Master Apprentice
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Obi-Wan sat, naked, on the edge of the bed, looking at the small brown-wrapped package in his hands.
"Happy Birth Day, Obi-Wan," his master murmured, moving to sit next to him. A noise came from the package, just a single sound as the bed dipped slightly. Obi-Wan grinned and shook it vigorously, a muted metal jingle meeting his actions.
"Well now I'm intrigued."
"No need to guess, Padawan, just open it."
"Yes, Master," replied Obi-Wan dryly, his fingers already pulling at the paper, tearing it from around his gift.
A small tambourine tumbled into his lap, made of pale safawood with gleaming silversteel cymbals fitted into it in groups of four. Long, thin ribbons hung from one side, bright colours of the rainbow in soft silk.
"A tambourine!"
"From the Rim planet Sarunt, made by the gypsies that danced for us in honour of the peace accord."
"I remember," said Obi-Wan softly. Holding the instrument aloft, he gave it shake, making it jingle, the noise triggering a long-lost memory. He was a baby, balled fits beating at the tambourine that lay across chubby legs. Laughing.
"It's perfect, Master," he said.
Picking up the tambourine, he began to dance in a circle, punctuating his movements with sharp raps to the instrument. The ribbons danced with him, flying in the air and around his body, the silk sliding sensuously over his skin. He copied the moves he'd seen the gypsies make, moving in tighter circles, tapping the tambourine more sharply, spinning faster and faster, and faster.
Until he fell onto the bed, on his back, the tambourine slipping from his fingers and bouncing on the bed with a few small jingles and then growing quiet.
"You are beautiful," growled his master, voice deep, feral and Obi-Wan looked down at himself, curious to see what his master did. His skin was pale, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He was aroused, his shaft hard, curving up toward his belly. His chest rose and fell rapidly, still moving with the effort of the dance.
"I want to fuck you," said Qui-Gon in a soft voice.
Obi-Wan's body jerked at Qui-Gon's coarse language, the rare expletive moving through him like a tidal wave of heat and anticipation. Filled with sudden, frantic need, he turned, pulling his knees beneath him, leaving his bottom in the air as his arms cushioned his lowered head.
Qui-Gon moved into his body with a single, easy stroke, Obi-Wan calling out a the sudden fullness. Back and forth Qui-Gon moved, pushing into him with considerable strength. The bed moved with the force of their movements, the little cymbals of the tambourine clinking together with each thrust, punctuating the rhythm of their love-making.
The sound came faster, the ringing closer together as Qui-Gon plunged into him. Obi-Wan's breathing was almost as fast, and then the cymbals overtook it, the sound coming continuously and then stopping as Qui-Gon froze. Obi-Wan could feel his master's seed fill him, he could feel his own orgasm rushing to meet him and then hit.
He could hear tiny cymbals crashing and rainbow ribbons of silk chased random patterns across his eyes and then it was over, his body pressed into the mattress beneath his master's weight.
Qui-Gon slid over, rolling off his back and curling up against his side. Obi-Wan snuggled deeper into the embrace, soft chimes marking their shifting. Opening his eyes, he could see the tambourine, on the bed where he'd dropped it, cymbals glinting. He reached out to grasp it, the soft tinkle following him down into sleep.
End.