The Very Abbreviated Adventures of Ilconte and His Sidekick Pagimo (or Squeak, Curse)

by Raina

Title: The Very Abbreviated Adventures of Ilconte and His Sidekick Pagimo (or Squeak, Curse)
Author: Raina
Archive: yes please, M_A; www.nuttersinc.de.vu (elsewhere please ask for distribution)
Paring: Q/O
Category: Humor, PWP
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Fiend in Flannel owns. I just have fun.
Feedback: always appreciated at raina_at@yahoo.de
Summary: The annual Temple Masquerade approaches and Qui-Gon is unhappy with his costume. Obi-Wan disagrees.
Notes: Yes, this is indeed all Tem-ve's fault. This bunny was conceived and hammered out over one breakfast and one sunny ice-cream/fruit juice mixed drink in the course of Tem-ve's last visit.
Thank you's: Tem-ve for the inspiration, the beta, the names of the superheroes and the title. The fruit juice company Pago for the name of the sidekick. Lea for reading it first and convincing me that it's actually readable.

"Padawan?"

Obi-Wan winced. He'd learned to read this tone. It was too sweet to be anything but badly hidden Masterly irritation. "Yes?" he asked, adjusting his tone to match irritated sweetness with complete Padawanly innocence, looking up questioningly from his position on the couch.

Qui-Gon held up a see-through clothes bag that contained something vaguely recognisable as a black overall of questionable material and a cap, attached to which was a mask and a pair of ears that reminded Obi-Wan distantly of a mynock. "Care to explain this?"

Obi-Wan shrugged. "If I had to guess I'd say it's the costume Bant picked out for you for the Masquerade tonight?"

Qui-Gon's expression darkened. "Your assumption is correct. And would you care to explain what exactly this IS?"

Biting back a grin that would at this point only get him into trouble, Obi-Wan got up to examine the costume from a closer vantage point. "Well, I guess Bant went a bit creative on this year's theme of heroes, Master. If I'm not entirely mistaken, this is supposed to be the uniform of Ilconte, a popular holovid cartoon superhero."

"Isn't he the one dressed up as a Telovian bat?"

Obi-Wan nodded, using every ounce of control he had in order not to laugh at his Master's outraged expression.

To his surprise, Qui-Gon only smiled mildly. "Laugh all you want. Just wait until you see what she got for you."

"I'll kill her," Obi-Wan murmured. "I'll kill her with my bare hands. Strangle her, or maybe I'll beat her to death with this ridiculous outfit. Or maybe..."

A strange sound from the other room interrupted Obi-Wan's conversation with his mirror image. It sounded like rubber squeaking over something solid. The squeak was quickly followed by a bump. And a muffled curse.

Obi-Wan frowned in the direction of his Master's room, but given Qui-Gon's earlier mood, he decided to keep his distance. For now. He held on to the right to laugh hysterically later, though given his own costume... he shuddered.

"I'll kill her. I'll throttle her until her eyes pop out... even further," he amended, belatedly thinking of his friend's already bulging eyes. "Murder's wrong and all that, but I look like a bloody parrot," he told his reflection, which looked just as dismal as he felt.

Bant, of course, with her freakish sense of humour, had decided to match him up with his Master and give him the costume of Ilconte's plucky – and quite homoerotically devoted – sidekick Pagimo, whose good looks and nubile body were outshone by the most hideously colourful outfit imaginable. A glaring red vest over a yellow shirt and green pants, added to that shoes that no self-respecting straight man would ever wear in his life. Not that Obi-Wan was necessarily a straight man. And admittedly, playing the homoerotically devoted sidekick to Qui-Gon's virile superhero wasn't too far from the truth either, but still... "I'm going to kill her," he growled.

Squeak. Bump. Muffled cursing.

Obi-Wan stuck his head out of his room. "Qui-Gon? Everything all right?"

Another barely muffled curse. "Yes, perfectly fine, thank you, Padawan."

The tone of Qui-Gon's voice, that too-casual `nothing-to-see-here' and the deliberate yet subtle emphasis on his title told Obi-Wan that in fact, Qui-Gon was all but `perfectly fine'. It was the same tone he'd used when he'd fallen into Vidian poison ivy a few years ago after getting drunk with the King of Vida.

Squeak. Curse.

"Master?" Obi-Wan asked again.

"I'm fine, Padawan," came the answer again, in a tone that said clearly, `No, I'm not fine, but I'd rather let the earth swallow me whole than have you see me like this, I'm the Master, and I need to keep your respect for a few years longer, and no, the fact that we sleep together doesn't make it all right for you to see me in embarrassing situations, so stop grinning, you irreverent creature'

Obi-Wan hesitated. He was sure that whatever he'd see in Qui-Gon's room would be funny enough to make up for incurring Qui-Gon's wrath. On the other hand, he rather wanted to get sex sometime tonight, so he'd better keep any outbreaks of hilarity to himself.

There it was again, the squeak followed by a particularly colourful curse.

That did it. Anything that made Qui-Gon Jinn curse in Huttese was worth seeing at any cost. He crossed the small anteroom, knocked on Qui-Gon's door and opened it without waiting for an answer.

"Wha..."

Force. Obi-Wan's jaw dropped and he froze, only his eyes were moving. He'd expected to find Qui-Gon in a ridiculously embarrassing situation. He'd expected being speechless with laughter. He hadn't expected this.

Black latex covered Qui-Gon from his toes to about mid-torso, his arms were covered up to his elbows. His shoulders were bare, and the black material just barely left one nipple uncovered and was stretched over the other one so tightly that it could be seen through the material. His long hair was in disarray. Strong muscles of straining shoulders made it obvious that he was stuck.

It should have been funny. Obi-Wan didn't feel the slightest urge to laugh. On the contrary, he felt the urge to drop to his knees and worship every inch of latex-covered skin. He swallowed heavily, meeting Qui-Gon's eyes, who looked flushed and not a little embarrassed.

"I'm stuck," he said with a half-smile, apparently thinking that if Obi-Wan was here already, he might as well help.

Strong thigh muscles flexing under skin-tight material accentuating every movement, shiny material clinging so closely to Qui-Gon's buttocks Obi-Wan could see the dimples as Qui-Gon squirmed... oh Force, squirmed... in the tight cocoon keeping him prisoner.

"Obi-Wan?"

Oh, to make Qui-Gon squirm, to back him up against the bed, trap him under Obi-Wan's arousal-heavy body, to make him flush even more, to bury his hands in the tousled hair and kiss, lick, taste.

"Obi-Wan!"

Obi-Wan looked up and Qui-Gon was visibly taken aback by the predatory glint in the Padawan's eyes. "Help me out of this or into this, will you? We need to be at the reception in half an hour."

The glint in Obi-Wan's eyes said more than words what he thought of the reception, the Masquerade, and the rest of the galaxy right now. He advanced on Qui-Gon, all wicked grin and unconscious prowl. "You do realise that I can't let you go out looking like this?"

He didn't wait for an answer before sinking to his knees, mouthing the bulge of Qui-Gon's groin under the black latex without even a nod to subtlety. Coiled strength under a sheen of barely there material, enhancing feeling as it withheld contact. Obi-Wan could feel the warm flesh twitch under the thin rubber, could feel it hardening under his tongue. He reached around and grabbed Qui-Gon's arse, two smooth globes fitting perfectly into his hand. Qui-Gon moaned as he squeezed.

Smoothly, fluidly, Obi-Wan rose to his feet. "I'd say the Jedi Order will survive if we don't grace this year's Masquerade with our presence."

Qui-Gon smiled, eyes darkened with desire. "Does that mean you'll help me out of this?"

Obi-Wan's grin turned even more wicked. "No," he almost purred, backing Qui-Gon to the bed. Unable to use his arms which were stuck halfway in the latex and thereby effectively bound to his torso, Qui-Gon couldn't prevent falling onto the bed when Obi-Wan pushed him. As soon as he landed, Obi-Wan was upon him. Shedding his own clothes quickly, he straddled Qui-Gon, leaned down and kissed him, their bodies separated only by the thin sheen of blackness enhancing and concealing Qui-Gon's body. Greedily, Obi-Wan followed the line of latex down Qui-Gon's torso, licking over the exposed nipple, feeling Qui-Gon squirm under him, arching into the touch. Latex warmed by Qui-Gon's body rubbing against his naked skin, his cock, his nipples, his arse, and Qui-Gon trapped underneath him, practically wrapped up and ready to serve, and Obi-Wan intended to have his fill.

Licking along the line of latex cutting a v-neck into Qui-Gon's torso, Obi-Wan ran his hands up and down Qui-Gon's legs, mouthed the nipple trapped under the tightly stretched sheen of black. Qui-Gon moaned, deeply, desperately trying to get his arms free so he could touch Obi-Wan. The sensation must be maddening, Obi-Wan mused, running his tongue around the nipple before giving it a flick. Sensation and yet not, stimulus through a veil, feeling but no heat, numbed. Obi-Wan bit. Qui-Gon arched off the bed, rubbing himself against Obi-Wan, body begging for more stimulus.

Mouthing his way down the latex, Obi-Wan ran his tongue over defined stomach muscles under a thin sheen of rubber, trailed bites and kisses over them, felt them under his mouth, familiar yet strange, form without structure, smell and taste, cool, teasing, maddening. Hunger for Qui-Gon's skin fought the pleasure of having his lover like this, one slick, writhing work of art of pure male beauty, strong flexing muscles, erection clearly visible under the latex, eyes wild, arms deliciously immobilised. Squirming. Waiting.

Obi-Wan caught his eyes, silently, and Qui-Gon stopped squirming, went completely still. Every feature of his body enhanced by the liquid grace the latex gave every twitch of muscle, his stillness was even more alluring than the squirming had been. Barely visible tease of a nipple, flat stomach, hard cock that made Obi-Wan's mouth water. He leaned down and licked over the latex-covered length, feeling warmth and steel through the material. Warmth teasing him with denial of taste and smell.

Breathing heavily, he used the Force to summon the scissors Qui-Gon kept on his dresser to trim his beard. "Hold still," he whispered, and Qui-Gon did, froze to a latex statue under Obi-Wan's caresses, as the sharp metal blade of the scissors cut through the rubber, whispering along skin, freeing Qui-Gon's erection to the air and Obi-Wan's greedy eyes. Qui-Gon groaned in frustration as it became clear that Obi-Wan would not cut further, that the rest of Qui-Gon's body would remain trapped for now, subject to Obi-Wan's mercy, but his groan turned into a moan when Obi-Wan repeated the lick over his cock, this time with no teasing material in between, nothing to dampen the sensation. Taste and smell exploded over Obi-Wan's senses, stoking his own arousal.

His mouth closed over Qui-Gon's erection, wanting to consume, to take into himself all he could of this gorgeous man he loved so much. Nails dug into Qui-Gon's hips, scratched down latex-covered sides and thighs, squeaking ever so lightly. Holding Qui-Gon's hips still as the older man writhed and squirmed, trying to get more contact now, Obi-Wan licked and sucked, absorbing taste and smell and texture, gorging his tongue on Qui-Gon's salty skin, unable to sate himself on sensation. A latex-covered calf rubbed against his own erection, and Obi-Wan gasped.

He released Qui-Gon's cock and picked up the scissors again, wanting to taste more of his lover's skin, wanting contact, warmth. Starting at the toes, the blades whispered through the material, and Obi-Wan's greedy fingers and tongue followed, peeling the black latex from Qui-Gon, tasting skin below, biting at an exposed hipbone, rubbing against the freed chest, surrounded by the freed arms, skin on sweaty skin slick-sliding together as Obi-Wan steadied Qui-Gon's erection and sank down on it, Qui-Gon's strong, powerful hands holding him in place.

Slow, languid thrusts as they indulged in long, sweeping touches, Obi-Wan's fingers enjoying the well-known texture of skin, scars, roughness of hair and life, not cold, smooth perfection, but all the more dear to him. Speeding up when the pressure became too much, the tension rippling through them building up. Sweat mingled between their bodies, the smell of sex heavy around them, Qui-Gon's rough and yet so gentle hand on his cock, Qui-Gon inside him, under him, around him. Obi-Wan came with a long-drawn moan, and Qui-Gon followed shortly after, panting and gripping Obi-Wan's hips firmly.

Obi-Wan collapsed on top of Qui-Gon, the latex in shreds, clinging to both their skins where their skins clung together, breathing heavily. Head pillowed on Qui-Gon's chest, Obi-Wan felt and heard him chuckle. "What's so funny?" he asked.

Qui-Gon grinned. "Nothing. I was just wondering what you did to Bant that she put you in that awful costume."

Obi-Wan smirked. "I rather think she was trying to do me a favour by making your outfit a bit more clingy than it absolutely had to be."

He lifted his head and looked at his Master, who was smiling at him contentedly. "Anyway, even if you hadn't got stuck, there's no way I would have let you go to the Masquerade like this. I would've spent the entire night keeping people's hands off you, including my own."

"No way you would have let me, Padawan? And how would you have stopped me?" Qui-Gon asked, tone deceptively mild, mischief and mock-outrage at Obi-Wan's cheekiness hidden by soft-spoken innocence.

Obi-Wan grinned. "Shall I demonstrate?" he asked and slowly moved down Qui-Gon's body, deciding to make a thank-you note to Bant his first order of business. Well, maybe the second, he amended, licking his lips. After all a sidekick's first duty was always to see to the comfort of his superhero. With a chuckle, he set about doing just that.