Author's Webpage: http://come.to/prillalar
Disclaimer: SW belongs to George Lucas, not me. I do not
profit in any way by this story.
Pairing: Q/O (Lu/Wedge)
Rating: NC-17
Series: The Thousand Nights and One Knight
Summary: In which Qui-Gon thinks he'll move to Corellia.
Luke smiled drowsily and rolled onto his side, throwing an arm around...nothing? Where was...right, Wedge was at that...thing. It must be over by now, though. Luke squinted at the clock -- still early, worse luck. The reception would go on for hours yet. Reaching for a glass of water, his hand closed over his comm unit. Hmm...should he? Of course. Feel the Force and do the deed. He punched in the code.
"Antilles."
"Wedge, it's me." Luke lay back against the pillows.
"Luke! When did you get in?"
"A couple of hours ago. I took a nap. The trip was gruelling."
"Luke." Wedge lowered his voice. "I can't talk. I'm supposed to be mingling. Your sister is already glaring at me because you're not here."
"You don't have to talk. Just listen."
Wedge sighed noisily. "Not another one of those--"
"Come on. Put the earpiece in, get yourself another drink, and relax."
"Why do I let you talk me into these things?"
"You enjoy them. Now, picture Qui-Gon Jinn, sleeping peacefully..."
The bells, the bells were ringing, ringing, ringing and they wouldn't stop. He was trapped in the bell tower and the throbbing, sobbing bells were killing him.
Qui-Gon opened his eyes and shut off the alarm. As he stood, a book tumbled to the floor, pages bent and spine cracked. He'd fallen asleep reading again. Reading and...oh, no.
The mirror confirmed his fears. Chewing spice was usually such a harmless vice, but now he had a small mass of it wadded in his hair. He tugged at it, teased it, oiled it, tried to soften it with water and harden it with ice. It was as gelatinous and immobile as a sleeping Hutt. No help for it. He gritted his teeth and cut the sticky lump free. And about eight inches of hair along with it.
Glaring at his ragged reflection, he vowed yet again to give up spice. Tea would help. He boiled water, readied the pot, and found that he was out of leaves. And bread. And fruit. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself one tiny sigh, then hurried to get dressed.
He made it to the common room while breakfast was still being served and piled his plate with fried bread, melon slices, and a fragrant yellow kupcha fruit. And, of course, a cup of tea. Raising it to his lips, he sipped gratefully. There should be a litany of praise for tea, he thought, and began to compose one as he went to sit.
"I say, Qui-Gon." It was Toulain Bet, a small man with white hair and a nervous expression. "Could you do me a favour?"
Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows over his cup. "What would you like?"
"One of my assistants is sick today and I wonder if you'd be so kind as to supervise one of the children's tables. Just for this meal, of course."
"Of course." Lightning crashed and thunder rolled in Qui-Gon but he hid it with a sour look. When they arrived at the table, the children were squabbling, gobbling, and throwing bread at each other.
"Children!" Bet clapped his hands. "Quiet yourselves." A crust flew past Qui-Gon's cheek. "Master Qui-Gon will be breakfasting with you, so behave yourselves." And like a small, worried ghost, he disappeared.
Qui-Gon settled himself in the middle of a bench and ate his breakfast. The bread-throwing had stopped, so he just ignored the noise.
"Are you a Master Jedi?" A small girl with red hair and freckles peered at him from across the table.
"Yes." Qui-Gon turned his attention back to peeling his kupcha.
"Do you have a lightsaber?"
"Yes."
"What colour is it?"
"Green." Qui-Gon picked up his tea.
"Can I see it?"
He stopped with the cup halfway to his lips. "It's not here."
"My name is Martha."
"Hello, Martha."
"I lost my tooth. Do you want to see?"
"No." But she was already baring her teeth to show him the gap. "Very...nice."
"I have a pet jultal lizard. His name is Bim."
No response seemed to be required so Qui-Gon thought he'd better seize the moment and drink his tea. A bell rang and all the children jumped up. A boy knocked Qui-Gon's arm and the tea poured into his lap. At least it was tepid by now.
Qui-Gon closed his eyes and allowed himself a rather large and gusty sigh. Back to his quarters to change. His other breeches were at the laundry, so he pulled on a loose brown robe and headed back to the common room.
There was no more tea. Someone had forgotten to buy any.
I should ask for a field position, he thought. Somewhere far away. Corellia.
In the hall, he met Depa Bilaba. She was radiant today, dark eyes glowing, cheeks slightly flushed. Maybe his day was looking up. He'd been thinking about her a lot lately and there was no time like the present...
"Qui-Gon." She smiled, and Qui-Gon thought of the first bright star of the evening.
"Depa, I'm pleased to see you." Smiling back, Qui-Gon laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"I'm pleased to see you. Now I can deliver this in person." She handed him an envelope. An invitation? This was going even better than he'd hoped.
"What's this?" He flashed her just a hint of an arch look as he slid the card out and read it. An invitation, yes. You are cordially invited to a bonding ceremony, to celebrate the commitment of Depa Bilaba and...well, it didn't matter who, since it obviously was not Qui-Gon Jinn. "Congratulations." He squeezed her shoulder. "I must go. I have an appointment."
"Corellia," he muttered under his breath as he strode away.
At his biannual physical, the healer reported that he was in good condition, but that his eyes needed some corrective work. And his teeth, of course. "If you didn't chew spice all day long," the healer said, readying the drill, "I wouldn't have to do this every time you come in."
After that ordeal, Qui-Gon repaired to his rooms to fill out reports on some of the students he had tested. The bells were tolling again, tolling, rolling, droning, groaning. The door chime. He'd nodded off over the paperwork.
"Come." It was Obi-Wan, his Padawan, carrying a notebook. Qui-Gon rubbed his eyes, hoping to erase the pain behind them. "Remind me why you're here."
"Logic." Obi-Wan looked at him closely. "Are you feeling well, Master? You look terrible."
If there was a Jedi Look of Death, Qui-Gon used it then. Obi-Wan, though, seemed equipped with a Shield of Obliviousness. "It's nothing, Obi-Wan."
"You have a headache, Master." Obi-Wan set down his notebook. "You should rest."
"It seems as though I just have been."
"I know a five step remedy." He moved behind Qui-Gon, out of his field of vision. Bottles clinked. "You really should take better care of yourself. You're getting run down."
"And just what do you suggest?" Qui-Gon did sardonic and knew he did it well.
"Drink this." A cup appeared at his elbow. Obi-Wan stood above him, arms crossed. It felt odd to be towered over that way, looking up at his apprentice instead of down. He drank. The liquor rasped in his throat.
"Take better care of myself through drinking. Is that from some lost tome of Jedi wisdom you've unearthed?"
"That was step one." Obi-Wan moved away again. "You should rid yourself of some of your responsibilities."
"Like a Padawan who presumes to dictate to his master?"
"I was thinking more of your testing, Master. Lie back. Step two." A cool cloth smoothed across Qui-Gon's forehead. "Take some time off. Travel."
"Corellia," Qui-Gon murmured. Tendrils of warmth from the liquor snaked under his skin, sucking some of the tension away from his gut and sinews and some of the good sense from his mind. He closed his eyes.
"Step three."
Qui-Gon felt fingers at his temples, gently rubbing small circles. The rhythm soothed him. After a minute, the fingers moved back into his hairline, the thong was pulled free, his hair spread out over the chair back. Obi-Wan massaged his scalp with a slow, firm touch, from temples to crown, from forehead to crown, from behind his ears, from the base of his neck, always to the crown. It was like he was drawing the headache out through his fingertips, raking it like sand. And it began to trickle away.
Obi-Wan combed his hands once through the length of Qui-Gon's hair, then stepped back. Everything seemed far away to Qui-Gon. If he left his body and hovered above, watching from the ceiling, it wouldn't surprise him. Float away. Above the pain.
Because he was floating and hovering and soaring above the pain, he didn't realise Obi-Wan had moved until he felt hands under his robe, curving upward over his calves with what could only be intent. His eyes flew open and met Obi-Wan's. "Step four," his apprentice said and slid his palms higher, around the knees, along the inside of Qui-Gon's thighs.
The Defining Moment of Responsibility had arrived. The You-Must-Not-We-Will-Not-Speak-Of-It Moment. But Qui-Gon took a different tack and went for the Frankly-I-Don't-Care-So-Suck-Me-Off-Now-Padawan Moment. Letting his eyelids drop again, he sighed, low and contented. When Obi-Wan's hands found the waistband of his briefs, Qui-Gon lifted his hips and let them go.
His cock was flaccid but stirring now. Obi-Wan pushed his knees apart and touched him, combing down through the wiry hair that curled up his belly, stroking along the creases of his thighs, leaving a thumb print on his perineum. Qui-Gon felt his balls hefted, squeezed gently like ripe fruit.
He was already half-erect when Obi-Wan finally ringed one thumb and finger around the base of his cock. Another fingertip, cool and wet, circled his cockhead, winding him up until he was completely hard. Qui-Gon felt a warmer touch and knew Obi-Wan was going down on him at last, beginning with a series of long, slow licks up the base of the shaft right to the tip.
His Padawan was as brilliant at giving head as he was at everything else he did. Qui-Gon kept his eyes closed, but he could picture the concentration in Obi-Wan's face as he ran his tongue around the corona and swirled it over the tip. Qui-Gon began to feel very heavy, very tight and he couldn't much picture anything anymore; he simply held on to the arms of the chair for dear life as Obi-Wan worked, sliding his lips over the rim of his master's cock again and again as he sucked.
In the moment when arousal became an ache and identity was lost, Qui-Gon came. And came, and came, delivering himself of tension, pleasure, and a pretty amazing load. Obi-Wan took it all. Loosening his grip on the chair, Qui-Gon drew a shaky breath and opened his eyes. Obi-Wan smiled at him, smugger than Qui-Gon had ever seen him. And his lips were still...
"Obi-Wan, you've...got a bit..." He gestured at his own mouth.
Obi-Wan's grin curled up a little more. "'What should I say, my boy, to why those rosy lips of yours are whiter than the winter snows?'"
"I didn't know you read Vidaloi."
"Just the dirty parts." Like a cat, Obi-Wan lapped away the cream.
Qui-Gon laughed drowsily as his apprentice rearranged his robes for him. A stool appeared under his feet, a blanket draped over him. It seemed like a good idea.
"Step five," said Obi-Wan. "Sleep."
He'd take Obi-Wan with him to Corellia, Qui-Gon decided as he drifted off. He was bound to get headaches there too. Then he was floating, spinning into the dark.
Quietly, Obi-Wan picked up his empty notebook and left.
"The end," said Luke. He checked the time. "It's still early. I'll get dressed and come down."
"You stay there." Wedge sounded a little...choked, Luke thought. "I'll be home in fifteen minutes."
"You're tired?"
"I've had it with your teasing, Jedi. You'd better be prepared to put out when I...hello, Ambassador. I...just a minute. Half an hour then."
"Be quick or I'll start without you." Luke shut off the link in the middle of Wedge's hiss. Then he yawned, stretched, and headed off to the shower.
The line of poetry Obi-Wan quotes is adapted from our earth poet, Catullus.