Title: Cure for a Sucky Week
Author: Laure
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine, GKL's creation, really don't think he'll ever have Obi-Wan doing this.
Distribution: GG, my site, anyone else, please ask.
Summary: ABH. Had a sucky week, started this Friday but then my muse vanished. Was supposed to be smutty; isn't.
Dediction: Emmy, Julia, everyone else who had a sucky week.

Life sucks.

It's as simple as that.

A week that started off with such promise--even though it was hitting the hundred degree mark every day--quickly turned to crap. Work has given you a wonderfully nagging headache behind one eye, your back hurts from slumping over your keyboard for hours, your brain hurts from trying to figure out why the books aren't adding up right.

And to top it all off, your friends have all gone nuts and started fighting like cats and dogs leaving you in the middle to try to mediate. Finally you threw a temper tantrum and stormed out of the TGIF party at Houlihans.

But, oh thank god it's Friday because if it isn't the weekend, you're sure to murder someone.

As you pull into your driveway, the storm that's been building in the darkening sky for the last hour finally hits. Of course, naturally. Sighing heavily, you get out of your car, not even caring that a torrential downpour is only seconds away, but, as you start up the driveway, a huge crack of thunder sounds at the same instant a bolt of lightening strikes a bush in your front yard.

You fall back against the car, your heart pounding in fear, and you stare round eyed at the flaming Euonymus.

"Burning bush," you mutter, "Can't be a good sign."

Gathering your thoughts, wits and purse that had tumbled from your hands, you stomp up the driveway, muttering about chocolate first than the fire department.

Really, if the lawn catches on fire, is that a problem? It needs mowing anyway. And the house? Well, the paint job is peeling more every hot day. You're sure the firemen will put out the blaze before it does more than scorch the exterior walls.

And if they don't, you have insurance and you're tired of your wardrobe, your decor, your choice in china anyway. Throw the cat out the backdoor, grab your disks that contain your life's work, and maybe that leather jacket you still love too much, and...

As you reach the front door, your thoughts are interrupted by said door being flung open and a flash of black clad Jedi running into you and nearly knocking you on your butt in the now pouring rain.

Obi-Wan grabs you, keeping you upright, and you can't help but sigh just a tiny bit happily. He wasn't due back home for another week. All you want to do is sink against him, but he's making squawking noises and pointing to the bush.

Glancing over your shoulder you watch the flames doused by rain, and you shrug, uncaring. You grab the front of his shirt in your little hands and try to push him into the house.

He lifts you off your feet, spins, and places you on the front mat while he strides out into the rain to make sure the fire is totally out.

Leaning against the doorframe, a bit wilted and a bit tingly, you watch the silk of his shirt plaster to his back and arms, as he carefully nudges the bush with one black leather clad foot.

"My man."

He hears that and gives you a smile that drives away the doldrums enough to make you sing, "What a man, what a man, what a man, what a mighty good man..."

Obi-Wan's smile widens and he bows before giving the remains of the bush a final kick and jogging back to the door to sweep you into his arms.

"You're all wet," you protest, squirming.

"How fast can I make *you* wet?" He waggles his eyebrows at you and you giggle, clutching at his strong shoulders as he carries you through the house to lower you to the bed. As he stands back up to remove his shirt, you sigh softly, and he stops.

"This isn't what you really want, is it."

The tender awareness of your moods that rings in his voice makes you want to weep, and a part of you wants to lie and assure him that it is--and becoming aroused by him is never a hardship--but you're tired and cranky and...

"I want chocolate," spills out of your mouth.

Obi-Wan smiles slightly and sits on the edge of the bed to brush tangled curls from your forehead. "You've had a hard day, haven't you, love?"

"Hard," you sigh in agreement. "Hard and nasty week."

His lips brush the spot where his fingers had lingered and he murmurs, "Then how about I get you a nice big bowl of chocolate peanut butter ice-cream, order your favorite spaghetti carbonara from Paisanos, and we curl up here and watch a silly movie?"

He always knows just what you need. You nod listlessly and watch as he eagerly bounds away. Slowly you force yourself to get up and tug off your clothes, sighing in relief as you free yourself of strangling hose and pinching bra. Wearing only a pair of pink cotton panties, you pull a bright yellow sun dress over your head and sink back onto the bed. You shove a pile of pillows behind you and try to relax.

Obi-Wan returns, bowl in hand, and settles down next to you. "Pasta will be here in one hour, here's your appetizer," he teases lightly, handing you the bowl.

You nearly drool, but instead say a polite 'thank you' before grabbing the spoon and shoving a large bite of chocolate peanut butter in your mouth.

As you sigh in absolute pleasure, your Jedi wraps one arm around your shoulder to pull you against his warm side, and flicks on the television.

Ghostbusters is on Comedy Central and you nearly cry in delight, happy to drift into the silliness of Bill Murray and crew. You take another bite of the ice-cream, then hold the spoon up to Obi-Wan's mouth. He sucks the confection off the spoon with such sensuality that a shiver goes through your entire body. Grinning, he flashes a smoldering look at you, then takes another bite.

Maybe after the movie and pasta and some good wine you'll let him lick you like he's now licking the spoon.

He smiles. You giggle.

Maybe life doesn't suck so much after all.

End