Chapter Text
‘Obi-Wan, you’re like a candle lit at both ends. Keep going like this and you’ll burn out in no time.’
‘Do whatever you feel like doing. Live a little, Kenobi.’
‘Have a great trip, don’t want to hear a word from you until you get back.’
The change from a quiet apartment to a quiet hotel room sounds like a fresh start at first. Freedom from work laptops, from mind-numbing call after call.
Obi-Wan doesn’t know much about this ‘Winter wonderland resort’, which is what Cody had described it as. What he does know is that Cody used to work here when he was younger, that he’s got a brother currently working here, and that the hot chocolate is really damn good.
“Welcome to Fette Kaldt Resort, Mr. Kenobi!”
The receptionist greets him with a smile much too big for the occasion. Her hair, bleached and dyed blue and white falls down her shoulders, plaited into a braid on either side. It’s not her hair is too much in any way, but at this early hour it’s most definitely not easy to look at much else.
She’s squinting at the screen for what feels to Obi-Wan like five minutes, before writing something down on the back of a brochure. She hands it to him, and he has to remind himself that it’s been a long travel, it’s very early, and that she doesn’t deserve a glare from him, no matter how tired he is.
‘Fette Kaldt SPA’ reads the front page.
“Oh, it’s not necess–” Obi-Wan begins, but is interrupted by the receptionist.
“Already scheduled and paid for, Mr. Kenobi. With a note from a ‘Cody’ too,” she grimaces as she reads the digital note, “‘Just f-ing go to the appointment, you need it.’”
“Here you go,” she smiles and beckons a bellhop closer. “The key to suite 212. Enjoy your stay!”
She probably has a name, he’s pretty certain she even told him. Obi-Wan pulls in a deep breath, accepts his fate, nods, and thanks her.
Obi-Wan does the things he’s supposed to do. He does the things Cody has decided for him he needs to do. He dines at each of the eateries this giant winter resort has to offer. He peoplewatches, the same way people go birdwatching, though without binoculars. He even spends quite some time perusing the souvenir store, checking out every last trinket in all of the shelves in the entire store.
Obi-Wan buys nothing.
And afterwards, on a trek up a long hill to get himself yet another hot cup of cocoa, Obi-Wan looks up towards the resort’s ice rink and decides against it. Ice skating isn’t his strong suit. In fact, it’s not his anything, he doesn’t like it at all.
In the morning, Obi-Wan refills his plate at the morning buffet several times, not thinking about work once. Nope, not once does he think about work. No sir, he does not. The food is great, the hot chocolate is fantastic, and he might think about work a little bit, but he doesn’t check his inbox at least.
What he does do, is that he gets bored. Bored enough to listen to Cody.
The spa facilities are fine. More than fine, even. He spends days with skis strapped to his feet. He tries the hot chocolate over and over, at every place this resort offers it.
The hot chocolate is, without a doubt, really, really good. The marshmallows he can do without, but the whipped cream? Heavenly.
After his third time racing down the mountain he takes a ski pit-stop at one of the lodge bars, where the barkeep offers him a little something extra put in his hot chocolate, and Obi-Wan accepts it.
Spiked hot chocolate is easily one of the most delicious drinks he’s ever had in his entire life. Leaves him in a better mood, too. On his next round down the slopes he finds himself humming and singing. He decides to be honest if anyone asks him later if he actually shimmied his shoulders in a little dance, because yes, yes he absolutely did.
Umphteen trips up and down the mountain later, Obi-Wan returns his borrowed skis and heads back to his suite. Halfway there he stops by the reception to order some snacks to be delivered by room service.
As much as he enjoys this time alone, he misses human connection. The real kind.
Yeah, sure, the romantic kind too, but he’s not on vacation to find love. He’s here to wind down. To relax.
The first thing he does after getting back to his suite is to take off his outer layers and hanging them up in the bathroom. His snow boots he leaves in there as well. He knows well how much boot ventilation matters after a day like this.
Then he imagines himself as an onion as he peels off layer by layer of increasingly damp clothes. Giggles at his own silliness. Decides he deserves a little treat or two from the minibar, from which he takes a small beer and a chocolate. Their prices are sure to be higher than necessary, but hey, small joys, right?
For a couple of minutes he walks around naked, going from the bedroom to the bathroom, back out into the bedroom and over to the glass doors leading to the terrace.
Nothing could make him walk out there as he is now, still-damp hair clinging to his forehead, feeling both sticky with wet sweat and crackly with dried sweat.
The beer opens with a delicious crack-pssh.
It doesn’t taste as delectable as that hot chocolate he had earlier. Obi-Wan takes a bite of the chocolate and smiles. Not quite the same, no.
“I should definitely shower,” he muses to himself, realizing only when he sees all his outside gear that he might have made a mess for himself. “Right.”
Obi-Wan sighs. He’s having fun, but he’s bored. He wants a fuck.
That’s it.
He wants a fuck.
Unceremoniously he dumps all his gear onto the floor right outside the bathroom, clearing out the shower for him to freshen up in. He makes quick work of it too, even though he has to take a soapy-lathery break from all the sudsing up he is doing to deal with a very eager boner.
Obi-Wan needs a fuck.
He ends up on his bed, hair dripping wet, no-longer-a-boner hanging limply onto his right thigh, phone in his hand. Surely there must be at least one other man in this very large place who has the same hookup-app.
Completely forgotten is the order he placed with roomservice.
It takes him several seconds after there’s a knock on the door for him to remember that he ordered food to be brought up to his room. Only after the second, slightly more impatient-sounding knock does he remember that all his bits are on display, making him rush into the bathroom to find a towel to wrap around his waist.
Mostly wrapped, anyway. He needs to hold the towel firmly in place while opens the door, met by the smiling then uncertain face of.. No, Obi-Wan still can’t remember her name. The receptionist girl from the day he arrived here, anyway.
He remembers her mostly by her bleached blonde hair with blue stripes. This time she also wears it braided into two dutch braids that rest in front of her shoulders. It’s a striking look, and incredibly recognizable, as opposed to the uniform she’s wearing, which is the same one nearly all of the employees wear. Different than the one she wore behind the front desk though, he notices.
“Mr. Kenobi, I’m here with your, uh–” The girl, bless her, doesn’t know where to look. Her eyes wander, and keep snapping back up to meet his eyes.
“Roomservice? Apologies, had to grab a towel,” he apologizes, and is glad that at least his body has the right mind to know when he needs to blush.
“Yup, yes, roomservice.”
Obi-Wan steps aside to let her carry the tray inside for him. She sets it down on the desk close to the window, before heading back to the trolley outside his door. On it is an ice bucket with a small bottle of bubbles. This too she carries inside.
“Oh, I didn’t order that,” Obi-Wan says, still gripping the two ends of the towel tightly, lest they fall off his hips.
“There are several notes on your booking page, Mr. Kenobi. All from this ‘Cody’. One of them said to add an order of Bubbles, should you get room service.” And as if the confusion isn’t clear enough on Obi-Wan’s face, the girl formerly known as The Receptionist shrugs and adds on, “At no extra expense for you of course, Mr. Kenobi!”
The girl places a stemmed glass on the desk, pulled out from somewhere, Obi-Wan really can’t tell where it had been hidden. She faces him as she walks out of the suite, eyes firmly fixed up top. She’s out the door with the door closed behind her quicker than Obi-Wan thinks is necessary. It’s not like any of his hookup plans involve a woman, not today at least.
Obi-Wan makes sure to lock the door before he lets the towel drop to the floor.
On his tray is a delicious selection of finger foods and several bags of chewy candies in all sorts of colors. It is while snacking on these that he finally makes it onto the log-in page of the hookup site.
Instead of sitting by the desk to eat, he brings the tray over to the bed and puts his drinks on his nightstand. The glass he leaves on the desk, because he finds no reason to be overly fancy when it’s just him, his snacks, and whatever future snack he’ll find while scrolling.
The app is simply made, but does its job well. Make an account, come up with a username, add some pictures – please, for the love of the Stars, please take some new ones. With good lighting. Think about proportions and angles. Obi-Wan wants to groan every time he sees yet another dimly lit, grainy cock. He’s horny and wants to enjoy what he sees.
To mark the special occasion, he makes a brand new account for himself. He works himself up and takes a couple of new pictures, one of which he adds as his profile picture.
In between snacky bites and swigs of his drinks, Obi-Wan scrolls and clicks his way through the most recent-list on the site. After perusing the profiles of various studs and hotstuffs, he decides to add his current location and sorts by closest instead, which leaves him with only five options.
The first one is a bulky man, clearly someone who spends a great amount of time lifting things up and down at the gym. Obi-Wan respects the dedication, and lets his cock lead the way, making his way further into the depths of the man’s profile.
The man’s name and age is displayed in bold letters below an image of the man. The next image that pops up is of a perfectly average but awfully red member. The hand holding it up does unfortunately cover most of it.
“A shame,” Obi-Wan mutters to no one but himself, lifting the bottle of bubbles to his mouth. “Terrible lighting. Oh, and what’s this?”
At the bottom of the profile is what’s supposed to be a joke, one made in bad taste.
Obi-Wan sighs and blocks the man. “Into the trash can you go.”
The next three profiles he visits are alright. Nothing amazing. All three of the men are of various builds, with very different dicks. There’s nothing that makes any of them really stand out, except that one of them seems to have spent just a little more time to make their dickpics look nice.
Attention to detail is something to be rewarded, perhaps especially so when the selection is this terrible.
Obi-Wan sends all three of them a message, though he adds a little extra to the last one’s message.
If all goes to shit, he can always flirt his way into someone’s pants, but that requires more work than Obi-Wan is interested in right now. With one single profile left with the same location as him, Obi-Wan gets comfortable with one arm propped up behind his head.
SKIGUY, 23
The profile picture shows a half-naked, slender man in front of a mirror. His face is cut off by the top of the mirror, but the rest of him? “Whoa,” Obi-Wan mutters to the screen. It’s not a dick-on-display pic, but the tightness of the dark green boxers leaves little to the imagination. Same goes for the thumb hooked into the front, pushing the waistband down to show off a tasteful amount of dark pubic hair.
He swipes his way through all of the images on the profile.
Obi-Wan wants to compare them with real life.
The truth sits comfortably deep in his gut. He wants to bury his face between those gorgeous long legs, to lick, kiss, maybe even nip at the tender skin there.
Obi-Wan hopes he’s into that.
Now this, yeah, this is a man with an eye for detail, that’s immediately very clear. Obi-Wan could almost let himself be fooled into thinking these pictures have been taken by a professional, and the only thing pointing against that is that they’re all very clearly selfies.
All of his life’s choices and experiences have led to this very moment.
Which is an incredibly dramatic way to say Obi-Wan opens the chat window and types in a quick message, which he then deletes and rewrites. Twice. It’s almost funny how he lets a small spark of performance anxiety set root in his mind like this. Especially seeing as his physical body is sprawled in bed with legs jutting out at either side, fresh boner sprouting up in the middle.
His fries have long since gone cold and lost their crunch, yet Obi-Wan munches on. It’s a must in times like these. An incredibly hot man to fantasize about, a tray of savory finger foods and sugary treats, a pleasant draft between his legs, and last but not least; Beer and bubbles. Billions of brilliant, bouncing bubbles that leave a buzz simmering at his temples. The unusual exhaustion in his entire body, the one caused by hours upon hours spent in the slopes, where he’s been using his muscles in ways he doesn’t in his day-to-day.
And then, without consciously deciding to do so, his mind wanders back to the bodybuilder guy with questionable morals, and a question forms in his mind.
Maybe I should start going to the gym more?
He ponders the thought, his hand now playing with himself with lazy strokes. Not to get off, no, he’s not quite there yet.
Obi-Wan’s hand wanders up to rest above his belly button, where his skin is soft, almost bordering on being able to be called plump. Has he let himself go?
Nah.
That guy isn’t one he wants to compare himself to anyway.
Wherever his unhelpful and entirely unproductive train of thought would’ve taken him he won’t ever get the chance to know, because his phone dings with a new message. The sudden vibration from his phone yanks his mind directly from one topic to the next.
Brobi: hello there, gorgeous ;)
SkiGuy accepts your chat request!
You have (1) new message!
SkiGuy: hello there indeed, mr. dilf
Brobi: the things i want to do to you
SkiGuy: rude
Brobi: what??
SkiGuy: that was what i was going to say
Brobi: …
Brobi: you’re a funny little guy, huh?
SkiGuy: first of all: i’m not little :(
SkiGuy: second of all: i’m not little ;)