Wrong Door
By Izzy

The irony of the Jedi Temple, Padmé had long decided, was that all walls, floors, and ceilings were completely soundproof. This was so Jedi could practice their katas and other noisy exercises without disturbing each other, even when their neighbors were sleeping, as different species often slept at different times, or meditate completely undisturbed by even the slightest sound. But relaxing with Anakin in the quarters he shared with Qui-Gon after her meeting with the Council over a dispute they were having with the Senate, made Padmé aware that there were other advantages as well. Anakin was actually supposed to be escorting her out of the Temple, and he would. Eventually.

“I must admit,” she said to him, “the danger thrills me a little. How are you going to get me out of here after this?”

“Don’t worry,” he reassured her. “I know just how and when you can slip away unnoticed. You won’t even miss the next Senate session. And I don’t think the Healers will let Master Jinn go until tomorrow, at least.”

“Well if we’re leaving before the Senate meets, we don’t have much time, do we?” She rose, grinned at him seductively, and moved towards the nearest door. “Your bedroom or your Master’s?” And to punctuate her point, she thumbed the pad.

The door stayed where it was.

“Why is he always locking it?” Anakin wondered out loud. He marched over, punched what was persumably an override code into the pad, and the door slid open.

They heard the moaning before the door was entirely open, and when it was, Anakin and Padmé’s jaws dropped together at the sight of Qui-Gon Jinn naked, aroused, and lying spread-eagled on his back, his head almost falling off the edge of the bed, with an equally aroused Obi-Wan Kenobi kneeling between his legs, his hands doing something to his former Master that was making Qui-Gon thrust himself backwards hard, the passion and raw need on his face a shock.

His eyes were closed, and it was clear Obi-Wan had not noticed them either, so intent was he on what he was doing, and Qui-Gon's moans having completely drowned out the sound of the door. They saw him twist his arm and Qui-Gon thrashed on the bed, letting out a string of nearly incoherent syllables, “ObiwanpleaseicantnowohyesOHPLEASE!” Obi-Wan had taken Qui-Gon’s legs and thrown them over his shoulders, and was leaning over him, clearly prepared to slide inside him.

“Obi-Wan, need you...yes...” Qui-Gon was practically sobbing at the penetration, pushing himself down on his former padawan. When Obi-Wan started thrusting, he went again beyond words, almost beyond sound. They could hear from him only harsh breaths, his lips still working, mouthing silent pleas, until Obi-Wan curved down enough to capture his mouth in a ferocious kiss. Padmé could see their tongues and teeth clashing, Qui-Gon pulling at Obi-Wan’s hair to get him down closer.

Then Anakin finally thought to press the panel again, and the door closed. Obi-Wan was still making sounds enough to again drown its movement out, low groans and whispered words, which were abruptly cut off with the almost silent click as the door slid into place. Then that door looked ridiculously innocent, again projecting the illusion that Anakin and Padmé were the only two people in his and his Master’s quarters. It was then that Padmé became aware that she was feeling extremely hot, especially between her legs.

“Well,” she commented, trying to break their state of shock, “you were certainly telling the truth about the soundproofing.”

Anakin didn’t respond, so she continued, “I wonder how he got free from the Healers early.”

That was when Anakin exploded. “Never mind how he got free from the Healers! He’s not, he shouldn’t-the hypocrite-that’s not-he-he” He stammered a little more, before finally coming to the point of the matter: “He doesn’t lose control like that!”

“Well,” mused Padmé, “he and Obi-Wan haven’t seen each other for nearly half a year, I think, and didn’t Obi-Wan nearly die on that last mission he was sent on? That might have gotten him a bit worked up.”

“A BIT WORKED UP? Padmé, that was more than a bit worked up! That was just plain gone crazy!” Still dumbfounded, he stumbled away from the door and collapsed into a seat.

Still feeling a bit overheated, Padmé joined him and slid onto his lap, savoring a new feeling of satisfaction. From the time she’d first endured Qui-Gon’s arrogant unflappability on Tatooine, she’d secretly wanted to see him lose control, just once. That wish had just been answered beyond her wildest dreams.

“And after all he’s lectured me.” Unfortunatly, it looked as if, for once, Anakin was absolutely not in the mood. “After all he’s made me feel so ashamed for my lack of serenity, it turns out his is nothing but a front.”

“Not necessarily,” replied Padmé. “What we just saw is probably the exception rather than the rule. Maybe it’s just that everyone has to let go every once in a while. And speaking of letting go...” She supposed she shouldn’t, really, because Anakin did need to come to terms with this new side of his Master, but then, a timely reminder of what he himself could engage in might be a good idea. She wondered if she’d be able to get him on his back in his bedroom, touch him until he was as crazed with need as his Master had been. So she slipped her thigh in between Anakin’s legs and whispered huskily in his ear, “If what we saw was any indication, it’s going to be hours before either of them can face company with a straight face, and we have unfinished business.”

“We do?” He looked at her as if she was crazy. For about a split second before she moved her hand to a very strategic position. This was easy.

“Your bedroom,” she said, and pulled him unresisting in the direction of the other door. Oh was she going to enjoy this.