Rated: PG-13 (I'm not very clear on the rating system, but
there's no sex, violence or strong language - sorry :) - but an
implied m/m relationship)
Categories: Other, PWP (sort of) mild humour (well, one beta
smiled and the other one chuckled, so that might count as
humour)
Spoilers & Warnings: None whatsoever
Summary: Qui-Gon is required to wear some swoon-worthy clothes
to a diplomatic reception. Obi-Wan admires.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, they belong to some bloke called
George. Drat.
Notes: This is my long-delayed response to the challenge to
dress our guys in whatever we'd like to see them wearing,
though only Qui-Gon gets to wear nifty clothes in this fic -
I'm afraid I'm an unregenerate Qui fan. Loads of thanks to Pat
and Alison for beta-ing this for me, especially Pat, who is
stubbornly resisting being converted to Q/O fandom. The cloak
is for her. Thanks also to Jedi Nic for reading it over for me.
Anything crummy is probably something my betas suggested I
change, but I decided not to.
Feedback: Er, yes, to eshva@magna.com.au
"Master, haven't you finished dressing yet?" Obi-Wan was trying
to keep the amusement out of his voice.
Against expectation this diplomatic mission to Trabian was
proving - entertaining.
In honour of the visit from emissaries of the Jedi, a formal
reception had been decreed by the Koroleva, the planet's ruler.
And the custom at formal receptions, so the richly be-robed
chamberlain had informed Qui-Gon, was that full ceremonial
court attire was required to be worn.
Obi-Wan felt some regret that his own presence would not be
required. On being informed that Obi-Wan had not yet attained
knighthood, the chamberlain had firmly declared that an
apprentice could not be accorded aristocrat status and so was
not permitted to attend the formal ceremony. Which was a pity.
Obi-Wan rather liked the idea of parading in the bright,
flamboyant garb favoured by the Trabian nobility. However, he
suspected Qui-Gon was much less comfortable with the showy
clothes. He's spent too many years in Jedi brown drab, Obi-Wan
thought.
When Qui-Gon emerged from the bedroom Obi-Wan blinked, and
admired. His own, admittedly biased, opinion was that his
master looked good regardless of what he wore; be it garlands
of weeds bestowed by grateful swamp-dwellers, grubby coveralls
borrowed from a being several sizes too large and with too many
limbs, or Jedi robes adorned with most of a mudslide. When
given the choice, Qui-Gon's attire tended toward the practical
and plain. But, the clothes of a Trabian courtier were designed
to flatter and enhance. Flatter. And enhance. Their flamboyance
made self-effacement - impossible, and Obi-Wan smiled to see
just how well they flattered and enhanced his master's
appearance.
The shirt was snowy white and fashioned from a soft flowing
material, laced down the front and bedecked with loose ruffles
at the lacing and wrists. This was accompanied by close-fitting
black pants, very close-fitting black pants, that moulded to
Qui-Gon's legs. Wonderful legs, Obi-Wan thought. Elegantly
muscled, they seemed to go on forever. A braided belt circled
his master's narrow waist, strands of plaited leather woven
with strands of gold which entwined to form a buckle in the
shape of a complex knot.
Obi-Wan grinned with suggestive appreciation. Those trousers
really left very little to the imagination.
"Don't say anything," Qui-Gon growled. "Just help me with these
boots."
The boots were black, knee length, with a deep cuff at the top.
They would not have looked out of place on a Sybarran pirate,
Obi-Wan decided. He knelt to assist his master to don them, a
task which required a certain amount of brute force to yank the
close-fitting leather boots on. A Jedi, so he had been taught,
should be aware of the possibilities of any situation, and so
he took the opportunity to fondle a knee in the process.
"I like the trousers," he commented, directing a leer at his
master's groin, which was conveniently at eye level from his
kneeling vantage point. "Very impressive."
Qui-Gon was looking faintly embarrassed, although Obi-Wan
doubted that anyone who knew him less well would realise it. "I
hope I won't be offending against local modesty codes."
"I don't think so, Master. They gave you the costume, after
all." He gestured towards the rich clothing. "The Trabians
clearly believe in conspicuous display." He tried to restrain
another grin, with only partial success.
The stern glare Qui-Gon directed at him was one that Obi-Wan
had long since realised meant that his master was trying not to
laugh. "Here, Master," he said, rising to his feet. "Put the
cloak on."
The garment was a deep blue, the colour of an early evening
sky, its lining of silk a darker, midnight blue. Obi-Wan ran
his fingers over the soft nap of the fabric, enjoying the
luxuriant texture. Qui-Gon took the cloak from him and draped
it over one shoulder, the tie which secured it slung across his
chest. That shade of blue does the most amazing things for his
eyes, Obi-Wan mused. I'd say they looked like sapphires, only
sapphires aren't so warm. These Trabians may not have much
sense of modesty, but they certainly have an eye for colour.
"What's this?" Qui-Gon asked. He was studying the final item of
the loaned costume - an ornament, like the belt buckle, shaped
of intertwining strands of gold. His expression became
long-suffering. "Obi-Wan, please don't tell me that it's some
kind of codpiece."
"Certainly not," Obi-Wan replied. "It's much too small." He
grinned at his master. "In fact, it's a hair ornament."
Qui-Gon peered at it quizzically. "It is?"
"It is," Obi-Wan confirmed. "Turn around and I'll demonstrate.
The Koroleva's aide brought it this afternoon, while you were
meditating. It's quite old - an heirloom of the ruling family.
Long hair is customary for Trabian aristocrats and it's unheard
of for them to attend a ceremonial function without some
adornments."
Qui-Gon sat down on the edge of a chair and Obi-Wan loosened
his master's hair-tie, replacing it with the antique ornament.
The intricate golden knotwork shone against the dark silken
fall of hair. He tenderly smoothed his hand over the hair to
repair the small disorder that the change had created. Obi-Wan
lingered over the task a little, taking pleasure in the
softness against his fingers.
"There, master." He laid a soft kiss on Qui-Gon's temple. "I'll
get a mirror if you'd like to see."
"No need. I trust you'd tell me if it looked foolish."
"Definitely not foolish." Obi-Wan's voice softened. "Not
foolish at all."
They remained in place for a moment, Obi-Wan resting a hand on
his master's broad shoulder, as Qui-Gon leaned back slightly
against his padawan. But only for a moment. Obi-Wan sensed the
faint ripple of reluctance as Qui-Gon rose and gathered his
lightsaber. Duty, of course, and duty required that a Jedi not
give offence by being late for a diplomatic reception.
Obi-Wan watched his master move. The clothes were marvelous,
emphasizing the magnificent breadth of shoulder, narrowing to
the slim waist and hips and the elegant length of leg. But
there was something just slightly lacking.
"Master," he suggested. "That cloak isn't actually a Jedi
robe."
Qui-Gon's eyebrows rose. "What do you mean, Padawan?"
Obi-Wan decided to risk it. "Grave and purposeful works well
with Jedi robes, but I think such a cloak should be worn with
more panache."
"Panache?" Amusement tickled the edges of Qui-Gon's dry tone.
"I am a Jedi master, young Padawan. I can manage panache
if I must."
"Of course, Master." Obi-Wan laded his tone with exaggerated
disbelief.
Qui-Gon directed another stern glare at him. "So, is my
appearance passable?"
"I'm sure the Trabians will be quite impressed," Obi-Wan said.
"My prediction is that you will be propositioned by at least
two dozen courtiers. I hope they won't be offended at being
refused. It would be regrettable if your attire jeopardised our
mission here."
"Perhaps I should accept, then." Qui-Gon's voice was quite
mild, but Obi-Wan could see the humour lurking in his eyes.
"All two dozen of them?" Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows and
managed not to laugh.
"Of course, Padawan. A Jedi should not show favouritism."
Obi-Wan noted that his master's deadpan expression had finally
wavered and a smile was curling the edge of his lips. Obi-Wan
badly wanted to hug him then, but it seemed a shame to risk
spoiling the impeccable costume. Instead he said, "Just so long
as there's enough left for me afterwards."
Qui-Gon reached out a hand to cup Obi-Wan's face. "There is
only you."
Obi-Wan covered the caressing hand with his own. "I know," he
said softly.
He grinned again, lightening the mood. "Enjoy yourself at the
ceremony. I'll stay here and plot how to unlace your shirt with
my teeth."
Qui-Gon blinked. "These trousers are already too tight, without
you saying things like that." Said in the scolding tone that
wasn't.
Obi-Wan, unrepentant, adopted his most seductive expression -
or at least he hoped it was seductive, though he suspected he
only managed to look hopeful. Not that it mattered. Hopeful
usually had the desired effect. "Hurry back," he said.
"I will."
As he strode from the room Qui-Gon swirled the cloak about him
with a flourish. In fact, Obi-Wan thought, with panache.
Obi-Wan smiled.
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