Disclaimer: The characters of Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi don't belong to me. The story itself, however, belongs to me, though I'm not making any money from it and I can't imagine that George would want it. Please e-mail me (
kenobigirl@marajade.net) before linking or posting elsewhere. Thank you in advance for not suing me, George. (God forbid your lawyers might get my action figures, which I bought from you in the first place.)This story takes place when Obi-Wan is about 19 years old. It is a vignette, contains no plot, and consists almost entirely of… well, smut. No slash. (I can't go there.) Take it for what it is: mind candy. Enjoy.
"Cultural Relations," by
kenobigirl@marajade.net"You," Qui-Gon commented, "are a mess."
"I couldn't agree with you more." Obi-Wan Kenobi glanced down at his mud-spattered self and sighed. "I'm afraid the city was wetter than I expected. But I did get the datapad." He pulled a sodden lump of fabric from the inside of his cloak, unwrapped it carefully, and presented the vacuum-sealed package to his Master. "Didn't want to risk short-circuiting it," he explained.
"Thank you." Qui-Gon smiled at his Padawan, who truly did look miserable, and rightly so. Water was pouring from the skies of Cthisha in torrents, and the streets of the rural town they were in were largely unpaved -- not surprising, considering the current condition of the government. Which was, after all, the reason they had been sent here in the first place. "Why don't you go clean up, Obi-Wan? Our hosts tell me the bathhouse is at the end of the block."
"Bathhouse?" The younger man frowned. "They don't have refreshers?"
"You've seen the rest of this place -- it shouldn't surprise you," Qui-Gon sighed. "I only hope the Republic can do something to change the situation here. In the meantime -- " the Jedi Master nodded at Obi-Wan's mud-covered form " -- the bathhouse will do."
The bathhouse, as it turned out, was more than adequate. Its presence here, Obi-Wan soon realized, was not due to any technological deficiency on the part of its customers. Rather, it represented a cultural meeting place, a spiritual center, a place to meet friends and neighbors and relate the events of the day. The citizens did possess the technology to put refresher units in every house, but they chose not to use it. It was an interesting and humbling lesson, to see these people put the welfare of their community before their individual comforts.
The facility was nearly empty at this hour, when most of the locals were gathering around their evening meals, and the female staff were more than happy to help him remove his wet clothing for washing and show him to the refresher stalls, the baths, the pools, and the steam room. At last they left him alone, giggling to one another as they departed, glancing backward to see if the young Jedi would remove his towel before they were gone. He was amused, but did not comply. When he was certain they were out of sight, he hung the fluffy white towel on the designated bar and entered the steam room.
The door closed behind him, and the shifting currents of air sent clouds of steam billowing forth from the other side of the room. Not that he could see the other side -- the place was huge. Ancient, sturdy walls, perfectly white, ascended to a sloping ceiling that reached nearly three meters above the floor. The walls were lined with stone benches of various shapes and sizes, and small sitting areas were spread across the floor in random places.
He was heading to the closest one when the steam cleared a little… and he saw the room's other occupant.
She was openly staring at him, liquid brown eyes peering out from beneath long black lashes. Her black hair clung to her soft, dark skin like a cloak, though it did little to hide her beauty. "Hello," she said quietly, her deep, sultry voice echoing through the cavernous chamber.
"H-hi," he managed. He was unable to take his eyes off her. He'd seen no signs to indicate that the facility was gender-segregated, but had assumed that men and women had different areas in the same building. Apparently he'd been wrong… or else the friendly staff had deliberately put him in the female section.
She remained still, apparently content to let him look. "You are new to this place," she prompted, in accented but easily understandable Basic.
"Yes." It came as something of a surprise to him that he could speak at all.
And now it was his turn to be scrutinized. She examined him from where she sat, saying nothing, betraying no reaction. Until her eyes settled on his Padawan braid. "You are one of the Jedi, no?"
"Yes." Obviously, there was no point in denying it. He shifted uncomfortably at the subtle change in her expression. "Do you want me to leave?" he asked.
She burst into delighted laughter and rose to her feet; her bare, rounded hips swayed gently as she walked toward him across the floor of the bath. "Do I want you to leave?" Slowly, she curled a slim arm around his waist and pressed his body close to hers. "It should be obvious, Jedi, that I want you to stay."
He didn't know what to say to that. The feelings rising within him were new, and he was completely unprepared. As if sensing his uncertainty, the woman stood on her toes and kissed him, gently at first, radiating a deepening intensity that spread to envelop him as well. Hesitantly, he parted her lips with his tongue, exploring, tasting, sensing. Her hands slid down his moisture-slicked back, kneading the taut flesh with expert fingers, working their way down with exquisite care.
Her hand slipped into his and pulled gently. "Come with me," she whispered. The words were hypnotic, entrancing, and he found himself following her almost before he realized what he was doing.
"Wait," he murmured as she led him to the edge of the room. "I -- this isn't right."
"And why not, Jedi?" she asked with a comely smile, tugging him to sit down beside her on the gently curved stone bench. A glance at its shape made its intended purpose abundantly clear, and Obi-Wan swallowed hard. Life at the Jedi Temple had been sheltered, but it hadn't been _that_ sheltered.
"I don't even know your name," he told her, looking into her eyes. Big mistake. The pure intent that was evident there, the raw, aching _need_, was so powerful that he could not tear his gaze away. Never before had he encountered a situation like this, in which his mind screamed at him to get out, to run away, and his body refused to let him leave.
She leaned close, her warm breath tickling his cheek. Her lips brushed his, lightly, tentatively, undemanding, sending tremors throughout his entire being. The intoxicating caress was gone after only a moment, and his soul cried out at the abrupt withdrawal, desperate for more. "Does it matter?" she said at last, her brown eyes sparkling with mischief and desire. Her hands had moved to new territory now, and her soft, expert touch was incredibly arousing, awakening urges in him that he hadn't realized existed.
No, it didn't matter, he thought as her lips brushed his collarbone. What was it Qui-Gon was always saying? The present should always be foremost in his mind. He felt a momentary pang of guilt at the thought of his Master, but the moist, hot pressure of her tongue against his chest, the pleasure mixed with pain as her teeth grazed first one sensitive nub, then the other, sent all rationality from his mind. Deep inside him, something snapped.
He swept her up in his arms and laid her gently on the smooth, wet surface of the bench. He had barely settled beside her when she climbed atop him in a surprising display of agility, a slightly naughty smile playing on her full, red lips. "I am sure you are used to being in command, Jedi," she explained. The accent, he realized dimly, was mind-bendingly sexy. "But you may want to let me lead the way for now."
"Is it that obvious?"
The smile now held a hint of amusement. "It will not be when I am done with you."
He was given no time to digest the import of her words. Her hands and lips and velvety skin were everywhere at once, filling his world with an explosion of sensation, and he trembled beneath her touch. "Show me," he whispered.
And she did, taking his hands in her own and placing them on her body, whispering gentle hints in his ear, responding with sound and movement, rewarding his first tentative successes with kisses. Her guidance was subtle but easy to understand, and his early clumsiness was soon behind him. When at last she shuddered beneath his touch, her sense radiating powerful waves of pleasure, he was almost… proud.
She collapsed against him, limp, catching her breath. "You learn quickly, Jedi," she murmured. "And now it is your turn."
She gave him no time to consider. Her lips descended to his neck, and she proceeded to work her way down his chest, below his stomach, making the sensuous journey last for what seemed like hours. Her small, perfect breasts brushed against his hips, sending tingles of arousal straight to his core. Everything she did seemed calculated to bring him to his knees, to take away his every conscious thought -- if that was her intention, it was working. When, at last, she reached her destination, he gasped at the staggering intensity of the feelings that washed over him, battered at him, like waves on a rocky beach, leaving him utterly helpless.
She lifted her head to meet his gaze. "Wait," she said, the word carrying an unmistakable tone of command. "Not yet."
And she was moving again, sliding forward gracefully, settling herself, her hips establishing a primal rhythm, drawing him to the brink, pulling him back at the last second, over and over… oh, gods…
"All right," she whispered. "Now."
And he was suddenly tumbling, falling into a vast velvet blackness, the universe exploding around him and inside him. There was only the woman in his arms, the slick stone beneath his back, the powerful emotions in his heart. Nothing else mattered -- not the Code, not the mission, not the welfare of the Republic. She was everything.
And he didn't even know her name.
When she kissed him goodbye and slipped softly from the steam room, closing the door quietly behind her, he still didn't.
Qui-Gon glanced up as his apprentice entered their quarters, looking much better than before. And… different. It didn't take the Force to see what the change was. "How was the bathhouse?"
"Very interesting," Obi-Wan replied, trying to keep his tone nonchalant. His apprentice, Qui-Gon noted, was a miserable liar. "I learned quite a bit about… Cthishan cultural practices."
"Knowledge can offer itself in unexpected places," Qui-Gon agreed mildly, as Obi-Wan headed to his chamber. "We have a meeting with the governor in fifteen minutes. Be ready."
"Yes, Master." The door closed behind him, and he was alone. If his Master knew, he wasn't saying anything about it.
The words had no sooner crossed his mind than he heard Qui-Gon's unmistakable thought: We'll talk later.
Had he gotten away with it? Of course not. He hadn't expected to, in any case; he'd made no attempt to hide his actions from Qui-Gon. He had a feeling he'd be hearing about this one for quite a while.
But had it been worth it?
He closed his eyes, remembering the soft touch of her lips against his, how her hair had fallen across his chest, the floral scent of her soap. No, he would never forget the things she had taught him, not even if he could.
The consequences would not be harsh, he knew. And it had been worth it.
Oh, yes, it had been worth it.