Apology Accepted
by Eiluned
eil.at.phoenixfyre (AT) gmail(DOT)com
ARCHIVE: Ask before linking or archiving.
DISCLAIMER: Oh, now, we all know the drill.
RATING: NC-17 for naughty
words and hot, monkey sex
SUMMARY: A disaster occurs and Obi-Wan must find a
creative way to apologize to you and his Master. Sandwich ABH.
DEDICATION:
This is for my best buds, Snowy and Arcadian42.
NOTES: at the end
"This has been the worst fucking day of my life."
Obi-Wan looks at you sheepishly, cowering in the corner like a puppy who just peed on your best Alderaanian rug. Qui-Gon, on the other hand, sits in his throne (also known as your armchair) with his arms crossed imperiously over his chest. He scowls at everything that moves, including you, his Padawan and that infernal cat he insists on keeping.
The apartment still smells like... it smells like whatever the hell Obi-Wan tried to cook. It smells like a garbage compactor gone up in flames to you, and you've taken to breathing through your sleeve to keep from gagging.
"Love..." Obi-Wan begins.
You raise a single finger in warning. "Don't even start with me, Kenobi."
He winces, knowing that you only use his last name when you're really angry. Qui-Gon does his part and glares at the both of you. His look would make a Mandalorian piss his armor, but you're too mad to notice. You simply grab the nearly empty can of air freshener and give the room a healthy spray.
Both Jedi cough as the cloud of potpourri freshness descends on them, and both give you dirty looks.
"I can't stand this smell any more!" you exclaim, jumping to your feet and crossing to the window, "Obi-Wan, if you ever try to cook again, I'm going to castrate you!"
You can hear him swallow with a cartoonish 'gulp!' from all the way across the room The thought of putting the fear of God into him makes you feel marginally better. If he wasn't so damned good in bed, you'd have thrown his ass...
The window flies open suddenly, jerking the handle out of your hand. The high-level winds that sweep around Coruscant's skyscrapers whips through your apartment, sucking the only draft of Qui-Gon's treatise on the Living Force and its effect on the small marsupials of Yavin 4 right out of the window. You watch in horror as it flutters out like a giant butterfly only to be sucked into the engine of a passing transport.
Yep. This is hands-down the worst day of your life.
You wince when you see the murderous look on Qui-Gon's face, then stumble back onto the couch when he advances on you like a psychotic sand panther. "Stop fighting and close the fucking window!" Obi-Wan shouts over the din of wind and traffic.
You take a spill over the back of the couch trying to dodge Qui-Gon's sudden lunge. You manage to land without breaking your neck, thank the Force, but are now in the very precarious position of laying on your shoulders with one leg stuck between the arm and back of the couch and the other flailing uselessly. Qui-Gon vaults over the couch, but trips over his robe and lands rather unceremoniously beside you. The resounding thud makes your eyelashes vibrate.
Obi-Wan slams the window shut and yanks your foot out of its trap. You immediately wiggle away from Qui-Gon's range. "Stop it, both of you!" Obi-Wan exclaims, sounding for all the world like a mother scolding two children.
"Brats is more like it," he replied to your thought, and you flip him the Corellian bird.
Qui-Gon has managed to disentangle himself from his robes and pulls himself to his feet, giving everyone even more vile scowls. Unfortunately, the cat decided that moment would be perfect to scale the Master's leg. Qui-Gon yowls and yanks Oberon off of his scratching post, glaring at the little demon. "Sith cat," he mutters, tossing the monster to the floor. Oberon hisses at him and saunters off to wreak more havoc on your furniture.
"Before we kill each other," Obi-Wan says, trying to inject a bit of calmness into the scene, "listen to my plan."
You cross your legs and look up at him expectantly. "All right. Now, I'll call service and have them fumigate the apartment. They have droids that do that, right? Anyway, while they are doing that, we can stay in a nice hotel and try to get back on civil terms with each other," he pauses for effect, "Does that suit the both of you?"
"Fine," you reply, lacing your words with as much venom as you can muster, "but you're paying for the room. And, by God, I expect a deluxe suite for this, Kenobi."
Qui-Gon's only reply is a non-committal grunt, which his Padawan takes as an affirmative. "Come on, then," he says, pulling his robe off of its hook.
You bust out laughing when he tosses it over his shoulders. A good portion of the back is now a singed hole that is positioned just so his ass sticks out.
He glances over his shoulder and curses.
"Serves you right. The worst thing that's happened to you today was getting that slime you called eggs all over your hands," you tell him haughtily.
"Oh? And your day has been worse?"
You go from four-alarm irritation to full blown, nuclear meltdown fury in about 0.4 seconds. "My apartment smells like a barbecued Bantha, half of my cookware is scorched beyond recognition, and don't even make me bring up the noodle incident," you snap.
Obi-Wan holds his hands up in defeat. "All right, all right. Let's just go."
You pull your jacket from it's peg and storm past him into the hall. A few passers-by wrinkle their noses and stare at you, but you best them with your patented 'you-gotta-problem?' look, ignoring the fact that you do smell like you just rolled around in something dead.
"A suite, please," Obi-Wan says with as much politeness as he can muster.
The tall, unhealthily thin man wrinkles his nose for just a second, then blinks in recognition. "Oh, Mister Kenobi! I'll make sure you get the best suite available!" he exclaims, diving into his computer.
You plant your hands on your hips and cock an eyebrow at him. "Come here often?" you ask suspiciously.
His eyes widen at the implication and his face turns a bright shade of red. "N... no, of course not!" he stammers.
"Uh-uh. You just proved yourself guilty right there."
"No! I helped his daughter out once!"
You know you should probably believe him, but you're having too much fun being nasty to him. He deserves it, the evil voice in your mind says. "Oh, so you helped his daughter, did you?" you retort.
He looks anguished and you feel guilty. Qui-Gon elbows you in the side and you hit him back. "I'm just messing with you, Obi-Wan," you say, "I've just had a bad day."
"Tell me about it..." he mutters, running a stained hand through his short hair.
"Mister Kenobi! Here is your key to the Chancellor's Suite," the clerk breaks in, handing Obi-Wan a small, metallic card, "Have you any luggage, sir?"
"No, but we'll need our clothes to be laundered," Obi-Wan replied, steering us toward the turbolift.
A bubble bath is the perfect remedy for anything wrong. You sink down into the sandalwood-scented suds and try to push the day out of your mind, focusing on the blood-warm water sliding around your body. The candles you have lit around the rim of the large tub cast flickering shadows around the room and lend their musky scent to the air. Ahhh, perfect, you think, closing your eyes.
That is, until you hear a thud, a hiss and a foosh. Obi-Wan stands with his hand over his mouth, his face a classic picture of shock. "You knocked a candle into the bathtub?" you ask, fishing around the bottom of the tub.
"Sorry," he says sheepishly, "I bumped it when I was walking in..."
"Oh, great. Now there's wax all over the bottom of the tub," you whine, tossing the mutilated candle to the floor.
"I'm sorry..."
You sigh. Being irritated has taken too much of your energy today. "Don't worry about it," you say, sinking back into the water.
Obi-Wan takes the opportunity to sidle up to you. "Mind if I get in?" he asks.
You wave a hand in the air, flicking bubbles at him. "It's a free planet."
The water level rises when he steps into the bath, settling across from you. "I'm really sorry about today," he starts, sounding miserable.
"Don't worry about it, Obi-Wan. Everyone has a shitty day. I overreacted."
He stares at you like you just morphed into a Wookiee. "Did you just admit that you were wrong?" he asks incredulously.
You shoot a rocket of suds at him, which settle to festoon his hair. "No. I admitted that I overreacted. That's different," you reply, trying to hide your grin and failing miserably.
He squirts you with water, soaking your hair. You return fire and a full-blown water war begins. Soon, you're both covered in bubbles, and so is much of the bathroom. The door swings open and Qui-Gon stops to stare at you. "The carpet is soaked," he proclaims.
"Wow," you say, settling into Obi-Wan's arms, "Those are the first words you've said since the noodle incident."
"Don't mention that," Obi-Wan admonishes, running his tongue up your neck.
"Join us, Master?" you ask, batting your eyelashes at him.
The stern look on his face slowly melts at the thought of a hot bath and some equally hot sex. He tosses the hotel-provided robe on the counter and sloshes across the wet carpet, easing into the deep water.
He sinks in up to his shoulders, letting out a sigh that would make you think he carried the whole galaxy on his shoulders. You squirm away from Obi-Wan and settle in Qui-Gon's lap. "Bad day?" you ask softly, rubbing your slick breasts against his chest.
He groans, rising up to sit, and pulls your hips firmly against him. "Shut up," he whispers before ravaging your mouth.
You rub against his hard cock, letting him feel how wet you are for him. He bends and sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, teasing it relentlessly with his teeth. You gasp and arch back, only to collide with a hot, wet body. Obi-Wan presses against you, grinding his erection against the small of your back, skimming his hands down to tease your clit.
You moan and Qui-Gon releases your breast, licking his lips and looking entirely self-satisfied. A bit of maneuvering and you're sinking down onto his cock. His eyes go hazy and he lets his head fall back to rest on the edge of the tub. You settle back against Obi-Wan, angling your hips so that the Master plunges in at the perfect angle.
Oh, yeah, this is much better, you think. Your two Jedi playmates seem to wholeheartedly agree with you. Qui-Gon's hands wrap around your hips, holding you still so he can thrust up into you. God, they're so good at this you don't even remember being mad. From the look on Qui-Gon's face, he doesn't seem to remember either. He looks like he just dove into green jello heaven. Wait, that was another bathtub escapade. You force your mind to focus on the present, and the present is feeling mighty fine.
There's a glorious amount of friction, and with every hard stroke, you can feel Qui-Gon getting closer to the edge. He thrusts up sharply, forcing you to bend back against Obi-Wan. The Padawan's arms wrap around your torso, holding you in your arch, and Qui-Gon jackhammers into you, suddenly coming with a shout.
Those last few thrusts really hit the right spot, so to speak, and you come hard, crying out so loudly you're sure people three floors below could hear you.
TBC, depending on whether you want me to or not...
NOTES: A big thank you to my betas Darry, Amber and Patches. Thanks to Judy for her Sith kitty. The 'noodle incident' is borrowed from Bill Waterson, the guy who created Calvin and Hobbes. Hopefully he won't sue me for two words. I have no money anyway!