Exhaustion reigned supreme at SGC headquarters. An epidemic, followed by an official inspection from the Congressional oversight committee for secret military projects, followed by the rescue of SG-6 from an unexpectedly hostile planet…unpleasant surprise upon annoying aggravation left everyone, even the most determinedly upbeat project members, with their spirits muted.
Poking at his corn beef and cabbage, Jack O’Neill commented, “My great-granddad would tan my hide. I’m too tired on St. Patrick’s Day to get drunk. He was old country, born in Ireland.” At least it was a successful tired, Jack mused. Janet had solved the epidemic with her usual skill, the politicians were dutifully impressed enough to promise more funding, and SG-6 were sitting at the next table over, only a few bumps and bruises indicating their rocky adventure.
Daniel swirled the green beer in his glass. “Do I even want to know how the cooks colored this? No, I don’t,” he added hastily as Sam started to open her mouth. “That was rhetorical.”
The Major stifled the culinary explanation on the tip of her tongue and offered instead, “The food’s great.”
“The food is always superior here,” Obi-Wan added as he sat down with his second helping of tonight’s Irish celebration food.
Staring in amazement, Daniel shook his head, “I can’t believe what you can eat.”
Obi-Wan shrugged. “You’ve seen me train.” Despite their time commitments to exploration through the StarGate, the Jedi maintained their rigorous training in katas and lightsaber techniques, often rising early or exercising late in the night.
“Besides,” Janet said matter-of-factly, “Obi-Wan’s over a decade younger than you. He’s still got the perfect male metabolism.”
Daniel winced, uncertain whether he should observe that Qui-Gon trained just as vigorously in the Jedi martial arts and had never eaten with Obi-Wan’s enthusiasm, or lament that he was starting to feel old at 35. The last time someone had complained about age, Qui-Gon had discoursed for an hour on the wisdom and knowledge attained by his former Master Yoda in his 800 plus years. With their background and training in diplomacy, the Jedi accepted and understood most cultural differences, but the worship of youth in America was a mystery they were finding difficult to decipher. Everyone had learned to avoid lamenting about their age around Qui-Gon since that lecture.
The silence left by his delayed reaction was filled by Qui-Gon. “Actually, I believe I’ll have an early night. Obi-Wan?”
Nodding, Obi-Wan swallowed the last of his potatoes and stood. Before the Jedi could leave, Angela from SG-2 approached Qui-Gon.
“Hi, I thought – “ she waved a button at Qui-Gon and temporarily lost for words, pinned it on his khaki jacket. “Since you’re officially Irish, you should have this.”
“Thank you,” he replied, reading the button upside down, a perplexed expression on his face. “Kiss Me, I’m Irish.”
“You wear it every St. Patrick’s Day. It’s to celebrate the day,” she explained. Boldly, she rose on her tiptoes, balanced with her palms on his chest, and kissed his cheek. “Happy St. Pat’s.”
“Oh me too,” Janet leaped up from her chair and pressed a swift kiss on Qui-Gon’s lips. Sam copied her gesture, leaning over the table to reach Qui-Gon as he bent toward her.
“Now I’m upset you made me English,” Obi-Wan joked at Daniel.
“Welllll,” Angela said, the speed of her action in clipping another button on his jacket not matching the hesitancy in her tone.
“Oh, I like that,” he said, glancing at the slogan, “Everyone Is Irish Today.” A brief round of kisses ensued between Obi-Wan and the three women. He gave a mischievous glance at the still-seated Jack, Daniel and Teal’c, but Jack leashed the Jedi’s sense of humor with an emphatic shake of his head. The other two men merely looked wistful.
An early night seemed the common sentiment. Besides being tired, everyone was well aware that Hammond was likely to frown severely on the excessive drunkenness that would normally mark the celebration of St. Patrick's Day. A general exodus of SGC members trailed from the cafeteria after the Jedi, depositing their plates in the wash baskets, leaving Jack and Daniel still sitting at the table. Watching the stream of khaki, the Colonel looked momentarily perplexed. "We're the only ones wearing blue today."
"Hmm?" Daniel said, his gaze distant as the sipped at the last of his green beer. He was remembering his first night back on Earth, when Jack had invited him home for dinner. One beer had given him a pleasant buzz, and Jack had joked about Daniel being a cheaper date than his wife. Those words now seemed oddly prophetic.
"You. Me. Blue uniforms. Everyone else's in the khaki."
"Well, it is St. Patrick's Day. You're supposed to pinch anyone who isn't wearing green. Khaki's the closest military uniforms get to green."
Smacking his palm into his forehead, Jack groaned, "My great-granddad would kill me."
Daniel pulled his attention away from contemplation of his beer. He didn't particularly like beer anyway, tending to drink it more because it was expected than any desire for the taste. "We could rectify the mistake." Despite the lack of other patrons, he lowered his voice, "We could go back to your quarters and pinch each other."
A delighted smile crossed Jack's face. "Why Doctor, you wouldn't be flirting with me, would you?"
With a silly grin and a deprecating shrug, Daniel responded, "I just thought we might celebrate the holiday together. It's almost my duty as your team member to ensure that an O'Neill has a good time on St. Patrick's." He jumped as he felt the sharp nip of fingers on his inner thigh.
"I got first pinch. The next is yours, I believe." Jack's careless lack of concern was well faked as he abruptly stood up and sauntered across the room, dropping his tray in the basket. A last look over his shoulder dared Daniel to catch him. The scientist's grin grew wider and sillier for a flash before he masked his glee, displaying the same nonchalant attitude while walking after his lover.
In the Jedi's quarters, Obi-Wan was stretching, pulling his muscles taut as his hands extended toward the ceiling. He shook his body loosely before smiling apologetically at his Master. "I am sorry, Qui-Gon. Today is an Earth holiday and I have made no special preparations."
Qui-Gon tugged at the collar of Obi-Wan's jacket, his motion signaling to his apprentice to let the fabric slip off his shoulders. Hanging both their jackets, Qui-Gon seemed undisturbed as he replied, "Our duty to our comrades is our first responsibility. Recent events have left little personal time." He crossed to stand behind Obi-Wan, massaging his shoulders, covered in the short-sleeve black t-shirt. "Besides shouldn't this holiday have been my responsibility? I am the Irish member of our duo. It says so on my passport."
Leaning into those clever hands, Obi-Wan smiled with satiation at the comfort of a full stomach and an adored lover easing tenseness from his body. "Since it was my turn, but you're Irish, maybe we should combine efforts."
The pressure increased, maneuvering Obi-Wan to face the bedroom door and walk forward. The Padawan obeyed, happy to continue this conversation close to the large, comfortable bed. His belt buckle was loosened and pants unclasped before the t-shirt was tugged over his head. A push to the small of his back caused him to flop on the bed as Qui-Gon commented, "I sense you have a plan for an impromptu celebration."
"I'm delighted to know your Jedi prescience still works on this planet," was the amused response. Rolling over to face Qui-Gon, he suggested, "Perhaps a celebration befitting the holiday?"
Qui-Gon's allowed the light brogue that so many on this planet identified as Irish roll through his words strongly as he said, "I can imagine you in Ireland."
Wiggling into a comfortable position, Obi-Wan smiled as his Master began the fantasy. "Yes? What am I doing in Ireland?"
Knees settled by his hips as Qui-Gon sank onto the bed. The massage resumed, hands caressing the firm muscles of Obi-Wan's chest and shoulders. "You're laying just as you are now, but you're in a field of shamrocks. Beautiful green shamrocks. It's a lovely country, full of soft, rolling hills, and we're close to the ocean. I can smell the tang of the ocean in the gentle breeze."
A low purring moan emitted from Obi-Wan as he relaxed, sinking in a state of erotic drowsiness. The massage encouraged him to slip into blissful slumber, but the thrumming anticipation counteracted the sleepiness.
Qui-Gon continued verbally painting his vision. "You're clothes are gone and your graceful body is exposed to the rays of sunlight. And to my eyes, as I walk across the field. I've never seen you before, and I'm entranced by the perfection of your body, the gold shimmer to your hair. I don't know how to react to this unexpected gift, afraid that if I even breathe too heavily, you'll disappear, like a magic leprechaun." A subtle adjustment to his shields thinned their strength, sending the mental image to his Padawan.
Obi-Wan was grinning foolishly but couldn't stop himself. In Qui-Gon's image, he looked like a young god, strong and beautiful. For so many years, he had respected and loved his Master. To know so completely how much he was admired and adored always filled him with an awed delight, even if he thought the image ridiculously undeserved. "I'll have you know that I was a leprechaun."
"Was?" Qui-Gon asked, as Obi-Wan began undressing Qui-Gon, his belt and t-shirt tossed to the floor. The arms tangled since Qui-Gon kept massaging Obi-Wan, exploring his solid chest, rubbing blunt thumbs over rapidly hardening nipples. "Can one stop being a leprechaun?"
"With the proper incentive." Obi-Wan pressed the most delicate of kisses on Qui-Gon's lips. "I was strolling through the forest one day, and I saw this mortal. This tall, handsome mortal, with silvering hair. He was standing by a stream, fishing, completely concentrating on coaxing a fish to his net. He caught me before he got his fish. Captivated me with his handsome face, his strong body, the wisdom and sensitivity in his eyes." Obi-Wan thinned his own mental barriers, allowing Qui-Gon to see how his Padawan pictured him. While Obi-Wan might be a young god to Qui-Gon, Qui-Gon was a force of nature to his Padawan, powerful and handsome, majestic as a noble stag.
Qui-Gon bemusedly shook his head at his apprentice's unabashed admiration. "But you were a leprechaun. Magical leprechauns surely can't fall in love with mortals."
"When the mortal is absolutely perfect, the leprechaun can’t control his heart. I went to the sacred meadow, and danced in the shamrocks, pleading and praying and using every ounce of magic I possess. I felt myself growing taller and broader, felt myself changing, leaving behind the magical kingdom. I finally collapsed, exhausted and slept in the sun."
Using his superior strength, Qui-Gon pressed Obi-Wan's shoulders to the bed, sitting back on his heels enough that he could give his apprentice's lithe body a long, raking glance. "I can just see your clothes, the bright green vest and breeches, tearing off your body, leaving shredded tatters hanging loosely."
"Tatters? How easy to remove." Obi-Wan's lips quirked, quite willing to be undressed quickly. "I woke and opened my eyes to see you there. My mortal. It must have been the last of my magic that brought you walking across this meadow. You though…" he frowned, "you were wearing too many clothes."
Qui-Gon saw himself, dressed in a cream Irish sweater and sturdy brown trousers, his fishing rod and tackle mindlessly dropped when he spied his treasure. He laid his body on top of Obi-Wan's. "Then shall we remove these encumbrances?" The two undressed each other slowly, rolling back and forth on the bed to ease removal, unzipping zippers, untying shoes, flinging pants haphazardly off the bed. The clothes differed in their minds - the black and khaki substituted for shreds of emerald cloth, fine knitted wool and cotton. There was no rush to their actions, only the lingering rediscovery of taut skin and supple muscle, hands lightly stroking, interspersed with sharing lingering kisses.
Sitting up with his back against the headboard, Qui-Gon pulled Obi-Wan into his lap. Both were erect, fully aroused by the contact and caresses, but moving so carefully, cherishing every touch. Obi-Wan's hands massaged Qui-Gon's shoulders, played with his hair as they kissed. He gasped as Qui-Gon's hands slid down his back, squeezing his firm cheeks before parting them to find the tight opening. One of Qui-Gon’s hands left his body, groping on the nightstand for the massage oil, while the other continued a rhythmic stroking up and down the cleft of his buttocks. Qui-Gon’s kisses became more impassioned, capturing Obi-Wan’s full attention, distracting his awareness as Qui-Gon fumbled with the bottle.
One oiled finger slid inside Obi-Wan, locating and pressing against the sensitive spot. Obi-Wan shivered as pleasure rushed throughout his body, his teeth digging into Qui-Gon’s shoulder to muffle the uncontrollable groan. Qui-Gon continued his task with a sure touch, his apprentice like a vibrant flame in his arms, their hard shafts rubbing together.
“Now, my mortal…now!” came the imperious command, as Obi-Wan reached the limits of his patience, desperate for satisfaction.
“Yes, now,” Qui-Gon answered, clasping Obi-Wan’s hips to raise and then lower him into position. Obi-Wan’s body hungrily accepted the intrusion of Qui-Gon’s stiff cock. “Now we shall be together forever.”
His knees digging into the bed as his hands clasped Qui-Gon’s shoulders, Obi-Wan raised and lowered his body in an increasingly frantic pace, bewitched by the heat and fire in his lover's eyes. Qui-Gon's broad hands stroked down Obi-Wan's back. Shields gone, their minds united as they made love under the warm sun, the breeze whispering against their skin, shamrocks crushed by the combined weight of their bodies.
From the harshness of his breath and the turmoil within his mind, Obi-Wan could sense Qui-Gon was nearing his climax. He stopped his motions, locking his thighs against Qui-Gon's hips. A hoarse groan tore from Qui-Gon as his eyes grew wild. "Don't tease me, Obi-Wan. Don’t. Tease."
"I just want to feel you. Deep inside me. So strong. So solid. Like it's the very first time we're together. Feel you…"
Broad hands dug into his hips, powerful strength honed from decades of training and battle forced him to move up and down. "Then feel me come. Feel me claim my leprechaun as my own."
And Obi-Wan did feel it. Felt Qui-Gon throbbing within him, felt the forceful hands move him faster and faster, felt his Master jerk and shudder as he released his climax within the depths of Obi-Wan's body. Then Obi-Wan could only feel his own responses as he came, screaming hoarsely, his mind awash in a vibrant rainbow of colors - the green of the shamrocks, the darkened blue of Qui-Gon's eyes, the lighter blue of the sky, the shine of his hair as the gold of the sun hit the silver strands.
He came to awareness reluctantly, still enfolded in Qui-Gon's embrace as his Master slid them under the blankets and spooned them together. His sigh was blissful as he snuggled deeper into the powerful embrace. "You could take me back to your cottage and we could live together forever, the mortal and the ex-leprechaun. It would be perfect."
A murmuring exhalation of breath against his hair agreed with the sentiment before Qui-Gon gave a small, sleepy chuckle, his thoughts instantly transmitted to Obi-Wan.
"Yes, two Jedi sharing a Irish fantasy based on an American vision of the country probably isn't realistic," the Padawan responded a bit crossly. He twisted within the embrace so they would face each other, one finger lightly tracing down the strong line of his Master's jaw. "But we're not negotiators concerned with understanding with a culture now, we're lovers."
A wave of soothing reassurance flooded his mind as Qui-Gon spoke aloud. "Yes, Obi-Wan, we're lovers. Lovers sharing an absolutely perfect fantasy." He ran his hand through the softness of Obi-Wan's hair, seeing in his mind the brightness of the sun glowing on the short strands. "And truly today, I have found my golden treasure."
~ the end ~
Happy St. Patrick's Day!