#devanorian

[coline7373]

[gabriel4sam]

Nobody party like the Jedi, an Obi-Wan/Quinlan little fic

Written for the @subobi  week, for the public prompt. 

Warning: it’s NSWF. 

Under the cut, Quinlan and Obi-Wan handle the end of the war with alcohol and not so much grace

 The Republic is saved and Obi-Wan is drunk like he never has been, drunk enough to not care that he’s drunk.

And he’s not the only one: half the Knights and a lot of Masters in this party are as drunk as a Devanorian on their Life Day.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, they will be reasonable and work to help rebuild the Republic. Tonight, they just want to forget for a few hours the death and the Sith and all the horrors of those last years.

Tomorrow, they will be the pillars of strength people want them to be.

Tonight, they are tired and human and drunk.

Anakin disappeared in the direction of Padme’s apartments hours ago and Obi-Wan doesn’t have to pretend to be strong and in control, just for a moment, and he’s dancing and flirting and drinking again, and sometimes crying.

It’s cathartic, and a mess, and exactly what Bant would prescribe, if she wasn’t busy with her tongue in Siri’s mouth. Obi-Wan blinks at the vision. It’s been years since Siri and him decided they are better as friends, but it’s still a second of struggling for control.

“Jealousy is undignified for a Jedi,” a voice says right into his ear, and Obi-Wan turns to Quinlan, as the other Jedi throws a arm around the red head’ s shoulder.

“It’s not jealousy,” Obi-Wan protests. On the other side of the room, he can see Depa and Kit, and it’s becoming pretty graphic, Kit’s hand deep in Depa’s tunic. A good thing Mace is still in the Healing rooms: this is more skin than anyone wants to see about their Padawans.

“I just regret I don’t have anyone to celebrate with. Even just for one night. Sometimes, a Jedi wants to be…wanted, you know.” And he’s sure he could explain better, if he hadn’t so much to drink, but Quinlan doesn’t give him sage wisdom as a rebuttal, instead a brief flash of irritation in the Force and a horrible swear word, then Quinlan informs him:

“You’re a bit of an idiot,” and he hauls him up by his tunics and his mouth bits Obi-Wan’s lips in a hungry kiss.

Obi-Wan lets him. Quinlan tastes of that strong blue alcohol thing the troopers distil and his kiss is demanding, powerful. For half a second, Obi-Wan hesitates, then lets it go. The consequences are for tomorrow, and for now, Quinlan is there, strong and warm and everything Obi-Wan loves in a male lover. The lust in the Force is as intoxicating as the alcohol in his blood, he can feel Quinlan’s desire and Kit’s and Depa’s and all the other, and his own desire is feeding itself of the atmosphere, and contributing to the other reactions in a chain reaction of hormones. He angles his head better and let Quinlan pillages his mouth, moaning a sound of encouragement. He snakes an arm around Quinlan’s waist and with his other hand, he does something he had wanted for years and that he never would in other circumstances: he touches Quinlan’s perfectly proportioned butt. His friend laughs against his lips.

“Knew it. You were watching my ass, all this time.”

“It’s your more redeeming quality,” Obi-Wan affirms, then he presses his lips against the other’s mouth again. Quinlan immediately invades his mouth a second time, then bites his jaw, kisses every inches of his throat. Obi-Wan is starting to feel light-headed, and Quinlan doesn’t help, sneaking a hand into his tunic, struggling with his belt.

“Horizontal,” Obi-Wan pants, “We need to be horizontal.”

The feedback in the Force is getting more intense, other couples have rolled on various meditation mats, and nobody cares any more than this is in public. This is happening, getting comfortable seems a way better idea than searching for privacy. Quinlan shoves him onto one of the enormous footstool Master Yoda insisted needed to be put everywhere, and the older Jedi really was a genius, this is the perfect height for Quinlan to bent Obi-Wan, pants onto his knees, tunics pushed apart.

“Another time, I will fuck you until you can’t remember how to be proper anymore,” Quinlan whispers in his neck and Obi-Wan whines without decorum at the idea. One time won’t be enough, Quinlan is right, but right now, the preparation seems like a bother, more than a moment of foreplay. They are too drunk, too full of lust. Quinlan pushes on his neck again, and Obi-Wan lets his head go in the footstool. He can see Adi, moaning under Eeth’s mouth. She’s beautiful in her pleasure. Everywhere, noises of flesh, whispers of lust.

“Don’t move,” Quinlan orders, and Obi-Wan hears a click, then the odour of the oil used to care for the leather of their belts and boots.

“Totally improper for internal use,” Quinlan admits, “but for what I have in mind…On your side, pretty thing.” He rubs the oil onto Obi-Wan’s skin, onto his thighs, and he’s almost trembling, there is oil everywhere, it’s never coming out of the cloth of the footstool. A Knight he doesn’t know pass next to them, and his gaze is a fleeting caress. Obi-Wan wants to preen, to moan like an animal in heat, to let Quinlan rut into him, undignified and messy.

His friend’s cock seems so hot it’s almost a burn against his skin, and he whimpers, clenches his thighs with more strength. Their level of inebriation didn’t stop them from erection, but it’s messing with their rhythm and coordination. Obi-Wan doesn’t care. Against his neck, Quinlan whispers dirty words, calls him a beautiful slut, bites kisses which will definitely leave marks.

Obi-Wan has never felt more alive, more human, has never felt less like the uncaring statue Anakin still believes him to be.

His orgasm almost takes him by surprise, the second Quinlan takes him in hand, and Quinlan’s own orgasm add to the mess.

Across the room, dozens of orgasms resonate in the Force at the same time, and Obi-Wan is caught into the reverberation. He yells under the pressure of it, and feels himself staying hard.

“Fuck,” Quinlan moans, and he pushes against in the tight channel made by his lover’s legs. He’s still hard too and he starts moving again.

That footstool will definitely need to be burned.

[coline7373]

@cacodaemonia Thank you!!!

[gabriel4sam]

How Rex was almost blown up but, at least, he wasn't eaten by a wild eopie

Beta by the awesome @myurbandream , one of the stories I wrote for @clonewarssavedexchange I wanted to post it there the day of reveal, but the end of the week has been quite busy, so hop, here it is. 

Rex x Obi-Wan, post Revenge of the Sith

Under the cut, the story, for @captainrexsbiggesthoe

Ash was obscuring the air and Rex’s ears were ringing. He needed a few seconds to determine why the world seemed sideways: it was because he was lying flat on the ground. He rolled over with a pained groan, spitting out some dirt and half-decomposed leaves.

What….

Where…

He shook his head, like it could reboot his brain, but put that in the bad idea category when his pulsing headache immediately intensified.

Where the kriff….

No, first things first, was there a chance people would shoot at him in the next few minutes? Because it was more or less a daily occurrence and he was feeling too badly right now to add a few burn wounds from blasters.

Cautiously, he raised his head, watching for impromptu Imperials, bounty hunters, or crazy Sith. The usual, in a way.

Since nobody tried to kill him right away, he crept over to the nearest tree big enough to act as cover and tried to remember how he had landed himself in this situation.

There had been… there had been a mission, and he would surely remember everything, if his head would just stop ringing.

There had been a mission, with the young Rebel Alliance, and Rex had volunteered. He had been on Alderaan at the time… He had been on Alderaan, with Obi-Wan, because young Leia had terrible nightmares, and the Organa family had called Obi-Wan to help, terrified that Leia would unknowingly call Vader (or Sidious) in her sleep, would make herself vulnerable.

They had been on Alderaan and Obi-Wan was supposed to go back to Tatooine the next week, and Rex was supposed to go with him for a week of downtime, before an important mission in the Hapes Consortium. It was then that the news had come. Mon Mothma had narrowly escaped death on Coruscant. One of the Alliance operatives, a woman named Motée who Rex had met a few times, even worked with, had rescued Mon Mothma from the transport taking her to prison, awaiting a trial where she would certainly be declared an enemy of the Empire and executed. Now the two women needed extraction from the space station, a few systems from Coruscant, where their ship had fallen apart.

Rex had learned a few things that day.

One, Motée and Mon Mothma were two of the members of the long list of past lovers Obi-Wan had had, a list Rex always did his best to not think of, because it made him feel like a bumbling amateur on this particular subject.

Two, Obi-Wan was apparently bored enough on Tatooine (a planet where life was cheap and where, as Beru had once confided to Rex, Obi-Wan apparently couldn’t go a week without troubles with Tuskens/Jabba’s goons/slavers/all of the above) that going on a dangerous mission only a few systems from Coruscant, when he was still one of the most wanted men in the Empire, seemed like a good idea to him.

Rex had abandoned the effort  to convince Obi-Wan against taking the rescue mission twenty minutes into their spectacular row. When Obi-Wan was like that, trying to make him change his mind was fruitless.

“A bath,” Rex had said, “and then to bed.”

His lover had scowled at him from the corner of his eyes.

“Oh for Force’s sake… I still think you’re acting like an idiot," Rex had said, "and I regret that coming along to protect you is impossible, since I have to head off for the Hapes mission soon. But I’m not letting you leave on a sour note. So, no more talk about this idiotic, death-wish idea of yours. Warm water and your sexy lover in it. And perhaps when we're clean, I'll feel better enough about that mess to fuck the stupidity out of you.”

And then of course, because Rex (as a deserter from the Imperial Army) was only slightly less wanted than Obi-Wan, he had decided to go with the Jedi on that rescue mission after all. He had nagged Wolffe until his brother accepted the Hapes mission in his stead and… Obi-Wan had had the nerve to ask if it was really reasonable, as Rex's face was too well-known to risk himself so close to Coruscant.

What had happened after that?

Yes, he had decided this rescue mission was a good opportunity to field-test one of the gadgets from Alliance Intelligence, some prosthesis supposedly good enough to make a human pass for a Twilek. He had sacrificed, with a note of despair, his beard. Then he had almost been strangled to death by the damn prosthetic lekku, which had made Obi-Wan cackle, a very un-Jedi-like reaction in Rex’s opinion. But the Jedi had still helped with the prosthesis and the make-up on his face.

The prosthesis.

Rex groped around his left ear, searching for the emergency release catch, and the whole thing came apart, taking with it a good part of the headache. Rex turned it, examined it. The prosthesis apparently made for a good helmet: half of it was charred and ripped apart, but it had probably saved his life.

It had probably saved his life when someone had tried to blow them up , on the moon where they were supposed to ditch the public transport shuttle used to extract Mon Mothma and Motée from the space station, and to join an Alliance ship waiting for them.

Rex stood up and, blaster in hand, he went to search for Mon Mothma. He had credits in his belt, if necessary he could take her to an Alliance hideout a few systems from here and come back later to search for the other two.

He was trying not to think about Obi-Wan. Rex had definitely seen him fall, but the Senator was the first, the only priority. She needed to live, even if his lover died for it. Mon Mothma was a beacon of hope in a way few people could be, and they couldn’t let that hope die.

Kriff… that’s why smart armies didn’t send lovers as agents on the same mission! Because even if Rex knew his duty, his heart was raging, demanding Obi-Wan as the first, the only priority!

Of course, because nothing had ever been easy for Rex, the first person he found was neither the one he wanted to for duty, nor the one he wished to for love, but the one he had (he could admit it in the privacy of his brain)  totally forgotten in the adrenaline: Motée, the operative of the Rebel Alliance.

Her shoulder was bleeding, but she was quite busy interrogating a trembling Devanorian, with a small blaster so close that the poor idiot was squinting at the menacing barrel.

“Where?” Rex asked.

“I'll know in a minute,” Motée answered, and indeed, she did. Whoever had trained her before her time in the Alliance had done a good job. They only needed three hours to find the bounty hunters. It was, and Rex was quite vexed by this, a big collection of idiots. Amateurs, served by incredible luck, who thought they had made such a catch, simultaneously capturing the newly wanted Senator and the infamously known General Kenobi, two traitors to the Empire. The bounty hunters had been lucky, until Rex and Motée had arrived to rescue the two red heads. And the moment where Motée had broken down Obi-Wan’s Force suppression collar was the moment things really took a turn towards the ugly for the bounty hunters.

A few lightsaber-severed hands on the ground later, the four Rebels were escaping. Motée was piloting, and Rex was bandaging his head and having a crisis of self-worth.

Ten years ago, at the end of the war, Rex was sure they would have been quicker to rescue his lover and the Senator, but today, he was pretty sure he had slowed down Motée.

“I’m getting too old for this,” he grumbled, watching his face in the mirror to be sure the bacta was correctly applied.

It wasn’t the first time he thought that and once, a few months ago, a drunken Gregor had confessed the same thing. In his darkest insomnia-filled nights, Rex feared it was true, that his usefulness on the field was getting thinner every day. Time passed rapidly for the clones, engineered to grow up quickly, and soon he would be reduced to training new recruits, slowly going mad because he couldn’t take a more direct approach to destroying the darkness that was taking over the galaxy.

Would he ever see the end of the Empire?

Would all his still-enslaved brothers be decommissioned because they were getting too old, before rescue came for them?

He sat down heavily on the bunk, at the same moment Obi-Wan entered the small cabin.

“Motée plotted our way to the safest rendezvous point. We have three days of travel ahead of us.”

“Don’t know why they sent anyone,” Rex remarked, “she really didn’t need help to bring the Senator to safety.”

“Naboo’s handmaidens are strong and wise.”

“She was… that’s why she was so kriffin familiar! She looks…”

“Yes, she looks like Padmé would have, if she had had the chance to age past her twenties.”

Obi-Wan sat down next to him and put his hands on Rex's cheeks to inspect his wounds.

“If I hadn’t insisted on going on this mission, we would be on Tatooine right now and you wouldn’t have been hurt,” Obi-Wan said.

“Cyare, thinking like that is the way to madness. Our ship could have crashed down in your damn desert, I could have been eaten by a wild eopie-“

“A wild eopie, really?”

“-what I'm saying is that you can’t play the what if game, and even if I get killed one day, it certainly won’t be your fault.”

Obi-Wan made a self-deprecating sound, which didn’t surprise Rex for a second. Instead, he threw his arms around the Jedi’s shoulders and hung on until Obi-Wan got the message.  He guided their bodies until they were lying on the too-small bunk, so close together that Rex wasn’t sure which limbs were his.

“Thank you for saving my life,” Obi-Wan said.

“I didn’t-“

“You did.”

“You would have-“

“We can’t be sure of that,  any more than we could be sure that you would have been safe on Tatooine.”

Rex grunted, amused despite himself.

“ A vacation in your crazy desert,” he declared, like it was an order, “and I hope nobody tries to kill us for at least ten days. No, fifteen!”

“You aren’t choosing the right planet, if that's your objective, love.”

“I’m choosing the perfect planet, since it’s yours,” Rex said and even if he couldn’t see Obi-Wan, snuggled behind him, he just knew the other man was blushing.

Rex drifted into sleep, content to feel Obi-Wan safe and close against him.