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Again. He's doing it again. Force, he's going to kill me.
I know he likes to do it after a battle. And Force knows this was a tough one. But there has to be more to it than that. He's been doing it every night this mission. Sometimes a few times a day. In the shower. Does he think I don't know what happens to all the hot water? In bed at night, and it doesn't help that we're sharing one. Does he think it's easy for me not to roll over and take his erection in my hand? In bed in the morning. Force. I've been hard since we landed on this planet and I saw what was happening to him.
He's going to kill me at this rate.
I know we can't touch. He cut things off between us, and I've been dealing with that as best I can for the last few months. Oh, it's not that I was falling for him -- well, not -- no, I mean, really. I'd know it if I'd been in love, wouldn't I? It's not that at all. But living with him. Working with him. Force, sleeping with him and hearing him make those sounds -- it's too much to bear.
He's curled on his side, facing away from me, and his breathing is even. There's no hint of movement on the bed. But I know what he's doing.
I think I have him firmly convinced that I'm asleep, or he wouldn't be doing this. All right, then. Let's see if I can take advantage of that.
I make a snorting, whuffling noise, and roll over, an arm coming down across his hip. He stills. I make a contented noise and begin breathing deeply again. He waits a few moments, and then I feel the slight vibration of his body.
I sigh again, ostensibly in my sleep, and cuddle closer to him. It's not as if I never did this while I was sleeping. There were many nights I woke up in his arms without knowing how I got there. Surely it must have been something like this.
I'm tucked up behind him now, and my cock is pressing firmly into his ass. I hear him let out a very quiet moan at that, and I keep my breathing soft and very deep, very rhythmic.
He stays still for a few seconds. I murmur something unintelligible and shift, sliding my cock against his ass.
That does it. I feel the light, strong movements as he works his hand on his cock, touching himself, getting himself off. I know exactly how his face must look: contorted with pleasure while he bites his lower lip against making any sound at all. His ass rubs against my cock, tiny little imperceptible movements, nothing that could possibly wake me up.
My cock is so hard I can't stand it. I thrust against him and then go still again.
He's nearly there. I can tell. His breath is beginning to be audible. He lets himself grunt quietly, and then he goes rigid. I want to hold my breath, but I can't. He'll catch me.
A few seconds pass, and then he gets up and pads off to the fresher. As soon as the fresher door closes, I have my cock in my hand and I'm frantically jerking off, knowing it won't take long, not with how close I am after all that. Force, how could I not be close? Force, I need this, come on, come on...
I hear the sound of the fresher door opening, but my eyes are closed and I don't see anything. And I'm too fucking close now. There's no way in hell I'd stop.
I come, and I don't bother hiding my moan. I can feel my come splashing over my hand, warm and soft and wet, and -- oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck...
I pant in the darkness for what seems like eternity.
I hear the water running in the fresher, the sound of a washcloth being wrung out in the sink. I lay still, keeping my eyes closed.
I hear footsteps padding toward me, and feel the soft impact of the washcloth on my limp, come-stained hand. The footsteps pad around the bed to the other side, and I feel the dip in the mattress as Qui slides into the covers.
The washcloth is warm, and it feels good against my skin, getting me clean.
I drop it off the side of the bed when I'm done.
In the morning, the washcloth is gone, and I can hear the shower going. I wonder what Qui-Gon is doing, and whether that washcloth is hanging up in the bathroom now, or if it's the one he's rubbing all over his body this morning while he jerks off into the spray.
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