Master Apprentice
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He gets urges; feelings that slide through him, needs that slink from groin to brain and back again.
Wants.
He wants to have that sweet mouth on his body, wants to wrap that slender braid about his fist and guide that mouth from place to place. Hold him still, hold him in place and them make him move again.
He gets urges; feelings that make him shiver, needs that startle him.
Desires.
Desires lick through his blood; flames that feed with wicked intent on fantasies half-hidden in the recesses of his mind. Ropes around his padawan's wrists, his ankles, binding that compact body to his bed. Ropes like snakes, moving sinuously over pale flesh, leaving trails in red.
He gets urges: feelings he aches to act on, needs that leave him trembling.
Dreams.
Dreams in black and white with purple and yellow highlights; bruises on delicate skin, in the shape of his own fingers. Hips marked, arms marked, neck marked, places where he held on, where he loses control and holds on, not wanting to let go, please love, don't go. Just another minute, hour, day, lifetime.
He gets urges: feelings so strong everything else pales in comparison, needs that drive him to his own knees.
Knows.
Knows that one day he'll reach out and grab that braid, let his urges take him, take them both, to a place they've never been.
He gets urges.
End.