Category: PWP. Crossover. A piece of fluff and smut in the
Stargate Jedi series.
Summary: The Jedi's first St. Patrick's Day on Earth.
Archive: M_A, Rauhnee's archive list, my page
http://www.shadowynd.com/~elaynas_den/index.html
Feedback: Brings good luck!
Massive thanks to Rauhnee for the beta.
Disclaimer: The boys belong to the great George Lucas, Stargate
SG-1 to Double Secret Productions, Gekko, Showtime
Exhaustion reigned supreme at SGC headquarters. An epidemic,
followed by an official inspection from the Congressional
oversight committee for secret military projects, followed by
the rescue of SG-6 from an unexpectedly hostile
planet...unpleasant surprise upon annoying aggravation left
everyone, even the most determinedly upbeat project members,
with their spirits muted.
Poking at his corn beef and cabbage, Jack O'Neill commented,
"My great-granddad would tan my hide. I'm too tired on St.
Patrick's Day to get drunk. He was old country, born in
Ireland." At least it was a successful tired, Jack mused. Janet
had solved the epidemic with her usual skill, the politicians
were dutifully impressed enough to promise more funding, and
SG-6 were sitting at the next table over, only a few bumps and
bruises indicating their rocky adventure.
Daniel swirled the green beer in his glass. "Do I even want to
know how the cooks colored this? No, I don't," he added hastily
as Sam started to open her mouth. "That was rhetorical."
The Major stifled the culinary explanation on the tip of her
tongue and offered instead, "The food's great."
"The food is always superior here," Obi-Wan added as he sat
down with his second helping of tonight's Irish celebration
food.
Staring in amazement, Daniel shook his head, "I can't believe
what you can eat."
Obi-Wan shrugged. "You've seen me train." Despite their time
commitments to exploration through the StarGate, the Jedi
maintained their rigorous training in katas and lightsaber
techniques, often rising early or exercising late in the night.
"Besides," Janet said matter-of-factly, "Obi-Wan's over a
decade younger than you. He's still got the perfect male
metabolism."
Daniel winced, uncertain whether he should observe that Qui-Gon
trained just as vigorously in the Jedi martial arts and had
never eaten with Obi-Wan's enthusiasm, or lament that he was
starting to feel old at 35. The last time someone had
complained about age, Qui-Gon had discoursed for an hour on the
wisdom and knowledge attained by his former Master Yoda in his
800 plus years. With their background and training in
diplomacy, the Jedi accepted and understood most cultural
differences, but the worship of youth in America was a mystery
they were finding difficult to decipher. Everyone had learned
to avoid lamenting about their age around Qui-Gon since that
lecture.
The silence left by his delayed reaction was filled by Qui-Gon.
"Actually, I believe I'll have an early night. Obi-Wan?"
Nodding, Obi-Wan swallowed the last of his potatoes and stood.
Before the Jedi could leave, Angela from SG-2 approached
Qui-Gon.
"Hi, I thought - " she waved a button at Qui-Gon and
temporarily lost for words, pinned it on his khaki jacket.
"Since you're officially Irish, you should have this."
"Thank you," he replied, reading the button upside down, a
perplexed expression on his face. "Kiss Me, I'm Irish."
"You wear it every St. Patrick's Day. It's to celebrate the
day," she explained. Boldly, she rose on her tiptoes, balanced
with her palms on his chest, and kissed his cheek. "Happy St.
Pat's."
"Oh me too," Janet leaped up from her chair and pressed a swift
kiss on Qui-Gon's lips. Sam copied her gesture, leaning over
the table to reach Qui-Gon as he bent toward her.
"Now I'm upset you made me English," Obi-Wan joked at Daniel.
"Welllll," Angela said, the speed of her action in clipping
another button on his jacket not matching the hesitancy in her
tone.
"Oh, I like that," he said, glancing at the slogan, "Everyone
Is Irish Today." A brief round of kisses ensued between Obi-Wan
and the three women. He gave a mischievous glance at the
still-seated Jack, Daniel and Teal'c, but Jack leashed the
Jedi's sense of humor with an emphatic shake of his head. The
other two men merely looked wistful.
An early night seemed the common sentiment. Besides being
tired, everyone was well aware that Hammond was likely to frown
severely on the excessive drunkenness that would normally mark
the celebration of St. Patrick's Day. A general exodus of SGC
members trailed from the cafeteria after the Jedi, depositing
their plates in the wash baskets, leaving Jack and Daniel still
sitting at the table. Watching the stream of khaki, the Colonel
looked momentarily perplexed. "We're the only ones wearing blue
today."
"Hmm?" Daniel said, his gaze distant as the sipped at the last
of his green beer. He was remembering his first night back on
Earth, when Jack had invited him home for dinner. One beer had
given him a pleasant buzz, and Jack had joked about Daniel
being a cheaper date than his wife. Those words now seemed
oddly prophetic.
"You. Me. Blue uniforms. Everyone else's in the khaki."
"Well, it is St. Patrick's Day. You're supposed to pinch anyone
who isn't wearing green. Khaki's the closest military uniforms
get to green."
Smacking his palm into his forehead, Jack groaned, "My
great-granddad would kill me."
Daniel pulled his attention away from contemplation of his
beer. He didn't particularly like beer anyway, tending to drink
it more because it was expected than any desire for the taste.
"We could rectify the mistake." Despite the lack of other
patrons, he lowered his voice, "We could go back to your
quarters and pinch each other."
A delighted smile crossed Jack's face. "Why Doctor, you
wouldn't be flirting with me, would you?"
With a silly grin and a deprecating shrug, Daniel responded, "I
just thought we might celebrate the holiday together. It's
almost my duty as your team member to ensure that an O'Neill
has a good time on St. Patrick's." He jumped as he felt the
sharp nip of fingers on his inner thigh.
"I got first pinch. The next is yours, I believe." Jack's
careless lack of concern was well faked as he abruptly stood up
and sauntered across the room, dropping his tray in the basket.
A last look over his shoulder dared Daniel to catch him. The
scientist's grin grew wider and sillier for a flash before he
masked his glee, displaying the same nonchalant attitude while
walking after his lover.
In the Jedi's quarters, Obi-Wan was stretching, pulling his
muscles taut as his hands extended toward the ceiling. He shook
his body loosely before smiling apologetically at his Master.
"I am sorry, Qui-Gon. Today is an Earth holiday and I have made
no special preparations."
Qui-Gon tugged at the collar of Obi-Wan's jacket, his motion
signaling to his apprentice to let the fabric slip off his
shoulders. Hanging both their jackets, Qui-Gon seemed
undisturbed as he replied, "Our duty to our comrades is our
first responsibility. Recent events have left little personal
time." He crossed to stand behind Obi-Wan, massaging his
shoulders, covered in the short-sleeve black t-shirt. "Besides
shouldn't this holiday have been my responsibility? I am the
Irish member of our duo. It says so on my passport."
Leaning into those clever hands, Obi-Wan smiled with satiation
at the comfort of a full stomach and an adored lover easing
tenseness from his body. "Since it was my turn, but you're
Irish, maybe we should combine efforts."
The pressure increased, maneuvering Obi-Wan to face the bedroom
door and walk forward. The Padawan obeyed, happy to continue
this conversation close to the large, comfortable bed. His belt
buckle was loosened and pants unclasped before the t-shirt was
tugged over his head. A push to the small of his back caused
him to flop on the bed as Qui-Gon commented, "I sense you have
a plan for an impromptu celebration."
"I'm delighted to know your Jedi prescience still works on this
planet," was the amused response. Rolling over to face Qui-Gon,
he suggested, "Perhaps a celebration befitting the holiday?"
Qui-Gon's allowed the light brogue that so many on this planet
identified as Irish roll through his words strongly as he said,
"I can imagine you in Ireland."
Wiggling into a comfortable position, Obi-Wan smiled as his
Master began the fantasy. "Yes? What am I doing in Ireland?"
Knees settled by his hips as Qui-Gon sank onto the bed. The
massage resumed, hands caressing the firm muscles of Obi-Wan's
chest and shoulders. "You're laying just as you are now, but
you're in a field of shamrocks. Beautiful green shamrocks. It's
a lovely country, full of soft, rolling hills, and we're close
to the ocean. I can smell the tang of the ocean in the gentle
breeze."
A low purring moan emitted from Obi-Wan as he relaxed, sinking
in a state of erotic drowsiness. The massage encouraged him to
slip into blissful slumber, but the thrumming anticipation
counteracted the sleepiness.
Qui-Gon continued verbally painting his vision. "You're clothes
are gone and your graceful body is exposed to the rays of
sunlight. And to my eyes, as I walk across the field. I've
never seen you before, and I'm entranced by the perfection of
your body, the gold shimmer to your hair. I don't know how to
react to this unexpected gift, afraid that if I even breathe
too heavily, you'll disappear, like a magic leprechaun." A
subtle adjustment to his shields thinned their strength,
sending the mental image to his Padawan.
Obi-Wan was grinning foolishly but couldn't stop himself. In
Qui-Gon's image, he looked like a young god, strong and
beautiful. For so many years, he had respected and loved his
Master. To know so completely how much he was admired and
adored always filled him with an awed delight, even if he
thought the image ridiculously undeserved. "I'll have you know
that I was a leprechaun."
"Was?" Qui-Gon asked, as Obi-Wan began undressing Qui-Gon, his
belt and t-shirt tossed to the floor. The arms tangled since
Qui-Gon kept massaging Obi-Wan, exploring his solid chest,
rubbing blunt thumbs over rapidly hardening nipples. "Can one
stop being a leprechaun?"
"With the proper incentive." Obi-Wan pressed the most delicate
of kisses on Qui-Gon's lips. "I was strolling through the
forest one day, and I saw this mortal. This tall, handsome
mortal, with silvering hair. He was standing by a stream,
fishing, completely concentrating on coaxing a fish to his net.
He caught me before he got his fish. Captivated me with his
handsome face, his strong body, the wisdom and sensitivity in
his eyes." Obi-Wan thinned his own mental barriers, allowing
Qui-Gon to see how his Padawan pictured him. While Obi-Wan
might be a young god to Qui-Gon, Qui-Gon was a force of nature
to his Padawan, powerful and handsome, majestic as a noble
stag.
Qui-Gon bemusedly shook his head at his apprentice's unabashed
admiration. "But you were a leprechaun. Magical leprechauns
surely can't fall in love with mortals."
"When the mortal is absolutely perfect, the leprechaun can't
control his heart. I went to the sacred meadow, and danced in
the shamrocks, pleading and praying and using every ounce of
magic I possess. I felt myself growing taller and broader, felt
myself changing, leaving behind the magical kingdom. I finally
collapsed, exhausted and slept in the sun."
Using his superior strength, Qui-Gon pressed Obi-Wan's
shoulders to the bed, sitting back on his heels enough that he
could give his apprentice's lithe body a long, raking glance.
"I can just see your clothes, the bright green vest and
breeches, tearing off your body, leaving shredded tatters
hanging loosely."
"Tatters? How easy to remove." Obi-Wan's lips quirked, quite
willing to be undressed quickly. "I woke and opened my eyes to
see you there. My mortal. It must have been the last of my
magic that brought you walking across this meadow. You
though..." he frowned, "you were wearing too many clothes."
Qui-Gon saw himself, dressed in a cream Irish sweater and
sturdy brown trousers, his fishing rod and tackle mindlessly
dropped when he spied his treasure. He laid his body on top of
Obi-Wan's. "Then shall we remove these encumbrances?" The two
undressed each other slowly, rolling back and forth on the bed
to ease removal, unzipping zippers, untying shoes, flinging
pants haphazardly off the bed. The clothes differed in their
minds - the black and khaki substituted for shreds of emerald
cloth, fine knitted wool and cotton. There was no rush to their
actions, only the lingering rediscovery of taut skin and supple
muscle, hands lightly stroking, interspersed with sharing
lingering kisses.
Sitting up with his back against the headboard, Qui-Gon pulled
Obi-Wan into his lap. Both were erect, fully aroused by the
contact and caresses, but moving so carefully, cherishing every
touch. Obi-Wan's hands massaged Qui-Gon's shoulders, played
with his hair as they kissed. He gasped as Qui-Gon's hands slid
down his back, squeezing his firm cheeks before parting them to
find the tight opening. One of Qui-Gon's hands left his body,
groping on the nightstand for the massage oil, while the other
continued a rhythmic stroking up and down the cleft of his
buttocks. Qui-Gon's kisses became more impassioned, capturing
Obi-Wan's full attention, distracting his awareness as Qui-Gon
fumbled with the bottle.
One oiled finger slid inside Obi-Wan, locating and pressing
against the sensitive spot. Obi-Wan shivered as pleasure rushed
throughout his body, his teeth digging into Qui-Gon's shoulder
to muffle the uncontrollable groan. Qui-Gon continued his task
with a sure touch, his apprentice like a vibrant flame in his
arms, their hard shafts rubbing together.
"Now, my mortal...now!" came the imperious command, as Obi-Wan
reached the limits of his patience, desperate for satisfaction.
"Yes, now," Qui-Gon answered, clasping Obi-Wan's hips to raise
and then lower him into position. Obi-Wan's body hungrily
accepted the intrusion of Qui-Gon's stiff cock. "Now we shall
be together forever."
His knees digging into the bed as his hands clasped Qui-Gon's
shoulders, Obi-Wan raised and lowered his body in an
increasingly frantic pace, bewitched by the heat and fire in
his lover's eyes. Qui-Gon's broad hands stroked down Obi-Wan's
back. Shields gone, their minds united as they made love under
the warm sun, the breeze whispering against their skin,
shamrocks crushed by the combined weight of their bodies.
From the harshness of his breath and the turmoil within his
mind, Obi-Wan could sense Qui-Gon was nearing his climax. He
stopped his motions, locking his thighs against Qui-Gon's hips.
A hoarse groan tore from Qui-Gon as his eyes grew wild. "Don't
tease me, Obi-Wan. Don't. Tease."
"I just want to feel you. Deep inside me. So strong. So solid.
Like it's the very first time we're together. Feel you..."
Broad hands dug into his hips, powerful strength honed from
decades of training and battle forced him to move up and down.
"Then feel me come. Feel me claim my leprechaun as my own."
And Obi-Wan did feel it. Felt Qui-Gon throbbing within him,
felt the forceful hands move him faster and faster, felt his
Master jerk and shudder as he released his climax within the
depths of Obi-Wan's body. Then Obi-Wan could only feel his own
responses as he came, screaming hoarsely, his mind awash in a
vibrant rainbow of colors - the green of the shamrocks, the
darkened blue of Qui-Gon's eyes, the lighter blue of the sky,
the shine of his hair as the gold of the sun hit the silver
strands.
He came to awareness reluctantly, still enfolded in Qui-Gon's
embrace as his Master slid them under the blankets and spooned
them together. His sigh was blissful as he snuggled deeper into
the powerful embrace. "You could take me back to your cottage
and we could live together forever, the mortal and the
ex-leprechaun. It would be perfect."
A murmuring exhalation of breath against his hair agreed with
the sentiment before Qui-Gon gave a small, sleepy chuckle, his
thoughts instantly transmitted to Obi-Wan.
"Yes, two Jedi sharing a Irish fantasy based on an American
vision of the country probably isn't realistic," the Padawan
responded a bit crossly. He twisted within the embrace so they
would face each other, one finger lightly tracing down the
strong line of his Master's jaw. "But we're not negotiators
concerned with understanding with a culture now, we're lovers."
A wave of soothing reassurance flooded his mind as Qui-Gon
spoke aloud. "Yes, Obi-Wan, we're lovers. Lovers sharing an
absolutely perfect fantasy." He ran his hand through the
softness of Obi-Wan's hair, seeing in his mind the brightness
of the sun glowing on the short strands. "And truly today, I
have found my golden treasure."
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