Masquerade – Courir le Mardi Gras

by Oncidium

Archive: M_A and my own site. Others please ask

Category: PWP

Pairing: Qui/Obi

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: None really.

Summary: Qui contemplates his Padawan at a festival. Jealous!Qui. First in a PWP series

Disclaimer: The characters in this story do not belong to me; they belong to George Lucas. I just like to play with them and will try and return them in somewhat the condition in which they were found. No money was made.

Feedback: Y'know ya wanna... (hellsmouth@sympatico.ca)

Notes: I was very influenced on a recent trip to New Orleans and here is the result. As My Master said, "Desire and strangeness". This one is for her challenge she issued to her Padawans and Grand- Padawans. I want to thank her for her unflinching support and the great cheering section and beta she did for me!

Courir le Mardi Gras - uncontrolled energy or emotion.

Qui-Gon eyed the selection of masks laid out on the table before him with no small amount of reserve. When he and his Padawan had agreed to participate in the yearly Celebration of Plenty before the Season of Denial on the tiny planet of Vau'Karreh he had no idea he would be witness to such excess or spend so much time away from his Padawan. He didn't know how much he relied on his apprentice's steady, if rather reserved, company. He could not even begin to imagine what the sometimes tense young man thought of all this.

During the time they had been on the on the tiny planet, the inhabitants ate, drank and made merry pretty much around the clock. The roads were constantly blocked by some parade with lavish floats depicting all manner of characters from local myth and on which the riders distributed strings of brightly coloured beads to the waiting throng of youth which then used it as a currency to barter for all manner of sensual favours from the other young party goers in the streets. For while the older generations had taken to celebrating in lavish masked balls held by mock-courts of the "kings and queens" of the various krewes, the younger partied in the streets adorned with their treasured beads and very little else.

Qui-Gon shook his head as he tried to imagine his Padawan, Obi-Wan, surrounded by such a wanton display. The young man was sure to be polite and reserved as usual. He could not help but feel a bit sorry for a young man who seemed to have so little joy in his life and wondered if he should speak to him about it.

After looking over the display of masks again he finally decided on a glossy black half-mask that left his mouth and chin uncovered and had a long pointed nose out the front that resembled a beak. Attached to the top was a long piece of black cloth layered with iridescent black feathers that would cover the hair and shoulders of the wearer completing the bird-like appearance. He put the mask on and arranged the covering so it fell neatly over the back of the black Courtier costume he had picked out earlier. He looked at himself in mirror and was surprised that where the tall Jedi Master had stood only moments before, now seemed to loom a large bird of prey with it's cold eyes and regal demeanour looking back at him in a calculating manner. He had heard that part of the reason for the masks at the balls was because of the tradition of the legend. Anyone who put on a mask for the Celebration of Plenty would take on the character inhabiting the mask and therefore be able to throw their own inhibitions to the winds. Qui-Gon smiled at the absurdity of this tale.

His reverie was broken by the sudden wail of loud music cascading over the iron lace of the balcony and through the open French doors where it seemed even to agitate the long white sheers that stirred as if aggravated. Qui knew that one of the parties must have started up on the street just below and he thought it would not hurt to peek out into the throng below the terrace to see if he could catch sight of Obi-Wan.

He stepped onto the ornate balcony the heat and humidity seemed to envelope him and carried with it the smell of the rich foods this planet was known for and the musky local flowers. He surveyed the crowd from his perch high above the teeming mass in the street and leaned forward ever so slightly placing his hands on the warm, damp metal of the railing as he scanned for the figure of Obi-Wan. A clear laugh in the street very close attracted his attention and when his gaze followed the sound he saw the source.

It took him a moment to recognise his apprentice in his current garb. He was bare chested and his leggings were rolled high up his legs revealing the slender calves that led down to bare feet, his heavy boots a thing of the past. Many strings of colourful metallic beads adorned his sun-kissed neck and arms. He watched as Obi-Wan allowed one of the group he was with to refill his glass with a bright blue and mostly likely heavily intoxicating drink and threw back his head and once again laughed in a high and carefree way.

Qui-Gon leaned forward a bit to track the movements of the young man as he started to move slowly and deliberately sensuously to the loud music which pumped through the air, eliciting hoots and cheers from the young men and women in his party. His body involuntarily tensed as he saw one of the young men wrap a few more strings of beads around the graceful neck then slip his arms around the slender waist and mould himself to the body of his apprentice. Obi-Wan laughed at a private word whispered directly into his ear by his dancing companion and his eyes fluttered shut as those words were followed by a tongue tracing its delicate shell.

He gripped the railing harder as a bead of perspiration trickled down from his temple and an uncomfortable heat suffused him that had nothing to do with the sultry night air. He screwed his eyes shut against the scene that was filling him with an inexplicable jealousy. He had never considered his Padawan as any more than a student and friend, but seeing him like that, so wanton and blithe made him wonder why Obi-Wan could never be that way around him. All he had ever seen of the young man was the dutiful and dedicated Jedi never knowing that all the time it was a mask he wore that was more false that the one adorning his own face.

He forced himself to open his eyes again and look back toward Obi-Wan whose eyes were now fixed very intently on him. Qui-Gon felt his gaze like it was a living thing roaming over his tall and powerfully built body. He saw his Padawan's pink tongue dart out to wet his lips as he sunk further into the embrace of his young companion while keeping his gaze set firmly. He watched with incredulity as a grin that could only be described as lascivious lit on Obi-Wan's beautiful face and he winked.

Qui-Gon backed away from the railing as if it had stung him. He tore his gaze away from that of his Padawan and retreated back into the rooms they shared anger hastening his steps. When he was back inside he noticed he was embarrassingly and undeniably hard. The heat and discomfort radiated from his groin and humiliated him as sure as a slap to the face would. How dare his Padawan behave so boldly in the streets no better than a common whore? To rub himself so wantonly against what was most likely almost a complete stranger and then to tease him. Throw into his face the casual ease he had with the youth of this world and to show them a side of himself that his own Master did not know existed. His eyes were open to the game his Padawan played.

He hastily undid the lacings of the leggings he wore to alleviate some of the blinding pressure his hardness was causing. Unbidden, the image from the street sprang back into his mind, causing him to become harder than ever. Only this time instead of retreating, in his mind's eye he spread his cloak and swooped down from the balcony into the street below like an imposing raptor from a myth and snatched Obi-Wan from the arms of the young man he was with. He delivered a punishing kiss to that yielding mouth wiping away the grin that had been teasing him only moments before and heard his Padawan moan his name. As he wrapped the semi nude young man against his body, Obi-Wan responded by grinding sensuously against the hardness at his Master's groin, pliant and wiling. Only for him. No one else would touch that warm smooth skin nor taste the sweetness of the fruity drink left on his Padawan's tongue.

His hand had slipped into the opening of his leggings and was slowly toying and rubbing against the turgid flesh eliciting moans from the Jedi Masters throat. In his mind it was not his own had that stroked him luxuriously but Obi-Wan's smaller, delicate hand. The calluses from years of using a Lightsaber would be about the same; would scratch and scathe wonderfully over the sensitive skin. He would whisper words of desire and devotion to him and only him.

His hand now worked furiously over the heated flesh and his moans were quickly turning into panted gasps. His body tensed as he stifled a shout and his hand was bathed in his hot essence. He relaced his leggings, went to the fresher and washed his hand clean under the faucet. Anger and jealousy still burned in him and as he looked into the mirror and saw the bird looking back, its eyes hard and cold.

He went back out into the main room and sat down in one of the large wing backed chairs. Tonight he would not attend the ball. Tonight when Obi-Wan came home, reeking of the night's activities, he would not be alone.

His Master would be waiting for him.