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They had been on back-to-back missions, reporting to the Council via communits when necessary, and written reports when not. After the Stark Hyperspace War, the Order was spread thin recently, with everyone wanting Jedi intervention.
Obi-Wan figured their ship’s medkit ran out of bacta patches two planets ago and Qui-Gon thankfully had a steady hand when it came to actually stitching up the honest-to-Force blade slice from an irate pirate that had ambushed their ship just as they came out of hyperspace over Meridia Prime.
Qui-Gon wasn’t faring any better. Once they were back at the Temple he spent an hour in the boneknitter for a broken wrist. He had a sprained ankle as well, though he tried to hide the limp. With both wrist and ankle wrapped up, he no doubt felt as old as Obi-Wan thought he sometimes looked when exhaustion took hold.
Obi-Wan couldn’t wait for the door to their quarters to close. It was time for some comfort. Food first, a hot shower using actual water, clean sleep clothes, and then bed. He could sleep for at least twelve hours and not feel rested.
Qui-Gon entered behind Obi-Wan and heaved a big sigh of relief. “Ah home,” he murmured and put his hands on Obi-Wan’s shoulders for a quick knead. Obi-Wan let his head fall back at the welcome sensation.
“You can do that forever but you probably shouldn’t strain that mended break,” he admonished, pulling away and turning around. He reached up and pecked a kiss on Qui-Gon’s bewhiskered cheek. “You get the shower first, I’ll dig up something edible.”
It was a mark of how tired his master was that Qui-Gon didn’t argue with the plan. He shed his robe and hung it on the knobs by the door, shucked his boots and set them on the shoe mat next to his Temple slippers. Obi-Wan frowned as he watched Qui-Gon’s weary walk toward the fresher. Once the door to that little room closed, Obi-Wan diverted his own steps to the little kitchen.
The chiller revealed some cheeses and the cabinet revealed Qui-Gon’s favorite herb-flavored crackers and Obi-Wan’s stash of jerky. It wasn’t fancy but Obi-Wan didn’t care. It was edible, there was enough to be filling and it was quickly cleaned up.
He assembled a tray and was bringing it out to the dining table when Qui-Gon exited the fresher. He looked better, if still exhausted. Obi-Wan couldn’t help but admire his master’s lanky, muscular form wrapped in a towel at the waist. He looked sexy as hell.
“Let me get dressed, Obi-Wan, and I’ll join you,” Qui-Gon said, after limping over to survey the victuals.
“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan responded with some cheek. “I mean, if you must.”
Qui-Gon quirked an eyebrow and grinned. “Brat,” he said without heat and went into their now shared bedroom. He exited three minutes later clad in sleep pants and nothing else. Only the bandage on his wrist and some waterproof bacta patches marred his frame.
They ate in exhausted, if companionable silence, only remarking once on what the High Council would likely do when they requested leave time.
“I hope they give it to us,” yawned Obi-Wan.
“Me too. Now, your turn to shower, my love,” Qui-Gon told him. “I’ll clean up here.”
“Then bed.”
“Definitely then bed.’
Obi-Wan showered quickly and stepped inside their shared chambers to find Qui-Gon already under the covers with a datapad in his hands.
“Darfur of Alderaan?” Obi-Wan asked. That had been Qui-Gon’s latest obsession. The novelist was quite good, even Obi-Wan had to admit.
“Yes, but I’m too tired to read it,” yawned Qui-Gon.
“Turn over?”
“Hmm?”
“Turn over.
Too tired to argue, Qui-Gon did as he was bid. Obi-Wan took out of their bedside drawer the scented massage oil that Qui-Gon preferred. He poured a liberal amount in his hands, straddled Qui-Gon’s hips and rubbed his hands together to warm them and the oil.
Then he set to.
He started with his master’s lower back, working up and down the spine and brushing out to his ribs with enough pressure to not trigger Qui-Gon’s surprising ticklish spots. His lover’s skin was so dry, even with the shower, that the oil absorbed so Obi-Wan had to apply some more when he went to work on Qui-Gon’s upper back.
His master was silent as Obi-Wan worked, the tension slowly releasing as his breathing evened out into a light meditation. It was a technique Qui-Gon used on Obi-Wan after some seriously tough new katas, encouraging Obi-Wan to go into a light healing meditation to soothe the sore muscles abused by the strenuous activity.
More oil and Obi-Wan began to knead first the left shoulder until the muscles there unkinked and relaxed before moving to the right shoulder. After that he moved Qui-Gon’s long brown hair out of the way and, after a quick kiss at the base of his neck, worked on his neck last.
He hadn’t looked at the chrono on the bedside table when he started to work but Obi-Wan’s internal clock told him that he’d probably been working on Qui-Gon’s back for a good half an hour. A small snore gave away that Qui-Gon no longer meditated and had fallen asleep.
Obi-Wan grinned. He got up to wash his hands and then climbed beneath the covers, snuggling with his master and lover. He’d get his own pampering when they finally were rested.
Maybe he’d get a little bit more. With that, he closed his eyes and buried his nose in Qui-Gon’s hair, the sandalwood from the shampoo a scent of home.