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Rating: NC-17

Archive: MA, and anyone else who wants it!

Summary: An elec-tricky problem forces two soaked Jedi to stay in Otoh Gunga for a while...

Warnings: None. Honestly, no Gungan gets to have sex with anyone here :)

Notes: This is my response to JD Greybraid's challenge of setting a PWP in Otoh Gunga. Quite a nice place actually... oh, and Isos Arei asked for Qui-Gon in leather. I am not quite sure if this is what you expected, Rei, but here you go - Qui-Gon in leather :)

They really aren't what I would call a pleasant sight. Not from an aesthetic point of view anyway. Especially not the little one with his stubby eyestalks and chubby face and a skin that is altogether too big for him and flaps about him in dull orange-brown wrinkles as he tries for the tenth time in as many minutes to slap his ears together to get that funny noise that Dad is so good at. His mother grins at him indulgently, showing off a row of altogether too large white teeth and coos at him in her silly voice, managing to coax her rubbery face into something almost sweet as her emotion outshines her innate ugliness. The baby in her arms squeals with joy as she surprise-attacks him and wraps one of her huge leathery ears around the back of his little head. Gungans are easy to please, and stay that way until they breathe their last and are escorted to an underwater cave where they are left reverently to dissolve into the salty sea.

Or just dumped to rot. Judging from the look on my Padawan's face, that's closer to his interpretation of Gungan custom. He paces the softly rippling floor, tension radiating off him like the water that drips off his soaked robes. I find I rather appreciate how the heavy clinging fabric accentuates his slender angular body, but he's clearly not in the mood. To be perfectly frank, waiting has been one of the main features of this mission so far, and it hasn't been in short supply. Along with malfunctioning technology, and alien races that even a schooled Jedi mind would only describe as ugly. Quietly, and to himself, of course, but ugly nevertheless.

Fortunately, they are oblivious to my aesthetic judgement and my Padawan's pacing, and the baby Gungan has just started suckling on his mother's greyish ear (which seems to cause her great pleasure) when a clearing of throat and a tap on my shoulder alert me to another presence in the room.

"Meesa sorry but bongo notyet ready to go... weesa trickety problem with dee eleck-tricks..." Jar Jar's ears droop visibly at my disappointed look.

The silly bugger still thinks he owes me his life. (And what would I be doing with a life like that?).

"Well... until you have the means to get the transport into a reliably mobile state there's nothing to it but to wait and be patient I suppose. Thank you Jar Jar." I sigh inwardly at the further delay and try to gain some serenity from the visible relaxation of the Gungan's features.

This is the moment my Padawan explodes. "You mean none of your silly little submarines is actually ready to go? And you're having to track down someone with enough brain cells to grasp the concepts of little electrons pushing each other through colour-coded wires? Force, we're soaked, and if your memory stretches far enough, we weren't actually meaning to be here in the first place. You brought us here! What's your excuse now, Jar Jar Dinks?"

Visibly deflated at Obi-Wan's rant and the deliberate mispronunciation of his name, Jar Jar turns up his eyestalks, attempting to look cute, and sheepishly offers, "Maybe weesa getya into some clean clothes, Nobi?"

I grin at the foreshortened version of Obi-Wan's name (in truth, 'Obi-Wan Kenobi' is probably too long to be remembered by a Gungan in one go. Especially as he only met Obi-Wan some fifteen minutes ago), and feel my Padawan's rage dissipating at the sight of my smile.

I set off after Binks as he weaves his way through a maze of cylindrical corridors connecting the bubble-shaped rooms that make up the underwater city of Otoh Gunga. With their flowing trellis-work and the cool yellow lighting that seems to come from nowhere and everywhere at once, they are really quite beautiful, and I notice with no small wonder how the water dripping off our soaked robes melds into the floors, creating a softly undulating solid crystal surface. Obi-Wan notices no such thing as he stalks along behind me and grumbles, "I'm not wearing any of that creature's cast-offs, Master!" It takes a little reminding of how Obi-Wan manages to look good even in a tea-towel to raise his spirits again. And mine. Oh, yes, mine as well.

A large cluttered room-bubble seems to be the temporary end point of our journey, and while I cannot help but admire the sheer messiness this particular Gungan (or horde of Gungans -- this looks much more like the common room of a shared family quarters. I chuckle imagining Jar Jar as the younger brother of a horde of bullying Gungan boys) has managed to inflict upon the elegant organic architecture. Clothes, tools, and assorted half-eaten meals are everywhere, littering the floor and the raised sitting areas as well as hanging from the trellis-work that looks like it holds the bubble walls in place. Yes, food dangling from the slender columns. Some type of fish, half-skeletal and effortlessly failing to match the dull greyish gold arches, even though dead fish tend to be a dull greyish gold normally. Well, this one is making a creditable effort at blending into the colourfulness of Gungan lifestyle.

Meanwhile Jar Jar is busy rummaging through a large crescent-shaped crate that leans against the outside wall of the large bubble, scattering more unidentified objects as he digs deeper into the contents. A battle-cry of "Aaaah! Bombad raggas!" announces an apparently impressive find, and I catch Obi-Wan's rolling eyes for a moment as we both politely turn around to divine the meaning of what he has just said.

With a triumphant grin, he hands Obi-Wan a wad of what I assume must be clothing. Obi-Wan sniffs it suspiciously, then relaxes slightly and lifts the top layer. A pair of dull green leather pants unfolds, scarred and worn but comfortable-looking, and Obi-Wan acknowledges my predatory wink as he holds them against his soaked frame to check for size.

A cold rubbery hand on my thigh jerks me away from a pleasant reverie. "Yousa beein problem, mastah. Yousa fillun biggun for Gungan raggas. Yousa legs mucho bigguns for dis." He points accusingly at another spare pair of trousers, and I must admit he is right -- they would be far too small for me, especially with the Gungans' tendency to have weedy thighs and rather massive calves. He turns around again, and I have almost resigned myself to being stuck in my soaked Jedi robes for the rest of the day when another unintelligible shout from the depths of the trunk announces that Binks has had an idea. Probably the first one in months.

He spins around with what he must assume to be warrior grace, almost tripping himself up in the process, and flourishes another bundle of age-softened leather. "Biggun sistah Usla's raggas fitten yousa biggun legs!" I sigh, trying my best to keep my composure while Obi-Wan is the picture of Jedi serenity, trying hard not to crack up laughing while holding his own change of clothes as far away from himself as possible to avoid them getting soaked against his still-dripping robes.

Well, I suppose my hips are about the size of a female Gungan's, but... a skirt? A dark orange leather skirt? I have half a mind to reject the offer and be stuck with damp tunics and leggings for the rest of today when I catch the twinkle in Obi-Wan's eyes. He clearly likes the idea and I clearly like the idea of him liking the idea.

Jar Jar awkwardly fingers open a small round door which leads to an adjoining bubble-room, much smaller than the previous one and consequently containing far less mess. Or no mess at all actually. On the outside of the family's quarters, this little balcony bubble allows a breathtaking view of the nether regions of the Gungan city, luminous berries of light yellow air in all sizes and decors stretching away into the deep blue distance and adorning our distorted reflections in the curved walls as if we were clad in pearls and gold wire and not our pitiful dripping Jedi robes.

"Thank you Jar-" He's nowhere to be seen. Fine. With a relieved sigh, I drop my robe on the floor, where it sends little ripples through the clear surface. Strange -- it looks and behaves like water, but actually supports my not inconsiderable weight without so much as caving in. An experimental push at the walls reveals them to be of the same consistency, only slightly more pliable, and responding with tangible vibrations to my curious prodding. The whole little room is held together and in place by a polished grey-golden railing running around its perimeter, slightly below its greatest expanse, about level with my lower back, and the only decor is a neglected-looking pet kelp which is unsuccessfully trying to grow into the floor.

I am out of my soaked linens and fully dressed in Jar Jar's sister's gear by the time Obi-Wan has managed to wiggle into his pants, and the sight makes me acutely aware that while the skirt my just about fit around my hips (and I guess it's meant to be a fashionable knee length on a Gungan girl - it goes down to about mid-thigh on me) it gets tighter by the minute as I watch Obi-Wan squeeze into the soft scarred leather that hugs his firm thighs and luscious buttocks to an unsettling degree. He's got his back turned to me, and once he's done up the front, bends down deeply, ostensibly to pick up the top, or to test the stretching abilities of the dull green material... or to tease me with the appetising sight of his delicious little bum outlined so perfectly in these skin-tight pants. Of course they are flared and floppy from the knees down and drooping over his feet in a sad Gungan-skin way, but who am I to care about such details when there's a seductive leather-clad Padawan ass to be caressed? And Force knows he's begging for it, wiggling ever so slightly as he shoulders into the vest...

He does not turn around when he feels me squeezing against him from behind, and the heat of my hardness transmits clearly through the two layers of tight thin leather separating us. He lets my hands skim over his bare chest in search of the laces that will hold his vest together and gives a little moan as I pull them taut with a rough little caress.

His hands sneak behind him to cup my buttocks, and he relishes the smooth warm leather covering them, and covering them ever tighter as my arousal grows. He squeezes me against him, and I rub into him desperately and fasten my mouth on his neck to avoid screaming with the tight hot pleasure this sparks in me. His feathery hair tickles my neck as he arches his head back to capture my mouth, and misses narrowly, thirsty pink lips parting to kiss the air.

Without missing a beat, he catches himself, spins around, and pounces, skidding me all the way across the floor and slamming me into the railing. I grab his head in reflex, hold on to him, and while I'm here I might as well take him up on that promise and devour those delicious lips. He moans sweetly, wantonly and runs his hands all over my skin, sliding between the openings left by my own laced-up vest, pinching my nipples to a hardness that shows even through the leather and smiling mischievously into my hungry mouth.

Oh, his hands are everywhere, and his face is on mine nipping and biting at my lips, nose, and beard, and my eyes keep getting drawn to the solid bulge in the front of his pants as my nerve endings beg for contact with that smouldering rod of passion, anywhere, honestly, anywhere.

He must have read my mind -- his hands quit roaming my leather-clad skin and settle on my shoulders, firmly pushing me downwards, closer and closer to his throbbing hardness. I kneel on the rippling floor and wrap my arms around him, nuzzling my face into his hard hot groin, smooth and warm and smelling of leather and Obi-Wan. Before my mind even kicks in, I've worked the fastenings loose and freed his rampant cock from its delicious confines. It leaps up at me, almost choking me with its warm musky scent and the evidence of mad arousal glistening at the tip. Oh, I want that. I want to stuff myself full of this gorgeous piece of flesh, swallow it until I choke on it, never to let go again... it slides into my mouth all the way, as if that's what my mouth was meant for, and fills me with warm throbbing silkiness and the taste of my Obi-Wan.

He moans deep in his throat as I begin to suck, slowly building up the pressure and running my tongue along the sensitive underside until his hips start bucking of their own accord and I have to steady him to keep him from throwing me over against the wall. He shudders as I nip the tip of his shaft with my teeth, and reins in all his willpower to not thrust back into my eager heat. I admire his cock, deep pink, hard and glistening all over, and mine jumps at the sight, and the thought of how good this would feel inside me now, how full I would be of my delicious Padawan's flesh... he's squatting now, face to face with me, biting my lips in a greedy kiss, and I'm just ready to melt when his hands flit underneath my skirt, hoisting me up along with him (and a significant touch of Force, I imagine -- I weigh rather more than he can comfortably lift) and slamming me against the circular railing.

I am almost ready to whimper in pleasure at his hard hot grip when he lifts up my legs, pushes the skirt all the way up to my waist and slams into me without preamble. I have just enough presence of mind left to relax my abused muscles before the wave of pleasure rolls over me and I cling to his shoulders like a drowning man, seeking his mouth with mine, seeking the thrusts of his rough hot tongue, a weak echo of the firestorm he's setting off in my lower regions.

Full, hard, relentless, whipped along by passion and ramming into me with unearthly strength that has me keening in pleasure and the hem of the skirt is rubbing against the tip of my own cock, picking up darker stains from the moisture pooling there and stimulating me beyond belief -- I bite my own lips in an attempt to contain the roar of lust, and Obi-Wan catches sight of my face and opens his mouth in a silent scream of victory and joy and happiness and takes aim and destroys that tender spot inside me with sheer sensation and pumps hot liquid lust into me with each thrust, no, he's not weakening as he comes, he gathers more and more force until the last drop is shot into me and...

... I see no more. No pale yellow light, and not my beloved Obi-Wan's face screwed up in orgasm. A swirling mass of brown waves fills my vision, and it takes a few startled and orgasm-shaken seconds until I realise it's my own hair. I let out a surprised little yelp, and it come out as a crowd of little silvery bubbles, each of them mirroring the sober beauty of the larger one just a few steps away and blurred by a small cloud of what I realise must be my own seed.

Obi-Wan's fucked me clean through the wall.

I ache at the emptiness inside, and the slow and languid intrusion of the cool sea water into my heated flesh. I'm also running out of breath, and try desperately to convince my post-orgasmic body to jerk into action and gather enough speed to breach that wall in the opposite direction... fortunately, my impossible young Padawan has more luck with his body, and I stare in amazement as he dives through the rippling wall and straight to me, fastening his mouth on mine and giving me his breath. I suck greedily, his breath, his tongue, anything, into me, until I sense we're both running out of oxygen. He grabs me by one upper arm and drags me back to the bubble-wall, concentrates, and spears one arm through, persuading the opening to widen until we have both squeezed through and collapse panting on the crystalline floor, which I imagine is rippling at us in amusement.

We are far from having finished the kiss we'd begun under water when a triumphant and oil-stained Jar Jar barges in, waving a bent tool in our general direction and announcing, "Weesa repaired dee bongo!! Can go yaway now, boys...", he falls silent for a moment while his brain processes the sight his eyes are receiving...

"But -- yousen soaked again!!"