Master Apprentice
Archive
Blood Dance
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Author's Webpage: http://www.slashcity.org/~rushlight/
Fandom: TPM
Pairing: Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan
Rating: R-ish
Category: BDSM, PWP, Romance
Summary: Qui and Obi share an intimate moment together as Master and padawan.
Author's Notes: Shamelessly gratuitous PWP ahoy. This just kind of fell into my computer screen while I was trying to work on my story for LF3. Is there such thing as a fluffy BDSM scene? Or at least the aftermath of a BDSM scene.
Feedback: Yes, please! Any comments, encouragement, critique, etc. will be endlessly appreciated.
My precious child.
I love the way your skin feels under my hand, smooth and damp with the dew of your passion. I can feel the flutter of your heart under my fingertips, the rapid tremor of your breaths, the way you arch into my touch, ever so slightly, when I pull away. Your eyes are open and glistening, latched onto my every movement. The expression in them is overwhelming. Is it my touch you fear? Or the thought of that touch being removed?
The stripes on your body cry out for completion.
I touch one now, to hear you gasp, to hear your breath still for that one split moment when all you can think of is the gift of my hand on your flesh. It was here my whip cut you... here... and here... Etching my name into your skin in a language only you and I can understand.
Your blood tastes sweet under my tongue. Sweet, and hot, and you whisper my name now, twisting your hands in the manacles that hold them. You would rather be touching me, I know, but you will submit to me in this as you have submitted in all else. Discipline. It is the nature of our calling that you learn this lesson, and learn it well.
You have always been an apt pupil. So eager to learn.
So eager to please.
Your eyes beg for things you will not give words to. I touch your cheek, watching in fascination as your lids turn heavy, shadowed with complacency and desire. You are always like this when the pain is done, when there is nothing but the tenderness of the trust and love between us. A sigh, a breath, and then your lips are brushing across my palm. Wet warmth of your tongue against my skin.
I want you. My sweet, sweet child. So warm, as your body shivers next to mine, both longing for and dreading what I have to offer. So much need, and I could lie here all night, just watching you, drinking in the lines of your form. Beautiful. Pale, soft skin, crossed dark by the black leather bound at throat and wrist, thigh and ankle. The soft fall of your hair across your pillow, trailing the long tail of your braid. The symbol of your fealty to me. I touch it now, turning the clear beads between my fingers, and think about the day when you will no longer need my counsel, my teaching, and will face me as an equal.
Perhaps you can forgive me if I pray that day will be a long time in coming, even as I work for it with all my heart.
So addictive, to touch you, to watch the colors change in the shifting planes of your eyes. To feel your body move against me, with me, accepting all I have within me to give. The muscles of your thighs tremble under my hands as I enter you, and you cry out my name -- *Master, Master* -- as your pain-marked body arches against the sheets. Offering me everything, even in this. I bend down to trace my tongue across your skin, tasting blood and scars and the sweet salt of the tears on your face. A tapestry of pain endured, offered up on the altar of your devotion.
How strange that while you are the one chained, the one marked, the one penetrated and claimed, it is I who breaks first, crying out as the pleasure of our joining sears through me. I hear you gasp, your lips hot against my face, and then your body follows my lead, giving up its final secrets.
You smile when you look at me, exhausted and content. Your hair lies curled across your forehead, sticking to the sweat of your brow. I cannot help but kiss you.
It is in these moments that I feel most truly alive, when you look at me with such gratitude, and longing, and love. As if all you've ever asked of life is being granted, here within the circle of my arms. How perfectly we fit together, master and student, lover and lover, owner and owned. It seems a fortuitous twist of fate that you would come into my life, offering precisely what I have grown to need, and needing precisely what I have in me to give.
By the Force we serve, I love you.
Cradling you close against my chest, I press my lips against the tousled hair atop your head and settle back -- content -- to await the dawn.
Finis 6/5/03
*I do need to credit Fuumin's "The Door" for inspiration, even though this story has nothing whatsoever to do with her dark and lovely universe.