by Vermillion Flame (Vermillion_Flame@hotmail.com)
Archive: Yes to m_a, anyone else please just ask
Category: PWP
Rating: NC 17
Pairing: Q/O
Warning: None.
Summary: Obi-Wan returns home late and discovers his master's
boots left in the common room. Fun and fantasy results.
Feedback: All feedback is cherished. I am open to constructive
criticism - really!
Disclaimer: The characters herein belong to Lucasfilm, no
copyright infringement intended.
Obi-Wan staggered into the quarters he shared with his master,
collapsing against the door milliseconds after it closed. He
gazed blearily across the darkened common room, identifying the
couch as his immediate goal. With tremendous determination he
pushed off from the cold metal surface and propelled himself
across the seemingly endless expanse of floor. With unending
gratitude, he flopped down onto the welcoming furniture and
rested his head against the cushioned back.
Why, oh why? What had possessed him to voluntarily spend two
days judging the Initiates' Trials? Even worse, why had he
agreed to chaperone the all-day celebration at their
conclusion? He'd never before been so exhausted. This was worse
than his previous personal fatigue record, established on a
mission to Andrigar when he and Qui-Gon had snatched only two
hours' sleep during a four-day bombing raid.
Obi-Wan sank further into the plump comfort. His bones had
dissolved several hours ago. His muscles had resigned from all
responsibility for at least the next day and a half. His hair
hurt.
With his eyes closed, Obi-Wan breathed deeply and began to
relax, taking in his surroundings. He realized his master must
have been occupying this same spot before retiring for the
night. The apprentice could easily read his master's Force
signature in the area. A quick check along their training bond
confirmed that Qui-Gon was in his room, sleeping peacefully.
After considerable deliberation, Obi-Wan decided that if
anything could possibly feel better than sinking into the
comfortable familiarity of the sitting couch and his master's
aura, it would be doing so without his boots on. The young man
concentrated intently for several seconds, gathering as much
energy as he could muster.
He threw his weight forward and with the resulting momentum
managed to grasp the straps on his left boot. With his eyes
barely open, he unfastened the three buckles and, gathering the
Force about him, extricated his foot from the worn leather
binding.
Oh, that felt wondrous. The cool air caressed his hot, stinging
foot. The disparate sensations between the clad foot and the
exposed one were extremely disconcerting, though, and he was
driven to quickly remove the remaining source of offense.
Bliss. Such simple pleasures made life worthwhile. Obi-Wan
wiggled his toes, drowning in the absence of the constraining
footwear that until now he had not noticed was bothering him.
Slitting open his eyes long enough to satisfy his compulsion
for tidiness, the young man picked up his boots and propped
them beside the couch, next to a taller, larger pair.
He hadn't noticed them when he sat down. Qui-Gon must have done
much the same thing sitting in that spot. He must have taken
off his worn but serviceable boots and tucked them away against
the side of the couch, forgetting them when he wandered into
bed.
Looking at them, Obi-Wan couldn't help but smile. They were
like familiar friends. He had followed Qui-Gon's boots through
swamps and deserts, palaces and war zones. He remembered
several instances when only the backs of those boots anchored
him to reality during endless hours of trudging.
Even in the Temple, the boots had been a recurring focus of his
attention. As a youth, he had spent countless hours rubbing oil
into the soft hide, satisfied to be helping his teacher in this
small way.
Indulging in a whim, Obi-Wan slipped into the tall boots. They
were so large! He wiggled his toes, finding the interior
topography all wrong for his feet. The contours had certainly
been developed by a frame much larger than his own.
After checking to be sure Qui-Gon was really asleep, Obi-Wan
found enough energy to stand and clomp around the room. He
laughed to himself, feeling like one of the young initiates he
had just left. He vividly remembered the days long ago when he
would do just this, imagining how it would feel to one day fill
a Jedi Master's shoes.
He knew now that he could never fill Qui-Gon's footsteps,
literally or figuratively. His master was... a Master. Obi-Wan
was privileged to walk in his shadow. Some day he might become
a Knight, but he would never be the Jedi that Qui-Gon was.
Plopping back down into the indentation on the couch, Obi-Wan
crossed his left ankle over his right knee. He fingered the
soft leather of the boots, tracing his fingers along the scars
etched into the surface. He could actually identify the source
of some of them: the scratches left by the thorn patch in the
woodland of Marigae, the slice from the saber encounter on
Westrim III.
Qui-Gon's life was inscribed on these boots. Their life
together was written there, too.
Obi-Wan's head tilted back to rest on the cushion, fatigue once
again overwhelming him. He continued rubbing his hand over the
leather, releasing the rich, comfortable odor. He envisioned
his master striding along before him, confident and sure.
He wasn't sure when his arousal had begun, but suddenly Obi-Wan
was painfully aware of the hardness between his legs. Yet again
he checked to be sure his master slept, unaware of his
padawan's presence in the adjoining room. Reassured that he was
unobserved, Obi-Wan indulged himself in the fantasy.
...Qui-Gon striding toward him, the leather boots emphasizing
every powerful step. Qui-Gon's hands grasping his arms,
brusquely pulling him forward....
Obi-Wan's right hand caressed the buttery hide of the boot. His
left hand untied his leggings, and pulled his erection free.
His cock pulsed in his palm, demanding to be stroked.
...Qui-Gon leaning over and kissing him, a groan accompanying
the master's tongue as it probed deeply into his mouth....
Obi-Wan moved his fingertips lightly over the shaft, circling
the head, not wanting to rush the sensations. His did not
notice the harshness of each breath that left his lips.
...Qui-Gon ripping the tunics from him, exposing his chest.
Qui-Gon's rough hands on his back, and eager mouth locking onto
a nipple, sucking fiercely....
His arousal building quickly, Obi-Wan began to stroke more
seriously, his tunneled fingers moving up and down his cock.
His other hand kneaded the leather, pushing and pulling in time
with the erotic strokes.
...Qui-Gon kneeling before him, untying his leggings, pushing
them hastily down to drape over his boots. Qui-Gon's hands
grasping his rear. Qui-Gon's mouth descending on his phallus,
possessing, licking, taking him in, sucking hard....
Obi-Wan groaned quietly. His hips rose to meet the harsh rhythm
of his left hand, the pace accelerating. His right hand pulled
the booted foot forward, drawing his leg closer to his groin.
...Qui-Gon's demanding mouth pulling him to an explosive
climax. His hips thrusting forward, spilling his orgasm into
his grateful master's throat....
Obi-Wan gasped as he came, spurting his seed over the brown
leather. His hips thrust once, twice more, before he sank his
weight back into the cushions. He calmed his breath slowly but
deliberately, relishing the tingle still moving over his skin.
Finally, with one eye peaking open, the young man confirmed the
mess he had made of Qui-Gon's boot.
After putting his leggings to rights, Obi-Wan removed both
boots, placing the right one on the floor, and taking the left
one in hand. Lovingly, he rubbed his semen into the worn
leather, merging his essence with his master's. It would be dry
by morning.
He sat the boots back where they had been, and picked up his
own smaller pair. With a last effort of will, he hoisted
himself from the couch and stumbled into his own room and bed.
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