Djinn Djinn

by Tem-ve H'syan

Title: Djinn Djinn
Author: Tem-ve H'syan tem-ve@gmx.de
Pairing: Q/O
Rating: NC-17
Archive: MA, GSSU, and my site, as usual.

Summary: Teapots are not just for making tea, and djinns are not just for naming people after, George.

Notes: Utter crackfic inspired by Ralf König's recent comic 'Djinn Djinn' as well as the commanding presence of Master Jinn himself. Thanks go to Black Rose for her Harem!Qui art of many moons ago. This one's for Mali Wane, since it's her birthday today.

It should have made him sadder than he was – the fact that even after spending several decades of his life in this glorified hut in the desert, his personal belongings were still scant enough to fit into one travelling trunk, and the bare essentials were hardly enough to fill the pockets of his worn robe.

There was a storm coming. He sensed it amassing its troopers just beyond the horizon, where the sun-bleached sands fell away into the darkness of space. He would be leaving soon, and something in his old bones told him unmistakably that this would be the last time he would have to pack for travel. Not that there was much to pack.

To be honest, he had stopped caring about personal belongings fairly early on during his enforced stay on Tatooine. Which was in no small way due to one of them, one that had tended to fill the empty spaces in his desert days quite conclusively. Oh yes, filling was a good word where this particular item was concerned. It had fulfilled him quite conclusively.

Lovingly, Ben Kenobi patted the tarnished brass teapot, a pang of regret darkening his features at the sight of his worn and aged hands, seemingly as old as the dull metal itself, and as out-of-fashion in their shape. Not that it had ever mattered to him who lived inside.

He had his shortcomings, of course – he was mute, for example, and devoid of a personality beyond the easy childlike demeanour of the natural pleasure-giver with his wide smile and sparkling eyes and the large and capable hands… oh, the hands. But as sex toys went, he was pretty perfect. Especially after the modifications he had applied to the original with the help of his disembodied Master.

He remembered it clearly, right down to his own incredulous stare at the market woman's boast that with this teapot, he would not only be purchasing a sturdy and long-lived item of household equipment, but also a more than willing spirit lover. Why she had told _him_, of all people, he had no clue. Why he, of all people, chose to believe the tale, he knew even less. What he did know that he had spent the following night in tears of sheer ecstasy as the mindless djinn set his body aflame with touches that could only be described as magic, leaving him no option but to give in and let himself be touched, defenceless to the eager youth's hands and mouth.

He had woken with something akin to a hangover, his spirit seducer long since disappeared back into his teapot, leaving nothing but stains and overheated nerve endings as evidence of the mind-breaking pleasure his hands had wrought. I should not have done that, had been his first thought after he'd managed to swallow his disgust at waking up sticky and smelling of sex.

Why not, a soft voice rumbled in his head. You are young still, and unlike me, you have a body that wants attention.

"Master!" he had all but shouted, eyes scanning the room in reflex, as if he still hadn't grown used to the presence in the Force that had made his days here just that little bit more bearable.

And what makes you think I didn't enjoy watching, the voice continued.

Obi-Wan swallowed, his mouth dry, his eyes huge, and his cock half-erect. He blushed deeply. "He is not… not what I really want," he finally replied lamely.

And Qui-Gon had understood, and let the matter slide, and continued in his patient teaching of the ways of the Force, one small step at a time, glimpses of the workings of the Living Force from one who was slowly getting accustomed to being inside it. The teapot and its uncanny inhabitant were left unheeded for days, though neither man could take his mind off the possibilities.

Finally, it had been Qui-Gon who had broached the subject, proposing the djinn as a handy and suitably pliable subject for Obi-Wan's emerging new Force skills. With patience and concentration, he should be able to mould the ghost boy to his wishes, he had said.

Ben remembered his Master's deeply touched consternation at the end result. It seemed he had been a more than adequate teacher, and Obi-Wan's Force skills had moulded the djinn into the perfect image of his fantasies.

Many a night had passed since then, many a night in which Obi-Wan had lain panting and moaning, thighs spread wide and mouth open in hunger as the djinn plied its art on him – making his lips tingle and throb with his kisses, wet and slow and open-mouthed noisy kisses, running his hands all over Obi-Wan's quivering body, pouring sensation and sheer overflowing pleasure under his skin, preparing him for union. No amount of Jedi training could make him withstand the bewitched caresses of the passionately skilful and ever-ready djinn, and by the time he started to thrust, Obi-Wan was usually already out of his mind with pleasure, a senseless twitching moaning animal with tears streaming down his face and semen spattering his belly and chest, his face frozen in an expression of overwhelming joy. And still the djinn continued to thrust, tireless in his devotion, taking pure pleasure in the act himself, at least if his beaming smile was anything to go by.

Ben was sure those hands had left permanent marks on his body somewhere, from where they had gripped him again and again in the throes of ecstasy, holding on as the pounding got harder, and impossibly harder still, until Obi-Wan had been sure he would perish from the pleasure and join his Master in the Force.

Maybe that had been the object. If so, it had failed, though not for want of trying. The nights of pleasure at the hands of the djinn, watched by the shimmering blue ghost of his Master, had been a regular occurrence, and if anything, they had advanced his training in Force skills considerably.

But that had been when he was still young enough to take such a demanding pounding on a regular basis. Now, as the storm clouds gathered below the horizon, there was no use denying that his bones were creaking, and that his hands would soon be too stiff to hold a lightsabre. Nights by the fire communing with his disembodied Master were far more common now than nights of passion, and the teapot had only narrowly escaped being used for brewing tea in. It was time to move on.

It would do to cast one last glance at the djinn that had made his stay in solitude such a pleasurable one, one last glance to say farewell and pass him on to one younger and with more life ahead of him than old Ben Kenobi.

You're not old, he heard a faint voice in his head, edged with a hint of sarcasm that could only come from one who had had that remark levelled at him many times in his own lifetime.

Carefully, Ben rubbed the teapot and said the magic words. Soft white smoke rose out of the teapot's spout, solidifying into a warm mist that quickly took the shape of a man, a man wearing an amused half-smile, his eyes glittering, his hands ready to touch and bring joy.

But this was not the youth Obi-Wan had first encountered. Only the smile and the devastatingly erotic touch remained. Well, and the exotic dress sense. Otherwise, this was the man he had spent decades with.

They had not spared any detail, Obi-Wan insisting on a perfect likeness, complete with all the scars and imperfections, the greying hair and the broken nose, and the fingers that Qui-Gon so liked to call clumsy, though he admitted he loved to watch as they spread Obi-Wan open and slowly pumped him full of pleasure.

Standing in front of Ben, smiling, expectant, stood a perfect image of Qui-Gon Jinn, clad in nothing but a pair of transparent low-slung pants that rivalled the blue of his eyes, and several strategically placed bands of silver. Shuddering, Ben remembered tracing them, the collar around his neck, the wide band around the man's lean but muscular upper arm, and the anklet that had seemed so incongruous next to Qui-Gon's huge bony feet. The touch of the djinn's skin had been so addictive that Obi-Wan had gladly spent most of the night licking the silver-ringed ankle and pressing longing kisses to Qui-Gon's hairy shins.

Oh yes, Ben thought as he reluctantly commanded the djinn back into its home, the Skywalker boy would learn to appreciate this one.

He did not strike Ben as straight in any way.

--- end ---