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O is for Ovation

by Pumpkin

Bound by his oath, Qui-Gon stepped onto the plank of wood that would raise him into the arena. He closed his eyes and gathered the Force to himself, wearing it like an impenetrable shield. He could hear the pulse of drums measuring the moments as they passed, and he could hear the clank and rattle of the linked chains working to pull a second crude elevator up to the sands.

A cheer rose, drowning out even the drums before fading away to leave the pounding rhythm to stand alone. Wood grated across wood and sunlight, bright and warm, shone down on him from above. The drums were louder now, their rhythm changed, more demanding, and he could hear the crowd chanting for him. "Jedi. Jedi. Jedi." Or perhaps their chants were for the young man who waited now for him on the sands above.

With the noise of chain as warning, the plank upon which he stood began to rise. Up, slowly, inexorably up, the square of sunlight growing larger as he neared it. Now he could see the top rows of the stadium but the spectators were tiny. They looked more like sticks with cotton at their tips than people. Suddenly a roar went up as he was spotted rising from beneath the arena.

He stayed in place, back straight, head held high. The plank slid into place and a hush fell over the arena. Obi-Wan stood across from him, already naked. His skin had been oiled and it gleamed in the sunlight.

Qui-Gon watched as his padawan moved toward him, all graceful limbs and rolling hips - pure sensuality. As Obi-Wan neared, Qui-Gon could see that he was erect, his penis curving up to kiss his belly. Qui-Gon could feel his own shaft responding to the sight: his phallus growing firm within the confines of his leggings.

He was glad of the layers separating his body from the crowd, temporary as it was. A moment or two more to hold his Jedi-bred reserve and modesty to himself before he had to perform.

His eyes slid past his approaching padawan, taking in the golden and pink sands, noting the way the heat rose from them, moving in shimmering sheets like warbled glass. At each of the four compass points stood a drummer, each wielding a hefty club that hit the large round skins in tandem. The drummers too were naked, their bodies painted gold and pink, and through the shimmer of heat they looked like ghostly figures risen from the sands. Qui-Gon spared the crowds a single, sweeping glance. They cheered and clapped and stamped their feet, urging the spectacle to begin.

Obi-Wan now stood only a few feet from him and their eyes met and locked. Qui-Gon's awareness of the crowd faded beneath the intensity of his padawan's gaze. If Obi-Wan commanded him to come that very instant, he would.

But those were not the roles they played today.

Obi-Wan dropped slowly to his knees and then bent at his waist. He held Qui-Gon's eyes for as long as he could, but only stopped moving when his forehead touched the ground, his hands crossed over the small of his back. A hush fell over the arena, even the drums were stilled, their last beat seeming to hang for long seconds in the air.

Qui-Gon remained still, eyes on the shining body at his feet, holding the moment, letting the silence grow loud. Time stretched, growing tighter with each passing second. He waited until the silence screamed around them, crackling in the air and racing from person to person, becoming more eager to be broken as time passed.

He moved. One small movement -the glide of his booted foot over the sands until the tip of his toe touched Obi-Wan's cheek. The stadium exploded around them, the noise circling them in a chaos that slowly coalesced into a single word, repeated with each new beat of the drums. "Jedi."

Obi-Wan turned his face and kissed the toe of Qui-Gon's boot and then slid forward to press another kiss on the heel. Lifting his head, he placed more kisses on the shin and calf. A final kiss to the rim of the boot and then he repeated the procedure on Qui-Gon's other boot. Qui-Gon watched impassively, seeming unmoved by the act of obeisance performed by the lithe, naked body at his feet. But his heart beat rapidly in his chest and his penis had grown so hard it ached, throbbing against the constraint of his leggings with each beat of his pulse.

Obi-Wan stood then, body moving with a fluid grace. When their eyes met again, Obi-Wan's glittered like jewels, twin emeralds of desire, and his cheeks and body were flushed beneath the gleaming oil. Qui-Gon wanted to reach out and touch the skin, to test the muscles for firmness, to feel and find out if the shaft was as silken and hot as it looked. But he could not. It was not his place in this and his fingers curled into his palms, hidden beneath the voluminous sleeves of his robe.

Stepping close, Obi-Wan wrapped his hands in the rich brown of Qui-Gon's cloak and pushed it over his shoulders, arms following so that he was wrapped around Qui-Gon. He felt the robe fall from his body as Obi-Wan let go, felt it slide down his back and against his legs. As the heavy garment hit the ground a small puff of sand rose around the two of them, some of it adhering to Obi-Wan's slicked skin, settling into an elusive pattern.

Obi-Wan's hands slid around his neck, following the lines of Qui-Gon's tunic and for a moment he thought his padawan was going to kiss him. He watched as the pink tongue stroked across the lips so near his own. Obi-Wan's head tilted and drew even nearer and Qui-Gon was about to speak when Obi-Wan took a single step back, his lips quirking in a wry half smile.

Qui-Gon let his gaze roam over his padawan's body in the semblance of a caress and Obi-Wan arched as if he had actually been touched. Obi-Wan's hands returned to Qui-Gon's body, sliding under his belt. The roar of the crowd ebbed and flowed around Qui-Gon, all but lost beside the immediate reality of his padawan's hands on his body. The drums were lost to his own pulse.

The small furrow appeared between Obi-Wan's eyes as he carefully undid Qui-Gon's belt. It fell to the sands, landing in a heap on top of the brown sea of cloak that surrounded Qui-Gon's feet. Qui-Gon longed to lean forward and run his tongue along that furrow, picking up the taste of the oil and Obi-Wan's sweat. Instead he stood still, watching, always watching, as Obi-Wan continued to undress him.

Sliding the end of Qui-Gon's sash from beneath the many folds, Obi-Wan leaned forward to kiss it before wrapping it once around his fist. His padawan walked slowly around him, unwinding the sash as he went. Qui-Gon's tunic fell open once the sash had joined its brothers on the arena floor and Obi-Wan placed his hands scant millimetres away from Qui-Gon's chest, the heat of his padawan's hand acting as the touch he wasn't yet allowed. The tunic was pushed carefully from his shoulders.

The crowd rumbled, their impatience filling Qui-Gon and he growled when Obi-Wan's fingers brushed against his abdomen as they slid beneath the waistband of his leggings. Obi-Wan pulled the garment apart, using brute force to tear it from Qui-Gon's body, leaving him naked but for his boots.

The air moved against Qui-Gon's skin in a hot caress and when his padawan fell again to his knees, Qui-Gon moaned. Obi-Wan's breath swirled against his erection with hidden promise, but the bow was completed and Obi-Wan soon rested his forehead against the sands once again.

Qui-Gon felt the flicker of the Force as Obi-Wan called the vial of oil hidden in Qui-Gon's cloak to himself. Qui-Gon watched as the familiar hands unstopped the bottle and collected the oil. He had to concentrate very hard not to react as Obi-Wan began to rub the oil into his skin, starting with his knees, just above the rim of the boots.

Upward the smooth strokes continued, not lingering, but not missing any skin, touching him everywhere. Obi-Wan bypassed his penis and Qui-Gon had to fist his hands to keep himself from grasping his padawan's hands and redirecting them from his hips to the needy column of flesh between them. Swallowing passed the growl stuck in his throat, Qui-Gon closed his eyes, but he opened them again a moment later, compelled to watch the familiar hands move over his flesh, smoothing the oil over his belly and chest.

Obi-Wan was breathing heavily and Qui-Gon could feel his own chest heaving rapidly. The heat rising from the sands combined with the heat from his padawan's hands -combined and merged, making him hot within and without. Each touch of hand, or air, inflamed him further.

As Qui-Gon let himself sink further into his feelings of arousal, desire and love, the frenzy of the crowd moved around and through him. Their excitement fed his and his in returned fuelled them.

Obi-Wan's slicked hands continued their journey, sliding over Qui-Gon's shoulders and down his arms. Qui-Gon bit back his moan as Obi-Wan took first one hand and then the other, working the oil into each finger. Qui-Gon had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his body from shuddering. It wasn't time, the ritual was not yet complete. But soon, he only had to hold himself in check for a little bit longer.

Obi-Wan moved behind him now and Qui-Gon felt exposed without his padawan's body in front of him. Nevertheless he stood tall and proud. He gathered his calm around himself, reminded himself of who he was -what he was -Jedi. The fact that he stood, naked but for his boots, penis hard and curving upward, body glinting in the heavy sunlight, did not change him, indeed it was who he was that made this his duty.

Obi-Wan began spreading the oil on his back, beginning at Qui-Gon's shoulders and working downward. Sure hands stroked from his spine, out to the sides of his ribs, repeating the motion vertebrae by vertebrae until he reached Qui-Gon's coccyx.

If he lived forever, Qui-Gon believed he would never forget the feel of Obi-Wan's hands on his buttocks, caressing both cheeks. He could trace the imprint of each finger that touched him, the round sweep of the bottom of Obi-Wan's palm and the slightly cooler points where Obi-Wan's skin was thickest -four calluses on the right hand and three on the left.

One of Obi-Wan's fingers slid gently along his crease, teasing his opening with fleeting pressure. Qui-Gon did growl this time; the low primal sound lost beneath the noise of the crowd, but it seemed as through the drummers had heard it, used it as a signal, for the beat changed, became deeper and louder, needy. Obi-Wan completed his task, oiling the backs of Qui-Gon's legs with long, sweeping strokes down to the tops of Qui-Gon's boots.

Obi-Wan trailed one hand along Qui-Gon's body, up his back and over his shoulder, down to his navel. Obi-Wan was standing in front of him again by the time he'd completed the caress.

Their eyes met again and now they were no longer Jedi, no longer master and apprentice, no longer Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, not even men. Now they were desire, lust, arousal, carnal, primal, base need; one an empty vessel, the other the conduit, the lightning rod for the emotions of the crowd, of the very planet itself.

Qui-Gon threw back his head and roared as Obi-Wan's hands spread oil over his rigid member. He fought the need to push Obi-Wan to the ground and fill him with his seed -soon enough, just a moment more -surely he could hold onto his sanity for just a few seconds longer.

Obi-Wan knelt in front of him, on his hands and knees. His golden skin was gleaming, the pink and gold sands mottling his legs. Qui-Gon held firm, his control at its limits, straining against his tight rein. He would hold himself fast as long as he could, for it was only when the need broke free of its own will that he would truly fulfil his role.

The crowd screamed as if they had all gone mad. The drummers pounded the skins with frenzied strokes. The heat rose in it's light-distorting waves. Obi-Wan laid his head on the arena floor, cheek pressed against the sand.

Qui-Gon could feel his seed pulsing in his body. He could feel his blood rushing through his veins. His penis ached with need unfulfilled, but still he held himself back. Everything pushed at him -the sights, the sounds, the heat, urging him forward, but he was a Jedi, his control was strong -it would take more than this to defeat it.

Obi-Wan reached back, the strong hands cupping his own buttocks, fingers digging into the flesh as he pulled them apart, exposing the centre of himself to Qui-Gon's gaze.

Qui-Gon's control snapped.

He dropped to his knees and pushed his straining shaft into Obi-Wan's welcoming body with a single hard thrust. He grabbed the hips in front of him in a firm grip and began to pound in and out.

Harder and faster and harder and faster and harder and faster and don't stop, can't stop. More. More. The drums, the crowd, the heat, Obi-Wan, control, power, fill, need.

Qui-Gon screamed as his seed pulsed from his body, his orgasm filling every part of him before rushing out and into Obi-Wan. The bright sunlight faded, Obi-Wan's gleaming skin disappearing behind a grey haze and then he closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, Qui-Gon found himself collapsed on top of his padawan's body, both of them breathing harshly. The crowd that filled the stadium had risen to their feet, their cheering still ringing loudly through the arena.

He stood, helping Obi-Wan to his feet. Stooping, he retrieved his cloak from the arena floor and wrapped it around Obi-Wan and himself. The ovation from the crowd continued, even as the plank jerked and began to slowly lower them beneath the sands.

End.