Archive: M/A & SWAL fine, others, please ask, so I can
visit. :-)
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, George Lucas does. And thank
goodness for that, because if I did own these boyz,
Episode II would be a movie no one would EVER forget.
(wink)
Warning: Schmoopy, plotless, angst-free smut awaits. Sorry, but
Dark and Miserable refused to come out and play today. Oh
well... ;-)
Of all the things that could come back to haunt him, Qui-Gon
Jinn never thought his ankle would be chief among them. He'd
broken it years before, on Drlyai, during a particularly
difficult climb down a mine shaft and ever since that day, it
still ached when rain threatened. Even if the sky was clear and
sunny, if the throb began, a downpour was sure to follow.
One false step and he was stuck with a lifetime of weather
predictions.
Qui-Gon sighed and refused to give into the temptation of
limping. It would do no good, and besides, what sort of Jedi
Master would be caught limping back to his quarters, bedraggled
and soaked to the skin, even through his heavy cloak and tunic.
A Jedi Master who'd been caught in a deluge without the proper
rain gear, that's who.
//No complaints, remorse or regrets// he chanted to himself.
There were dry clothes waiting and what couldn't be cured must
be endured. At least for the moment.
He lightly waved his hand over the security pad and the door to
his otherwise primitive shelter slid open. A bit too creakily
for his liking, but as an eternal guest, forever depending on
the good intentions of strangers, he was in no position to
complain.
One night, when he was very old and near oneness with The
Force, he'd indulge himself in a nice, tightly shielded
grumbling session. Maybe throw in a curse or two for every
battle lost, every opportunity ruined and every rain storm
endured. It would probably delay his Journey by a few years or
so, but he'd deal with that then.
First things first. And that was getting out of the cold,
clammy garments that stuck to him so uncomfortably. Qui-Gon
made sure the door shut behind him and gratefully yanked the
dripping hood from his wet, matted hair.
"You're soaked." The voice that greeted him held the slightest
hint of accusation.
"Thank you, Padawan," he replied, the grumble threatening
prematurely. "I almost didn't notice." He shrugged the cloak
off and let it fall where he stood. It hit the floor with an
ungraceful -splat- and he pushed the dripping hair from his
face with a grimace.
Obi-Wan's arms were folded in front of him, his eyes doing a
narrow evaluation. "Soaked through it seems."
Qui-Gon didn't reply, opting instead to fumble with his belt.
He nearly cursed his fingers, which were numb and not obeying
his commands as well as they should. A set of slim, dry fingers
took their place as Qui-Gon sighed and raised his arms up
allowing Obi-Wan to undo the belt quickly and efficiently. It
was neatly folded up and the wet tunic was next, tugged up,
then over his head in two swift motions. He repressed a shiver
when the air stung his damp skin and winced as the tangled
waistband of his trousers plagued him as well.
"A hot bath is ready and dinner is nearly done." Obi-Wan's
voice was crisp ... businesslike, as he undid the soaked
trouser strings with two swift pulls. "I have dry clothes
waiting in the sleeping area."
Qui-Gon peered at him. Amused. "When I left, the sky was clear.
How did you know it was to rain?"
A pair of sharp grey eyes met his. "Your ankle was bothering
you, of course."
Oh, by the Force, save me from this boy, thought Qui-Gon,
fighting back the laughter. He looked at the serious, beautiful
face before him and immediately recanted his wish. No, don't
ever save me from him, he prayed. Keep me under the lock of his
maddening ways and the prisoner of those eyes and I promise
never to complain.
"Bath," insisted his Padawan. "I'll help with your boots."
He allowed himself to be led to the back room and helped out of
the rest of his clothing, which was beginning to tighten as it
dried. It was removed with some difficulty, but finally ...
thankfully, Qui-Gon was able to lower himself into the bath,
his entire body heaving a sigh of relief when the hot, spiced
water covered him, nearly up to his neck. He resisted the urge
to slid under and stay there until it grew too cool to be of
use.
Besides, Obi-Wan was already rolling up his sleeves and
reaching for the bottles and cloths that stood along the
bather's raised ledge.
Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow at him. "I believe I remember how to
wash myself."
"Of course you do," came the reply, along with a long squirt of
bathing liquid.
Qui-Gon soon found himself submitting to a gentle, but
efficient, washing. Considered resisting, but, upon reflection,
decided to give in. Didn't the Code tell him that he must
endure without complaint? He leaned back with the smallest of
grins and allowed Obi-Wan to wash his back, chest, even his
hair, which was unmercifully tangled and matted.
The hands that tended to him were skillful and very soothing,
especially considering the love and care that guided them.
Qui-Gon let the thought warm him, along with the bath water
which was still hot and steaming with spices he could only
guess at.
"Close your eyes," he was ordered and he obeyed as clear water
was poured over his hair, rinsing all traces of suds and chill
away. "Good. I'll get the towels. They should be warm enough by
now."
Heated towels, Qui-Gon thought, biting back a smile. That's
right, oh powers that be, he chanted, allowing himself a quick
duck beneath the water. Never, ever save me from this boy. A
moment later, he was helped up, dried off and handed a loose
nightrobe to wrap over himself. It was as close to the Blessed
Gardens of Omnat as he was ever going to get, he thought
gratefully, as he padded back out to the main area, where a
bowl and steaming cup of something fragrant was waiting.
Obi-Wan shook his head as he spooned dinner out. "I can't vouch
for this entirely," he said. "The recipe was in W'rwisah. If
it's too wretched, we can always..."
"Order out?" Qui-Gon finished for him with a smile. "That will
be interesting, considering there's a war going on. Perhaps we
can find a merchant willing to deliver between air strikes."
"Try it," Obi-Wan's tone was dancing somewhere on the edge of
impudent. "If it's no good, I'll go out and slice down
something else."
Yes, a definite note of impertinence there, Qui-Gon noted. He
put on his third best scowl, the one he saved for tired
evenings. "In the early days of the Order, a Padawan would be
beaten for such cheek."
"Is that so?" came the calm reply. "Well, Master, you may beat
me all you like. After you eat."
Qui-Gon was forced to raise the tea cup to his lips to hide his
smile. "All right. At least I'll have enough strength by then."
He tasted the food and it was delicious ... small bits of
vegetables and tender meat covered with a lightly spiced gravy.
He dipped a thick slice of buttered bread into it and forced
himself to eat slowly, not to give into the urge to down it all
in two gulps. Sipped the hot green tea alongside it and when
the meal was done, he finally felt human again.
I should get caught in the rain more often, he thought, leaning
back contentedly.
"I heard that." Obi-Wan glanced at him as he gathered up the
plates. "And I think it's a very bad idea."
"They beat those impudent Padawans with tree branches, I
think," Qui-Gon mused aloud, creasing his brow thoughtfully.
"Or was it light whips? Perhaps with just the butts of their
unlit sabers..."
"You get crotchety when you're wet. Like a ra'dbear."
"I can always improvise, I suppose. My belt might work..."
"See what I mean? The cooking fire in the front room is still
burning, Master. You may as well take advantage of it. I'll
join you in a moment."
Qui-Gon rose and stretched out his back until he heard a tiny,
satisfying pop. "A bare handed beating is out of the
question though, " he yawned. "I don't believe it's confidence
inspiring."
"And you might break a finger. Then we'll know when it's going
to snow."
Qui-Gon settled down in front of the small fire and folded his
legs before him, letting the heat permeate his tired bones. The
boy was going to get a beating, he swore, just as soon
as he closed his eyes for one short moment and...
He was gently nuzzled awake. "Master?"
Qui-Gon opened his eyes with a start and peered groggily at his
apprentice who was lying beside him on the thick rug that
covered most of the front room floor. It had been the winter
hide of some huge, unfortunate creature, bearing a coat once
rough and hardy, now softened with age. It was outrageously
comfortable, thought Qui-Gon sleepily as he felt a slight, warm
body curl up against his own.
A slight, warm naked body.
Soft skin against his, a hot hardness pressing into his thigh
and Qui-Gon was completely awake. Curse the boy ... no, bless
the boy; for he was surely going to be driven mad one day by
the impossible imp, the beautiful creature, at his side. Strong
and needful, wise and childlike, sensual and astonishingly
innocent ... balled up beside him, stringing kisses along his
throat, with those slim, elegant hands tracing lazy circles
across his chest, over his belly and then lower, feeding fire
into his veins.
"Master?" A kiss beneath his ear. "Are you comfortable?" A slow
suckle of his earlobe. "Warm?" A whisper against his cheek.
"Dry?"
Qui-Gon shut his eyes and fought not to arch into the gentle
hands that were tormenting him. No, he wasn't exactly
comfortable; he was boiling hot rather than warm and he was
growing sticky, his skin slick with a thin sheen of bath oil
and perspiration. The pelt beneath him began to cling to his
back and he squirmed against it, wondering if lovemaking on
rugs such as this was more than a little overrated.
A mouth closed in over one nipple, nibbling gently and he
gasped, arching into it, quickly deciding he liked fur-covered
floors very well indeed. The hands never stopped and the kisses
traveled down his body until they reached his groin, pausing
only for a playful bite at the sensitive area between his
thighs.
A long lazy lick at the tip of his cock was followed by a slow
hot decent. Qui-Gon's fingers clutched at the fur, tangling
within the soft hairs and he didn't move ... didn't breathe as
Obi-Wan slowly rose, coyly glancing upwards through light
lashes, a smile playing over lips that were dark and slightly
puffy with desire.
One look at the dancing grey eyes and Qui-Gon's hard won
serenity snapped in two. "Enough," he growled. He raised
Obi-Wan up and flipped him onto his back with one smooth
movement. Pinned him harshly against the fur, took his mouth
beneath his own, ravished it, then pulled away, gasping for
air.
Heard a breathless laugh. "Am I to be beaten now?"
"Within an inch of your life," Qui-Gon whispered. In a way, he
meant it, but his tone must have not sounded menacing enough as
Obi-Wan laughed again and stretched himself out before Qui-Gon,
long arms around his neck, one knee lazily raised.
Qui-Gon took advantage of the feast presented and devoured it
hungrily, nipping and lapping at every exposed bit within
reach. Soon, Obi-Wan was writhing beneath him; a boneless,
beautiful creature, pale skin flushed against the dark fur.
Qui-Gon explored carelessly, without thought or permission,
pausing only to go back up, then take him in fully, feeling the
hard, thrumming pulse within his cheek, tasting both salt and
the sea.
Slim fingers dug into soft flesh, hard enough to bruise and he
felt the inevitable spiral begin ... the sparks along his
spine, trailing fire down his belly, making him gasp for air,
even as the body beneath followed him over the edge, crying out
as one.
Qui-Gon closed his eyes tightly for a moment, waiting for the
sparks of light to fade behind his lids, feeling the peace
enclose him in warmth ... in light. He slid up the lithe body
beneath him, kissing his way back and received kisses in turn,
soft, grateful and quietly passionate still.
It took a few moments for him to fully catch his breath; yet
another sign of aging he thought mournfully. Felt a nudge in
his ribs and looked down at the sleepy, loved filled face
nestled against his chest.
Heard a teasing murmur. "Are you sure there's nothing in Jedi
history about Padawans correcting Masters who think such
disparaging thoughts about themselves?"
"I'm quite sure," Qui-Gon replied with a low growl. He kissed
the warm forehead and both eyelids. "Go to sleep."
Heard a drowsy chuckle. "Well, if not, I think there should be.
Maybe I can start a new bit of Code..."
"I said, go to sleep, my eternally impossible brat," Qui-Gon
ordered sternly, as he settled back and closed his eyes. Only a
few moments had passed when his ankle began to throb again and
silently, Qui-Gon began to count. Heard the light beating of
rain against the windows before he reached twenty and, with a
smile, pulled the sleeping body next to him a bit closer.
In some ways, he was much luckier than he thought. He now had
two things he could count on without fail, and perhaps ... just
perhaps, inevitability wasn't such a bad thing after all.
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