Master Apprentice
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Lacking Comfort
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Title: Lacking Comfort
Author: Inya Dreems (padawan.inya@tiscali.co.uk)
Archive: MA, or ask me
Category: Q/O, PWP
Rating: Adult
Summary: It's for MMoM. I don't think you need much more of a summary.
Disclaimer: George's characters, not mine.
Feedback: Yes please
Note: This is my atonement for making people's eyes bleed with the (whisper it) Jar-Jar fic. Gloriana set my penance: Write a MMoM fic using "something fibrous" and "crisp cotton". Many thanks to Bonny for the beta, fast and efficient as always. Mistakes are mine and due to tweakage.
Obi-Wan stepped into the rough little hut and fastened the fabric flap which served as a door behind him. A single lamp gave off a flickering light, throwing shadows on the bare daub walls. Obi-Wan sighed. As Jedi, the living arrangements that he and his master were given could vary from the rudimentary to extreme luxury. He could only class his present lodgings as the former. Qui-Gon was lodged in the hut next door, and Obi-Wan knew that he would be quite happy to wash in cold water and to sleep on the bumpy mat which had been provided by their hosts to serve as a bed. Obi-Wan, however, though uncomplaining to their hosts, would have preferred a little more comfort.
They had eaten a meagre meal of greens and coarse, gritty bread, and Obi-Wan's stomach still grumbled in hunger. What made his mood worse was the fact that this world had a wealth of resources, but its people made a virtue of austere living. They scorned luxury; to them warm water was a decadent extravagance. He washed his face using the icy water from a jug and dried himself on a clean rag it could not be described as a towel placed next to it on the otherwise bare low table. He had already made use of the communal fresher outside.
Obi-Wan shrugged out of his cloak and spread it over the sleep mat, crouching to smooth the wrinkles. What was the mat made of? The fibrous stuff felt like scratchy kixthorn leaves, even through the weave of his cloak. Surely there was some other material on this world that would make a softer bed!
The air was chill and he lay down after removing only his outer tunic and boots. His hosts had neglected to provide a blanket, so Obi-Wan wrapped his cloak around himself as best he could while attempting to minimise the stabs and pricks from the fibres of the sleep mat that pierced through the loose-woven fabric.
Oh for a hot bath, he thought, and a soft bed with clean, crisp cotton sheets. He relaxed his body and tried to quiet his mind, but the thought of his oh-so-serene master virtually enjoying this level of discomfort kept creeping back. No doubt Qui-Gon would have stripped naked and stretched out on the damned scratchy pallet in complete contentment. Obi-Wan harrumphed to himself and turned over.
He sighed loudly. Once that image was in his mind, it stuck: he envisaged the long limbs, lean and muscled, flat belly, chest rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm by the light of the moons through the uncovered window, long hair spread out over the mat
He cursed silently as the prickles made their presence felt again. Rolling on to his back, he deliberately encouraged the tempting vision. The room was cold, the bed was uncomfortable and he needed a distraction.
Where was he? Flat belly. And below, nestling in dark shadow, the impressive cock. He had seen it in reality plenty of times, in secret admiration. It was more than in proportion to the large body, a striking organ even at rest. Not for the first time, he imagined how it would grow when aroused. That had the desired effect and he wished briefly that he had brought a toy or two on this mission. That was not a good idea, not after the nuns of Ikoyab had found his favourite dildo when they were helpfully unpacking his travel bag.
He did miss the dildo. His own cock was hardening pleasantly at the delicious mental picture, but he would have liked the feel of a nice, hard, thick shaft up his arse. Almost without thinking, he had loosened the ties on his leggings and exposed his burgeoning erection to the cold air. He traced its length fondly with his fingers. The contrast between hot, engorged flesh and the night chill was actually quite agreeable. A finger swirled under the foreskin and out, spreading the fluid around the tip.
Obi-Wan shifted his hips slightly to a more comfortable position. The annoyance of the fibrous stuffing poking through his cloak was now largely forgotten and he closed his eyes to concentrate on the mental image of his master. A particular favourite fascination of Obi-Wan's was the size of his master's hands. They were so big, strong and dependable, but they could be extremely gentle. One hand would engulf Obi-Wan's not-unimpressive cock. His own smaller hand mimicked the fantasy. He started lazily, an unhurried up and down which pulled his foreskin down gently with every stroke. His other hand reached to cup his balls, rolling in time to the rhythm of his slow pumping, fingertips brushing against the soft skin below and ever so slightly pulling at his opening. That made him sigh and wish again for something substantial to be there, to push in. He made a mental note to try to collect a suitable vegetable or hard-skinned fruit whenever he had the opportunity in the future. No matter, a couple of fingers sufficed for now, after he had broken off momentarily to suck and moisten them. Qui-Gon's fingers were broader and longer and the thought of being breached by those digits increased the pace of his hand.
The Qui-Gon in his mind was thrusting that large cock into the equally large hand, but Obi-Wan's fantasy suddenly flipped to the two of them lying together, with his master fingering him in preparation for penetration. He pushed his own fingers in deeper, drawing his knees up and spreading in readiness. When he touched the sweet spot inside, he couldn't keep in a groan from deep in his throat. He was close now and ready. His imaginary Qui-Gon was kneeling between his legs, holding his magnificent erection, positioning it and pushing in. Obi-Wan's cock was leaking and so hard, the pace of his hand increasing in time with the fantasy-fucking that his master was giving him. To be filled like that, to watch Qui-Gon thrust into him, sweat running down taut muscles, was the final image he needed. His balls tightened the delicious feeling started in his groin and exploded outwards as he came, cupping his hand to catch the hot streams.
He pumped a few times more, his hand slicked with semen, and supersensitive flesh twitched and pleasure flared again briefly. He was panting, hot and sticky. He lay still for a few moments and although he could have fallen asleep straight away, the cold air soon began to chill him. He rose regretfully and cleaned the worst of the mess from his clothing and skin.
Obi-Wan lay down again, this time in a state of relaxation, no longer despising the fibrous mat or the lack of crisp cotton sheets, drifting towards sleep. He thought again of Qui-Gon. No doubt the man would be sound asleep. Obi-Wan smiled to himself at his ridiculous fantasy. In cool reality, the idea of Qui-Gon engaging in such acts indeed, in any sexual act was absurd. Qui-Gon was absolutely celibate. Obi-Wan had never seen the faintest indication of his master engaging in any sexual activities, and he had been watching, attentively, for a long time. It wasn't that Qui-Gon was discrete; he just never showed the slightest interest in sex. Nor was it that he was unemotional. Qui-Gon could become angry, exasperated, impatient, and he could be happy, even joyful. Obi-Wan had even seen him sobbing with grief. But turned on? No, it was like imagining one of the temple droids getting randy. It was such a shame; the man had the most desirable body. With that final pleasant thought, Obi-Wan slept.