we were finished."
Obi-Wan stuck out his lower lip -- and a luscious lower lip it
was, Qui-Gon noted -- even as the younger man enthusiastically
continued with his task. He decided to try and help Obi-Wan.
"Come now, my Pada . . . aaaaaaaaaaaaaah, that's right! That's
the perfect spot right there, Obi-Wan. By the Sith, I didn't
realize this sort of thing could feel so good!"
"You were about to say something, Master?"
"Oh, yes. Come now, my Padawan. Don't pout. So what if yours is
not quite as long as mine. I promise you. If it will make you
happy, we'll try again with yours as soon as we finish this
mission."
"Thank you, Master. Besides," he leaned down to give his master
an evil leer, "yours isn't going to be this length for much
longer is it?" Obi-Wan gave one more decisive tug downward.
"Ouch!! I swear, Padawan, mission or no mission, if you grind
the teeth of that comb into my neck one more time, I'm going to
....."
Just then a curtain flew open, and a man in bright blue smock
entered, "Are we ready? Mr. Jinn, I hope our new shampoo boy
here has been able to calm your fears somewhat. I took one look
at those fingers of his and thought 'Oh my! The things that boy
will be able to do with styling gel!'"
"Yes, I'm quite pleased with the way he's combed out my hair."
"Wonderful! Now, what are you thinking of getting done today?"
"I thought maybe just a small trim?" Qui-Gon stammered out
hopefully.
"Uh, uh, uh, Mr. Jinn," the stylist said sternly, wagging his
finger at the other man. "You know that we don't allow your
particular hairstyle here on the planet of Sassoon. It's really
much too sixties, if you know what I mean. If you don't know
what you want, I have a few suggestions."
He whipped out a few pictures, "now this is the Mace Windu, but
personally I think your ears are too big to carry it off. The
Princess Leia is always popular, but if you aren't used to it,
it *can* effect your equilibrium. Now this one," he pointed
triumphantly to a last photo, "this one is you! The Han Solo.
Very popular with the ladies -- and with a lot of the men, too,
eh, Shampoo Boy?"
Obi-Wan decided this was a good time to get on with their
mission, and slipped out of the room, going in search of a
stolen shipment of curling irons that had been illegally
diverted from the planet Clairol.
He hoped it wouldn't take very long. He really wanted to get
home and shampoo his hair.
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