Archive: Anyone who wants it, just take it away, please.
Category: Humour/Parody
Rating: I suspect NC-17.
Pairing: QG/OW
Spoilers: I doubt it.
Summary: Master and Padawan have an encounter with Laa Laa, Po,
Tinky Winky and Dipsy.
Feedback: Good, negative, death threats all welcome at
enigma@shadowy.demon.co.uk
Author's Note: Yes, I know this is something of a Teletubbies
xover. Give me the benefit of the doubt, I hate them too. This
is something of a response to several challenges; two Jedi walk
into a bar, dress your Jedi up and one other. Thanks to Lelia
for beta and Alex for beta and the punishment and the title and
so much more.
Disclaimers: Mr Lucas owns these chaps. Someone else who would
probably be really upset owns the other characters.
Qui-Gon Jinn stomped into the dingy bar, his pet Padawan
following close behind. Both were dressed in a manner
completely inappropriate to the perceived dignity of their
Order. Fortunately for Qui-Gon's sanity and, more importantly,
his embarrassment factor, they were not so much clothed as
costumed. He wore a deep purple padded costume that covered his
entire body; Obi-Wan was similarly dressed in red. Large video
screens disguised as cream patches graced their stomachs. Their
ears were as large as shuttle doors, mouths open wide in
childish innocence, eyes wide and unblinking.
"There are some seats at the bar," Obi-Wan said, his voice
muffled by the fur-lined disguise.
"Good," Qui-Gon said, "as I am rapidly losing my balance
again." One, two faltering steps and the unwieldy costume
reasserted its independence and brought its wearer crashing to
the ground. He was not sure how, but it seemed to be
interfering with his ability to control both himself and the
Force. The other patrons turned, stared, blinked as one mass of
twisted life and returned to the business at hand - that of
getting hammered as quickly and cheaply as possible.
Qui-Gon shook off all attempts at assistance and struggled
slowly to his feet, somewhat annoyed that his Padawan did not
seem to be experiencing the same control issues. Two paces away
from the bar, he tripped again, grabbed hold of the nearest
stool and landed facedown in a bowl of peanuts. Someone was
going to have to suffer for this later and Obi-Wan suffered
with more beauty than anyone he had ever known.
"Don't glare at me like that, Master," Obi-Wan said as they
perched themselves on the high rickety stools.
Qui-Gon cleared his throat and attempted to sit up relatively
straight.
"Fine. Don't glare at me like that, Tinky Jinnky."
"What makes you think I'm glaring, Pobi-Wan?" Qui-Gon asked.
"How can you tell through this tasteful disguise?" He tried to
manoeuvre his facial muscles out of the grimace they occupied,
but resolutely failed to see the funny side. He wished someone
had told him that the Teletubbies were not due to perform until
the following day, before he had allowed his Padawan to fasten
him into the ridiculous ensemble.
"You've got that tone. The one that means if you were not a
'you know what' you would put me over your knee and smack my
bottom."
"You're never too old to be spanked, my Padawan. However, I may
have difficulty reaching the appropriate slapping power in this
disguise."
He waved a purple paw in the direction of the barman who nodded
and scuttled away. Qui-Gon took another deep breath and turned
back to Obi- Wan. He found it hard to believe that his
cute...neh...scrumptious apprentice was hiding under all that
fake fur. The only familiar points were the large eyes of
indeterminable colour. This evening they glimmered with all the
fire of a Tattooine sandstorm.
"How was I to know someone would steal our clothes?" Obi-Wan
asked, a well-developed pout clear in his tone.
"Based on the events of this mission so far, I fear it was
inevitable." Qui-Gon was finding it difficult to breathe
properly in the costume. He toyed with the idea of removing the
headpiece, but feared that someone might recognise him. Master
Yoda seemed to have spies throughout the entire galaxy. Even
the developments in his relationship with his Padawan were
spreading like spilt honey throughout the Jedi Temple,
engulfing all with their sweet and sticky ooziness complete
with pictures (still and moving).
"Remind me why you thought that persuading the Teletubbies into
giving us their clothes was a good idea," Qui-Gon muttered. He
wished he had not left his lightsabre with his now-stolen
clothes, but given the lack of belts and pockets in his fluffy
purple coverings, no other option had presented itself. Now it
was lost and he felt practically naked without it pulsating by
his side. He did not remember seeing Obi-Wan's weapon when they
were changing and he was not sure he wanted to know where it
had been secreted.
"Do you have a better idea for retrieving Anakin from the
Sith?" Obi-Wan asked.
"None springs immediately to mind."
"I admit that I was rather surprised that the Dark Lords of the
Sith went in for kids' entertainment."
"Pobi-Wan, believe me when I say this is about as far away from
entertainment as I can imagine. Placing a small child in a room
with these things is sure to produce an uncommon amount of
fear. And we know where fear leads, don't we?"
"How could I forget?"
The barman returned with a plate piled high with small circular
brown slices of what looked like toast. Each was decorated with
a bright yellow smiley face. Placing the plate down carefully,
he turned and scuttled to the other end of the bar. Qui-Gon
stared at the toast, stared at his Padawan, then in an
ill-advised manoeuvre designed to attract the barman's
attention, completed a magnificent backflip off his stool and
landed in a heap at Obi-Wan's feet.
"Master?"
"What is it now?" Qui-Gon clung to the remnants of his
patience. Clawing at the bar with his hands...err...paws; he
managed to climb back onto his stool.
"Where's your tutu?"
Qui-Gon turned on his Padawan, lost his footing and made
another swan dive onto the bar, this time into a puddle of
something that at least smelt alcoholic. Jedi were not supposed
to indulge while on missions, but if he didn't do something
soon, someone was going to have to die. Horribly. "I left it in
my handbag," he gurgled, "along with your scooter." He
steadfastly ignored Obi-Wan's giggle.
"And your handbag would be where?"
Too tired to think of a resourceful bending of the truth,
Qui-Gon settled for the most obvious. "I lost it."
"But, Master," Obi-Wan protested, "without your comely tutu,
you're naked."
"Naked! I'm wearing half a ton of fluffy, how can I possibly be
naked?" Obi-Wan grabbed the back of this costume and levered
him back into a semblance of a sitting position. With the
sulkiest dignity he could muster, Qui-Gon refused to thank him.
Perhaps he could petition the Council to add the function of
seater to the Padawan job description.
"Underneath all of that, you're naked."
"Says who? I never leave home without my standard issue Jedi
underwear." Qui-Gon thought for a moment. "You mean you're..."
"Going commando? Well, things were starting to chafe a little.
If you only let me wear silk like I wanted!"
"May the Code preserve us! Then, you are, in fact, just as
naked - more naked than I."
Obi-Wan shook his large head. His circular antenna wiggled in a
provocative manner and Qui-Gon did his Jedi best to not
consider whether two could fit into one of the ridiculous
outfits. Maybe if they stood very close together.
"Tinky always wore a tutu. It's a statement of his sexuality."
"You do realise that the more humiliated I am, the harder it is
going to be on you!"
Before Obi-Wan could answer, another of the Tubby species
sauntered into the bar, this one dressed in green and wearing a
delectable black and white spotted hat. It waved
enthusiastically in their direction. "Master Jinn!" it called
loudly. Everyone in the bar turned around and stared. In lieu
of answer, Qui-Gon sent a force wave in the creature's
direction, knocking him off his feet and slamming him not too
gently against the wall. That was much better. Now he knew why
so many Jedi had descended to the Dark Side. Considering what
he had to contend with on an almost daily basis: missing Chosen
Ones, sycophantic droids, sarcastic Padawans and cumbersome
costumes; he was surprised he hadn't surrendered years ago.
"Pobi-Wan."
"Yes, Master."
"Would you be so kind as to assist DipC 3PO? I would do it
myself, but the chances of walking there and back without
falling on my cushioned ass are less than the chances of yours
not being sore in the morning."
"Yes, Master."
Not daring to turn around, lest he fall over again, Qui-Gon
picked up a slice of toast. It was still slightly warm and
cooked exactly as he liked it with a hint of hardness on the
surface. Carefully, he sniffed it, held it up to the light and
probed it with his Force-given poison checking abilities. His
Padawan's cooking skills (or lack thereof) had ensured he
became an expert in avoiding food poisoning.
Lost in the swirling hues of the yellow decoration, he did not
realise Obi-Wan was talking to him until a red paw began to
wave before his face. The movement was as mesmerising as it was
clumsy. Qui-Gon wondered if he was developing another strange
kink - aside from the unfortunate lace experiment. How was he
to know that Obi-Wan was allergic to something as delicate as
black spangled lace? The poor lad had complained of the rash
for weeks, not to mention cutting off all privileges. On the up
side, at least no one in the bar was about to challenge his
rights to Padawan territory whilst Obi-Wan looked so much like
a fluffy chipmunk who should be captured, caged and nuzzled.
Qui-Gon watched with some respect for Obi-Wan's diplomacy as he
turned to assist DipC 3PO settle onto a stool. Obi-Wan
positioned himself between the two of them. He must have felt
Qui-Gon's control fleeing the scene of the crime.
"Look what DipC found!" Obi-Wan held a large red handbag out to
his master. He placed a red fur covered hand over his mouth and
sniggered as the experienced Jedi Master nestled the bag into
the crook of one arm. Qui-Gon had hoped that he had managed to
lose it, but trust his over- achieving sidekicks to foil his
plan.
Qui-Gon looked down at his nice red handbag. Strangely, it
comforted him. The weight of its multifarious contents carried
him to the edges of his sanity. There was only one other thing
that did this to him, one other sight, that of Obi-Wan nestled
in his arms in the wee hours of the morning. The soft snore,
the feel of the braid wrapped around one finger, the scent of
sweat and passion drying on coveted flesh.
But this was not the time for such thoughts. "Why must these
creatures act so stupidly?" he asked in a drastic and somewhat
desperate change of thought.
"I think it is something to do with the restricted gene pool.
There are only four in every colony and inter-species breeding
is," Obi-Wan looked down at the distinct lack of reproductive
organs, "not very likely."
Nope. That was not working. Obi-Wan was practically purring.
"Have some toast," Qui-Gon suggested while he considered the
multifarious methods of shutting him up.
"Thanks." Obi-Wan took a slice and stuffed the entire thing
through the mouth in his costume. A sharp crackle and toast and
hand re-emerged with only a small missing piece bearing witness
to the tasting. "Master, that is horrible. Just like the warm
bread you force me to cook for you."
"I like it better that way." He thought it best not to mention
that he did not trust Obi-Wan to do anything else. As far as
Obi-Wan was concerned, there were only two shades of toast:
underdone and charcoal. The latter usually brought sirens,
sundry Jedi Knights wielding fire extinguishers and disgruntled
looks from Master Yoda. Then there was that diplomatic incident
on Zelos II with the spatula and the pastry chef. Qui-Gon shook
his head. A fine Jedi Knight Obi-Wan would undoubtedly make,
just as long as someone diverted him permanently from the
kitchen.
"I do not see why I cannot be Dipsy," Qui-Gon said, his tone
uncharacteristically petulant. "I can manage the waving. This
droid appears to be auditioning for royalty." He fixed his gaze
on the costumed C3PO who was struggling to fend off the
advances of the newly arrived Laa Laa Binks.
"It's impossible, Master," Obi-Wan smirked. "It clearly states
in the handbook -section 3 anatomy, sub-section 12 - that Tinky
Jinnky is the biggest, not to mention clumsiest, Tubby. Who are
we to go against years of tradition and precedence?"
"Tradition?" Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. No one could see it,
but the sentiment was there.
"These things are important to growing children. If Anakin sees
through our disguise too early the Sith may notice."
"Jar Jar is taller than me," Qui-Gon suggested.
"But, Master, you are so much...bigger."
Qui-Gon sighed. "I said you were not to call me Master."
"Why ever not?"
"Someone might recognise me!"
"I doubt it...Jar Jar has more dignity and authority than you
do at the moment. Besides, I thought you liked it when I call
you that."
Qui-Gon had had enough, enough of the intense heated discomfort
of the costume, of Obi-Wan's dulcet tones and especially of the
way that Jar Jar was flirting outrageously with his property.
The Jedi in him knew it was unreasonable to think of his
Padawan as one of his assets; the rest of him (which was
gradually increasing in size) was considering ripping the red
costume off Obi-Wan right then and there. The mystery of him
secluded within a mountain of fake fur and plastic was more
exciting than if he had been stretched naked over the bar.
Well, perhaps. He felt strange. He wanted to giggle, eat, sleep
and ravage his lover simultaneously.
"Time for bed, Pobi," Qui-Gon said. He slid off his stool,
missed his footing and collapsed across Obi-Wan's lap. The
stool creaked at the weight of the two Jedi and their excessive
costumes. He was surprised to feel his Padawan's hands moving
beneath his stomach to tug at his arm. "How many times have I
told you, Pobi?" Qui-Gon squeaked, "not in public." For some
reason Obi-Wan's costume was shimmering in the dank air,
merging with the rainbow array of sound waves; coupling with
the bright light of the Force which tumbled around his body.
"I'm simply trying to reach your handbag, Mas...Tinky Jinnky."
"Do or do not, there is no try." Qui-Gon mumbled and fell
heavily onto the floor, laughing hysterically at his feeble
Yoda impression. There was a vague impression of frustration
emanating from Obi-Wan, followed by the sounds of a scooter
being forcibly removed from a small bag with the inner
dimensions of the ship of a galactic time traveller. Qui-Gon
squealed when a wheel rolled over his foot.
"Sorry," Obi-Wan whispered with not quite enough conviction.
Qui-Gon was vaguely aware that strong arms were picking him up
and levering him onto the scooter. "Hang on to me," Obi-Wan
ordered. Qui-Gon stared as Obi-Wan used one leg to propel them;
the other planted firmly in the centre of the scooter with most
of Qui-Gon wrapped around it.
"Oh, yes, Sir! " Qui-Gon was suddenly overtaken by a moment of
bursting happiness. His legs trembled, he picked up his
handbag, his mind wavered in the eddies of the Force. There was
only one appropriate reaction. He opened his mouth and sang.
"Jeditubbies, Jeditubbies," Qui-Gon roared at the top of his
lungs. He ignored the dozen impolite requests for him to shut
up and the fact that he was so far off-key that search parties
were being sent out. He clung tighter to Obi-Wan's padded
shoulders. Following the difficult negotiation of several
disgruntled music lovers, the two Jedi made it to the relative
safety of the corridor leading to their room. Somewhere in the
distance, Qui-Gon's illuminated senses witnessed their current
lame ducks following close behind. Yet, he barely acknowledged
it when Jar Jar's large orange ball bounced off of his head.
"This is so unbecoming of our Order, Master," Obi-Wan
complained.
"Shut up and sing," Qui-Gon reprimanded. "By the way...your
antenna is crooked. I told you to adjust it before we left.
"Next time, Master, I vote we throw a blanket over our
lightsabres and leave our robes in the closet, rather than do
this." Obi-Wan was finding it particularly difficult to
manoeuvre his scooter in the close confines of the corridor.
"Nonsense. Red becomes you." Qui-Gon's mind surfaced from the
murk and wondered why he was merely clinging meekly to his
Padawan's back. Shifting his weight in a way that should be
second nature, but was several times removed to a Jedi covered
in padding and carrying a handbag; Qui-Gon toppled off the
scooter. In a blur of red and purple he wrestled Obi-Wan to the
ground with him. When he felt the hard floor tumbling beneath
his back, he rolled over atop Obi-Wan. The heads of their
costumes clashed in retribution. "Are you questioning my
decisions, Padawan?" he asked, ignoring the frantic struggling
as Obi- Wan tried to escape entanglement.
"No, Master."
"Good," Qui-Gon giggled. He wondered where that had come from.
Most of the giggling, laughter and general fun were rounded up
by Obi-Wan, placed in regulation Jedi knapsacks and stored
safely under the bed. He could not remember why, but the
concept of the Jedi Master having unadulterated fun had always
given Obi-Wan a severe case of the willies.
"Master Kenobi!" C3PO said from what seemed like miles above
them. Qui- Gon tried resolutely to hide his entire body beneath
the arms of the man holding him, but for some reason the "if I
can't see him then he can't see me" defence was not working. He
only just heard the muffled grunt coming from beneath him and
offered little resistance when Obi-Wan wriggled upright and
pulled him to his feet. Vaguely aware of the existence of the
corridor, the dull red lights and the presence of one very
warm, confined and exasperated Padawan, Qui-Gon leaned heavily
against the wall.
"What seems to be the problem?" Obi-Wan asked, his voice quiet.
Qui-Gon knew that tone of old. It sang of restrained beasts and
taut emotion. It tasted of a man one swing of an ancient weapon
away from murder.
"Master Kenobi! Your cranial protrusion is askew."
"What?" Obi-Wan snapped. Qui-Gon listened with delight. Heat
crawled along his fingertips and nestled quietly behind his
eyes. It waited with the slyness of the galaxy itself. Obi-Wan
always promised the most when in such temper. But how best to
get him to the barriers of his discipline quickly? A good sulk
was several shades beneath Qui-Gon, but his skin hummed with
need, every beat of his ample heart caressed the tautness from
his muscles. He reached out to Obi-Wan's mind. The contact was
clumsier than intended and he felt rather than saw Obi-Wan turn
to him in confused concern. Instead of reassurance, Qui-Gon
flooded Obi- Wan's mind with heat and desperation and molten
gold so bright that he took a physical step backward.
"Master Kenobi!" The two Jedi jumped in synchronised fervour at
the intrusion of the mechanical voice.
"Your antenna, Pobi." Qui-Gon muttered almost to himself. The
circle on the spike was certainly more attractive when standing
firmly to attention. "I told you to adjust it. But, do you ever
listen to me? No, I am only the Master..."
"Meesa help," Jar Jar Binks' tongue shot out and steadied it.
For the first time, Qui-Gon noticed how annoying the creature
was. He had tolerated him easily enough before, but that had
been the dignified, controlled Qui-Gon who would never have
allowed Obi-Wan to talk him into wearing this costume, had
never eaten the Tubby toast and definitely was not sliding down
the wall. The new Qui-Gon would happily slaughter the next
creature to come between him and his Padawan.
"Thank you, Laa Laa," Obi-Wan said through what sounded like
clenched teeth.
Qui-Gon stumbled to his feet and yanked hard on Jar Jar's
tongue until it snapped away from Obi-Wan's costume. Coiling it
around one hand, he pulled the Gungan towards him. "Keep your
filthy paws off of my Padawan."
Jar Jar made a quiet frightened noise.
"Master," Obi-Wan demanded, "let him go!"
"For you, my sweet Padawan, anything. Your wish is my command."
Qui-Gon hoped Obi-Wan's next command would be more interesting.
He released Jar Jar so suddenly that the Gungan fell backward
into the costumed droid.
Somewhere at the edge of darkened vision, Qui-Gon was aware of
Jar Jar shouting "Time for Telebybyes", wrapping his slightly
bruised tongue around C3PO and ushering the shocked,
embarrassed and soon not to be quite so repressed droid into a
room.
Qui-Gon moved slowly down the corridor hugging the wall with
every step. Nearing the door to his and Obi-Wan's room he
stumbled for the umpteenth time since he had donned the stupid
costume. Before he fell, the strength of the Force carried him
upright, guided by the presence of his loyal companion. He
wondered why such assistance had not been forthcoming earlier.
"Master!" Obi-Wan asked. "Are you ill?"
"I do not believe so," Qui-Gon said, "although there is a
distinct fuzziness to the air this evening." He hiccuped and
giggled before throwing his arms around Obi-Wan's padded
shoulders.
"Did you drink or eat anything when I was not looking?" Obi-Wan
asked suspiciously as he fumbled with the lock on the door.
"You know that you are not supposed to drink. It rarely agrees
with you."
"Ah...it...the toast was very agreeable." He grunted as Obi-Wan
shifted his weight and opened the door. "My Obi. My sweet,
delicious Obi!"
"Oh no, not again." Obi-Wan half dragged Qui-Gon through the
doorway and slammed the heavy wood closed behind them. Qui-Gon
tripped and landed heavily on the floor. He rolled over and
stared up at Obi-Wan who was leaning against the door.
Qui-Gon crawled across the floor and up his Padawan's legs.
"Master, please. Don't do this. I'm exhausted."
"I shall do what I must, Obi-Wan!"
"Driving that scooter is not as easy as it seems." He made a
feeble attempt to escape Qui-Gon's clutches. However, Qui-Gon
was not to be put off so easily and brought Obi-Wan crashing to
the ground. His need blossomed with every breath of the man
trapped beneath him. He tried to use the Force to rub against
Obi-Wan, but the loss of control only left them both panting
and demanding more than either could give without the glory of
physical contact.
"At least take your costume off! This is...I mean it is..."
Obi-Wan swallowed his words as Qui-Gon used his strength and
passion and songs of innocence and the body electric to devour
his lover's will. His cock throbbed at the driven presence only
this one being out of billions could instil in him. Qui-Gon
cried, the need to touch, nibble, suck and flourish alongside
his lover pained him. The exquisite agony of temptation, of
daring to feel the ecstasy flitting through Obi-Wan's veins was
all consuming. A night of slow Force led exploration was
irrelevant. The physical was somehow more genuine than
secreting himself within his other half's mind. There was no
other choice but to tear the costume away and continue through
Obi-Wan's skin if necessary. Touching flesh was all-important.
It was the only thing that mattered.
Qui-Gon clawed at the inside of his costume. Unable to get a
purchase on the material, he allowed his frustrated screams to
flow towards his Padawan, the one he coveted more than the
Force itself.
"Master? What is it?" Obi-Wan flipped him over and straddled
the heavily padded man.
"The damn thing will not come off. I think the fastening is
stuck."
"Use the Force, Master. It is, after all, our raison d'etre."
"Hmmm..." Qui-Gon marvelled at the colour of Obi-Wan's speech
as he watched its path from the mouth of the beast until it
surrounded him with a comforting embrace. He concentrated on
the Force flowing inches beyond the grasp of his dazed control.
He thought about Obi-Wan's face and the obstacle to soft lips
and heated breath. Something moved. Suddenly, a lamp flew
across the room and bounced off Obi-Wan's head. "Oops!"
"Let me try."
Qui-Gon waited, feeling the strength flooding from the man
holding him down. Whatever had scolded his view must have
seeped through to Obi-Wan for a mirror whirled around the room
and smashed against the wall. A barely comprehensible 'damn'
and Qui-Gon almost cried when Obi-Wan clambered to his feet.
A distinct hum and a flash of blue light later and Obi-Wan
stood before him, his costume shredded on the floor and bed,
the torso section coming to rest on a chair. His skin
glistened. His eyes blazed. His erection jutted at an unseemly
angle. Qui-Gon studied him like a navigator might study a star
chart.
"I have to ask. Where exactly were you keeping your
lightsabre?"
"It's a big costume, Master." Obi-Wan grinned. "Lots of places
to hide."
A few more swings with the deftness Qui-Gon had only ever seen
in this particular specimen and the headpiece to his costume
fell at his feet. He let himself be smothered in the sight
before him, a panting - not to mention pantless - vision of
resplendent youth. He made a mental note to discover the recipe
for that Tubby toast. He swayed as his mind threatened to give
way to the desire bundling behind his eyes, threatening to
burst forth and consume them both. To his eyes, Obi-Wan was
glowing, a pale aura shimmering around his body, outlining his
precious bones, fleshing out his torso as a beacon on the edge
of the dusk sweeping through Qui-Gon's rapidly retreating mind.
"The rest of it?"
"I think it suits you, Sir," Obi-Wan leered. "Leave it on." He
stepped closer and pulled the tie from his Master's hair so it
fell across his shoulders. It slipped across his face,
obscuring his vision, framing his face in the way Qui-Gon knew
drove Obi-Wan insane.
Qui-Gon had to admit his sweet, scrumptious, trembling Padawan
had a point - not to m
disturbances in the force?" Qui-Gon kissed his throat and
sucked gently on the pale flesh before continuing with a
thorough exploration of the remainder of his lover's exquisite
form. "What happened to not losing control?"
Qui-Gon's head emerged from behind Obi-Wan's knee. He crept
slowly up his lover, an unusually predatory gleam in his eyes.
"Do not concern yourself with such things." He dipped his
tongue between Obi- Wan's lips eliciting a radiant shiver which
even Qui-Gon felt in his toes.
"Eh-oooohhhh," Qui-Gon managed before the flickering universe
overtook his soul and he lapsed into heated limbo around a
mouthful of prime Padawan.
Qui-Gon lapped at Obi-Wan's cock, tenderly at first before
alternately sucking, biting, licking and teasing, swallowing
until his training and discipline were swept away, until some
part of him that was still rational realised just how loud
Obi-Wan's groans were and how tightly the nimble fingers were
wound in his hair.
Yet, this was far too easy; this was not justice for the many
humiliations of the day. Qui-Gon released the contorting
creature Obi- Wan had become and struggled to his feet. He
wanted something more. Something different. Something new.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Obi-Wan screamed. "Get back here
now."
Qui-Gon stared down at his Padawan and grinned at the fury of
wild urgency. He noticed every curve, every twinge of anger in
his darkening eyes, the trembling hand that crawled towards his
cock. Qui-Gon bent and swatted the hand away.
"Padawan Kenobi. It is not your place to make demands or use
such foul language." Qui-Gon hiccuped. Suddenly, he knew what
he had to do. He had to punish the Padawan.
"Master, please." Qui-Gon watched as Obi-Wan tried every trick
in his very large book. He ticked them off one by one. There
was the pouting, sulking, fluttering, whimpering, jiggling, not
to mention the writhing. He grabbed Obi-Wan's right foot and
licked the underside. Obi-Wan shuddered and tried to wrap his
legs around him.
"You realise I have to castigate you. The Code requires it."
"But..."
"Let me see. We have several counts of felony Master
humiliation. Add to that a dozen or so minor charges; losing my
lightsabre, losing our clothes, whammying innocent Teletubbies,
refusing to assist your Master undress, the destruction of
private property, bringing the dignity of the Jedi into
disrepute, refusing to play ball with an ambassador from
another species." He punctuated each word with a stabbing
tongue to the sole of Obi-Wan's seriously ticklish foot.
"Ambassador?"
"Yes, Ambassador Jar Jar."
"Oh, Ambassador Jar Jar." Obi-Wan reached up and placed his
other foot on Qui-Gon's shoulder. He shifted to the edge of the
bed. "So, punish me."
"I fear that may be difficult in this costume."
"Let me help, Master." Obi-Wan launched himself off the bed,
landed atop Qui-Gon and started to rip at the fabric with his
bare hands.
"No. You've caused enough damage today." He was not about to
admit that he was starting to like the feel of the fabric or
the way it rubbed against his sensitised skin.
Several moments of frantic wrestling later and Qui-Gon was
sitting on the floor, his back against the bed; a struggling
Padawan stretched across his lap. Dressed only in a fine sheen
of sweat, Obi-Wan was as exquisite as ever. Qui-Gon traced the
outline of his shoulders with one hand, the upturned buttocks
with the other. Obi-Wan fought valiantly, frustration pouring
from his mind, threatening to envelop Qui-Gon's tender grip on
his sanity.
One heavy slap to Obi-Wan's ass and a harder than usual cock
slipped into the space between Qui-Gon's thighs. He stared at
the vivid red mark, at the imprint of his authority upon his
Padawan's skin. He traced the borders with one finger, dragged
his tongue across the damaged edges, enjoying the ripples
beneath the surface, the soft sighs - the power. This slip of
dominance should have frightened them both, but far from
cowering in fear, Obi-Wan was utilising every inch of his body
in the quest for more. It had never been quite like this
before.
"Master...harder...again."
Qui-Gon raised his hand.
Suddenly, Qui-Gon's costume began to shimmy and a flash of
light erupted from the AV unit across his stomach against which
the side of Obi-Wan's reddening ass was pressed. A jolt sped
trough Qui-Gon's nerves, flexing and snapping into his Padawan.
Obi-Wan began to arch his hips, driving himself between
Qui-Gon's covered thighs.
"Not so fast, my Padawan." Qui-Gon pushed down hard on
Obi-Wan's ass, stilling his frantic movements.
A strangely familiar voice spoke out, seeming to emanate from
the costume itself.
"Hmmm...wrong number, I must have."
Momentarily lost in the flood of pleasure he did not recognise
the voice until it was gone. It couldn't be, could it? His hand
stilled inches away from Obi-Wan, who grabbed at the edge of
the bed, tearing a blanket and scratching at the floor.
"Don't stop...don't ever stop."
Shrugging off the feeling that they were not quite alone,
Qui-Gon trailed a finger alone Obi-Wan's spine. Reaching the
pert ass he dragged his hand through the crack and pushed
inside. Obi-Wan squealed and arched his back, alternately
driving himself hard against his Master's hand then pushing
into his lap. Qui-Gon bent his head, allowing his hair to brush
against Obi-Wan's skin as his own cock throbbed with the weight
of his lover. Licking the small of the back spread before him,
he bit down hard and worried the skin, before sinking his teeth
into a shimmering cheek.
Qui-Gon seemed wired to his Padawan's mind. He was no longer an
entity in his own right, but merely a subset of Obi-Wan's
consciousness. No one existed but them; even the galaxy slowed
its inquisitive expansion and watched, forging creative ferns
of twilight in the space behind the eyes. One man being teased
into nothingness, the other rocking and grinding against the
suit which separated flesh from flesh. Lights flickered in the
ambient ether as two Jedi souls soared, harder and faster and
closer and sweeter.
Just as release beckoned, a familiar voice filled the room.
"Excuse please. Qui-Gon Jinn and his Padawan, I search for."
Qui-Gon froze in mid bite, silently offering up a prayer to
anyone who might be listening that he was indeed hallucinating.
Too late, he remembered about the communication devices built
into the stomachs of the costumes. His head snapped up to see
the remnants of Obi-Wan's costume. The section with the audio
video apparatus had fallen on a chair, exactly opposite the two
Jedi. Later, Qui-Gon would have sworn his heart stopped for the
agonising moment in which his eyes locked with a short green
figure who was swathed in a dark robe.
"Master," Obi-Wan hissed between gasps and the desperate
jerking of his hips, "now is not the time for your Yoda
impression." There was nothing like the image of an
800-year-old Council member to instil frigidity in even the
most reckless of Jedi.
"Ah, there you are, Qui-Gon. Normally contact the Padawan
directly, I would not, but your communicator showed only a
large hillock, possibly a sand dune."
Qui-Gon imagined Yoda's line of vision. It swept over his
tussled hair and his mouthful of Padawan ass, moving swiftly to
Obi-Wan's face resplendent with desire. He thought he saw the
small figure gulp and pull his cloak tight around himself. Was
that a deeper shade of green he was turning? It was going to
take a whole lot of meditation to wheedle his way out of this
one. Where was his nice big robe when he needed it?
Obi-Wan looked over his shoulder at Qui-Gon, then over at the
small screen and the flickering image of the one creature all
Jedi were in awe of. Obi-Wan yelped and tried to get up, but
only succeeded in impaling himself further. Qui-Gon smiled in
spite of himself.
Yoda's eyes widened. "Treat your Padawan like this always, do
you?"
"He requires frequent punishing...err...that is disciplining."
He held tighter to Obi-Wan who was trying to crawl under the
bed. If he had to face Master Yoda, then so would Obi-Wan. Or
at least his ass would.
"Recent experience of Padawan training, have I not." Yoda
frowned. "This being in the handbook, I remember not."
"I agree this is unorthodox."
"Known for unorthodoxy, you certainly are." Yoda lowered his
eyes to Obi-Wan's ass. "Naked must Padawan Kenobi be his
discipline to receive?"
"I find his response is more satisfactory this way."
Qui-Gon smiled weakly and looked Yoda in the eye. For his
efforts, he received a glance indicating that Yoda was not
going to dignify the sight of two such revered Jedi rutting in
a cheap hotel with any form of recognition. Qui-Gon desperately
hoped that the communicator was not set to record.
"Secured the Skywalker boy yet, have you?"
"No, my Master."
"Been busy, have you?"
"Err..."
"Fingers in Kenobi's ass, have you?"
Qui-Gon pulled his hand free so fast that Obi-Wan squealed.
"No, my Master." He was going to protest it was a trick of the
light, but the look on the small green face persuaded him
otherwise. Being caught screwing your Padawan was bad enough,
lying about it was tantamount to blasphemy.
"Demonstrate your unusual technique in the Jedi Temple, you
will."
"What? No, I mean that will not be necessary."
"Deny your brethren the benefits of your experience, would
you?" Yoda's right ear drooped.
"This probably wouldn't work on any other trainees."
"Your decision, this is not. Speak again when Padawan Kenobi
less naughty is, we shall."
The image faded and the screen went dead. Qui-Gon's heart sank
into his Tubby boots. He was never going to live this one down.
Obi-Wan could probably shoulder the indignity, but not him -
not the rebellious, defiant Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn.
"I fear my humiliation is complete." Qui-Gon looked at Obi-Wan
who seemed to be trying to merge with the hideous green and
cream carpet.
"Yours!" Obi-Wan covered his head with his arms. "What about
me?"
"You're only a Padawan. I'm a Master. I have a certain
reputation to uphold."
"Master Yoda will not make you...discipline me in front of the
other Jedi will he?" Qui-Gon could not tell whether he was
smiling in hysteria or terror.
"For the sake of your sweet little ass, let us hope not."
"What are you going to do with me?" Obi-Wan's eyes shone,
catching Qui- Gon in their glare.
Qui-Gon pushed Obi-Wan off his lap, secretly enjoying the lost
expression on the young face - part embarrassment, mostly
carnality. His control somewhat returned, Qui-Gon tugged at the
back of his costume. He sighed with satisfaction as the fabric
came apart in his hands. He shrugged the costume and his
underwear onto the floor. The air cooled his skin as it
breathed for the first time in hours.
"Master?" The younger man's eyes glimmered with hope and need,
mesmerising him until he fell into their embrace and the
remainder of Obi-Wan's body faded into the background.
"Padawan, I'm going to give you the discipline you deserve."
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