Disclaimer: The characters all belong to George Lucas and the
Star Wars filmmaking machine and merchandising conglomerate.
We're just borrowing them in order to answer a really nagging
question we had while watching the film. What question? Read
the story and find out what was bothering us. We will say right
now that it doesn't involve Jar Jar Binks or any Gundan, so you
can all breathe a collective sigh of relief.
Rating: NC-17
Category: BDSM, A/U, minor angst
Spoilers: None. This is a prequel to TPM
Archive: M_A and GiffStein, ask before putting anywhere else
(we'll probably say yes, but we like to be asked)
Summary: One Jedi Master (variety SMHOTDAMN!QUI-GON), one Jedi
Padawan (variety SMSLUT!OBI-WAN), a pod at the Senate, sexual
use of the Force, and the ensuing naughtiness which leads to
both "punishment" and punishment.
Warning: This is rather intense. If the idea of Qui- Gon doing
mean things to Obi-Wan and both of them loving it turns you
off, M-A has a lot of other stories in its archives.
Feedback: Oh pretty please with the Jedi (plural) of your
choice mud wrestling in Godiva chocolate sauce.
"I have a bad feeling about this, Master."
"Quiet," snapped Qui-Gon Jinn, as he idly played with one of
the waist-length locks of his student's hair. "Just sit and
look as though you're interested in the Senate proceedings."
"And if we should be observed?" asked Obi-Wan Kenobi nervously,
noting the beginnings of his arousal at the possessive and
casual touch of his Master's fingers in his hair. He tossed his
head slightly, hoping that Qui-Gon would notice the ripple of
hair down his back.
Qui-Gon smiled slightly at Obi-Wan's desire to be noticed. "We
will not be observed if you pass the test. We are in a remote
corner here, and no one will take notice unless we call
attention to ourselves. You must trust your Master, Obi-Wan,
and trust yourself. This is an important test of your
mindfulness and self-control. It's very simple. You're a Jedi;
surely you can control the responses of your body."
"Yes, Master. I will not come."
Obi-Wan felt his Master wrap a fist in the long lock of hair.
Then, beginning almost imperceptibly, a tingling sensation
began in every strand of hair on his head. It started at the
ends, swarmed up toward the roots, and uncoiled itself in an
electric pulse down seemingly every nerve in his body. At the
same time, the nipple clamps Qui-Gon had ordered him to wear
under his robe began to vibrate, defeating his attempts to
block the painful, yet arousing, sensations they provoked.
It was too much stimulus for him to try to block; instead
Obi-Wan tried to relax into it, letting the electric currents
flow through and out of him like a stream. This was effective
and even enjoyable. He made the mistake, however, at glancing
at his Master's face, and the inscrutable smile told him that
he was not going to be let off this easy. "It's not a true
test, if it's this easy, is it, my Padawan?" asked Qui-Gon.
Qui-Gon gave a quick yank and a twist to the lock of hair, one
that would keep the flow of sensation going on its own for a
while. His hand moved to Obi-Wan's back, moving slowly up and
down his apprentice's spine. Obi-Wan gasped. A nugget of heat
began to kindle at the base of his spine. Two tendrils of fire
raced along his nerves to merge with the pain pulsing from his
nipples. Then the heat flowed into his anus, setting off small
explosions and sparks. Qui-Gon kept his thumb stroking the base
of Obi-Wan's spine, while one long finger pressed his anus
through his robes. Obi-Wan felt himself begin to stretch as
well as burn, and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. His
breathing had grown harsher and more rhythmic, but he
desperately fought to keep his body in control, as the Senate
deliberations droned on around him.
He looked around, but no one in the other pods seemed to
notice. He shifted a bit in relaxation and relief, when the
heat in his anus seemingly uncoiled itself directly into his
cock through the base. He had been controlling and dampening
his responses, but now his cock sprang to life as it tingled
and pulsed from within. "Master!" he gasped in a horrified
whisper.
Qui-Gon replied calmly, "Some Jedi you are, Padawan. First time
you're captured and tortured, you'll give up every secret you
have."
Obi-Wan flushed at the truth of the words. He closed his eyes
and concentrated, channeling the Force to block the sensations
assaulting him. His cock began to lower and grow still.
Now this won't do! thought Qui-Gon to himself. A sudden
impulse battered him. "Well done, but can you manage under
pressure?" he whispered coolly.
Obi-Wan had a second to worry about what sort of pressure his
Master was talking about; after all, they were in the
Senate Chamber, albeit in a very out of the way pod. As his
body found its own control, his thoughts cleared again.
"I think," Qui-Gon, continued in that calm voice, "you're
enjoying this too much. Why should you have all the
fun?" Obi-Wan looked back at him a little nervously, and, as
usual, could detect nothing of his Master's intentions in that
dark blue gaze.
"Serve your Master, Padawan!" the suddenly sharp voice ordered.
"And then we'll have a real test of your abilities!"
Qui-Gon leaned back, slightly knowing that in the dark pod it
would take an onlooker with amazing perception to even notice
that he was touching his apprentice in any way, let alone
that way. He let his fingers move again through the
heavy silk of Obi- Wan's hair, sending tendrils of erotic
energy rippling through every hair on the young man's body. He
smiled sardonically at the sound of a hissing breath, which was
followed by a faint and rather muffled moan of disappointment
as his fingers were suddenly merely stroking the long hair
normally as it lay against Obi-Wan's back.
"You should," the senior Jedi said dryly, "be able to make me
feel very good without moving from where you sit. Very
good," he added for emphasis, "and very quickly."
"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan replied. He knew he sounded a little
petulant and wished there was some way to get that note out of
his voice. It was just that Qui-Gon pushed him so hard .
. .
Well, Ben, he told himself. You wanted to be a Jedi,
and this man's lover. Don't complain when the going gets
difficult on either path. And admit it, you like it, love it,
when he pushes you hard.
Careful to keep his touch light, like picking locks rather
than throwing boulders he told himself, Obi- Wan flexed his
fingers carefully working into the "ghost hand" state, and then
stroked, directing the energy to Qui-Gon's hard muscled thighs.
There was no response, but the young apprentice hadn't really
expected one so quickly, and was not deterred at all from his
task.
He quickly found evidence that his Master was aroused by the
"training" they were doing, but took care to glance over his
shoulder for permission to go any further. Qui-Gon granted it
with a nod, very much like the one he used at the beginning of
a training duel. Which made sense, reflected Obi-Wan, this
was a training duel, if not one of the more ordinary
ones.
As his "ghost" fingers glided over the sleek satin skin that
covered his Master's cock, Obi-Wan admitted that this
was an ordinary training mission for them. "We all find
our own ways to the discipline we need to work with The Force,"
Qui-Gon had once told him. "Ours," he had added, wryly, "is
just a little . . . different."
Qui-Gon actually found it a little difficult to keep from
moaning as his cock was expertly stroked. Trained the boy
too well, and now I have to pay for it. he thought
in amusement, as Obi-Wan's "ghost" fingers began to target each
sensitive spot on his already aching cock. A slight pinch here
or there, a thumb rolling smoothly over the slick head, fingers
carefully but forcefully sliding up the underside, and then the
whole "ghost" hand circled Qui-Gon's cock and began to stroke
firmly.
Qui-Gon took a moment to rearrange his robes slightly, and then
let himself shut down a little. Part of him was aware of the
net of energy he was still teasing Obi-Wan with, part of him
was even aware of the boring discussion about the Trade
Federation and the planet Naboo, but mostly he maintained his
calm look and sent his senses inside, to the Force as it
spiraled through his body. He was careful to shield himself,
and then he reveled in the touch of his young lover's hand.
While he had denied Obi-Wan's release, he knew that his test
would be even harder for his Padawan if the Master took
advantage of his status.
And so he did, letting the bright pleasure burn through his
nerves as Obi-Wan sensed his impending release and moved his
"hand" harder. Qui-Gon quite successfully fought the urge to
thrust his hips in time with the strokes. He also managed to
keep his moans firmly in the back of his throat, and his large
hands did not reach up and tangle themselves ruthlessly in
Obi-Wan's beautiful hair. To anyone, other than another,
equally powerful Jedi, looking at him, he would have merely
seen the Jedi's senior representative close his eyes for a
second, no doubt fighting boredom.
To Obi-Wan, it seemed as if a flare had gone off right next to
him, a flare that captured all his senses, forcing him to
experience each nuance of Qui- Gon's orgasm second hand. He
closed his eyes, bent over slightly and coughed. As he was
righting himself, he felt the strong touch of his Master on his
shoulder.
"Are you well, young Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon asked.
"I'm fine, Master Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan managed to reply calmly.
I just want to be somewhere where you can really pull
at my hair. he sent through their bond.
"Patience, my dear Padawan," Qui-Gon replied aloud, but softly.
"Did you think your test was over yet?"
Obi-Wan stifled a sigh. "No, Master." He wondered what Qui-Gon
was going to put him through now, and he couldn't help
be uncomfortably aware of the pods of senators and delegates
nearby. He had already caught some glances in their direction,
but that was nothing new. The two of them were a stunning sight
in their Jedi robes, with their long hair, and both were used
to being stared at. The thought was disturbing though; he
couldn't imagine that they could escape observation. Well
then, he thought to himself, I'll just have to pass the
test.
You had better, murmured a voice inside his head.
There will be serious consequences if you fail.
Obi-Wan stifled a shiver of pleasure. His fear of the
consequences of failure was real indeed, but his Master's
threats always set him on fire. Even if the punishments he
received crossed the line from pain/pleasure to mere pain, he
thrilled at the quietly smoldering intensity of his Master's
assured authority over him.
These were dangerous thoughts. His cock began to stir, and he
quickly snapped out of his musings to reassume control over his
body.
It won't be that easy, my young one, the voice in his
head threatened. "There's really quite an interesting debate
going on," said Qui-Gon aloud. "I suggest you pay attention.
You might learn something." Qui-Gon suddenly slipped his hand
with ease into the folds of Obi-Wan's robe, unfastening the
opening of his pants in a single smooth motion.
Master! erupted Obi-Wan silently. I didn't expect . .
.
A Jedi's life is full of the unexpected, returned
Qui-Gon in a slightly bored, sardonic tone. We've seen that
you can control your reactions to mental stimulation,
but where is the challenge in that?
Shit, muttered Obi-Wan mentally to himself, as a finger
stroked its way along the length of his again- erect cock. He
glanced at his tormentor, fuming. Qui-Gon was leaning back in
his seat, his eyes on the speaker, his eyebrows slightly lifted
as if in thought, the expression on his face simultaneously
alert and haughtily disinterested. Anyone watching would assume
that he was paying attention to the proceedings, but didn't
think very highly of them.
The hand moving under Obi-Wan's robe wouldn't be noticed unless
someone were very suspicious of the activities in that
particular pod. Obi-Wan's cock throbbed with the light
stimulation. You are too eager, my Padawan, came the
mental voice, and the finger turned icy cold, and jagged lines
of cold seemed to travel along his cock, over his balls and
into his anus. Obi-Wan grew limp instantly, trying hard not to
gasp aloud at the pain.
A quick glance at his Master's face showed that slight smile of
bemusement that so intoxicated Obi- Wan. He thought, as he had
more than once, I would follow this man anywhere, on my
hands and knees if he desired. He did have the presence of
mind to shield that thought for himself.
But he quickly had to pay attention to his body again. A
fingertip was circling his cock, from base to tip, in a tight
spiral, and a tingling, sparkling heat followed in the finger's
wake. The heat also spread, and Obi-Wan felt his
cold-contracted balls relax as his cock once again sprang to
life.
Then the tip of his cock was firmly grasped between a thumb and
a forefinger, but the fingertips had acquired a scratchy
roughness, like sandpaper, as they stroked and pinched the
sensitive head. Obi-Wan nearly slid down from his seat onto the
floor, but caught himself, cursing to himself fluently. Qui-Gon
was really playing dirty here, using one of his favorite
sensations on one of the spots most susceptible to it.
All right, the world doesn't play fair, Obi-Wan thought.
He settled into a higher state of trance, reciting the Litany
of Serenity.
Qui-Gon had to hide a pleased smile. Obi-Wan was reacting far
better than expected. The Master wondered if he should take
pity on the young man and cease tormenting him. That thought
was quickly rejected as the Trade Federation's delegates began
yet another long tariff proposal. Too wound up himself to
listen to what amounted to a Litany of Greed, he stroked his
fingers all the way down Obi- Wan's cock.
As his Master continued stroking him, a rough sensation that
balanced exquisitely on the border between pleasure and pain,
Obi-Wan struggled with his Litany and his body at the same
time. I should be used to this, he thought. His Master
could be fiendishly clever at distraction tests like this;
Obi-Wan had levitated things while being teased this way; he'd
levitated himself while being teased; hell, he'd once
kept one of Qui-Gon's glass curios moving in a perfect circle
while a flogger beat desire into him with stroke after stroke.
So why was this such a problem?
The answer was simple. It was public. While Master/Padawan
relationships frequently strayed into the realm of physical
love, it was still something the Council kept quiet about. It
was sanctioned, but considered one of those Things Not Spoken
of Outside the Temple, particularly when it worked the way
their relationship worked. Which meant that if he
screwed it up here, in the very Senate . . .
Obi-Wan bit back a moan as his Master's hand sped up. It
abraded the soft skin of his cock in a way that made him want
to forget all Jedi dignity and beg for more. More pain, more
pleasure, more of both until they spiraled together to produce
ecstasy. His hips moved under the combination of memories and
this current stimulation.
The hand immediately stopped its tease, and Obi-Wan held back a
moan. Master, he thought to Qui-Gon, oh Master . . .
please.
Don't let your thoughts become so disordered, Padawan,
Qui-Gon thought back, his usual answer when Obi-Wan begged
during one of these tests.
In reality it was taking a fair amount of his own command of
himself, body and mind, to remain still and calm. A part of
him, a part usually walled away in the most private corners of
his mind, wanted to hear Obi-Wan beg even more, wanted to give
his lover all he was asking for and take all he wanted from the
young man. Dangerous thoughts for a Jedi Master in the Chamber
of the Senate, he reminded himself.
Obi-Wan's body had stilled and so Qui-Gon began to tease him
again, tightening his hand and increasing its speed on the
increasingly slick skin of Obi-Wan's cock. His Padawan's mind
seemed calm as well, and Qui-Gon smiled, assuming that Obi-Wan
had wisely used the tiny break to still his thoughts.
Obi-Wan thought so too, and so his sudden, demanding orgasm
took both men by surprise.
"Oh yes . . .!" he yelped, as his hips bucked and his head
rocked back with the force of his release.
Qui-Gon instantly pulled his hand out of his apprentice's robes
and looked around, cataloging any necessary damage control. For
the next five minutes, as Obi-Wan slumped in his chair, the
Jedi Master convinced four pods of delegates and Senators that
they hadn't seen what they thought they'd seen.
The action required was a good thing, because behind all the
activity, he was berating himself severely. How could he have
done this? How could he have been so selfish and so eager to
see his lover squirm in public? What, in the name of the Force,
had made him choose the Senate Chambers? There were plenty of
places they could have done this, but no, he had wanted to be .
. .
He continued his self-castigation all the way back to the
Temple. Obi-Wan, looking as pale as his role of having
succumbed to a sudden fever required, staggered at his side
until they got to their quarters.
"I'm sorry, Master," was the first thing he said as the door
closed behind them. "I'm so sor . . ."
"All fault is mine, Padawan," Qui-Gon said curtly.
"No it isn't, Master," Obi-Wan argued. "If I hadn't failed your
test . . ."
"You were meant to fail and I should have known better, been
less reckless, chosen a better place . . ." Obi-Wan's Master
sighed, and his apprentice could feel just a hint of
self-disgust behind tightly held shields. "No, I wanted to see
you struggle in public, to see you lose control and give me
another reason to 'punish' you." He shook his head ruefully.
"And now, I fear, a real punishment is in order. For both of
us."
His words were followed almost instantly by a tap on the door,
and he straightened himself before keying the visitor in.
"Master Yoda." As he bowed, he could feel Obi Wan behind him,
bowing even lower.
The ancient Jedi made his way deliberately across the room to
occupy Qui-Gon's usual chair. "So," he said. "Most reckless you
have both been. From a Padawan known for his brashness,
yes, this I would have expected. But from a Knight of your
restraint, Qui- Gon . . . Most surprised am I."
"I made sure the incident wouldn't be remembered and I would
have been on my way to you as soon . . ."
"As soon as I could convince him to bring me with him, Master
Yoda. This was not Master Qui-Gon's fault; it's mine!"
"Silence, Padawan." Qui-Gon snapped.
"Thinks it is his fault alone, he does," Yoda replied calmly
ignoring Obi-Wan's serious violation of protocol. "Correct,
young Padawan Learner?"
"Yes I do, Master Yoda."
"Hmmmmm . . . " Yoda climbed out of the chair and began to
pace, tapping the floor with his gimmer stick. "As for the
Senate, stand will your explanations, Qui-Gon." At Obi-Wan's
faint sigh, the old Master turned to stare at him. "But here .
. . here, stand they will not!"
"I am aware of what I have done, Master Yoda" Qui-Gon said
quietly, "and will face the consequences." He looked sternly at
Obi-Wan. "Alone."
"Making my decisions for me, are you, young Qui-Gon?" Yoda
rarely snapped, and Qui-Gon suddenly felt like an apprentice
again.
"No, my Master," he replied.
"Hmpf!," Yoda snorted and then wheeled around to face both of
them. "Correct, you both are. But, young Obi-Wan, the error you
think you made, make you did not."
Obi-Wan struggled to work his mind around the rather
complicated sentence, "Master Yoda?"
"A mistake failing your Master's test a failure is not, but
failing to convince him of the folly of such a test, that a
failure is."
The ancient Council Master turned to Qui-Gon. "Your failure,
know you well." He beckoned and Qui-Gon leaned down, knowing
what was coming next.
True to form, Yoda grabbed his ear strongly and pulled him
further down. "The boy, recklessness engenders in you."
"I know Master."
"And yet, for you, not such a bad thing that would be, if . .
."
"I was reckless somewhere other than the Senate. I understand
Master."
"Speak of this again, we will. Convince the boy not all
is his fault, first you must."
"Yes Master. I am willing to accept any punishment . . ."
"Speak for me again, you will? Punishment, by the Council,
decided will be."
"Yes Master."
"Hmph!" Yoda said, finally letting go of Qui-Gon's ear. The old
Master looked once at Obi-Wan, who bowed low, while Qui-Gon
straightened up and stretched almost imperceptibly. "Hmpf,"
Yoda said again, and then he was out the door and gone, leaving
a very silent room behind him.
Obi-Wan was doubly distressed. He felt like he had utterly
failed his Master, and he felt the wounding of his pride that
Qui-Gon was suffering. He couldn't bear to see his Master
brought low, and he dropped to his knees in front of the Jedi.
The words began to tumble out: "Master, it was my fault . . . I
should have known I wasn't ready . . . or I should have better
control . . . "
"Quiet, my Padawan," Qui-Gon said gently, helping Obi-Wan to
his feet and leading him to a chair. He sat in a nearby chair
and leaned forward to take his apprentice's hands in his. "You
are not free from blame, young one, but I bear the greater
responsibility. It was reckless and foolish of me, and I
was impelled by my desires more than by concern for my
apprentice." He sighed. "As the teacher and the Master, I take
the greater share of the blame."
Obi-Wan managed a fleeting smile. "But, Master, it is good for
both of us when you are impelled by your desires."
Qui-Gon returned a wry smile, "In the right time and place,
young one. And the Senate was, in retrospect, neither." He grew
serious again. "I was testing your control, Obi-Wan. And in the
process I lost my own. How can I teach you control if I am
unable to control myself?"
Obi-Wan thought for a moment, then mused, "Perhaps the teaching
of it requires the knowledge of how difficult it is." He
paused, "I understand, Master. The fault is shared."
Qui-Gon was looking down into his own lap, unable to face his
apprentice for the moment. His voice even broke slightly as he
said, "Your Master is an arrogant, irresponsible fool, Obi-Wan
Kenobi."
This was too much for Obi-Wan. It was too hard to see his
Master degrade himself like this. "Master," he began.
"Master Yoda said my fault was in not convincing you the test
was wrong. I, too, let pride and desire govern me. I wanted to
show off for you, please you. I should have admitted from the
start I wasn't ready. My responsibility is to know my own
weaknesses, Master, but I ignored my knowledge."
"That is true," said Qui-Gon slowly, lifting his head a little.
"And, regardless of what Master Yoda said," Obi-Wan added in a
low husky voice. "I did fail your test."
For a moment, Qui-Gon resisted Obi-Wan's teasing voice. His
Padawan was less than subtle in trying to lift his spirits and
Qui-Gon wasn't sure he deserved to dish out the "punishment"
the young man wanted. He was opening his mouth to change the
subject, when Obi-Wan slipped to his knees in front of him,
bowing his head.
"Please Master, I came without permission. I know I deserve
punishment for my error and I beg you to chastise me as you see
fit." As he spoke, he bowed his head lower, and the shining
mass of his hair pooled on the floor before Qui-Gon's boots.
As Qui-Gon looked at the liquid red-gold of Obi-Wan's hair, he
was struck with an idea. Bittersweet perhaps, but a punishment
they both deserved.
"'Punishment' now, Padawan," he said, his voice calm, "and
punishment later." Obi-Wan had been with him long enough to
know the difference in voice tones, and he responded by leaning
forward to gently kiss the gleaming surface of Qui-Gon's boot.
"Understood, Master."
"Then to your feet, Padawan!"
Obi-Wan moved smoothly to his feet to stand in the classic Jedi
pose, his hands tucked neatly into the sleeves of his robe.
"Clothes," said Qui-Gon curtly, although a half-smile quirked
his lips.
Obi-Wan shed his clothing as quickly as possible. As soon as he
was naked, he barely glimpsed a motion of his Master's hand,
but he found himself flung roughly against a bare wall, his
arms over his head and his legs wide apart. He could feel the
Force emanating from Qui-Gon pinning him there. The Jedi Master
approached his apprentice and began touching him gently, still
invisibly pinning him to the wall. He ran his fingers through
the long hair, sighing to himself, then carefully gathered it
and draped it over Obi-Wan's shoulder, so it would not get in
the way. Then he began lightly touching Obi-Wan's back, tracing
scars of prior punishments and scars attained in training.
Obi-Wan contained a tremble. These gentle touches prior to a
beating drove him mad, and Qui-Gon knew it. Obi-Wan would have
to contain his impatience at the suspense.
"Now will you stay in this position, Padawan?" asked Qui-Gon
softly.
"Yes, Master."
Obi-Wan felt the energy pinning him to the wall disappear. He
braced himself, knowing it would be hard to keep his hands
above his head and keep his legs spread this far. But he wanted
to please his Master.
"Turn around and look," ordered Qui-Gon.
Shit, thought Obi-Wan to himself. Qui-Gon was holding a
"snake," an exotic toy he had picked up on a mission to
DelRessa. It was like a stiff whip, but it coiled and moved as
of its own volition. Combined with the accuracy a Jedi Master
could achieve, it was deadly. Why did I get myself into this
situation, again? thought Obi-Wan wryly. He always desired
"punishment," but when the time actually came, he couldn't
control the fear. Qui-Gon was a very talented master.
Qui-Gon held the implement to Obi-Wan's lips, and Obi-Wan
kissed it mechanically. Then lightning struck. The tip of the
snake struck a spot on his spine, just below the base of his
neck. Pain radiated out from the spot in eight directions in
jagged lines like lightning--up along the sides of his neck,
across his shoulders and up his arms, straight down his entire
spire, and downward in fiery lines across his back.
He bit his lip hard and struggled to maintain his position. The
next two strikes landed precisely along his shoulder blades,
and lines of pain spread out over the slowly fading ache of the
previous strike. Then Qui-Gon approached closer. He began
drawing the snake in patterns around Obi-Wan's back. The snake
responded to the control of the Jedi Master, drawing itself
into a coil and then uncoiling to trace a figure eight. Obi-Wan
moaned--it felt like a trail of flame followed in the snake's
path. He could imagine lines of fire on his back, and fought to
keep his Jedi control.
Three stinging blows to each buttock, and the pain surged
through his ass and down his legs. Obi-Wan bit back a groan and
consciously countered the sudden weakness in his knees.
"Too subtle," Qui-Gon grumbled. "I need a workout." Obi-Wan
smiled slightly to himself. He knew that Qui-Gon was angry at
him, angry at himself, and angry at the situation. He needed to
exercise some brute physical force, and not with a capital F.
Obi-Wan saw out of the corner of his eye the snake floating
away to its storage place and a heavy leather braided flogger
float in. He knew his Master had old- fashioned tastes, and
while most practitioners of the arts of pain preferred the most
modern and exotic devices, ones that did most of the work for
their owner, Qui-Gon still had a fondness for working up a
sweat with an implement that had no power of its own.
The flogger landed on Obi-Wan's shoulders with a tremendous
thud that shuddered through his body. Old-fashioned or not,
Qui-Gon was accurate and thorough. Obi-Wan's back suffered
through a long, hard flogging, each blow slamming into his
flesh followed instantaneously by the stingy flick of the tips
of the braided tails. He regretted one aspect of his Jedi
training here, as he could distinguish each sensation with
utter accuracy. He did rather enjoy each jolt that shook his
body, but each one temporarily took his breath away.
Nonetheless, this kind of flogging was familiar to him, and
keeping in position was not hard.
The flogger moved to his ass, thudding deep into his buttocks.
He heard Qui-Gon's breathing get the slightest bit more harsh,
and he hoped that his Master was getting what he needed from
this workout. Each blow slammed him further against the wall,
and his erection was getting painfully scraped.
"This is a serious infraction, you know," panted Qui- Gon after
he tossed away the flogger after what seemed like hours of pain
and bliss to Obi-Wan. "I think more correction is needed."
"Yes, Master" responded the apprentice. He grimaced when he
glimpsed another old-fashioned implement, a single-tailed whip,
float into his Master's hand. It wouldn't hurt as much as the
snake, but it would hurt longer, and the wounds would
chafe under his clothes. He braced himself again, and the first
blow exploded on his shoulder, slicing open the skin in a neat
line. A precise ladder of such lines proceeded down his back
and over his buttocks, then up the other side. He could feel
that the slashes were perfectly evenly spaced apart and all the
same length. He moaned and concentrated hard to keep control.
At the same time, pride in his Master's ability washed through
him. What other Padawan could claim such a Master? Despite his
training, he couldn't suppress a small yelp each time the whip
opened his skin, exposing the gash to the stinging air. But he
could feel satisfaction emanating from his Master, and that was
the important thing.
Both Master and Padawan were breathing heavily (and in the same
rhythm) when Qui-Gon laid down the last stripe. The Master
lifted a hand and once more the Force reached out to grab his
apprentice and fling him against the wall, this time with his
aching back against the cool surface.
"Since your control seems a little shaky," Qui-Gon said,
raising his hand, "let's make sure that you don't suffer from
another relapse."
The ring he fitted at the base of Obi-Wan's cock felt like
rubber, but once it was in place, it tightened until it gripped
him as hard as any metal could.
"These, on the other hand," Qui-Gon said, gesturing at
Obi-Wan's chest, "have probably been on too long, wouldn't you
think, Padawan?"
"Whatever you say, Master." Obi-Wan replied through gritted
teeth. "Please Master?"
"Yes?"
"I may need to scream, Master."
"Left or right?"
"Whichever you prefer of course, Master."
The answer earned him a tight smile. "Seems my Padawan's been
listening during diplomatic missions." Qui-Gon replied with a
tight smile. "The right one I think," he added offhandedly, his
hand moving toward the right side of Obi-Wan's chest.
"Yes, Master. Thank you, Master."
As Qui-Gon tugged the nipple clamp free, Obi-Wan howled, his
body arched against the wall. There were tears in those
changeable eyes, and he moved so much that a great swath of
hair rained down on his chest. He yelped as it cascaded across
the painful swollen nipple. When he opened his eyes to stare
into his Master's gaze, Qui-Gon felt the love and trust and
need pour out of his Padawan and hit him like a blow to the
belly. How had such magic occurred to both of them? How had
each managed to find the one person in his life who meshed with
the other so well?
Keeping his eyes and face stern, the Master stared at his
apprentice and, his hand movement almost casual, flicked the
left nipple clamp off. Obi-Wan's body arched against the wall,
although he didn't scream this time, the twin feelings of pain
and pleasure emanated from him like an exotic perfume. Qui-Gon
drew a quieting breath, and then held out his hand. A small
whip made up of dozens of thin rubber thongs floated out of the
toybox, and Qui-Gon held it, tapping it lightly against his
robes.
Hearing the sound, Obi-Wan struggled to find his place on the
wall again. Calming his breathing, reaching inside for the
comfort of both the Force and his love for his Master, he
straightened up and stood proudly, waiting for whatever
fiendish notion Qui-Gon had worked out for him.
The light sting of the little whip against his cock seemed
incredibly mild compared to the pain he'd just suffered. He
thrust his hips out slightly and was rewarded by not only
another blow, but an amused chuckle from His Master.
"Don't be too eager for this, young one." The whip snapped
across Obi-Wan's hungry cock, and the young man moaned. "That's
not the only place I can use it. No noise restrictions
anymore."
Obi-Wan had a brief second to tense for the warning, and then
the whip was lashing neatly at one of his painfully sensitive
nipples.
"OW! FUCK!" he yelled, the word giving him some vague escape
from the pain.
"Tsk Tsk, Padawan. Such language."
"Yes Master. Sorry Master."
Even as Obi-Wan apologized, Qui-Gon tossed aside the whip and
began to tease Obi-Wan's terribly sensitive nipple with a
strand of the young man's hair. And then he stopped short, an
odd smile on his face.
"Kneel!" he snapped, and Obi-Wan hit the floor, landing
smoothly in the classic position, sitting back on his heels,
hands behind his back, head down. Qui-Gon felt that familiar
blow to the stomach, that inability to believe that the Force
had lead them together.
"Chin up."
Offering no immediate explanation, the Jedi Master singled out
a strand of hair that hung near the front of Obi-Wan's head.
After summoning a few things from a very old chest, he began to
braid the lock of hair. Obi-Wan's eyes expressed confusion, but
remained totally still, with the exception of his cock, which
twitched now and then in its bondage.
"On my home world." Qui-Gon said calmly, "young children wear
dourushli, or family locks. Just a thin braid of hair designed
to identify their Clans and families, should the child get
lost. Sometimes, an older child will wear one indicating that
he has behaved in a way that a young child would behave." As
he'd spoken, he'd been braiding the red-gold hair, adding the
beads he'd worn as a child. Now he tied it off with the red of
his family and stood back to admire the effect.
Obi-Wan was trying to maintain his "eyes forward" position. He
wanted to sneak a glance at the braid the he could just see out
of the corner of his eye. Odd, he shouldn't feel humiliated; he
hadn't been raised in Qui-Gon's society. Bu the memory of that
calm voice explaining things the way he would to a child living
in the creche, made his face burn. Treated like a child when,
even at 25, people still called him "boy." He bit his lip,
vowing to do as much as he could about getting his Master to
remove the braid as soon as possible. But for now, there was
something required of him.
He bent low, until his forehead was almost touching his
Master's glossy black boots. "Thank you Master. Thank you for
the lesson."
The Jedi master ruffled his apprentice's hair affectionately in
acknowledgment. He continued stroking the long glossy hair and
then said, sadly, "There is a real punishment, Padawan. And it
is for both of us."
"Master?" asked Obi-Wan, looking up.
"What happened is my responsibility, as well, Obi- Wan. Master
Yoda wanted to make sure you understood that. It is only fair
that I participate in your punishment. In fact," he continued,
an edge of wryness creeping into his grave voice, "I believe
this is one of those cases where I will be able to say that
this hurts me more than it hurts you. Stand up, Padawan."
Obi-Wan stood up, puzzled. He still wasn't happy about the
braid, but he had no idea what his master was talking about.
"Do you trust me, Padawan?" demanded Qui-Gon. "Do you still
trust me to know what is best for both of us?"
"Of course, Master!" exclaimed Obi-Wan. Knowing that his master
was fallible did not reduce his respect for him.
Qui-Gon lifted the braid. "Put this in your mouth, put your
hands in front of you, and lean back as far as you can, so your
back is arched."
Obi-Wan obeyed, feeling humiliated at holding the embarrassing
braid in his mouth. He clasped his hands in front, and arched
backward so that his hair swept the floor. "Trust me, Padawan,"
said Obi-Wan grimly, running his fingers through Obi-Wan's
hair, then releasing it. Obi-Wan suddenly heard the ominous hum
of a light saber at its lowest setting.
Qui-Gon could not help but admire the picture his Padawan made,
arched backward, the long hair falling straight behind him. It
burned itself into his brain permanently. But this was not the
time for softness or sentiment. With an almost imperceptible
movement of his arm, he neatly severed Obi-Wan's hair straight
across with a quick sweep and perfect control. The beam did not
touch any other part of Obi-Wan's body.
Qui-Gon watched the locks drop to the floor, sighed heavily,
mechanically flicked off the light saber and stashed it back
inside his clothes. "Master!?" gulped Obi-Wan, shocked, the
forgotten braid falling out of his mouth. He knew how much
Qui-Gon had loved his hair; he had continued to grow it almost
more for his master's sake than his own, although he took great
pride in it. Obi-Wan turned around slowly. It was true. His
hair lay in a neat coil on the ground.
Qui-Gon was also staring at the ground. In a distant voice he
said, "It seemed appropriate that I should share in the punish
. . . ment." His voice broke on the last word, and he didn't
make an effort to conceal the tears gathering in his eyes.
Obi-Wan dropped to his knees again. "Oh Master, I'm so sorry,"
he gasped in a rush, then collected himself. "Thank you,
Master," he added in a more formal tone.
He bent until his forehead touched the floor. Strange how
lightheaded he felt; he couldn't even remember his last hair
cut. And if was strange to him, how must he look to Master
Qui-Gon, who had never even seen him without long hair? He
inched his head forward, just a bit, until his forehead rested
at the toe of Qui-Gon's boot for a mere second, before pulling
back.
To his relief, the boot nudged him and he gently placed a kiss
on it before he began to slide his tongue over the smooth
expanse of polished leather. He settled onto his elbows and got
as comfortable as possible. Boot work, particularly with a man
as large his Master, was not something you rushed. And he never
wanted to do a sloppy job; he remembered a night 2 years ago
when the Force had held him spread- eagled to the wall and he'd
watched in tears as Qui- Gon cleaned his own boots.
Qui-Gon smiled to himself as his Padawan squirmed into
position, appreciating the view of the whip marks on that
muscled back and taut ass. Bless the boy for taking some
initiative. Qui-Gon had deliberately denied either of them
release before he'd cut Obi-Wan's hair, because he wasn't sure
he could do it in the post-scene languor and he'd also hoped
that some closeness afterward would ease his hurt. Now he knew
that he'd be ready to reward Obi- Wan for taking both
punishments so well. His glance flickered to the discarded
red-gold locks of hair as he thought about the real punishment.
The one for himself.
Oh it wasn't just Obi-Wan's hair, although he'd miss the way
it, somehow, made his Padawan look incredibly masculine so that
just the sight of a well muscled arm half veiled in hair could
drive Qui-Gon half crazy. And of course it was useful; he'd
miss coiling his fingers in it, pulling the young man around by
it, using it to keep Obi-Wan's head in one place as he thrust
into that hot eager mouth . . . I guess I will miss
it more than I thought.
Which was why it had had to go. The more intense their "scenes"
got, the more each had to remember that they were also part of
something bigger than just two men in a set of rooms, declaring
their love for each other through the rituals of pain and
punishment, service and reward. He'll wear it short from now
on, he told himself. Except for the braid; that
wasn't coming off any time soon.
The new braid tickled the side of his face as Obi-Wan began on
Qui-Gon's other boot. He glanced up slightly at his master, who
frowned slightly, sending Obi-Wan quickly back to work. He felt
oddly uncomfortable for once. Licking his Master's boots was
pretty humiliating, particularly since he'd basically begged to
do it this time -- and his cock strained at the thought -- but
he felt more than humiliated right now. More than ashamed for
his failure.
I feel naked. Which was an absurd thought, given that he
was always naked when he did this. Yes, always naked on my
elbows with my ass in the air. His mind rebelled for a
moment. How can I let him do this to me? But it was only
a short burst of anger; he let Qui-Gon do this to him because
they both needed it, both wanted it, both would have a lesser
relationship without it, both even found it useful in dealing
with the Force. His mind impatiently left the old question
behind for the new one.
It's the hair, I used to hide behind the hair. Now he can
see more of me. When I bow my head, he'll still see some of my
face. He was thinking about this aspect more, when
Qui-Gon's calm voice interrupted his thoughts.
"The fastenings," Obi-Wan's Master said in that calm voice of
his. No need to shout or be harsh here, Qui-Gon Jinn was
accustomed to be obeyed.
"Yes Master." Obi-Wan took the first fastening in his teeth and
undid it. And then the next and the next . . . It was no easy
task and one in which the aid of the Force would be helpful.
Obi-Wan couldn't use the Force, or his hands right now, just
his mouth. Sometimes he did have only the Force to use,
undressing his Master and satisfying him with the distance of
the whole room between them.
Soon enough his work with the boot fastenings was done and
Obi-Wan knelt up, his face flushed. He was once more aware of
feeling more naked than usual and he decided to ask his Master
about it.
"May I speak, Master?"
A nod. "As long as you take these off me while you're talking."
Oh no, Obi-Wan thought, but stood and brought a stool
over so that Qui-Gon could rest his heel on it. Then drawing a
deep breath, he bowed slightly, turned, and straddled his
Master's thigh. Knowing that Qui-Gon was looking at his
backside, Obi-Wan bent over and began tugging at the heel of
the boot. He could tell that Qui-Gon was keeping the boots on
by a combination of foot placement and the Force and he tugged
harder.
"Master, your Padawan was wondering if his Master would allow
him to grow his hair back?"
"Does my Padawan wish to do so?"
"I . . ."
"Out with it!"
"I feel more naked, more exposed, without it, Master."
"And the braid?" Qui-Gon asks, his voice noticeably more husky.
"It's humiliating, Master."
Obi-Wan finally prevailed over the boot and laid it aside. The
next one pulled right off, and he could feel a sudden sense of
urgency from his Master.
"The dining table," Qui-Gon said shortly. "On your back, hold
your legs open and wait for me."
"Yes Master," Obi-Wan gulped.
Then he was climbing on the table and placing himself into what
was, for him, one of the most humiliating, "naked" positions
possible. There was no way to hide his face and his reactions.
His own hands were cupped on his thighs right above the
knee, holding his legs wide open and baring so much to his
Master.
And he burned. Burned with humiliation. Burned with the contact
of each whip mark on the cool stone table. Burned with need and
desire and a hunger that he'd once thought would never be
filled. And he burned with pride that his Master would see him
like this and know how hard it was for him and that there was
only one being in the great wide universe for whom he would lay
himself out for like this.
Qui-Gon loomed above him and reached out to gently cup his
chin. Obi-Wan braced slightly, but didn't turn his face away
from the slap to his right cheek. "Mine," the Master said.
"Yours, Master."
Qui-Gon looked at him and then took the braid in his fingers,
rolling it a little, before draping it over Obi-Wan's neck. The
young man gulped as he absorbed the ritual meaning of the
gesture. He arched his head back and whispered, "Always, yours,
Master," echoing the words through their bond.
"Mine and laid out naked for me. I think I have a Padawan who
needs to be fucked."
"As my Master wishes."
Even as Obi-Wan spoke, the bottle of lube floated in from the
bedroom. Qui-Gon looked at it thoughtfully and shook his head
and gestured again. Another bottle made its way to the table.
Obi-Wan was a little surprised; the first bottle wasn't that
empty. And then he watched as his Master opened it up and
poured a very generous amount into the palm of his hand.
Looking at Obi-Wan and smiling a devilish smile, Qui-Gon began
to rub the lube all over his right hand.
"Oh Force," Obi-Wan whispered as he realized what was about to
happen to him.
Qui-gon looked at him, his expression suddenly tender. Bending,
he kissed the inside of Obi-Wan's thigh. "Yes?" he breathed.
I could say no. Just like that and he'd lube up that big
cock of his and fuck me until I screamed. I don't know if I'm
ready for this; it's not like we haven't gotten close . . .
"Yes, please, Master." His nervousness must have either shown
in his voice, or traveled through the bond, because Qui-Gon
leaned over him.
"My brave Padawan. So fearless, so beautiful, so generous . .
." He slipped in to telepathy. . . . so loved.
Love you, Master.
More lube and then two large fingers were sliding into Obi-Wan.
Already aroused, he took them in easily, squirming a little and
moaning to let his Master know how good it felt. And it did
feel good; he loved the faint burn that always seemed to travel
down his calves to his feet and toes.
His Master fucked him like that until Obi-Wan was staring up at
him with unabashed pleading. "More?"
"Please, Master, please."
A third finger moved into him and now it did hurt, but still a
good hurt. This was like his Master's cock in him. A little
painful, but such an ache, such a sweet/hot pain. As Qui-Gon
began to move hard, Obi-Wan was soon floating into that place
where his well-trained senses merged and melded each exquisite
sensation into twists of the Force.
"*Master*" he breathed, or did he just think it? The pressure
was already building up and he didn't know how long he could
keep his body and his talent separate.
"Let go, my Padawan, my Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon murmured softly. He
had tucked another finger inside Obi-Wan, and the young man's
body practically threw itself off the table.
"OHHH . . . I can't!" Obi-Wan screamed. "Hold . . . oh
please . . . hold me down . . . help me take it . . .
make me take it . . ."
And he was held down by the Force, as he grew accustomed to
this much pain, this much heat inside him. There was no motion,
just his Master holding still and holding him still, much the
way he had the night he'd first made love to his Padawan.
"Ahhhh . . ." He could feel the overbearingly icy pain flow and
melt into a warmer, far more bearable hurt. He looked up into
the midnight blue of his Master's eyes. "Please . . . tell me .
. . Master."
"I see you," Qui-Gon replied, knowing instantly what the young
man wanted and needed. "You're on our dining table, spread open
and held down for me. I can see you struggle to take what I
want to give and how you struggle to give what I want to take.
Oh my brave Padawan, I see you, flushed and sweaty and
grimacing and moaning and oh so beautiful. My braid is across
your throat, and you will wear it always . . ."
"Yes Master . . . don't let me grow . . . "
"Never, you can't hide behind that veil of hair now, Padawan."
"Please Master . . . ohhhhh . . . how much . . .?"
"Just one more time of pain, little one. Can you? Can you take
that pain and break through it?"
"Anything . . . for you Master . . ."
He screamed again and almost blacked out, but he did bear the
pain. He could feel his Master's hand, and thought about the
times he'd seen that hand wrapped around a lightsaber hilt, or
piloting a ship. Such big, competent hands and now one of them
was curled up into a fist inside his own body.
The warmth stole back and the hot electric blue of the Force as
he saw it shimmered behind his eyes. "Fuck me, Master," he all
but demanded, and as Qui- Gon complied the light grew and the
heat increased.
His Master had let go of the Force holding him to the table,
and Obi-Wan was thrashing on the table, struggling to take even
more. When he opened his eyes, through the curtain of the
sheets of Force light, he could see Qui-Gon looking at him with
wonder and love and fierce possessiveness.
It still hurt -- he'd be feeling this for a few days -- but as
Qui-Gon had said, he had broken through the pain and now he got
his reward. Qui-Gon dropped the mental wall he'd built around
himself at the beginning of the scene and their minds
practically slammed into each other. Owner and Owned, Master
and Padawan, friends, lovers, Jedi, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan all
melded and mixed, tied together by the strands of the Living
Force that made up everything.
Each knew the other's particular pleasure, Qui-Gon's need to
posses and Obi-Wan's need to be taken, Obi- Wan's craving for
pain and the hunger Qui-Gon had to deliver that pain. Like the
way they fought or the way they danced or the way they even
walked the same way, each of them matched, met, and
complemented one another perfectly. Each felt the other's joy
at having found the perfect partner and that joy spiraled
around them, wrapping them in the knowledge of the other's
love.
But now the spiritual side faded as Obi-Wan's aching cock
strained at its confines and, as Qui-Gon thrust his fist into
his lover, he thought the ring out of the way, and slid his
free hand along the swollen length of his Padawan's erection.
Pure pleasure ripped through Obi-Wan and he screamed and
thrashed. A nearby vase fell off a shelf and crashed to the
floor, and Qui-Gon quickly erected a physical Force shield
around the two of them. Obi- Wan didn't even notice as love and
pleasure and reward all wracked his senses. When he actually
achieved release, the pure energy of his orgasm sent his Master
over the edge and Qui-Gon's deeper voice joined that of his
Padawan as they both cried out their ecstasy.
Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon noticed with a small smile of tired amusement,
had passed out. Carefully easing his hand out of his lover, the
Master stood on trembling legs, looking down at his Padawan.
Sprawled out on the table, the young man looked like a reveler
who'd spent all night at a Correllian orgy. And yet, Qui- Gon
knew that, if ordered to, Obi-Wan would come to, jump off the
table and be ready for anything his master desired of him.
Qui-Gon smiled wryly, remembering times their private "lessons"
were followed by more familiar lessons, remembered watching
Obi-Wan fight a desperate lightsaber bout with one of the
senior trainers shortly after a caning. Obi-Wan had won, as he
did more and more these days; the Force shimmering around him
to be seen by anyone with the eyes to see it. In fact, Qui-Gon
had noticed that Obi-Wan tended to do better at just about
any training lesson after they'd done a scene.
Hmmm, I wonder if there's something to that?
The perfect Jedi Master, an amused voice answered him.
"Sit up, Padawan."
"Yes, Master."
Their eyes met, a white-hot spark seeming to leap between them.
"Please Master . . ." Obi-Wan began.
He didn't have to finish his request; Qui-Gon nodded.
Obi-Wan slid gracefully off the table, wincing slightly, but
radiating contentment. He fell to his knees and kissed his
Master's feet. When he looked up, his eyes still shone. "I . .
. Master . . . there . . ." He shook his head. "Master, you
turned me inside out." He bowed his head and then looked up
again. "Again."
"It was . . . a remarkable experience." Qui-Gon reached down to
touch his Padawan's hair. "To be so close, to have you let me
in so far, well," he looked down at his pants, and smiled
wryly. "It hardly left me unaffected."
How Obi-Wan managed to look both disappointed and slightly
amused at the same time, Qui-Gon wasn't sure; his Padawan had
one of the most expressive faces he'd ever seen. The young man
had worked hard to learn the proper Jedi impassive expression,
something else Qui-Gon had occasionally worked into these
extra-curricular "lessons." But, now, he usually didn't demand
impassivity; his own possessiveness made him need to see
Obi-Wan's responses.
He felt a faint shiver of disappointment as he looked at
Obi-Wan. The young man had been perfect throughout the whole
scene, but Qui-Gon found himself missing the long red-gold mane
of hair that used frame his lover's face. Then he remembered
Obi-Wan's confession that losing the hair made him feel more
naked and helpless. He chuckled a little, looking at the
tangled mane of Obi-Wan's hair.
"Master?"
"Padawan, a lightsaber has its many uses, but it wasn't exactly
designed to cut hair." He reached down and grabbed the small
braid and tugged at it gently. Obi-Wan rose to his feet.
"A quick shower and then come to the bedroom."
A few moments later, Obi-Wan walked into the bedroom to find
Qui-Gon sitting on a stool, a pair of scissors and a comb in
his hands. Obi-Wan's Master had obviously cleaned himself up
and had changed into a dark green silk robe, and Obi-Wan felt
the familiar tangle of emotions that seemed to center in his
heart whenever he saw Qui-Gon after any absence long or short.
Lust, love, respect, worship, affection, hunger, amazement, a
slight frisson of delightful fear, all coiled together into the
rope that made up their Bond.
He knelt before Qui-Gon instantly, looking up at him, knowing
his emotions could be read in his eyes. "Your Padawan thinks
you should wear green more often, Master," he said, letting his
eyes roam over Qui-Gon's body before he bowed his head.
"Yes, well, I'll have a discussion with Master Yoda and we'll
change the colors the Order wears," was the dry reply. "Turn
around and sit comfortably."
Obi-Wan did so, hoping that he didn't look too worried.
He should have known better.
"I'll have you know, Padawan, that I can cut hair."
"Your Padawan would never doubt his Master." Obi-Wan held his
breath, hoping to get away with the tease. Qui-Gon had punished
him for less, but his Master seemed to be indulgent. A shiver
ran through the young man as he thought about why Qui-Gon was
inclined to be indulgent. Every time he thought his Master
couldn't possibly take him further, wring more pleasure from
him, it happened.
As Qui-Gon began to cut his hair shorter, Obi-Wan shuddered
suddenly.
"Obi-Wan?"
"I . . ." Obi-Wan leaned back against Qui-Gon. "I thought about
it . . . what you did to me." He shook his head. "I never . . .
not once . . . thought you could have that much of me."
"Or that you could have so much of me," Qui-Gon replied,
his voice serious. "You were so . . . open," he went on. "We
were so close . . ." He let his voice trail off before speaking
again with a wry tone. "That's got to be the first time since I
was a teenager that I've had a spontaneous orgasm like that."
Obi-Wan chuckled and leaned his head forward once more.
The hair cut took far more time than it should have. As always
after a scene that pushed their limits, both men needed
reassurances. Qui-Gon kept toying with Obi-Wan's braid and
stroking his lover's throat. Obi-Wan, for his part, kept
nestling up to Qui-Gon, parting the robe and kissing whatever
part of his Master's leg he could reach. Finally however, Qui-
Gon put the comb and the scissors down.
"There," he said.
"May I see, Master?"
"Of course."
Obi-Wan floated a small mirror in from the bathroom and looked
at his hair.
"Well," he said after a long silence. "It's fashionable."
"You sound a little dubious."
"I haven't had to think about my hair for years, Master.
Now . . . I'm going to have to use some sort of goopy stuff to
keep it spiky like this, and getting that tail centered is
going to be hell."
"You don't like it?"
A laugh. "As a haircut, well, I've seen better. As a reminder .
. . I'll wear it this way as long as you want me to, Master."
Obi-Wan turned and bowed his head to the floor. When He spoke
his voice was serious, although his position hid the smile in
his eyes "Your Padawan has a request, Master."
"Yes?"
"Can I go take a shower, please Master?" Obi-Wan asked a little
plaintively, his shoulders twitching.
"Go ahead," Qui-Gon replied, flicking his fingers in a gesture
of dismissal. "And Obi-Wan?"
"Master?" the young man replied, turning in the doorway.
"I love you."
"I love you too, Master."
Qui-Gon was sitting in the common room of their quarters as
Obi-Wan took his shower. He could feel the presence outside
even before the door chime rang.
"Come in."
Yoda walked quietly in, for once not banging his gimmer stick
on the floor loudly. "Sad you are."
Qui-Gon held up the coil of hair that had been in his lap. "I
realized something important today, my Master." A green ear
cocked at him in question, and Qui-Gon continued. "Lines have
to be drawn, heavier lines than the ones I . . . we were
drawing."
"True this is. Spoken to you I would have, and soon."
"But it works," Qui-Gon said softly. "The mastery and the
submission. I've felt the changes in myself and in Obi-Wan
since we started this. We are both, somehow, more sensitive to
the Living Force."
"Discussed in Council this has been."
Qui-Gon's head snapped up and his brow furrowed.
Yoda chuckled. "Seek not to intimidate me, young Qui-Gon Jinn.
Your enemy I and the Council are not." He pointed his stick at
his former Padawan. "Precedent there is for this sort of Master
and Padawan relationship. Ancient is the path you and Obi-Wan
follow and born of desperate times it was. But, as say you,
effective it is."
"And it could easily lead to the Dark Side," Qui-Gon replied
softly.
"Know that, you and the boy do, therefore watchful of each
other you must always be."
"We will be, my Master." Qui-Gon looked at the coil of hair.
"We will be," he repeated softly.
"Time you will have to think and talk when on Bethwal you are."
"Bethwal? I thought you were sending us to Naboo."
"Changed our minds, the Council has. Our privilege to do so it
is. Bethwal you next assignment is. Brief you tomorrow morning,
Mace will." Before Qui- Gon could say anything, Yoda headed for
the door. "Cool you two down, an ice planet will."
As the door shut behind his former Master, Qui-Gon sighed.
Bethwal made Hoth look like paradise. "Punishments all around,"
he sighed, and then rose to stow the great coil of red gold
hair in the bottom of his trunk of personal momentous.
The End
End note (from Ruth): I think it was after seeing TPM for the
second time that one of our party remarked on Obi-Wan's
somewhat unfortunate hair style (specifically the pony tail in
the back). I think it was me who said that he'd obviously been
a naughty Padawan to merit such a silly 'do. If it was
atara or Ned or Debra, I apologize. Anyway, yes, we know the
Padawan cut is canon, but it's still goofy looking (that pony
tail!) and so a story was born. This story is sort of a
proto-Steel Rose story, but not from that series.
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