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Pairing: Q/O

Rating: NC-17

Archive: Master & Apprentice and wherever these 50 wayses are archived...

Summary: Obi-Wan is busy. And Qui-Gon is... inappropriately clad.

Notes: Well, I've written Obi-Wan in white leather. Think of this as the companion piece *grin* I think I'm allowed a little PWP after finishing my long!fic... and yes, Gloriana, this is shameless Qui!worship. Yet again.

There are days I wish we had requested separate quarters back when I was Knighted. Not that I don't love having him around... all right, admit it, Kenobi, you'd be mooning over him within the day of being moved out of your shared accommodation, or shared den as our neighbours call it. I will have them know that it was not me making those noises.

Anyway.

For all that we have grown to be Other Halves over the years, there are times when he's just too much to live with. Oh, I don't mind the little messes he leaves around the place, and I've long ceased to accusingly point mouldy caf cups at him because all he will do is make sure the life forms in there are not of a nature worth protecting, and then he'll put them away for future dishwashing, and forget all about them, my old Master. My old ex-Master.

It's just that... well, we are a working team most of the time. And when we're not a team, we're both working. I don't know how _he_ does it, but for me, being Jedi means an awful lot of the stuff. Work, that is. I can't just breeze through missions pretending to all the world that what I've just made up on the spot was _the_ solution that that particular world had been waiting for. I need preparation to make things up on the spot.

Never mind all the administrative work I get landed with because _Master_ Jinn agrees with me only too readily that he has neither got an eye nor a mind for doing the kind of slatework that ensures that we're always kept fed, clothed, and in an existing set of rooms when we return from a mission.

Maybe I should have amended that to 'two existing sets of rooms' a long time ago. Now is out of the question of course. The outcry. Jinn/Kenobi have requested separate bedrooms! Unthinkable. Besides, I don't really want him out of my sight. Quite apart from the fact that I couldn't live without him for as long as I wish. And separate bedrooms are not strictly necessary. Separate studies, on the other hand... I hate the pout he gives when I tell him I have other things to do than indulge his whim to have sex with me right here and now. I mean, really. Of course I'm grateful for the stamina he exhibits, at his age. And that he hasn't felt the urge to seek out anyone else yet. But sometimes...

...sometimes I'd just like to get through my work first, and then play.

Which is getting increasingly difficult because he is being noisy in the bedroom. Rummaging around the wardrobe, if the thumps and curses are anything to go by. He must have crawled in there. Never a good idea of you're the size of Qui-Gon Jinn. But not a good idea either to tell him not to try.

Listen to yourself, Kenobi. You sound like a crèche Master.

Sighing, I return to the text at hand, attempting to distil its contents into something that will make sense to me next time I'll have to take recourse to it. Attempting to shut out the noise, and my, I have to admit, slightly piqued curiosity as to what on Coruscant he is doing in the wardrobe.

It appears he's stopped doing whatever he was doing now. Good.

He comes out looking almost normal, hair a bit ruffled, face a bit flushed maybe. He's got a large pack slung over his shoulder, and he's going out without his robe. Over his other shoulder, he gives me a casual "I'm going to work out a bit, Obi-Wan" and disappears through the front door.

Fine by me. Blessed silence.

After a few more minutes of wondering what he might be doing, I return to my work.

I've made excellent headway, and am just relaxing on the sofa with a glass of something cold and sweet, indecisive as to whether to venture into listening to the Tlön Collective recordings Garen had recommended so highly, when the door mechanism clacks.

That'll be Qui. Back from his workout. Maybe a little snuggling on the couch? I have the luxury of time now, and Qui... well, I'm not going to say no to a freshly-scrubbed, snake-haired heavy-limbed version of Master Jinn. Really I'm not. I look up...

... and lose all power of speech.

Yes, that is my Qui all right, something small and disinterested in the back of my mind says. It's the right size, it's got the blue eyes and the straggly hair and the big hands, and it's even carrying that pack that Qui left with... and the small and disinterested something isn't getting anywhere because it's being drowned in the rest of my mind, which has gone liquid.

Black. Tight. Rough. Delicious...

He is just not right without my hands on him, not right standing there looking startled, encased in well-worn... black... leather.

He gives a little 'ooph' as I tackle him to the floor, sweep him clean off his obscenely thick and heavy boots. Oh, boots. Will have to lavish some attention on those later. When I've finished with the rest of him... those long hard thighs. Wide chest that I'm straddling on my knees as my mouth homes in on his, devouring, wet, hungry.

I run one hand through his unbound hair, or try to, get tangled in the thick sweaty tresses, and hold him down by it as he tried to surge up under me, to take control of the kiss. I'm having none of it. I'm having all of him instead.

Fingertips run along the divide between slightly rough skin and smooth leather, there where the high collar circles his throat, a tight fit, encasing him perfectly. He gasps as I sneak one finger, then two, then my entire hand inside, caressing warm sweaty skin, thrusting deeper until the fastening pops open and my path is free. One long zipper, all the way down...

Reluctantly, I release his mouth, relishing the glazed expression in his eyes, the pinking of those lips. I clamp a hand over his mouth as he tries to speak. No words here, Qui. Let the skin do the talking.

And there is so much of it... I can't help it. I take the zip between my teeth and tug, watching as the taut black leather splits apart to reveal my Qui in all his glory.

But what really gets me is the scent.

I mean, I like leather, as a smell. It's one of the nicer-smelling things you can make clothes from. And I like Qui, even when he's less than hygienic. But this... this warm, musky cloud of leather-wrapped Qui... I feel myself get dizzy as I drag the zipper to its end on one hip. I want to crawl inside that thing, bathe in the warm moist scent of tight leather and sweaty Qui and never come out again.

Sighing deeply, I nuzzle into the soft wet skin between the halves of the suit, burrowing deeper until the end of the zipper stops me. Damn. Wrong angle here, Kenobi... need... need to get inside there...

Releasing his mouth and holding his hips down with the other hand, I turn around, settling back across his chest, his head between my booted feet, his shining taut black thighs stretching out before me. His groin an open invitation... He moans behind me as I snake one hand into the tight suit, groping for his cock. I groan in turn as I find it, hard and hot and slick with sweat and a drop of pre-come at the tip. I burrow deeper, squeeze his balls in their warm confinement before pulling on his erection roughly, again and again until he bucks and writhes under me and I realise I've trapped his hair under my shins and he's helpless to do anything but writhe and let my hand do its wicked work.

Oh good.

My enjoyment spills over my lips in a moist grin and I nuzzle into the warm sticky tightness until I manage to touch the tip of his cock with my tongue. Salty. Silky. The scent of the leather and the taste of him fills my entire head and I swirl my tongue around his swollen flesh, jerking harder with my hand, wanting him to lose control completely, wanting him to scream and buck under me, my irresponsible speedracing ex-Master...

That little moment of distraction is enough for him, and I feel my hold on him slip as a hand hurriedly tugs down my leggings, burrows under my tunics, grabs hold of my cock so hard I scream in pleasure and drags me down, down into a greedy mouth.

It takes about two seconds before I collapse on top of him, moaning in what feels like one endless orgasm, holding on to his twitching cock desperately and watching, in a daze, the splash of white so starkly contrasted against all that black leather that envelops him... envelops me as I fall into him, resting against the soft black.

Too good.

"My, what have we here?" The voice is clearly amused, and clearly his. When I manage to peel my eyes open I see that I'm still lying on the floor, still with my pants around my knees. And him kneeling beside me. Kneeling. In that Sithly leather one-piece. Gaping wide open at the front now, but still so tight and warm around his massive thighs... and just to imagine that tight arse of his... in leather...

I give a little sigh to let him know I'm still alive. Some parts of me more so than others, actually.

"A passed-out Jedi Knight, eh? One who can't take the impact of other people's professional clothing...?"

I will lecture him on how speedracing is not an appropriate leisure pursuit for a Jedi Master. I will tell him how dangerous it is. I will tell him not to ever do that again, at least not without me by his side. I will ask him where he kept that suit in all the time we've been together...

Later.

Right now, I will attempt to peel him out of it. And if I fail... oh well.

--- The End ---