Master Apprentice Archive Room Service: Kitchen Quick search:

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Obi-Wan is cooking. And jealous. Massively jealous.

Notes: Fourth in the Room Service series ...if you're wondering why I've turned to these PWP-ish little fics ...I'm still cutting my teeth on writing proper sex scenes! Meanwhile, here's a bit more narrative and a bit less panting while I let the boys recover :)

Thanks: to Layna for egging me on about Obi-Wan in raspberry sauce, to Master Linda for the delicious asparagus recipe (not featured in this story but I had the stuff this afternoon so it figures) and to Mrs Three-Kings for a decent gas hob.

Feedback: Feed me, oh feed me!

Crack.

The egg broke with a satisfyingly warlike sound and oozed yellow from the rapidly spreading wound, into the pit of terror where half a dozen of its mates had bled their last already. And then there were the chives. Obi-Wan had tried his best to be as rude to the chives as possible, but short of chopping them with a lightsabre, he'd tried, and failed, at just about every gory technique the Book of Katas allowed. Now's the time when being a Sith would come in really handy, he thought grimly and murdered a cluster of little red edxa pods for the sheer bloodshed of it. He would only need one unless he wanted to make the actual meal hell too, but that was utterly secondary now.

The bastard.

Obi-Wan rinsed the sticky brownish-red edxa pod juice off the long blade of his cooking knife and indulged himself watching it drip off the shiny metal. Revenge. Hah. He knew full well he wouldn't even dare think these thoughts in his Master's presence for fear of being detected and subjected once more to the lecture about how there was no passion, only serenity, for the fiftieth time in only nine years. And for the fifty thousandth time in only nine years, he cursed himself and all available sentient beings (and that included Qui-Gon's potted plants, Sith damn them!) for not being as good at shielding as his Master.

He was impeccably shielded, and all that came along their bond was a faint trickle of restrained, intellectual-like pleasure.

The bastard.

Obi-Wan knew perfectly well what had happened. Even if it hadn't been for the Temple gossip he would have found out soon enough as the old Jedi saying of how a sexually satisfied female could shine a light to scare the Sith was acutely true. Especially true of Knight Pehe Vaurt. And Obi-Wan had a very clear idea of who was responsible for the Sith-scaring glow that radiated off Pehe's round brown features. Putting two and two together didn't require Jedi skills here, really not. Pehe was the Knight in charge of the tailoring workshops. Obi-Wan had strayed in there only last week, in search of some Corellian silk, and found ...no the mere thought made him want to just cancel the past week and go back to that minute of amazed discovery. Besides, it dulled his justified rage considerably, and sharpened certain body parts ...

Point was, Qui-Gon (Qui-Gon ...under a filmy clinging sheet of silk. Naked. He tore himself away from the thought, the better to fume) had set up that lovely little scene for him, and teased him beyond belief, and fucked him half unconscious with rapture, and now his ever so righteous Master felt he owed Pehe a favour, and Obi-Wan would not be a Jedi if he could not sense that favour being done behind Qui-Gon's tight shielding. He'd been away far too long already.

With a vengeance, and a clean dripping blade, Obi-Wan sliced clean through a Frew aubergine, its triangular deep brown shape and soft flesh an all too clear echo of another shape he preferred not to think about. Vaurt. A female. He couldn't even bring himself to articulate the word 'woman', not even mentally, and besides, he wasn't sure if Pehe qualified as one, seeing as she was merely humanoid, not human. The mere thought of her tiny furred hands roaming all over Qui-Gon's tall frame made the hairs at his nape stand on end with disgust and a jealousy that was perfectly un-Jedi-like. Well,so was neglecting your Padawan and screwing around with sewing-duty Knights! He thrust the knife deep into the Frew fruit's vulnerable flesh in animitation of the act of betrayal Qui-Gon was doubtless engaged in, and curled his lip in disgust at the pale yellow juice dripping from it.

Chopping quickly, he reduced the offender to small irregular non-threatening shapes and threw them in the bowl that was already the graveyard of half a dozen eggs and the chives and edxa. Yellow. He snorted. How appropriate.

He poured the mess into a Porate dish as rudely as he could manage without spilling any of it and then shoved it into the heat of the oven, taking a quick glance at the chrono. Three bloody hours!

He had half a mind not to make a dessert at all, but his own sweet tooth would complain, and besides Qui-Gon's own attempts at dessertry were best avoided. Jinn could be trusted to burn ice-cream. Well, he was hot ... but not now. Not. Now.

Possibly semolina pudding. Hard semolina pudding, none of the smooth creamy softness of that Sithdamned Vaurt. No, it would take effort to scoop up, and would stand up and quiver questioningly on the spoon, an accusation congealed into food. Obi-Wan smiled. If he were to ever become a Master he'd make sure his Padawan would learn the merits of theatrical cooking. His mind craved blood, and his hand reached for the frozen raspberries. May they rasp against his tongue, he thought, rougher than I could ever manage ...that tongue ...no, it was no good, Qui-Gon deserved this.

The pudding threw up thick angry bubbles like a volcano about to explode. Obi-Wan laced it with rather too much of his Master's favourite spices, stirred it once more (Yellow. Again.) and was just about to pour it into little bowls when Qui-Gon's robed figure appeared in the doorway, as usual without making a sound.

"Sithspit!"

A big drop of the hot pudding had landed on Obi-Wan's naked foot, but he'd be damned if he let on how painful it was. Into the Force, release into the Force ...

"Well, I hope that's not among the ingredients for this ... " A chuckle. "Smells delicious, Padawan. Can I be of any assistance or are you nearly done ... ?"

"Get out." Obi-Wan didn't even bother to turn around and look at him. "I've told you before that you could burn cha water, and I mean it. This is none of your business!"

Qui-Gon felt the cold radiating off his student, and dimly wondered what was going on but preferred to retreat, as the kitchen was indeed Obi-Wan's empire, and Qui-Gon had been the cause for similar sulks over the past nine years for his clumsiness with anything food-related. Burning cha water might be a bit beyond his chemical capabilities, but he cringed at the memory of the day he'd burned the cha leaves because nobody had told him the orderyou did these things in. After all it wasn't like there was a ceremony for such things, was there?

With a deep sigh, he settled down on the floor of the common room to meditate.

Still hard. The raspberries, that is. Still frozen. He toyed with the idea of putting them in the blender anyway but balked at the mental image of half-solid berries flying all over the place, spattering him with their blood. Damn it, it was not him who deserved to be bloodied ...

Still hard. Obi-Wan sighed as he realised that this was true of him as well. Being angry with Qui-Gon would be a lot easier if he didn't desire this man more than water and fire and air. That soft chuckle in his low voice just then had been enough to reawaken memories of last week's incredible hour in the storeroom, of powerful arms and teasing fingertips and that unspeakable mouth and being bound at the mercy of all of these and aroused to the point of bursting, and loved. Loved. He snorted. Ironic that this perfect night should have been the reason for this betrayal. It hurt, Qui-Gon, it hurt. And it should hurt you.

"He. Retreats. Persistently."

What? Obi-Wan stopped hacking away at the frozen berries. Who was Qui-Gon talking to?

"Apparently. Hmmmm ... practises. Porate!"

Obi-Wan set out a tendril of Force sense. There was nobody else in the room, only a faint wave of triumph leaking through Qui-Gon's weakening shields. What was he talking about? Practising Porate? He didn't need to practise making a bloody Porate, there was one in the oven right now, and he'd be damned if it wasn't up to his usual high standards, and as for retreating persistently, who had started this game of slipping away under shields for some quiet nookie in the storeroom?

"Preparation!" A satisfied little hum from his Master, then the rustle of cards being swept aside with one large hand. Obi-Wan sneaked closer to look over Qui-Gon's shoulder, apparently unnoticed.

Qui-Gon held a pack of cards in one hand, thoughtfully drew the top one and placed it on the floor in front of him. The card was a plain light blue, and marked only with the letter W, picked out in red. A second card came out, next to the first. An A, navy on yellow. Qui-Gon paused for a moment, then said "Want." as he drew the third card. A P, white on green. A longer pause. Qui-Gon appeared to concentrate. Finally his voice rumbled: "Padawan. Want Padawan ... "

Obi-Wan snapped. "Want Padawan to do what? I don't think you stand a chance after what you've done to me, Master!" That last word spoken with as much vitriol as Obi-Wan could manage without burning his own teeth. "Sneaking out like that and letting me simmer while you dutifully enjoy the favours of certain lonely Knights. And then you want things off your Padawan. I think not!"

"Padawan." Obi-Wan felt a slight touch of Force nudging his lips and fought back as best he could but ultimately had to surrender to Qui-Gon's calming touch. "Look." He pointed at the cards.

"When I had the W and the A, I could have said 'beware'. I could have said 'wrath'. I could, judging from the state you're in, even have said 'war'." Well so what, Obi-Wan thought. That's just the point. And you're the reason for this state I'm in!

"Then I drew a P. P-W-A. I could have said 'warp' ... "

Oh right, Obi-Wan thought, you'll be warped by the time I've figured out how to get this Force-touch off my voice. Bastard!

"I could have said 'paws' ... "

Obi-Wan spat. Paws! Pehe's little furry hands sprang to mind again and he cringed at the thought, and at his Master's open allusion. Had he no shame at all?

" ... but I have no truck with warping, and certainly none with paws", a marked look over his shoulder at Obi-Wan left the younger man doubting his own resolve. Such sincerity in those indigo eyes. It couldn't be real, could it?

" ... so I chose that which is closest to 'want' in my mind. Padawan." He turned round and smiled and Obi-Wan's innards clenched at the rage suddenly dissipating into so much hot smoke. No no no, it wasn't right! He forced himself to turn away from that bright gaze and concentrate on his righteous anger. Force knew he loved Qui-Gon more than his own life, but this was just not fair! He had betrayed him, and he would pay for this ... after a hot bout of lovemaking if necessary. Yes, he felt he would be able to think more clearly after that, certainly.

"Want Padawan to do what, though?" he essayed, focusing hard on the edge of anger to his voice lest it disappear.

Qui-Gon gave a surprised little grunt, then turned round to smile at his Padawan. "Come on, Obi-Wan, my bright one, you're not usually this slow. Let your anger disperse and you'll understand the principle." Sensing that that was not what Obi-Wan wanted right now, he proceeded to explain anyway. "'To' is not a word once can form with the letters P, W, and A, is it? In fact, the next challenge is to form a word with a P, W, A, and ... " he flourished the next card, tan on brown, and went mortified for a moment, "Q."

Qui-Gon shrugged and gave an apologetic little smile. "That's usually the bit where there's no more words, once the one with the Q comes into it."

How prophetic, Obi-Wan thought, his resolve melting under the open warm gaze from those blue eyes. No more words, once the one with the Q comes into it. He couldn't help giving a little laugh at his Master's sense of humour, and found it eased the Force hold on his vocal cords greatly. Or maybe he'd imagined it?

The One With The Q brushed the cards away with one hand, then put the packdown and pointed at Obi-Wan's bare foot. "You've made a little mess on yourfoot there, Padawan. May I?"

And without further ado, Qui-Gon bowed his head to the task of licking thehardened semolina pudding off his apprentice's foot. Obi-Wan gasped,surprised at the sudden and un-Masterly gesture, and admittedly intoxicated at the sight of Qui-Gon's powerful body crouched at his foot, long silvered hair streaming over the pale tunics, his own feet bare as well, and the feeling of Qui-Gon's warm wet tongue stroking the tender skin of Obi-Wan's foot, dipping in between the toes to retrieve the last traces of the dessert and replace it with urgent fluid lust. Heady.

But Sith damn it, he was not going to get him into bed this easily, the scheming bastard, mind tricks or not! (And body tricks, his own rising erection added.) With a jerk and a determined "The Porate's done, I believe," Obi-Wan tried to extricate himself from his Master's caress, only to find that he couldn't.

He couldn't. It was infuriating, and slightly ridiculous. His Master held onto him, to the point that Obi-Wan found himself dragging Qui-Gon all the way to the kitchen on his back, holding on to the younger man's foot and licking it with abandon. "Do you really think this is a way for a Jedi Master to behave, Qui-Gon?" He tried to keep his voice scornful and steady, both of which were getting increasingly difficult under Qui-Gon's localised but oh-so sensual onslaught. Damn it, he was just too good with his tongue ...

Obi-Wan summoned the rags of his shields to be able to check on the state of the Porate (nearly done) and the raspberries. Concentrating, he deemed them ready for blending, reached for the sugar and the deep mixing cylinder and the blender and ... froze. His Master had loosened his grip on his foot and was now licking a steady trail up the back of his leg, pushing the leggings up as he went. The hot tenderness of the caress brought up memories of the storeroom, and Obi-Wan flushed with heat and desire. Oh if only he wasn't such a bastard for lying with Pehe and lying about it or at least behaving as if nothing had ever happened ...

Blood. Obi-Wan concentrated on the spattering of the berries as they were coaxed into a thick red sauce. Oh Sith, he was at his knees now, the soft skin at the back and it felt so good that he knew he wouldn't be able to stay upright for very much longer. Focus, you're a bloody Jedi, for Force's sake! But there was no escape ... once Obi-Wan had managed to somewhat tolerate the sucking and nibbling at the back of his knee, his reserve was utterly shattered as a determined hand cupped his hard cock through his pants and squeezed, an agony of sweet fire pulsing through his body as his knees gave way and he collapsed in a graceless heap on top of Qui-Gon, taking the fresh raspberry sauce with him.

"Ugh!" He couldn't help laughing as he wiped the sticky red stuff out of his eyes. The sight was too damn funny. Here lay Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, barefoot and in nothing but tunic and leggings, and spattered all over with bright red glistening sauce ... food for the Ghods, definitely. Okay I'm not giving in to desire ...  am I?, Obi-Wan thought, but I've got to find out now.

Lunging at his Master, he tore the tunic off him and slithered down on the sticky stuff that covered a substantial amount of Qui-Gon's tanned skin still. The leggings. Off! Qui-Gon's pleased moan did nothing to keep his rapidly slipping composure going, but he just had to find out!

It was hard, and deep red, and weeping for him, and he couldn't help admiring the strength and beauty and sheer readiness of his Master's cock, but he just had to find out. Without further ado, he swallowed the throbbing smooth head and sucked hard, running his tongue around the crease just under the head. There would have to be traces ... and he froze at the taste, utterly unable to move, torn apart between shame and lust, guilt and relieved joy.

He had expected to taste a stranger there, a woman, an alien presence. He tasted ...   himself. The thick musky flavour of Qui-Gon mostly, but an unmistakable tang of his own flesh hidden under it, and nothing more. Shattered, he let the hot slick cock slip from his lips and pressed his sticky red face to Qui-Gon's tender groin. He had not ...   but what ... ?

"Never assume, Padawan." The voice was soft and warm, the best of reassuring Jedi Master tones, but undeniably husky with need, and laced with a soft smile. "Hard though you may find it to believe," and he playfully stroked Obi-Wan's aching hardness, eliciting a soft moan, "Pehe doesn't fancy me at all, and much though I like her, I found it very easy to limit my pleasantries to conversation, laughter, and organising her a bed-mate more to her liking ... ". He placed a tender kiss on Obi-Wan's cock, then rubbed his cheek against the silken flesh. Sticky smooth sweet sauce, and the prickly beard ... an overload of sensation altogether, and Obi-Wan fought hard to keep control of his speech facilities as a red mist of lust descended over him.

He stared at his Master's cock, massive and slick with the sweet red goo and jutting up at him invitingly ... he tried to imagine an alien presence there, a version of this that might appeal to Knight Pehe Vaurt's apparently specialised tastes, and could not. Well, who could imagine some other supposedly arousing thing when your vision is filled with the most beautiful piece of flesh in the universe, he thought hazily, and managed one last word before giving in and swallowing Qui-Gon's length: "Who?"

The answer was a deep moan, then a deeper breath as Qui-Gon fought for control. Then, a sound close to a giggle, something Obi-Wan had never heard from his Master's throat, but which was irresistible somehow. "She's on the comm to him right now, arranging flight details ... ah!" He caught his breath. "Steady, Padawan, you're driving me insane ... remember the nice odd-shaped host from our last mission? 51? Well, he's apparently the kind to get her juices flowing ... " and deciding that that was well enough conversation for now, Qui-Gon dove in for a taste of his Padawan's juices, as well as the result of his fabled cooking skills. Obi-Wan in raspberry sauce ... there was hardly a more alluring concept in all of the universe, of that he was certain.

When the little blue stars had dispersed and his breathing had heartbeat had returned to some semblance of normality, Qui-Gon looked up at his Padawan, kneeling astride him, his lush mouth ringed with glistening red, and with a mischievous glint in his eyes that was just too damn sexy for words. Overwhelmed by a new wave of rising lust, Qui-Gon let out a groan.

Obi-Wan grinned. "There are no more words once the one with the Q comes into it, eh?" he teased. "Or are there?"

He was entirely unprepared but not at all terrified when Qui-Gon leapt up at him, throwing him over and pinning him to the floor, sucking the remaining breath out of him with a fierce kiss before pulling away and grinning at him with his sexy red-stained mouth.

"Two words, Obi-Wan. Want. Padawan."

---The End---