F is for Foot

by Pumpkin

Qui-Gon tried not to let his discomfort show as listened to the Dra'bin'ni Clan Chief drone on about his people's lineage. The Dra'ni were a short race, with only one tribe boasting members as tall as Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon, with his height, was somewhat of an anomaly among these people. Which was why his knees were spread to keep from hitting the top of the table. At least it was Obi-Wan who sat across the narrow table from himself and he was thankful that, after having his own knees knocked by his master's more than once, Obi-Wan had shifted in his seat, slouching down somewhat to give Qui-Gon more legroom. Nonetheless he was still exceedingly uncomfortable.

Something tickled at Qui-Gon's leg, just above the rim of his boot. He ignored it. Another tickle, this one longer, and on his other leg. Qui-Gon moved his leg away from the offending sensation, hitting his knee on the table. He made no sound, but couldn't quite contain his grimace.

"Are you okay, Master Jedi?" asked the Dra'Bin'ni at his side.

"Quite fine," he managed. The knock hadn't hurt so much as annoyed him and as he spoke the tickle returned. But this time there was deliberate intent behind it. Not so much a tickle as a caress, it moved from the top of his boots to the back of his knee, gently rubbing against the sensitive skin on the inside of his leg.

His leggings were no barrier for the touch that was slowly climbing towards his thighs. His penis twitched as the touch stopped before reaching it and moved back down again to the top of his boot. The same deliberate course began on his other leg. Qui-Gon looked over at his padawan with suspicion. Obi-Wan's attention appeared to be on his dining companion, a short man in a rather shocking shade of pink, but Qui-Gon could feel amusement coloured with lust coming from his padawan.

He tried to shift his legs, but only succeeded in injuring his knees once again. He cleared his throat, hoping to catch Obi-Wan's eye, but his padawan's attention stubbornly appeared to remain on the Dra'Prin'ni at his side. As the caress resumed it's climb along his thigh, Qui-Gon turned resolutely to the Clan Chief, smiling and feigning as much interest in the man's words as he could, telling himself he would ignore the sensations.

In reality, his attention was focussed solely on the soft glide of heat over his leggings. He drew his breath in with shock as he realised that that was Obi-Wan's toes that were now gently nudging the bottom of his testicles, the caress to his sack encouraging his penis to grow. As his padawan appeared relaxed and unmoving, Qui-Gon had assumed that he was manipulating the Force.

He remembered sitting at Obi-Wan's feet, two days ago, massaging his padawan's aching feet. He had spent an inordinate amount of time at the task, enjoying a part of his lover he rarely focussed on. Obi-Wan had almost been purring and had murmured something about returning the favour. Imagining those graceful appendages against his dark brown leggings was not helping him regain his composure.

Qui-Gon smiled at the Clan Chief, inclining his head and smiling though he had no idea what the man had been saying. Apparently satisfied with Qui-Gon's counterfeit interest, the man babbled on and Qui-Gon continued to offer a smile or nod of his head at irregular intervals while he focused on the touch of Obi-Wan's foot.

It was rubbing along his phallus now, bringing the organ to full life within his leggings. The foot trailed away with a last teasing caress and Qui-Gon slowly released the breath he had not realised he'd been holding. Then the touch began to ghost along his legs, the almost phantom caress climbing and retreating, never using quite enough pressure, never quite reaching his erection.

Qui-Gon held back his choke as the foot returned once again to his erection. Toes kneaded the sensitive flesh, and then the whole of the foot pressed against him, moving up and down in a lazy rhythm. The heat of Obi-Wan's foot penetrated Qui-Gon's leggings and he had to suppress his shudder.

He lost his awareness of the room around him; sounds fading beneath the rapid beat of his own pulse; colours merging, swirling into a haze of golden-red pleasure. By contrast, the edge of the table, which he held until his knuckles turned white, was startlingly clear to him; the warmth of the wood, the texture of the grain. He began to count the groves that told the tree's story, realising after a moment that what he was actually counting were the strokes against his erection. Obi-Wan's foot was moving more quickly now, the full length covering him, moving up and down, pressing his hardness between the foot and his groin.

He could feel his orgasm, imminent despite the public setting and he gripped the handle of his fork tightly, wanting desperately to move into the strokes. His body grew taut as the wave of pleasure built within him, emanating from the heat at his groin.

He held in his gasp by only the narrowest of margins, his hips moving of their own volition into the foot that pleasured him. The heavy warmth of Obi-Wan's foot was removed, trailing a shiver inducing caress along his inseam down to the rim of his boot until it disappeared. With the removal of the teasing appendage, the room snapped back into proper focus around Qui-Gon, noise coalescing into voices and colour into people, furniture and food.

Qui-Gon looked over at Obi-Wan, finally catching his eye. Obi-Wan gave him a half-smile, eyes all innocent boredom.

Qui-Gon let the Dra'bin'ni at his side drone on as he shifted. He spared a glare at his apprentice as his knees once again hit the bottom of the table. The wet mess in his leggings was cooling, adding to his discomfort.

Revenge, he promised himself as the Dra'ni version of dessert was placed in front of him, would be sweet.

End.

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