Master Apprentice Archive Room Service - 'Fresher Quick search:

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Ah, the joys of a hot shower.

Notes: I'm thinking of making this the first in a series, loosely based on the various rooms our lovely boys find themselves in ... and until I joined this venerable bunch of girl Jedi I used to think a 'fresher was a first-year student!

Feedback: Oh yes please *pant pant*

Disclaimer: The mud and the funny little alien called 51 are mine (and no, he's no relation), Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon are George Lucas'. And I'm not making any money at all on this cheap little room service ...

I swear it's more than simple water.

It is making a din to frighten the humminglizards, if any of them were stupid enough to be out in the torrential downpour, and if this dismal swamp had anything as pleasant as humminglizards on offer at any time of year.

It clings to my skin, cold and sticky, weighing me down, enveloping me in the cool and ironic welcoming embrace of Wedt II.

It hits the ground with a vengeance, sending up sprays of thick grey mud that slap wetly into the tree trunks with their rifted dark grey bark, the long leathery brown grass blades whipping in the wind, the perfunctory but tenacious trailing vines taking up what little airspace the rain leaves. If he weren't moving I would no longer be able to tell Qui-Gon from the swampy mangrove forest -- he is covered in the clinging grey mud, the brown of his robe, plastered to his soaked frame, shining through occasionally like the bark of one of the ancient trees, his hair tangled and mud-spattered like an afterthought at the suggestion of leaves.

My feet sink up to mid-calf in the smooth grey silt -- no wonder the pilot flatly refused to touch down on this treacherous ground, and searching for a better landing place had admittedly been out of the question seeing as sight was virtually zero. I can just about spot Qui-Gon moving in front of me, and he's about three yards ahead. Almost close enough to follow him by scent actually.

Still, he seems to know where we're going, something in his family about a sense of direction I think. I got lost pretty much the minute we lost sight of the transport, and have resigned myself to following my Master wherever he goes, in true and tested Padawan fashion. On top of that, the faint aura of Qui-Gon under that mobile mud-spattered tree trunk keeps me warm enough to just about bear the clamminess of my own skin, covered in thin mud and chafed from the weight of my daypack rubbing against my soaked robes.

Jedi travel light. Bloody right. Though I am beginning to see the benefits of waterproof cases and trunks as the possibility of dry underwear and a nice clean towel fades into the realm of the fantastic with each trudging squelching step ...

Mercifully our hosts are prepared, and also prepared to overlook the little trails of mud we drag along their polished slate floors with the hems of our soaking robes. Without much ado, a tall thin grey-skinned figure welcomes us and leads us to our quarters. I don't suppose we cut an impressive sight, dripping and bedraggled, but the thin man (he introduces himself as 51, with the stress on the second syllable and an unfathomable look in his featureless black eyes) is politeness itself as he throws open the narrow door (obviously tailored to the needs of his race -- Master Qui-Gon streaks the doorposts with mud as he squeezes through, and 51 pretends not to notice) and curtly explains the facilities to us.

Easy enough. Master bedroom. Padawan bedroom (oh yes, a literal-minded race ... ), comm room, and behind yet another 51-sized door, the chamber of the blessed, tiled in finely veined grey marble. The 'fresher.

Even before 51 has politely turned around and palmed the door shut, I'm out of my mud-heavy robe and outer tunic. They hit the floor with a despondent 'splat', creating a pretty star pattern of grey mud on the slightly darker grey floor.

Sithspit. My inner tunic is just as grey, as if the stuff had found a way to get airborne and infiltrate the layers of my clothing like fine sandstorm sand. Sighing, I look up at Qui-Gon and am faced with a similar mobile statue of light grey sand-stone, managing to look dignified and masterly despite punctuating the floor with little grey dots. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Three standard seconds of contemplation of Qui-Gon's muscles outlined through the mud-caked fabric of his tunics is all my own clammy body will allow me. Shuddering with the stinging coldness of the drying silt, I turn on my heel and run for the 'fresher.

"Aren't you going to take the rest off as well?" His voice is half-reproachful, half-amused, and for the zillionth time I am made acutely aware of why I love my Master more than is strictly seemly for a Padawan, and how lucky I am to be loved in return by this impossible incredible man.

I frame myself in the narrow doorway, the heated air of the 'fresher room on my back working miracles on my tired muscles. Okay, let's be lascivious ...

"Why bother? You should come in as you are too ... at least that saves me trying to unearth a washboard in this grisly grisaille!" My wink in the direction of his lean stomach, outlined so beautifully under the clinging cloth, must have been unmistakable, as he gives a little amused snort and stalks over to me.

I pop out of the doorframe and head straight for the shower facilities. There shouldn't be any shortage of water on this planet, and just as well there are two long elastic grey hoses emerging from the wall, with a control panel that's so intuitive that by the time Qui-Gon has wriggled through the door I'm ready for attack!

His expression is priceless as the twin steaming jets of water hit him, knocking the wind out of him in a surprised roar that subsides into a growl, then a purr as he arches into the warmth, rubbing the grey silt off his tunic and pants.

I am dousing colour back into him as the grey streams and drips off his strong lean body, exposing first the pale tunics and then glowing pink skin, and the mischievous blue glint in his eyes is just too much to resist and I hang the shower hoses into a pair of hooks on the wall, angling them so that they throw a gentle shower of hot rain over us, and prowl over towards him to help him out of his clothes.

Whoever said that Jedi gear is not sexy, just practical, has missed out big time in his life and has certainly never had the breathtaking experience of six foot four of steaming Jedi wrapped in soaked translucent linen, every square inch of exposed skin a prize as I peel the tunic off him and he groans in pleasure as my lips follow suit where the clinging fabric has left his glowing pink skin exposed, smooth and warm and scented, my Qui-Gon.

I kiss and lick my way up his chest to the firm brown nipples, hardened already by the caresses of innumerable hot drops of water, sensitised beyond belief. They are silk and cream to my mouth as I taste them slowly, sucking gently, swirling my tongue  around these delicious little nubs until he moans out loud and I swoop up to cover his mouth with mine, eating the sound from his lips. Gorgeous, my Master.

I trail my tongue across his glistening face, tasting the warmth of the water and the salty undertone of his sweat, revelling in the soft prickly feel of his beard against my lips while carding my fingers through his dripping hair, removing the last of the tangles until it clings to his back in one smooth midnight plane and he draws his face away from mine only to capture me in a crushing kiss, his huge warm hands cupping the back of my head and he's sucking the breath out of me, trailing his rough slick tongue over my lips stimulating nerve endings I never knew I had and then plunging into the throbbing depth, plundering me until I sag in his arms, breathless, and see stars.

Stars. Shimmering droplets of water on his shoulder. I drink them off him, kissing and nipping my way down the collarbone, down the heaving chest and the taut muscled stomach, sucking a jewel of hot water out of his navel as I let my hands slide down his back to rest on those firm round buttocks, covered and not covered by the deep brown leggings, now almost black and clinging to his long strong legs so beautifully that I would feel no inclination to peel the pants off him at all if it wasn't for the straining bulge down the front, an accurate outline of Qui-Gon's masterly flesh, hard and eager for me.

I test the patience of my own throbbing erection as I pull the leggings down fully, and slowly, admiring the droplets of clear water running down his long muscular legs before turning my attention back to the thick drop of something thicker than water, running down his straining cock. I catch the drop with my tongue and smear it all the way back up to where it came from, then suck the deep pink head in and savour the taste of him. Mmmh.

Oh and he moans so beautifully, so totally lost in the sensation, so abandoned and hot and delicious and so mine as my hands race across his skin, eager to caress everywhere at once, the firm ass, the straining shaft, the silky balls and the sensitive pink skin behind them. He squirms and writhes and steadies himself on me, clawing his big hands into my hair and thrusting into me with such force I would fall over backwards if he didn't hold me oh so tight, pressed into the glistening curls, into the silky wet skin, enveloped by his scent and his arousal mingling with mine until I can no longer tell the difference and scream in pleasure as he shoots his thick hot seed into my mouth, salty, earthy, just him, the essence of him.

He pulls me up for a taste of his own essence and when he lets go of my swollen tender lips he is nothing but adorable, still visibly shaken from his orgasm, but strong and determined at the same time, every inch a Jedi, a child of the living Force, with just that slight starlight twinkle in his impossibly blue eyes that hints at greater joys to come ...

"And now let's get you cleaned up, Padawan!"

Without much ado, I'm spun around out of my sticky tunic, and it hits the floor with a satisfying 'splat', not far from his. He fastens his mouth on my shoulder and yanks the pants down so hard I howl at the sudden exposure of chafed heated skin, placated immediately by gentle rubs of his wet slick palms.

His hands are all over me, stroking, rubbing, scratching, thoroughly removing the last traces of the clinging fine mud and replacing them with pure shining pleasure, rubbed into every pore, as I writhe and try to get more of that gentle warm pressure on me. He obliges. Oh, and how he obliges ... with a soft chuckle, he presses his hot soaked body against my back, covering me completely, one arm clamped around my waist so tightly that I couldn't escape if I wanted to.

I would be mad to want that.

I want more of his hands, more of that firm stroke, and I get more, he is everywhere at once, rubbing my thighs pink, slowly, ever so slowly, making his way up to where I want him most ...

Stars. I see stars again as his hand wraps around my sex, tight and hard, so tight that I scream with lust and brace myself against the wall for fear of collapsing. My bones are melting under his slow leisurely stroke and just when I am absolutely certain I cannot get any more aroused without bursting my skin he stops, holding his hand perfectly still. I howl in frustration and seek his face, his mouth, an answer. A slight swirl of Force mingles with the steam surrounding our heated bodies, and on the edge of sensation I hear Qui-Gon's moan joining mine as the hard hot jet of water hits my ass, expertly aimed at the cleft, going in deep, massaging my raw moist flesh and I go liquid with pleasure and pump a hot jet of joy into the steamy air, splattering off the wall and over Qui-Gon's hand and down to the floor to mingle with the glorious hot water. Oh, liquid into me, liquid out of me, spurting, streaming, flowing right through me. Force, this is good ...

He catches me in his strong arms, liquid and spent as I am, and nurses me back to sanity with a long slow kiss, then draws a deep breath, untangles his body from mine and turns the water off with a slight touch of Force. "Would you clean up the mess," -- gesturing at the pile of sodden but clean clothes -- "and then join me in my bed? Assuming they aren't as narrow as the doors of course ... " He sidles through the door, and I am left to wash my come off the wall and pick up the thoroughly washed tunics and leggings, the steamy air still a soft caress to my heated skin at every move.

The master bedroom is a maze of dripping cloaks, bags, and the contents thereof, hung up to dry, draped over chairs and tables and hanging from a rope Qui-Gon has tied to window-frames on either side of the room. Once  I've added my share of soaked fabric to the arrangement and emerged from the maze I am greeted with the finest sight of the day --

"51 was so kind to supply us with some dry clothes ... quite comfortable even though they're not quite my size ... "

Oh Force bless 51 for his shape and size ... those light grey suede pants are just adorable, stretched tightly over Qui-Gon's strong thighs, outlining every muscle there, begging to be touched, stroked, caressed all the way down to his feet, half-covered in the long pants, too long even for my tall Master, oh and all the way up to where his delightful cock is hidden under the hem of a short grey tunic, shimmering and silvery, probably meant to be quite loose on someone like 51 but clinging to Qui-Gon's muscular chest in a highly satisfying fashion and I've hardly finished admiring him as I more or less jump at him and wrap my naked body around his, kissing him so hard I can feel the individual hairs of his beard digging into my chin and drinking of his warm soft sweetness while my hands trail down underneath the tunic,cupping the firming flesh under the velvety grey and stroking mercilessly, feeling the tightness and delighting in his sighs resounding in my mouth until he pulls away from my lips with an effort of will that rings out through the Force ...

"If you continue that way, Padawan, we'll need that 'fresher again in a few minutes!!"

--The End--