ACHIVE: M_A if you want it, and
http://www.slashcity.com/ciceqi/SWS2.htm
PAIRING: Q/O slash
CATEGORY: PWP, First Time, Humor, tho I use the term loosely...
RATING: NC-17 for non-explicit m/m sex
DISCLAIMER: I can't get no / Satisfaction / I can't get no /
Jedi action / They ain't mine / They ain't mine / They ain't
mine / They ain't miiiiiiiiiine...
WARNINGS: Gratuitous use of chocolate.
SPOILERS: None. Takes place preTPM.
NOTES: I was challenged! That's my story, and I'm sticking to
it. Leila, you should know better.
SUMMARY: A delicious moment of hospitality.
FEEDBACK: Is a many-splendored thing.
It would be all too easy, Obi-Wan mused guiltily to himself, to
get used to treatment like this.
The Imratha were a traditional people, very ancient and very
wealthy, and their parochial attitudes most definitely extended
to their ruling body. They had a world-wide government, but it
was a monarchy; there was a House of Nobles and a House of
Commons, but they were advisors, the real power resting firmly
in the hands of the king. As the master of a sinfully
prosperous planet and several off-world colonies, the king was
more than expected to live in a state of opulence--it
was demanded of him outright as the father and figurehead of a
proud populace.
Nor did the expectations stop there. Everything about his court
was choreographed by long-standing traditions, the rules of
chivalry and hospitality foremost amongst them. Not even for
the Jedi could those unspoken rules be changed, and so while
Obi-Wan would have found himself far more comfortable in a much
simpler apartment, instead there was...this.
This being an extensive suite a visiting queen might
have envied on Coruscant, and he thanked the Force for the
excuse of his bond with his Master, allowing him to share these
quarters with Qui-Gon. Alone, he would have rattled around in
this fabulous warren like a bewildered ghost, completely out of
place amidst such copious wealth.
There were two bedrooms, three more available should they have
brought companions, and five additional rooms standing ready in
the unlikely event of a horde of servants cropping up. There
was a receiving room guarded by a stately foyer, a music room,
a tea room, an intimate dining room and a library, and a bath
as large as the Temple quarters he shared with Qui-Gon. Nor was
that all. Since they'd arrived without servants of their own,
the king had been obliged to give them some. They could
hardly in all politeness say no, not without causing a
diplomatic incident...
And that was part of the problem. Obi-Wan didn't want to
get used to luxury. It would just make his next trip to Hoth
that much more unpleasant.
Sighing faintly, he glanced over at his Master, who didn't seem
to be put out in the least by their accommodations. They had
gravitated to the library almost instinctively, it being the
smallest room of the lot, cozy by Imratha standards. The walls
were lined with massive shelves, filled with actual paper
books, though there were datapads and linkups hidden discretely
in a pair of antique desks. Qui-Gon was engrossed in the slim
volume cradled reverently in his hands, sitting at the opposite
side of a decadently comfortable divan. Obi-Wan actually found
himself itching for a practice session, the memory of the
endless dinners and far-too generous breakfasts lingering in
his mind. He couldn't help wishing he had an Imratha's birdlike
metabolism...or that their cuisine wasn't so justly renowned.
//Dark chocolate leads to gluttony, gluttony leads to guilt,
guilt leads to fear, fear leads to suffering, and suffering
leads to the Dark Side...the cook's a Sith, I just know he
is...//
One more week. One more week, and the king's oldest son would
be publicly acknowledged as the heir, both by the Imrathan
people and by the Republic, in the person of Qui-Gon Jinn. One
more week of pomp and ritual and sinfully indulgent feasts, and
then they could escape to rundown rebel bases and unwashed
hovels. Thank the Force.
"Master?" Obi-Wan asked quietly, putting on his best pleading
expression.
"Hmm?" Qui-Gon looked up slowly from the page, offering a mild
smile that didn't bode well for Obi-Wan's request.
"Do you think we could use the reception room for a salle? It's
big enough," he reminded, not bothering to modulate his hopeful
tone.
"Now, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon chuckled, "we wouldn't want to give our
hosts the wrong impression..."
Obi-Wan opened his mouth to wonder what impression that
would be, but confined himself to a meek: "Yes, Master,"
instead. In all honesty, Qui-Gon's response had only confirmed
his suspicions--Qui-Gon liked this kind of treatment. He
was going to lose his Master to sloth and gluttony and the Dark
Side at this rate, and that Sith of a cook...it was all
his fault...maybe if Obi-Wan challenged him in the
kitchens...
//No...no, not there...one whiff of his Baked Alderaan, and I'd
be a dead man...//
What an ignoble end for such a great Jedi as his Master!
The hushed padding of one of the ubiquitous servants startled
Obi-Wan out of his funk, and he raised his head from the
cookbook he'd been studying to find a liveried Imratha setting
out a tray of chocolate wafers and coffee on the antique table
before the divan. "My lord," the server murmured when he saw
Obi-Wan looking at him and bowed out with a smile, as silent
and serene as a Jedi.
Glancing over at Qui-Gon, again, he found his Master still
reading, reaching absently for his cup without even wavering
towards the sweets. Perhaps he needn't worry about his Master
too strenuously, then...if nothing else, Qui-Gon had
control. Then again, this just might be the confection that
broke the eopie's back--and how would he know how to keep his
Master safe if he didn't know what he was up against?
Setting the cookbook aside, Obi-Wan steeled himself as he
reached for one of the circular chocolate wavers, regarding it
suspiciously as he took a tiny bite. Hmm, just chocolate so
far...nothing to worry about... Gathering his courage, he tried
a more confident nibble, and a surprising flavor exploded in
his mouth...strangely creamy, minty, and when he glared at the
camouflaged chocolate with its concealed creme filling, he felt
a shiver run through him as his taste buds sat up and
threatened to stage a riot if he didn't get more. He wanted to
ignore them, to put the candy down, but it was so hard,
so...mouthwatering, slowly warming where his fingers touched
and...must...resist...
Surely another bite wouldn't hurt anything...
He took another. And another. Licking his fingers clean of the
last stray bits of melted chocolate with a dreamy expression.
It was a mystery how anything so bad for you could be so
good, but he owed it to the galaxy to solve it. He was a
Jedi. There was no fear. There was no passion,
only...satisfaction.
He picked up another one, nibbling all around the edges until
he could carefully eat the top bit of chocolate away from the
bottom, licking at the minty filling. Soooo good...so
cool and refreshing, and he sucked his fingers clean with a
blissful sigh when he was finished, first his thumb, then slid
his first and middle fingers in and out of his mouth while his
tongue scoured them slowly. Oh yes. A third had to be lifted to
him with the Force--he was sprawled back into the divan, too
limply comfortable to move, but he wanted another, badly, more
than he'd ever wanted anything in his life...
He moaned despairingly when his Master's large hand plucked it
out of the air before it reached him, and he rolled his head to
the right, fixing mournful eyes on Qui-Gon's face in an ecstasy
of hunger. "Please," he murmured desperately, watching Qui-Gon
swallow hard as his roughened voice began to beg. "Please,
Master...just one more...I'll do anything you want..."
"Obi-Wan...becoming addicted to Imrathan confections can be
dangerous," Qui-Gon protested, but his eyes kept wavering to
Obi-Wan's mouth and his voice lacked the iron control Obi-Wan
was used to hearing. His Master was weakening, and a part of
him reveled in the power he had over this unshakable man,
knowing that there would be no protest when he smuggled the
cookbook offworld...
"I know you'll protect me, Master," he purred throatily,
reaching out one languid hand to stroke Qui-Gon's wrist.
Slowly, he pulled the hand to him, and Qui-Gon, too distracted
to remember the chocolate he held, let Obi-Wan have his way,
staring as if hypnotized at his apprentice. Bite by bite, he
fed from Qui-Gon's hand, lapping at the long, callused fingers
until not the faintest taste remained, chocolate and salt and
skin rivaling even the taste of chocolate and creamy mint.
Letting his tongue trace a hot path down to Qui-Gon's palm, he
watched his Master's bright blue eyes glaze over and knew
Qui-Gon Jinn was now his to command.
"Another," he growled, flicking his tongue over the heel of
Qui-Gon's hand, and it was his Master who used the Force to
call the next round wafer over, pushing Obi-Wan back to the
couch and breaking a bite of it off at a time, feeding each
morsel to him as Qui-Gon straddled his hips. And oh, that was
perfect, because the more attention he paid to thanking
Qui-Gon's clever fingers, the more aroused he got, and he was
grinding up into his Master when Qui-Gon leaned down at last to
taste the flavor for himself from Obi-Wan's lips.
The world blurred after that, his clothes melting away
as Qui-Gon stretched his body with slicked fingers, Obi-Wan's
helpless moans muffled by the man's broad palm, then Qui-Gon's
lips as his Master slid into him with infinite care. It was
perfect, so perfect, and he couldn't imagine why he'd never
done this before, and who cared if the cook was a Sith,
this was too beautiful to be anything wrong...
He came with a groan and a whispered curse, barely noticing
Qui-Gon's breathless cry above him as his Master thrust in hard
and deep, following him over. Beautiful and right and good, and
Qui-Gon smiled lovingly down at him as his Master collapsed,
bracing himself on his elbows and breathing hard.
"Would you like another, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon chuckled
indulgently, and Obi-Wan smiled as they found the energy to
share the last of the sweets, feeding each other between slow,
searching kisses.
There was only one thing that troubled him. "Master...?"
"Yes, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon murmured against his neck, teeth
closing gently over the vein.
"You know, when I bite into one of these, I get the
sensation..."
"Yes, Obi-Wan?"
He thought about it for a moment, the shook his head. "Never
mind. It's not important."
Maybe the cook was a Sith. Obi-Wan counted himself well-content
anyway.
[Somewhere in the palace...]
"You know, sir...it's the strangest thing," the assistant head
pastry chef smiled at the visiting cook the king had brought
all the way from Coruscant, just to make sure his Jedi guests
were dined in style. "You look like someone I've seen
before...someone famous. Rather like that nice Senator from
Naboo, really..."
"You don't say," the visiting cook chuckled darkly. "I'm
flattered. Pass me those cherries, would you? I've got this
excellent recipe for Dark chocolate brandied cherries I just
know our guests will love..."
Oh yes, they'd love them all right...little knowing the ruin it
would make of their souls--the guilty cravings, the selfish
impulses, lust-ridden thoughts they'd never be able to control.
Corrupting the Jedi had long been a hobby of his... One day, he
would have his revenge on them all.
And it would be sweet. Very sweet.
***
end
***
Sorry, Leila...but you were entirely wrong when you insisted
that York Peppermint Patties didn't exist in Lucas'
world...heh, heh, heh...and remember, never wave a chocolate
flag in front of a coyote! Someday, I'll have ruined every kind
of candy for everyone...it will be A Very Good Day.
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