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Title: Jedi Grab Bars
Author: heartofslash
Fandoms/Pairing: Star Wars, Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan
Series: Fits in with the rest of my Jedi Kink series, which I just realized is not yet up at my new web site. I'll get right on that, I promise. Several stories from this series are available here on this journal, including the very beginning Jedi Choice, Jedi Sash, and Jedi Comlink.
Rating: R-ish
Warning: Not terribly kinky, unless you have a specific hankering for frottage, in which case, this may be you kind of thing. Also shower stalls, grab bars, flavoured lube and general size kink and master/padawan shenanigans.
Disclaimer: I realize that grab bars are not specifically Jedi equipment, but hey, they're allowed to use them too!
Note: Real Jedi don't do this, because there is no such thing as real Jedi.
Dedication: Belated Happy Birthday to salixbabylon!
Jedi Grab Bars
The padawan grips the highest bar on the wall. The bipedal, shower-using species of this planet are quite tall, so he actually has to reach up. He arches his back, knowing his master will appreciate the view. He hopes it will be enticing enough to get his master into the shower with him. He goes up on his toes, tightening his calves, hardening his thighs, lifting his buttocks. He hears a short, sharp intake of air above the whir of the shower.
A wave of cooler air accompanies the glide of the door, and the master steps within.
The padawan again stretches in invitation.
The master murmurs his approval and runs a large hand down the padawan's spine, fingers trailing over smooth skin.
"This latest set of katas is having a striking effect on your musculature," he murmurs. He places both hands his padawan's waist, enjoying the quiver of abdominal muscle, then slides them down to frame his behind. "Spread," the master orders.
The padawan is happy to obey.
The gel is fragrant, like the gardens of the temple at midnight in springtime, and slick. The master cups his hand, almost to a fist, to shield the gel as he lowers his hand to the padawan's nicely rounded buttocks.
The impatient padawan shifts as the master opens his hand, and the gel is obliterated.
"Sithhell!" the master swears.
"I told you it's impossible to fuck in a sonic shower while it's running," the padawan said.
It is simply unfair that the shower stall is so spacious, so luxurious, with the grab bars at so many versatile heights, and the light making his padawan's skin glow so alluringly, at the same time there is a planet-wide drought on this gods-forsaken sithhole of a planet, and all that are available are sonic cleaning waves that scour away the lubricating gel before he can get any use of it.
The master had set his heart on a good, wet fuck the moment he'd set eyes on the spacious shower stall. "I hate this planet," Qui-Gon Jinn growls.
"Master, I am flattered that you want to enjoy me in the shower, but it looks as if wetness will have to wait for another time."
"I could fuck you without lube," the master threatens.
The padawan shudders.
But the master is not that selfish.
Deep breaths.
There is no passion.
Not for anything as specific as fucking under flowing water.
There is, however, flexibility, and not only the flexibility of his padawan's lithe body.
"We could get out of the shower," the padawan suggests.
The master slams his hand against the control panel and the high-pitched whine of the sonic shower dies to silence. "That won't be necessary," he says.
Obi-Wan Kenobi ponders the meaning of that statement.
"Hold still," the master says. He dumps half of the bottle of shower gel into his palm. If he can't get the wet from water, the gel will suffice.
How luscious his padawan's ass looks coated in the shining gel!
The master slathers his prodigious cock and presses between slick cheeks.
"Oh, master," the padawan coos, spreading his legs further to allow a deeper fuck as if by instinct. (Master Jinn had not had to teach him that.)
The increased access means that Qui-Gon will have to bend his knees more. That could be a problem.
Then he notes that the sonic panel includes a therapeutic setting. Modern technology is a wonderful thing. He can blow out his knees fucking his delightful padawan, and then set the damage right with and extended sessions of sonic massage and rejuvenation.
But the height difference is considerable. Being able to repair any damage sustained during fucking is poor compensation when the discomfort of the fucking is enough to prevent full enjoyment. And he does want to fully enjoy this moment.
The master pushes the padawan's legs together.
"M-m-master?" the padawan stutters, stunned by this development.
The master smoothes his hand over the gel-slicked ass. "Penetration will not be necessary," he announces.
The padawan adjusts his hold on the grab bars while his master makes full use of the gel. Massive hands spread Obi-Wan's cheeks enough so that an even more massive cock can settle between them lengthwise. The master rocks, and the padawan is pressed against he wall.
Obi-Wan Kenobi fervently hopes that the sonic unit does not fail. If he can't get all this gel off him he'll have to sleep standing up without covers, and in the morning he'll be covered in a tight second skin of shower gel, semen and sweat, which sounds like more fun than it actually is. He knows, because showers are a luxury Jedi in the field must often forgo, and his master has a tendency to overlube.
That's not a bad thing, because with a cock like his masters, too much lube is far preferable to not enough. Also, the dry humping of his asscheeks would be no fun at all. The lube is necessary. Necessary and fantastic. With the sonics turned off, the squishing sound echoes in the tiled chamber.
As much as he would like it, the padawan knows better than to ask for a 'real' fucking. The master has made up his mind.
The gel spreads down and between the padawan's legs, becoming more liquid as it heats between their pumping bodies. The master leans back and squirts the rest of the bottle between them.
The padawan's cock is pressed against an unfortunately-positioned horizontal grab bar.
Or not-so-unfortunately-positioned.
The master reaches around, pushes the cock down - that hurts a little - then shoves it back up between the bar and the wall. The metal is cool against one side, the ceramic tiles still a little warm from the earlier sonics on the other. There is enough space between bar and cock and wall to allow the master's slick fingers on one side of the cock. The master chooses to press the cock toward the padawan, against the metal bar, which warms up quickly.
The way Qui-Gon is wet humping the crack of Obi-Wan's ass makes Obi-Wan's whole body move up and down, and the smooth metal seems to roll up and down his cock, with Qui-Gon's fingers pressing it tightly, so tightly that the head arcs back over the bar to leak against Obi-Wan's lightly-furred belly.
Obi-Wan Kenobi develops an instant, previously-unimaginable appreciation for grab bars.
Qui-Gon Jinn realizes that it does not matter if he is inside or outside of his padawan's body, as long as Obi-Wan is involved, he is bound to come. As is Obi-Wan.
That realization alone is enough to push the master over the edge.
Later, after a long bask in the sonics, Qui-Gon takes the opportunity to have Obi-Wan bend over, just to make sure all of the gel is eradicated, which leads to the master rummaging around in bathroom cabinets to find more shower gel, followed by another round of gel-aided frottage, this time with Obi-Wan bent to grab the lowest grab bar and Qui-Gon bent over him, with both hands cupped around Obi-Wan's cock. This involves a little less lube, but enough to flood the shower stall once more with the smell of midnight gardens mixed with Jedi semen.
Obi-Wan Kenobi cries out when he comes the second time, and Qui-Gon Jinn instinctively clamps a hand on his mouth because the noise echoes considerably, and Jedi reflexes are difficult to subdue in the midst of orgasm.
That is when Obi-Wan Kenobi discovers that the lube tastes like raspberries and cream.
They do not need the sonics to clean them up after that round.
End
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