Master Apprentice Archive Call, and raise you one Quick search:

ARCHIVE: Yes to Master_Apprentice, SWA-L and the Pumpkin Patch, in due course.

CATEGORY: PWP, Kink

RATING: NC17

NOTES: I was told this should be 1,500 words. Oh, well, failed on that one, then. No-one deserved to have to beta this, but I'd like to acknowledge the inspiration I've had from Diana Williams: I'm definitely playing in her sandbox, here. I also plagiarised Emu, because she asked me so nicely. Her recent challenge begins the story.

WARNINGS: Uh, oh. I've written a domestic discipline story. I didn't mean to, and I'll never do it again. I promise. You don't need to hit me, honest. The only mitigating factor is that it's a slash D/D story - the second in Phantom Menace, I think?

DISCLAIMER: Hi, George, if you want to sue someone over this, you're fully justified. The boys belong to you, and it's a sin and a shame to do this to them.

SPOILERS: None, not even TPM.

FEEDBACK: All welcomed, as negative or positive as you care for, to: Gloriana.Reginata@virgin.net

SUMMARY: Qui-Gon bites off more than he can chew.

"Master, will you behave?" Obi-Wan hissed.

Qui-Gon spared his apprentice a noncommittal look before turning his attention back to the bowl in front of him. It was so large that the servingmen had had to clear all the glassware to one side to fit it on the table.

The king clasped his swollen belly and nudged Qui-Gon in the ribs. "Bitten off more than you can chew this time, eh, Sir Ambassador? I told you our kitchens know how to cope with a real man's appetite."

"I'm surprised you turned down the dessert then, your Majesty," Qui-Gon said mildly, but Obi-Wan was not fooled. Somehow the king, with his expansive, affable teasing, had gotten under Qui-Gon's usually impenetrable skin. He aimed a swift kick at his master's ankle under the table, but the big Jedi had already tucked his feet away from harm.

"Hah," the king snorted. "I may have a real man's appetite, but I also have more sense than to try and eat one of those. I'd wager it'll prove too much for you, too, GrandMaster Jinn."

The constant use of Qui-Gon's title was another thing about the king which had been annoying his master, especially as he always got it wrong. Obi-Wan sighed under his breath and pushed back his chair. It was inevitable, now.

Qui-Gon gave a smile to the king, wide as a crocodile's. "I'll take that bet."

Two point eight seven hours later, Qui-Gon put down his spoon for the last time. Most of the other guests didn't even notice: trapped in their seats for the intervening period by court protocol, they were dozing amongst the silverware, or trying to ease the discomfort of their piles on the hard, plumwood benches.

Qui-Gon spread his hands to demonstrate the empty bowl to his host. Of the mound of frozen chocolate, butter, raisins, alcohol and whipped cream which had filled it earlier, only one small strand of jellied gagh remained. Obi-Wan hated to accuse his master of smirking, but it was hard to interpret his expression any other way.

"And that, I think, is my victory, your Highness."

"Hmph." The king got to his feet, his countenance considerably less cheery than it had been for the first five courses. "I concede. The Queen's silver will be delivered to your room before the end of the evening." Turning to his wife he bellowed, "DID YOU HEAR THAT, MY DEAR?"

"What? What?" The poor lady started up from her nap, crown tipping forward over her nose. "What was that?"

"YOUR SILVER." An excited murmur went round the table, as the king's voice penetrated to the far end of the huge chamber. "The Master Ambassador has won your silver."

"Oh." The queen turned to Obi-Wan with a pleading look of incomprehension. "I see."

Obi-Wan decided it was time to take matters in hand. As the rest of the table rose in concert with the king, he offered his arm to the bemused woman. "Would you honour me with the first dance, *your Majesty*?"

If Qui-Gon caught the implied rebuke in Obi-Wan's use of her proper title, the Jedi master didn't show it. In fact, he seemed to be concentrating on getting out of his chair with a modicum of his usual grace. "Careful you don't overbalance," Obi-Wan warned sotto voce as they proceeded to the door.

"Well, well, Lord Jedi Councillor," the king boomed, his bonhomie evidently restored at the sight of the magnificently appointed ballroom beyond. He waved at the court musicians who, caught in disarray at the unexpected arrival of their audience, were hastily putting their instruments in position. "I suppose you Jedi know all sorts of dances, hmmm? I'd wager you can dance till dawn, given the fine playing of my musicians." He smiled expectantly at the Jedi Master.

/ /Don't. You. Dare.//

Qui-Gon opened his mouth to reply.

/ /I mean it.//

"I think I might sit this one out, if it pleases your Majesty," Qui-Gon said, carefully avoiding his apprentice's eye. "The gagh lies heavier on the stomach than a good roundelay agrees with." He did look green about the gills, Obi-Wan thought maliciously.

"I'm disappointed in you, Sir Worshipful Master. Your apprentice will just have to show you how it's done." The king gestured Obi-Wan to the top of the circle, the queen's arm still resting on his. "But maybe you're right. We old men should leave the youngsters to it." He clapped Qui-Gon on the shoulder from his superior height of seven foot, and steered the master over to a smorgasbord which ran the length of the hall. "Perhaps a bowl of soup to fill in the spaces?"

"Honestly, Master!" Obi-Wan allowed the door to swing shut more forcefully than normal. The noise echoed around the stone walls, but they were so far up in the tower it was unlikely to have disturbed any of the other guests. Just as well, given that they had, indeed, danced till dawn. "You promised me you would be on your best behaviour tonight!"

"I wasn't *that* bad, was I?"

"You only made a room of seventy people sit down for three hours watching you eat. How do you excuse that?"

"Um. Well." Qui-Gon had the grace to look shamefaced. Obviously the wine from the meal was wearing off.

"And the poor queen was nearly in tears, when she finally cottoned on to the fact that you'd won half her jewelry."

"Gods." His master sat down on the bed with a thump. "I hadn't thought of that."

"The Council are going to be very impressed by the sight of you tricked out in silver earrings, I must say."

"No need to rub it in, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon wiped his face with his hand, suddenly looking tired. "Another mess for me to sort out in the morning, I suppose."

"You could always stake a second bet on the jewelry with the king, and try to lose it this time," Obi-Wan said nastily.

"I could at that. Probably the easiest way to see it returned to her." The older man deflected Obi-Wan with a smile. "Don't fret, Padawan. I'll do what's needed to smooth everything over - even at the cost of my pride, which I'm sure you will say serves me right. I deserve the punishment, I suppose."

Obi-Wan gave a snort at Qui-Gon's disconsolate tone. His master hoped to get away with his abominable behaviour by playing on Obi-Wan's sympathy, but he might yet be surprised.

"I agree you deserve a punishment, but it'd be better to keep it private, don't you think?"

"What exactly does that imply?"

It was surprising how quickly self-pity could turn into suspicion. "It's a straightforward question, Master. You broke a promise to me, you bored the courtiers near to death, and you upset the queen. Which would you prefer: to sacrifice your dignity in front of me tonight, or in front of the king tomorrow?"

Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed as he regarded his apprentice. "The former would be preferable from the viewpoint of the Order - and my reputation," he said slowly. "How exactly would you hope to prevent the need for the latter?"

Instead of answering, Obi-Wan strolled over to the bureau by the window and picked up a box wrapped in silver paper, which hadn't been there when they left for the banquet.

"The queen and I had a little conversation during the quadrille. We agreed that the definition of 'silver' didn't have to mean jewelry at all." He gestured to the stool in front of the large mirror that crowned the bureau. "Come over here. Don't you want to see what you've won?"

His master had put back on his negotiating face, blandly indifferent, but he stood and walked over to the stool.

"Sit."

When he had complied, Obi-Wan opened the box and laid the contents on the bureau one by one. There was a comb with silver chasing, a silver hand-mirror, and a heavy silver-backed brush, all antique.

"It's the queen's second set. She said your hair was so long that it must take some looking after." Carefully, Obi-Wan untwined the leather tie holding Qui-Gon's half-tail in place, and taking the brush up, began to smooth the soft bristles through the tangled strands. "I told her it's you that needed looking after, in general."

Qui-Gon snorted in disparagement, but as Obi-Wan stroked the brush down in a slow, gentle rhythm his eyes drifted closed.

When Obi-Wan spoke again, his voice was no more than a murmur. "The queen thought I could do with some - tools - to help me keep you in order." He felt a slight shudder run through his master's body as Qui-Gon obediently tilted back his head, letting Obi-Wan sweep up the hair at his temples. In the mirror, Obi-Wan could see the long, pale curve of Qui-Gon's throat; there was a quick pulse fluttering at its base.

His master swallowed before speaking.

"You've shown the initiative one would expect from a Jedi tonight, and I thank you for it. The queen is a silly woman, but I didn't plan to upset her."

"I know."

There was a long pause while Obi-Wan continued to brush the soft strands of graying hair.

"My behaviour with the king has perhaps left something to be desired."

"Indeed."

Qui-Gon cleared his throat. "A failure of pride. You've caught me out there before, my Padawan."

"Not often, Master. But still."

"Still. So," and he attempted a casual laugh, "how would you like me to humble my wretched pride? Shall I ask forgiveness on my knees before you?"

"Actually, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan said slowly, as he put the brush aside and began to plait his master's hair, "I had something else in mind."

"It's for you to say," Qui-Gon replied, his shoulders stiff under Obi-Wan's hands.

Obi-Wan's fingers stilled. "Do I have your word on that?" he asked, staring at Qui-Gon's face as it was reflected in the mirror. "You'd take correction from a padawan? Without provisos or limitations?"

"If you insist on it." Qui-Gon shifted uncomfortably on the hard stool.

"You mean it?"

"Of course I do," his master answered brusquely. "Haven't I just said so?"

"Alright, then." Silence fell between them as Obi-Wan returned to his task, binding the end of Qui-Gon's braid with the leather tie. Worn this way, Qui-Gon's hair didn't quite reach below his shoulderblades; his face looked harsher without the soft strands to frame it.

"Good, that's done. Now take off your clothes."

"What?"

Obi-Wan sighed with exaggerated patience. "You're not making a good start, you know."

"I can't see what my clothes have to do with anything." Qui-Gon pushed himself off the stool and turned to glare directly at Obi-Wan, bringing himself up to full height. Not that that was likely to intimidate his padawan, who had learnt to discount such tricks at a young age.

"I want you naked because it will help to underline the fact that I'm in control here." Obi-Wan said the words slowly, as if to a recalcitrant child. "It will make it clear that you've put aside your role as master for the moment, and that I'm the one chastising you for a change. Go on, do it - I know you're not shy about showing yourself."

He hadn't mentioned the bit about the embarrassment a master might feel on stripping in front of his padawan.

"Very well." Qui-Gon stalked over to the bed and began pulling off his clothing. Obi-Wan followed more slowly, bringing over the queen's gifts to place them on the shelf by the bed. He seated himself in comfort on the mattress and folded his arms, taking in the sight of Qui-Gon undressing.

The master's long, muscled torso was already on display. Big biceps ran up to shoulders developed by much sabre practice; dark nipples crowned heavy pectorals. It was a breathtaking sight, if somewhat intimidating - especially when all that raw strength belonged to a Jedi showing distinct signs of temper. Qui-Gon's sash and tunics had been tossed on the floor; as Obi-Wan watched, he flung his belt into a corner of the room.

"Aren't you normally tidier than that?" Obi-Wan asked mildly.

Qui-Gon ignored the comment, giving Obi-Wan a withering look as he bent over to undo the straps on his boots. But he couldn't ignore the order Obi-Wan gave next,

"Turn around. I want to see what you look like leaning over."

Open rebellion flared on his master's features for all of a moment, but nevertheless the large man turned, giving a perfect view of his rear as he reached down to tug at his bootstraps again. Jedi leggings were annoyingly loose-cut, but Obi-Wan couldn't help smiling as he watched those big, firm buttocks flex.

"Smirking is unbecoming in a Jedi." The snooty admonishment made Obi-Wan grin.

"I don't think there's anything in the code that prevents me from enjoying your punishment. Is there?"

Qui-Gon turned back round and toed off his boots, kicking them to one side. "Damn the code. It's still unbecoming."

"You're complaining a lot for a man who's agreed to accept his correction."

"You didn't stipulate that I had to be quiet about it."

"My error," Obi-Wan muttered as Qui-Gon undid his leggings and pulled them down to throw them on the heap with the rest of his clothing.

"Is this enough for you?" Qui-Gon gestured at his naked body. "Or is there something more you would like to see me do? Kneel? Stand in a corner?" He put his hands on his hips, feet apart, the aggressive stance daring Obi-Wan to go any further. "Perhaps you want something more lively. I could tapdance for you, or do the can-can; the king, at least, would have been entertained by that, since he seems to set such store by dancing. What exactly did you have in mind?"

Obi-Wan leaned back, leisurely taking in his fill of the big body in front of him. Qui-Gon's height often made him seem leaner than he was, but, stripped of his clothes, his musculature was more evident. His calves were well-developed, his thighs broad, and above that... oh, Force, there were some muscles there, indeed.

"Well? Made a decision yet?"

Obi-Wan let him wait for a moment longer before replying. "Of course I have. I always think through what I plan to do in advance. After all, it pays to anticipate the consequences of your behaviour."

He smiled up at Qui-Gon, who managed to look both affronted and ashamed as he conceded the point. "Alright. No need to hammer my earlier foolishness home; I'm suffering the consequences now."

"No, but you will in a moment. Get over my knee."

"What?"

"You heard. I plan to give you a good spanking, and I can hardly do it with you lowering over me like a raincloud about to spit lightning." He said it with perfect aplomb; though he nearly ruined the whole thing a moment later, with the urge to laugh at the stunned expression on Qui-Gon's face.

It took his master a full minute to find his voice again. "You plan to spank me." There was no outrage there, just blank incomprehension.

"Yes, I do."

"I see." Qui-Gon seemed to need a few more moments to work his mind around the concept, so Obi-Wan let him have them, filling in his time admiring the hefty genitals so nicely displayed in front of him.

"And what," Qui-Gon cleared his throat before beginning again, "what if I say no?"

Obi-Wan looked at him assessingly. "Well, I can hardly throw you over my lap and make you stay there. You have rather an advantage in size over me, even if we discount what you can do with the Force."

Qui-Gon nodded, obviously bolstered by these facts.

"But then again, you gave me your word. So how much is that worth, Master? Is it enough to keep you in place over my knee?"

Oh, there were a few sweet rewards to being a padawan after all, and the look on Qui-Gon's face as he fought between pride and honour was one of them. Obi-Wan relished it while he could.

But, in typically Jinn-like fashion, Qui-Gon didn't deliberate for long. His counterattack was the one Obi-Wan had been expecting.

"While you were considering all these consequences, did you ever consider how easily I could take revenge once this is over? It's hardly unknown for a master to require his padawan to, oh, read the Senate proceedings for the last four months. Producing a full commentary thereon might be considered harsh, but it is fair to say it would have some benefits for said padawan."

"If you thought it was a good use of my time, I'm sure you'd set it for me. But just as revenge? Said master would know that was a breaking of the spirit of his word, as much as an outright refusal now would be. Wouldn't it?"

They stared at each other, once again at an impasse.

Obi-Wan decided to change tactics, shifting to a tone of patronising superiority. "Come on now. Stop trying to put it off." He patted his thigh and beckoned to his master. "Anyone would think you'd never been beaten before, the fuss you're putting up. Yoda must have used that stick on you occasionally. Anyway, it won't hurt any more than your adventure on Teasle, and it'll be over quicker."

Qui-Gon gave him his blankest of stares; Obi-Wan had no idea what he was thinking. He knew the memory of sliding down a scree slope into a maccabush, and having his padawan pick out the thorns one by one, was galling for Qui-Gon; no matter that the incident had diverted the Vice President of Teasle at a strategic point in the negotiations, and allowed Obi-Wan to tidy everything neatly up with little objection from the relevant parties. His master was getting a lot of practice at sacrificing his dignity recently - surely he was getting used to it by now.

But Obi-Wan was still shocked by his own success when Qui-Gon, without any further to-do, knelt beside him and slipped over his lap.

It was an unconsciously graceful act, even though the big man was hardly the right size to fit there. His knees almost came down to the floor, but not quite, making him have to put most of his weight on his stomach. Obi-Wan could see the tension in the powerful muscles across his shoulders and abdomen from holding the unnatural position. In contrast, his bottom was gently rounded, pale delicate flesh darkening in the crease between his cheeks. Qui-Gon's legs were decorously closed, but Obi-Wan could feel that heavy sex pressed against his thigh. Slowly he stroked down the length of Qui-Gon's spine, enjoying the contrast in textures as his fingers slid over bone and bunched muscle, down to the tickle of tiny hairs before the swelling of soft, yielding tissue.

"Get on with it, then," his master growled, moving skittishly on Obi-Wan's lap under the delicate touch.

"One moment."

Obi-Wan had never been good with control of the Force for fine movements, but tonight he managed to slip the mirror down onto the floor without breaking it, nudging the toe of Qui-Gon's cast-off boot under one side so it was propped at an angle where he could see Qui-Gon's face.

His master's colour was high: out of embarrassment, Obi-Wan hoped, though Qui-Gon's suspended position was more probably the cause. Their eyes met through the glass.

"You understand? You're not to hide your face from me."

"I'm not a fool; why else would you have tied my hair back? Since you're determined to humiliate me, best do it and get it over with." Only Qui-Gon could give commands while draped over someone's knee with his bare rump in the air.

"Don't prejudge my reasons." Obi-Wan had no intention of being bullied into taking the mirror away. He'd had little or no practice in this, and Qui-Gon was too stubbornly proud to say when he'd had enough: Obi-Wan would need some other way of telling.

Qui-Gon didn't reply, but the stubborn set of his jaw showed his opinion of Obi-Wan's ulterior motives.

"Tie your hands for me."

"What?!!"

Obi-Wan clicked his teeth with his tongue. "You're getting repetitious, Qui-Gon. Take your sash and tie your hands."

"You don't trust me to stay still for what you can deal out? Me? A Jedi Master?" The outrage was thickly laid on.

"You've just said you don't trust me; why should I trust you?"

"I've given you my word." By his stilted tones, Obi-Wan knew Qui-Gon was genuinely hurt now.

He sighed. Why did his master have to make everything more difficult? "I know you can stay still," he whispered, stroking one hand down the length of Qui-Gon's spine, feeling the tiny bumps and ridges. "I'm just not asking you to. So, please, tie yourself. You know my Force control for fine work is not so good."

"You need the practice," Qui-Gon said gruffly, but he tugged the sash up from the heap of clothes by the bed, and wound it round his wrists. The other end flew to the bedhead, knotting itself with a flourish around the post.

"Now pass me the brush."

Qui-Gon stiffened under his hand. "You're going to use the brush?"

"Fitting, don't you think? Pass it."

Even though it was heavy with the weight of the silver in it, Obi-Wan could well have managed that himself; they both knew it. Their eyes met in the mirror in a tussle of wills, before the brush came gently to rest in Obi-Wan's outstretched hand.

The handle was made of a smooth, dark wood Obi-Wan didn't recognise, oblong in cross-section, with a blunt tip expanding up into ridges to let the fingers keep a good grip. The artisan who had carved it had also been skilled in design: a grip was needed to counterbalance the weight of the inlay. Swivelling it in his hand, Obi-Wan looked at the pattern cast in solid silver on the wide oval back. A cockerel, the king's heraldic animal, stood out in relief against a background of parading hens. The uneven surface would hurt less than a flat one, but there was a fitting justice in the idea of thumping the king's motif into Qui-Gon's arse.

"Ready?" He didn't wait for a reply before raising the brush for the first blow.

"Ow!" Qui-Gon's noisy protest was only partly for show: the brush showed its imprint clear and sharp on the white skin of his bottom, even though he had managed to keep himself quite still. "That hurts!"

"It's meant to. You're grown up enough to a take a 'real man's' punishment, aren't you, if you can eat a 'real man's' dessert?"

"It'll leave bruises," Qui-Gon subsided, grumbling.

"Tell that to the courtiers with bruises on their backsides from sitting on those benches all evening. At least we had cushions. By the time I'm done with you, you'll know exactly how they felt. Have you finished your complaining yet?"

"Yes." The grudging assent was given.

"Good. Then let's continue." He held the brush up, watched Qui-Gon's buttocks clench in anticipation. "Oh, there's just one thing."

"Yes?" Qui-Gon spoke from between clenched teeth.

"I pulled my punch last time." He brought the brush down with rather more force.

The crack sounded through the air as Qui-Gon plunged forward on his body. This time his master forwent the vocal protests for one sharp exhalation of air. That was good. The time for his playacting was past.

Obi-Wan hit him again, raising bright red marks just above the curve of his thigh. His master's bucking away from the blow was involuntary, a reaction of his body he couldn't control any more than he could control the rush of air out of his lungs. That was what Obi-Wan wanted: he wanted Qui-Gon to feel the lack of control all those poor people had had last night as Qui-Gon played games with the king. And he wanted to dent his master's pride with that feeling.

Three more brisk applications of the hairbrush, and he was on his way to achieving that aim. Qui-Gon moved blindly with each one, his body pushing against Obi-Wan's in an urgent bid to escape the heavy, thudding blows. He didn't cry out again, but a deep grunt sounded from his chest; looking down, Obi-Wan saw that his jaw was clenched shut to keep the sounds in, and his nostrils flared on each exhaled breath. His eyes were screwed shut, the lines beside them deep indents, but the rest of his features were rigidly schooled into the stillness his body denied him.

Another hard hit, and he was pulling on the sash wrapped round his wrists, trying to haul his body forward over Obi-Wan's knees, or pull his hands back to cover his blistered backside, Obi-Wan wasn't sure which. The muscles in his chest and shoulders flexed as he strained against bonds that would have snapped with a wisp of Force.

Obi-Wan applied three more, very fast, then stopped again. Every stroke had echoed around the room with an explosion of sound as the brush met Qui-Gon's skin. Qui-Gon took a panting breath in the pause, looking up at Obi-Wan through the mirror.

"Gods, Obi-Wan, don't you know it's much worse when you do it so erratically?" The harsh rasp in his voice was a shocking contrast to his normal soft tones.

"No, I'm sorry," Obi-Wan said with gentle contrition. "No-one's ever done anything like it to me."

"Trust me on this." Qui-Gon closed his eyes again.

Obi-Wan took that as a signal to continue. This time he began to find a rhythm, hitting first left then right, slowly moving up Qui-Gon's thighs to his buttocks, then down across the previous stripes in a herringbone pattern which left no inch of skin untouched.

For every blow, Qui-Gon groaned for him.

For every blow, Qui-Gon moved on him, tugging on the bindings, muscles tensing down the length of his back.

Obi-Wan found himself slowly entranced by the motion. To think that he, with one flick of his wrist, could send that huge, powerful body into such throes, pushing desperately against his own. He brought the brush down, watched Qui-Gon's arse cheeks tighten and flush, saw his thighs and calves tauten, his biceps swell in leverage against the cloth binding him, his mighty shoulders and chest flex as the air was expelled from him. A moment of rest, and the great body relaxed its full weight on his lap again. Buttocks smoothed back into soft roundness, thighs slumped against his own, a deep breath was drawn and held in anticipation.

And, with another flick of his wrist, Qui-Gon would respond again, moving for him and against him, the power of that large body constrained at his will. It was as heady as the first time he had managed to work Qui-Gon into a corner in a training session, anticipating and thwarting every attack his master made in a series of manoeuvres which controlled the match, forcing Qui-Gon's responses all along the line.

Losing himself in the sensation, he plied the brush over the reddening surface, just to watch it shift underneath him. His beautiful, powerful master, moving under his hand...a wondrous thing. He marvelled in it even as he gave himself over to the rhythm they created together, intoxicated by the smell of Qui-Gon's sweat, the sound of his deep groans and the crack of the brush hitting flesh.

Until the moment he heard the first, sobbing catch of breath.

He stopped immediately, and looked to the mirror. Qui-Gon's eyes were still tight shut, but his mouth had opened in a wordless cry.

Obi-Wan laid the brush aside. "Shh," he crooned, running his hand along the smooth expanse between Qui-Gon's shoulders. "No more of that, now."

Qui-Gon shook underneath his hand. Obi-Wan continued to stroke and soothe him while he fought to regain his breath, the soft caresses wiping away the sweat that had formed along his back. His skin was moist to touch, and the scent of him hung heavily musky in the air.

When he spoke at last, Obi-Wan admired the way he'd steadied his voice, for his stomach was still fluttering a little against his padawan's knees. "Alright," he said, "you can continue, if you think I deserve it."

The answer was clear to Obi-Wan. "Whether or not you deserve it is for you to say. I haven't felt your pain." He trailed one hand over the flushed buttocks, hearing Qui-Gon's quick hiss of indrawn breath. "You've been punished enough, even for all those raw backsides. I don't know if this has anything further to teach you. Do I continue?"

He waited while Qui-Gon, still bound and naked over his lap, considered the question. It was both shaming and exciting to realise he wanted his master to let them go on. When had this changed? When had he started to enjoy it so much? It was not only revenge for Qui-Gon's pigheadedness: something in Qui-Gon writhing on his body had started a warm flicker in him, which had nothing to do with pain or punishment.

There was lust in it: he was uncomfortable to admit it, but he was half-hard already from the rubbing pressure of Qui-Gon struggling against him. More, he'd been stunned by the beauty of his master's form, as he always was when Qui-Gon danced a kata in front of him, controlled strength on display, or simply took off his clothing at night. Watching the play of those muscles had taken on a new savour, though, when they were driven by his bidding.

But beyond all that there was the intoxication of Qui-Gon giving himself over to Obi-Wan. It had been grudging at first, solely an acknowledgement that Qui-Gon stood in need of correction, but Obi-Wan sensed that if they continued it could be more. There was an intimacy to this which he hadn't banked on; he had bared more than just Qui-Gon's body when he'd stripped him down. There was something very powerful here for them to explore together.

If Qui-Gon would let him. It all depended on his master.

"Continue."

"You're sure?" Did his master have any idea of the pleasure Obi-Wan was taking from this? Would he have been so acquiescent if he had? Accepting a justified punishment was one thing, but...

Obi-Wan rubbed his hand across the hot flesh raised up in front of him, hearing Qui-Gon moan again, a quiet needy sound. "It's going to hurt."

"Do it."

Excitement and fear warred in Obi-Wan's belly. "Give me your hands. I'll hold them behind your back so you can pull free if you need to."

"Untie the knots, then." Qui-Gon held his wrists up, arching his body so Obi-Wan could reach to pull free the twist of cloth manacling them. It fluttered to the ground unregarded as Qui-Gon tucked his hands in the small of his back, grasping onto Obi-Wan's forearm as he held himself in place. Obi-Wan's fingers splayed warm and comforting against his coccyx, ready to control the play of his hips.

"Begin now, my padawan."

Obediently, Obi-Wan lifted his hand and laid one sharp swat on the soft, round swelling beyond their joined hands.

"Oh!"

"Are you alright?"

"Stings much more - wasn't quite ready for that." Qui-Gon sounded breathless.

Obi-Wan's own hand stung too, but only with a pleasant warmth. Taking his time, he slapped the same cheek again, ignoring Qui-Gon's gasp in his exploration of the way the elastic flesh compressed, then sprung back against his palm, muscles below tensed and swollen. Oh, yes, this was much more intimate than a brush could ever be. And the heat! His fingertips caressed the cherry-red skin, soaking in the warmth. Qui-Gon whimpered at the touch, but Obi-Wan continued the delicate stroking until the big body relaxed back down again.

"It's so soft, yet so hot. Like touching a newborn foal."

"Enjoying this, are you?" Qui-Gon's grip dug into his arm, but he didn't sound surprised.

That gave Obi-Wan the courage to answer truthfully. "Yes. It's astounding."

And when that didn't bring his master rearing up in indignation, Obi-Wan knew the permission he'd been given to push Qui-Gon further yet wasn't going to be rescinded, whether or not he was taking too much pleasure from the act. So he might as well take all the pleasure he could.

Bending his spine in a tight curve, he brushed his lips against Qui-Gon's bottom, cool silk against hot velvet. His master moaned.

"Oh, what was that?" Husky. Helpless.

Obi-Wan smiled, feeling Qui-Gon's skin tickle his lips with the motion. "That was the smooth. This is the rough." Turning his head an iota, he brushed his chin against Qui-Gon's bared cheek, stubble scraping across the sensitive skin. Qui-Gon gave a startled cry, but it was choked off as Obi-Wan drew himself back up and spanked twice, hard, on the same spot, a fiercer sting to obliterate the pricking irritation.

"Please!"

"Please what? Don't smack you again? Don't stroke you again?" Obi-Wan trailed the back of his hand over the abused flesh, while Qui-Gon twisted on his lap, fingers locked round Obi-Wan's arm for purchase in his movements. He was panting, and somehow it was no surprise to Obi-Wan that Qui-Gon's penis was firming against his thighs.

"Don't toy with me." The Jedi master slumped back down.

"Aren't you mine to do with as I please? That's what I want to teach you now. But I won't toy with you anymore." Obi-Wan began to hit him again then, solid slaps with the full weight of his hand behind them, aimed only at the vulnerable curve where those prettily pinkened globes met Qui-Gon's broad, hair-roughened thighs.

There was heavy muscle in those thighs, but this was the soft delicate place, just above, and he hit it relentlessly, remorselessly, in a fast determined staccato which Qui-Gon accompanied with jerks and twists and moans, and then high-pitched cries such as Obi-Wan had never heard uttered by that deep, warm voice. But so much more was the sight of him, arse thrusting up to meet Obi-Wan's hand then helplessly flinching away.

Obi-Wan was breathless with the effort of it, one hand pressing hard down on Qui-Gon's coccyx to hold the straining body in place, the other ploughing into the soft buttocks with a fierce determination to strip away the last of Qui-Gon's facades, to bare the man fully to him. Qui-Gon could have pulled away from him at any moment, but instead the big man writhed on his knees, his grip on Obi-Wan's arm a desperate measure to stay there. Pain and indignity had long since stopped being the heart of this; now, every unguarded response, every hitched breath, every involuntary convulsion against Obi-Wan's legs was Qui-Gon ceding him control.

When he finally stopped, Qui-Gon arched against him in a moment's long expectation, then collapsed, shuddering, on his lap.

Obi-Wan's hand felt as if it had been bathed in fire; he couldn't imagine how his master felt. His left arm was bruised from the crush of Qui-Gon's hold on it. There would be dark fingermarks there in the morning. Struggling for calm, he once again laid his hand on the small of Qui-Gon's back, resting it lightly there as he tried to regain his breath.

He didn't need to look in the mirror to know how utterly he had undone his master. But he looked, nevertheless.

Qui-Gon's face was flushed with blood, his lashes sticky black against his cheeks. His mouth was open, like a nestling's seeking food, as he dragged in great gulps of air, his chest heaving with the sobs he could no longer muffle. And there were tears, rolling down his temples, into his hair.

"Oh, my Obi-Wan," he said, his voice choked, "you have taught me my lesson now."

Obi-Wan leant down to wipe one away one tear with the tip of a finger, bringing it to his lips to taste the salty tang. Qui-Gon's tears. He had rarely seen them, for all the hardships he'd shared with his master, and never had they been shed for the big man's own pain.

He was close to crying himself. He had been overwhelmed by the sight of Qui-Gon laid bare, pain and need stripping away the cool imperturbability which was his master's armour. But these tears... "Are they because of the beating? Did it hurt you so badly?"

Qui-Gon turned his face away against Obi-Wan's leggings. "It hurt more for having you watch me," came the muffled admission.

"You were so beautiful. How could I not watch?" Obi-Wan waited, stroking gently down the length of Qui-Gon's thighs to the tender backs of his knees, until his breathing evened out, all sobbing over.

Qui-Gon finally sniffed in a most unmasterly way, rubbing his face against the cloth of Obi-Wan's leggings to wipe off the last traces of tears. "I doubt there's anything beautiful about a big old man with his arse in the air, my Padawan." His voice was still rough, but the incongruously dry tone made Obi-Wan want to giggle, a foolish reaction to the strength of emotion which had preceded it.

"Beautiful, I said, and I meant it." He let his hand drift lower, heard Qui-Gon utter something between a sigh and a moan. The skin beneath his hand was hot, but delightfully soft. "Radiant, even."

"Now you're getting silly." Had Qui-Gon shifted ever so slightly into his touch?

"Radiant. Radiating heat, at any rate."

Qui-Gon gave a throaty laugh. "So's your hand, but I wouldn't call that beautiful."

"I suppose you'd have far worse names for it now," Obi-Wan said ruefully, wondering just how much he had really hurt his master. The flesh beneath his fingers was a bright red, although it seemed as if Qui-Gon could tolerate his touching without too much pain. But then, he'd seen the big man take wounds which made what Obi-Wan had doled out this evening seem paltry: he could be hiding a great deal of discomfort.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon's voice came firmly into his musings. "You were harsh, but you were fair. I deserved what you gave me."

"Did you? Maybe I would feel less guilty if I hadn't enjoyed it so much." He winced as he made his own confession.

"Ah. Then perhaps I am not the only one who has lessons to be learnt here. Discovered something about yourself that's unsettling, have you?"

Obi-Wan let one finger trail along the edge of the crease between Qui-Gon's buttocks, felt his master's legs part fractionally. "I didn't realise I was so insecure of you," he whispered. "I pushed you so far, Master, just to find out if you'd give that to me..."

"You didn't take more than I offered. You haven't even taken all I have to offer yet. There can be pleasure in the learning as well as the teaching, my Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan froze, his heart almost stopped by the quiet words.

Suddenly, his perspective on the events of the last hour shifted completely. Did he really understand what was going on here? Just how much of a punishment had this all really been to his master?

And if what he was now supposing was correct, his master had better watch out - because the stakes had just gotten a little higher. But best to be sure. Experimentally, Obi-Wan gave a light tap to the thigh nearest him.

Qui-Gon groaned and lowered his head, but he did nothing to stop his padawan. If anything, he parted his legs a little further.

The wily bastard! Obi-Wan's indignation warred with the relief flooding him. It seemed he had little reason to feel guilty, after all. Surely Qui-Gon couldn't have planned the whole --

But no, his remorse earlier had been genuine, Obi-Wan could have sworn. And there was no doubting the authenticity of the pain Obi-Wan had dealt him, or the tears that had flowed, unexpected. Yet there was also no doubting the lust that had followed on. Obi-Wan shook his head in wonderment. How had he forgotten the most obvious sign? For, nestling into the hollow between his thighs, Qui-Gon's penis jutted out, its head swollen, engorged with blood just as those luscious buttocks were.

Obi-Wan laughed out loud, swept up by a new excitement. He would take Qui-Gon's cock, take that fat, round head and suck it, sweet as any lollipop, when he'd had his full feast of Qui-Gon's behind. But if he was reading this message correctly...

He smacked Qui-Gon's thigh again, a flat-handed swat nowhere near as hard as the ones he'd meted out before, but aimed this time for his fingers to catch the soft curve of inner thigh newly exposed.

Qui-Gon gasped, his body jerking forward, his cock pressing harder against Obi-Wan's leg in the instant before he relaxed once more. His thighs were now spread just wide enough for Obi-Wan to glimpse the heavy sac; a fingertip tickled the tiny hairs there, and he was moaning, pushing forward again even without the slap of Obi-Wan's hand to spur him into the action.

"So eager? I thought you were man enough to hold off a while," Obi-Wan teased, flicking his fingernails against the tender flesh in tiny scratches.

"Ah, Obi-Wan! I thought you promised not to toy with me!" Qui-Gon squirmed on his lap, his legs closing against the slight sting until Obi-Wan relieved him with a firmer slap. Then Obi-Wan slipped a finger into the crevasse between his cheeks, where the flesh was hot and humid with his sweat, and he opened his thighs once more, straining to push his buttocks up to meet that gentle caress.

"Do you know what you're like?" Obi-Wan whispered, letting his fingertip avoid the tiny opening he knew was there. "So hot and wanton. Where's all your dignity now, my master?"

"Lost and gone, and I couldn't care less," Qui-Gon answered waspishly, slumping back down. "You've seen me worse."

"But at so light a touch?" Obi-Wan brushed against the soreness at the curve between thigh and bottom, hearing Qui-Gon moan.

"Touch me how you please. Only, let me off my stomach, Obi-Wan. I can't lie like this much longer." Indeed, he had been carrying his weight on his abdomen all this time; the muscles there must be aching, Obi-Wan realised.

He surveyed Qui-Gon's uncomfortable position, appreciation mingling with regret. "Shame," he murmured. "You are a truly delightful sight like this. Hang on to me, Master."

The warning was just soon enough to have Qui-Gon clutching on his arm again as he pushed his legs up from the floor, giving a holler of glee. With a surge of Force and muscle combined, he managed to launch himself in a somersault up and over his own head, to land up kneeling on the bed. Carried by his momentum, Qui-Gon had rolled with him, twisting at the last instant to land on his front, abused buttocks in the air.

After the shock of it, they both started laughing.

"You crazy boy! You'll get us killed with your gymnastics if you're not careful." Qui-Gon collapsed on the bed.

"Nonsense. I'll save the universe with a backflip one day and then you'll see. Ow! What's that?"

"The brush, I think. Here, let me pull it out." Qui-Gon reached down to tug the offending article from under Obi-Wan's knee. "Gods, no wonder it hurt so much. Half the royal silver must be cast into this thing."

"You seemed to find my hand equally hard," Obi-Wan reminded him wickedly.

Qui-Gon gave a mock shudder. "Not so bruising, but the sting was enough to make any man's eyes water. Are you sure you haven't had practice in this?" His tone was accusatory, but in those bright blue eyes, newly washed with tears like cornflowers in the rain, Obi-Wan saw a burning curiosity.

"None, my Master," he answered truthfully. "But why do I think you might have, hmm?" He laughed when Qui-Gon buried his face in the bedclothes.

"How many more things will I find out about you?" he marvelled. "I can't believe I've been your lover for four years and not known about this."

"This what?" The disingenuous question came muffled from the sheets.

"This." Obi-Wan smacked Qui-Gon's flushed bottom with his palm, and the Jedi master cried out, his hips thrusting up from the linens, his thighs splaying. "Oh, yes, very pretty." He could see Qui-Gon's sex hanging between his legs, his balls swinging with the sudden motion.

"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon groaned in embarrassed remonstrance.

"But it is." Obi-Wan slapped him lightly twice more, as if to demonstrate. Obligingly his master writhed on the sheets, his rump offered up like a cat in heat. "You close up when I hit you, almost like a flower." Obi-Wan traced one fingertip up from those dangling balls to the sensitive flesh of Qui-Gon's perineum, grazing the tiny hairs sprinked along the way. His master sighed and spread his legs further, the dimple of his anus just visible. "Then you open up again, to tempt me in."

"Yes, Obi-Wan, want you in me."

"Not so fast, my Master. There might be something more I want to do to you first."

Qui-Gon moaned and collapsed flat onto the bed. "Something, anything, I don't care. Hit me, stroke me, fuck me. Just touch me, Padawan -- oh -- pleeease." The last word was a long-drawn out plaint, Qui-Gon overacting almost as much as he first had when Obi-Wan made him strip. In fact, he had quite a flair for the dramatic when it suited his purposes; it could be very effective, given his usual phlegmatic mien.

Obi-Wan found him quite endearing in this mood. But it had to be handled firmly.

"Spread your legs wider." Obi-Wan pushed them apart himself, then settled to kneel in the gap, Qui-Gon's warm thighs against his calves. "And be quiet: do you have to caterwaul so?" A few slaps against the tender cheeks in front of him, and he did indeed have his master caterwauling, long low moans of lust building up to full-throated cries as Qui-Gon rutted against the bedclothess.

"Stay still!" A light rap across his exposed perineum brought him back under control. "I want to taste you when you come - don't waste it on the sheets."

"What are you waiting for, then?" A note of genuine impatience was entering Qui-Gon's voice.

"I want to taste this first." Obi-Wan leant down and ran his tongue in a long, slow swipe up the curve of Qui-Gon's enflamed cheek. His master's breath caught, then released in a sigh at the slight chill of the stripe of moisture Obi-Wan left behind.

There was a hint of musk on the smooth surface, a trace of salt and something more indefinable, the subtle flavour he tasted everywhere on Qui-Gon's flesh: a tingle as if the air became Force-charged in contact with his skin. Utterly edible. Obi-Wan gave in to the temptation and sucked in a mouthful of flesh, just to the left of Qui-Gon's coccyx, leeching onto the skin with force enough to bruise it badly.

"Obi-Wan!" came Qui-Gon's breathless protest.

Obi-Wan looked at the mark he had left and chuckled. "Hush, or I'll put one of those somewhere you'll have to sit on it tomorrow. Not that you'll be sitting much, anyway." Lazily, he let his tongue meander over to the other cheek, tracing a wiggling line down its lush roundness. Then he blew a puff of air onto the cooling surface.

Qui-Gon was panting, now, shallow and quick.

Back over to the other side, and at the instant Obi-Wan breathed chillness onto the newly wet surface, he smacked the cheek he'd just abandoned. Hard. Very hard.

Qui-Gon's cry rent the air. His whole body convulsed, but Obi-Wan had expected that, and held him down with the weight of his own torso. "Hold on!" he whispered urgently. "You can take it - just ease yourself into it." He petted the shuddering flanks beneath him. "Easy now. Are you alright?"

"Yes. Yes. I think so." Qui-Gon's voice trembled. "Please, Obi-Wan..." and Qui-buried his face in the pillows, leaving Obi-Wan to interpret the inchoate plea as he would.

So Obi-Wan did it again, and again, licking and hitting first one buttock and then the next, ignoring the muffled sounds coming from the pillow. He could tell enough by watching Qui-Gon's hips move against the bedclothes, by the way his rump pushed up to meet Obi-Wan's wet tongue, by how the flesh quivered as it waited in anticipation of that draught of reviving coolness, even with the blazing heat incurred in penalty for it. And it seemed to Obi-Wan that Qui-Gon moaned louder under the licks of his tongue than he did under the blows.

But it wasn't long this time before Qui-Gon was flinching away, moving less quickly back into position after each retreat.

"That's enough, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan said quietly, placing one last kiss on a ruby red cheek.

"No, gods, don't leave me here, Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon lifted his face out of the pillows. "It's burning!" He was almost sobbing, his body writhing on the bed. If the feeling in Obi-Wan's hand was anything to judge by, the sting of the slaps was getting worse, not better, with their cessation. "It hurts! It's scratching me, and I want to itch it so much!"

His hands flew up to cover his cheeks, squeezing them to ease the sting, and quick as a cat Obi-Wan was there, licking at the tiny hole exposed to view.

"Yes!" Qui-Gon shouted, in a bellow as loud as the king's. "Oh, just there! Aaah, Obi-Wan," the moan came as Obi-Wan flicked his tongue against the opening, Qui-Gon spreading his own abused flesh further to give that searching tongue better access. "Harder, my love, do me harder. Need more, need it now, won't you please..."

Obi-Wan pushed him back down onto the bed, and fumbled urgently with the tabs of his leggings. He hadn't realised how much his own urgency had been building, but now he wanted into Qui-Gon with almost the amount of desperation his master was displaying. Perhaps it was the noise: Qui-Gon was usually a quiet bed-partner, if not always controlled. But this lusty, clamorous importuning was arousing of itself.

Finally he freed his erect cock and put the tip to Qui-Gon's anus. About to push in, he paused. If he did this, he couldn't help but hammer into Qui-Gon's buttocks: he was already too stimulated to think he could control their coupling, and his master was far beyond that. But he could really injure Qui-Gon if he subjected that chastened flesh to any further abuse. He couldn't even hold Qui-Gon's hips in place without causing him pain. What should he do?

Caught in an agony of indecision, with Qui-Gon waiting beneath him for his penetration, Obi-Wan was almost unbearably tempted by the anus nudging against the tip of his cock. The tiny mouth pouted out, teasing him, Qui-Gon obviously straining the muscles to push it open for him. And he wanted to be in there so much...

Qui-Gon seemed to have no doubts about what he wanted. "Padawan! What are you playing at? In me, now!" He let his hands slip from his buttocks down to the bed as he sought the leverage to push himself further onto Obi-Wan's rigid penis. The released cheeks enveloped Obi-Wan's cock in their own tight heat, making a hot, moist channel round his turgid flesh.

"Master! You feel like fire!" Eagerly he pushed along the crease, astounded by how much warmer and fuller it was than usual. He could lose himself just in this humid cleft, slippery with Qui-Gon's sweat and the semen leaking from the tip of his cock, not even needing the tighter tunnel which awaited him.

Moaning, his master squirmed underneath him, trying to get his cock back into the right place. "Stay still, Obi-Wan," he begged, "or put it into me yourself!" But it was Qui-Gon who wouldn't stay still, thrusting up his rear in short, unsettled movements which rubbed the hot flesh back and forth along Obi-Wan's penis. The pressure of Obi-Wan's cock bumping over the entry to his body maddened them both even more.

"Damn you, just fuck me, will you?"

Obi-Wan's balls began to rise and tighten at the delicious friction along the whole length of his cock. "Slow down, Master! You're going to make me - oh! Oh!" and Obi-Wan was gone, his cum bursting out of him to anoint the eager orifice. It was an excruciatingly sudden sensation, every muscle spasming at once with the unexpected surge, leaving him gasping and hanging on to his master's broad back.

"Padawan?"

"Oooooh," a long sigh was drawn out of him as he collapsed back onto his knees, his softening penis dragging between the clasping cheeks.

"Padawan!"

Obi-Wan stared in shock at the pool of his semen seeping down Qui-Gon's crack. His penis was still throbbing, but it wouldn't be good for anything more tonight. And in front of him, backside in the air, was a very irate and unsatisfied Jedi master.

He could admit he'd just lost control, and have his master murder him. Or he could use the quick wits which had rescued the queen to bluff his way out of the situation.

He thought fast.

"On your side - now!" He reinforced the command with a sharp swat to Qui-Gon's calf. His master growled, but obeyed immediately, rolling and bringing up his legs. Obi-Wan followed through with the motion, slipping to one side so Qui-Gon's upmost leg came to rest on his torso as he nestled his head in between his master's thighs, one hand caught under his master's hip.

He pre-empted any further complaint by closing his mouth around Qui-Gon's cock. His master howled again, all inhibitions ripped away by the unexpected sensation. A temporary advantage at best; Obi-Wan had to consolidate his position fast. Slipping his free hand up between Qui-Gon's legs, he pushed a finger into the hungry little hole there, using his own semen to ease the entry.

"Ah, gods! Please, Obi-Wan, I need more!" And Qui-Gon bore down on his lover's hand, hooking his leg up onto Obi-Wan's shoulder to open himself wider. "Can't you-" He broke off as Obi-Wan pressed in another finger, but even when his padawan began to move them in rhythm inside him, he moaned in frustration.

"No! You don't understand!" Big hands closed on Obi-Wan's head, holding him still when he would have started to suck the swollen cock. "You've put a fire to my arse - it's burning me so, Padawan! I need something in me to ease it, not just your fingers. Please, I want to be screwed!"

He'd never heard Qui-Gon so desperate before. Obi-Wan's febrile brain spun: there must be a solution to hand, somewhere.

Ahah! If a hairbrush had saved the situation once already...

Frantically he searched the bed for it with his Force-sense, located it conveniently within reach. Qui-Gon keened in protest as the teasing fingers slipped back out of him, but Obi-Wan diverted him by swiping his tongue across the slit at the tip of his cock, while groping madly amongst the bedclothes until his hand closed around the smooth wood handle.

A new note entered Qui-Gon's pleas when Obi-Wan began to press the rounded end of the handle against the crinkle of his anus.

"Yes! Gods, yes, Padawan! Shove it in!" He threw his head back, every tendon straining along his whole body. Face caught between his master's thighs, Obi-Wan felt the iron hardness of those muscles bunching against the skin of his cheeks as he slowly pushed on the handle. "Oh, deeper..." he heard Qui-Gon groan, a sound from the base of his thorax as if all the air were slowly being expelled from his lungs.

His master's anus spasmed when the ridges on the handle grip slipped past the tight ring of muscles, one by one.

This close, his head buried in Qui-Gon's groin, Obi-Wan could feel every cramp down the length of his master's thighs, could see the skin on his master's stomach twitch minutely as the muscles yielded inside. He'd penetrated Qui-Gon so many times, but to be so near...to feel how Qui-Gon responded to every movement...

Obi-Wan stopped pushing just beyond the last ridge, where the handle flared thickest before curving up into the body of the brush. They lay still for a long moment, Obi-Wan smothered in the heavy scent of sweat and semen exuding from his master's body, his nose almost buried in the short dark curls at Qui-Gon's groin. The heat of Qui-Gon's flesh, humid and reeking of sex, surrounded him: his head was pillowed on one thigh; his master's leg over his face was a heavy weight braced against his shoulder; and stuffing his mouth was a cock oozing thick liquid. Obi-Wan swamped his senses with the heady combination.

And what was Qui-Gon feeling? How different was the cool wooden handle inside from a hot prick? Not as thick, perhaps, but unyielding, hard against the soft tissues as the back of the brush had been hard against Qui-Gon's bottom. Filled with curiosity, Obi-Wan swivelled the handle slightly, just to see how Qui-Gon would react. The silver was cool against his palm as he turned it left, then right, the oval shape of the wood stretching the delicate anal tissues as it changed position.

"Gods, that's good," Qui-Gon said shakily above him. His hips moved a fraction, pushing his cock a little further into Obi-Wan's mouth. Obediently, his padawan started to suckle, pulling on the soft foreskin peeled away from the bulbous cockhead. "Oh, nice...so nice..." He rocked his hips forward, but with Obi-Wan's head cradled on his thigh, he couldn't press much further in. Just as well, Obi-Wan thought; he didn't fancy choking on Qui-Gon's cock, no matter how luscious it was.

But there was something more he could do for his master. Slowly he pulled the brush out a few inches, then pushed it hard back inside.

Qui-Gon screamed.

Obi-Wan had never heard his master use his full lung-power during sex before, with such an utter lack of restraint. It was a sweet, sweet sound. He wanted to hear it again. He wanted to cause it again.

That wouldn't be difficult, tonight.

Sucking hard, he fucked his master slowly and steadily with the brush, taking Qui-Gon's cock as deep into his throat as he could all the while. Qui-Gon whimpered whenever the brush left him, yelled each time it went back in, rich unbridled cries. He was curling himself tighter and tighter round Obi-Wan, working his hips down and his legs up, bending his spine till his lips were against Obi-Wan's hair, his body wound like a great coiled spring. Obi-Wan could feel the increased resistance to the passage of the brush; he imagined the angle must also have changed, for now on each upthrust Qui-Gon was shuddering, as if it were nudging his prostate inside...

Yet for all his urgency, he could do nothing to relieve himself, could only wait for Obi-Wan to swallow him further, to stroke him more deeply inside.

And for all his urgency, his big hands were gentle where they cradled Obi-Wan's skull.

Obi-Wan worked him hard, devouring his cock, belabouring his arse, dragging the sounds out of him. But the moment his orgasm finally began, he went totally silent, as if he had exhausted his capacity to shout any more. Obi-Wan could see the clenching of his belly, the muscles convulsing just an inch away. This was a long, slow coming, Qui-Gon straining for his release where Obi-Wan had been taken unawares. The big man's whole body was trembling and his hands formed fists; Obi-Wan, caught up in his travail, felt his own stomach churn in sympathy. Both he and Qui-Gon were holding their breaths, as if the passage of air through their lungs would cause the world to disintegrate.

Then, with a long-drawn-out moan, Qui-Gon spilled his bitter seed into Obi-Wan's mouth.

He'd whimpered slightly when Obi-Wan rolled him over on his back, to climb up from between his legs. Obi-Wan was quick, pulling the quiescent body back to lie on its side as soon as he could. He would've loved to have stayed there, sheltered between Qui-Gon's warm thighs, suckling at the cock still oozing tiny rills of liquid. But Qui-Gon had relaxed every muscle in his body afterwards, and his now unsupported weight was becoming too much for comfort.

Obi-Wan stripped off his own clothing quickly and lay back down on the bed, curled up beside Qui-Gon, watching his unguarded expression ease from ecstasy towards sleep. Often, when they made love, Obi-Wan would aim to have Qui-Gon's pleasure follow his. It suited them both: Qui-Gon's older body was slower to arouse than his young lover's, and many times Obi-Wan would come a second time, wakened to new lust by Qui-Gon's own passion. But the greatest advantage to Obi-Wan was that it afforded him moments like these, when he watched Qui-Gon slip down from the heights of rapture, himself unobserved.

There was a blankness to his lover's face, lines smoothed out into timelessness, which made it easier for Obi-Wan to imagine him as a young man. It helped to slake a hunger he didn't admit to Qui-Gon, an urgent need to know what the Jedi master had been like as a knight, as a padawan his own age. He knew Qui-Gon would misunderstand, thinking that Obi-Wan felt the lack of a lover who was also his contemporary; whereas, it was rather that Obi-Wan needed to possess all of that most complex man, in his many guises.

But there were nights when the ageless cast to his relaxed features could also frighten Obi-Wan: when the blankness reminded him of a deathmask. Then, he would seek to rouse his master, quietly asking him what he was thinking about. And Qui-Gon would come up with the oddest things. He would murmur an insight into a play they had seen ages ago, or spontaneously give an answer to a problem the Council had been exercised by for months.

Once, he had extemporised fourteen lines of Huttese iambic verse.

Obi-Wan had never worked out what *that* was about, but it seemed unrelated to the activities which had gone before. He'd often wondered if, having spilled his seed in infertile ground, Qui-Gon was making amends to the life-hungry Force with a surge of mental creativity. But tonight, he knew, his master was drifting down into sleep: hardly surprising, given that dawn had long since come and gone.

"Mmmmn," the sound rumbled from the back of Qui-Gon's throat, as he shifted a little towards Obi-Wan. "Do you have to think so hard? You're making my brain hurt from here."

"No, that's probably the alcohol taking revenge." Obi-Wan let his smile come through in his voice, to show he didn't mean it maliciously. "There was more chocolate liqueur in that wretched dessert than any man would drink in an evening."

Qui-Gon groaned, eyes screwed shut. "Don't talk about chocolate. I never want to see anything with chocolate in it again."

This time Obi-Wan's smile was a little more uncharitable. "What? Not even frozen gagh with chocolate sprinklings?" He almost laughed at the expression crossing his master's face, twisting it like an old lemon. "How about chocolate-coated raisins? Choco-malt fermented yak's milk? Choc-"

A pillow hit him in the face.

"Go to sleep, you horrible child. Have mercy on a dyspeptic old man."

"If your stomach hurts, it's greed rather than age causing it. Not to mention spending half an hour balancing on your padawan's knees." It was an arch reference to the beating Qui-Gon had just taken from him, but underneath the coyness Obi-Wan was desperately eager to be told more about this hitherto undiscovered aspect to his master.

Qui-Gon sighed and opened his eyes. "You're determined to talk about this now, aren't you?"

"I'd like to, yes." Obi-Wan was obscurely hurt by the guarded look in those blue eyes. It stripped away all the youth he'd glimpsed in Qui-Gon's face, made him seem harder and older. "Go to sleep if you prefer, my Master. We do have to be at the formal nuncheon in six hours."

"Not more food," Qui-Gon said, giving a mock shudder.

"Don't worry if you can't face it. You can sleep in, and I'll cover for you." Obi-Wan rolled over to turn off the light, not willing to have Qui-Gon see the disappointment on his face.

A hand on his shoulder stopped him. "You've already covered enough for me, Padawan. I'll bear the consequences of my own behaviour this time." Qui-Gon stroked a finger up along the bare flesh of his arm. "With you, as well as with the king. Sleep can wait a little longer. So, call me to account. I'll answer what you choose to ask."

Obi-Wan propped himself up on his arms, looking down into Qui-Gon's face. "There's only one thing you have to account for: a sin of omission."

"And what did I omit to do?"

"You failed to mention that getting hit with a hairbrush might rank as pleasure, rather than as punishment," he chided.

"You ought to know by now, Obi-Wan. A negotiator never lets on when the opposition offers him something he wants."

"Is that what I am, then?" Obi-Wan kept his voice light. "The opposition?"

"Oh, no, love." Qui-Gon's face softened. "Never that." He leaned forward to place a small kiss on Obi-Wan's shoulder.

"Then why didn't you just ask me for it?" Obi-Wan was genuinely curious: it was hardly as if Qui-Gon was a bashful swain, too shy to make his own desires known. In fact, he was as confident in sex as he was in everything else, rambunctious and occasionally rude; he seemed to enjoy shocking his young apprentice with some of his wilder ideas. Obi-Wan had grown up very quickly when he took on the big man as his lover. "I can't imagine you were ashamed of it."

"There were not only my own feelings to consider," Qui-Gon answered quietly.

"I would have tried it, if you'd wanted. You know that."

"That was exactly what I feared." At Obi-Wan's look of incomprehension, he sighed. "Tell me the truth, now. Are you unhappy that you did it, whether or not I was less than candid when you suggested it?"

Lying on his stomach, Obi-Wan stared down at the pillow. "Yes, I suppose I am a little unhappy. Oh, not about hitting you." He swallowed. "I know it hurt, but pain is not a novelty to either of us, after all. If we couldn't cope with it, we could never complete the missions we face every day."

"It's a hard life," Qui-Gon murmured in agreement, stroking the ridge of bone at the nape of Obi-Wan's neck.

"And we must be hard for it. I've killed - what's a beating compared to that? It's just..." his voice dropped, "I've never hurt someone for my own pleasure before. But I did enjoy it."

"That makes you uncomfortable?" The gentle touch continued over the curve of his shoulder blade, to his spine.

"I've never thought of myself as a cruel person..."

"And now you wonder." Obi-Wan nodded, relieved by Qui-Gon's understanding. "What did you enjoy, love? Was it my pain?"

Obi-Wan tried hard to sort out the welter of impressions the evening had left behind. "Not that, really," he finally answered. "Oh, there was a physical side to it. The way your skin felt, all hot and flushed. Your body pushing into mine. Just the look of you, the sight of your bare arse - I couldn't help but get hard at that, Qui-Gon."

His master's colour rose. "I'll take that as a compliment," he said drily, but Obi-Wan knew he was pleased.

"Then there was the way I could make you respond to me. So absolute: you didn't hold anything back." That was the harder truth: seeing Qui-Gon in tears had moved him profoundly, and it almost frightened him to realise he wanted to take his master to that point again. Meeting his lover's eyes, he saw that Qui-Gon was disturbed, and that frightened him more.

Nevertheless, he was taken aback by his master's next words.

"It wasn't fair of me to let you do that. I should have stopped you when you finished with the brush, while it was still a punishment between us. But it's been a long time, Obi-Wan. The temptation was there, and when you gave me the choice... I wanted it." The lines were harsh on Qui-Gon's face. "It's no wonder you feel uncomfortable: I burdened you with a huge responsibility, especially given that you haven't done this before. And, as you saw, I'm not very good at calling a halt myself."

Obi-Wan trailed his finger down the deep groove running to Qui-Gon's mouth. "Responsibility is hardly something I've been a stranger to over the last ten years, Master."

"That's true." Qui-Gon smiled. "Someone must have trained you well."

"I care to think so. Is that the way it usually is with you, then? So lost to the sensation?"

Qui-Gon looked uncomfortable. "Truthfully, it's been so many years that I couldn't tell you what is usual for me now. I was much younger then; more intemperate, Mace would say." Obi-Wan filed away that little nugget of information for future discussion. "I can't remember losing myself that badly before. But then, I've never trusted a lover the way I trust you, Obi-Wan. It probably makes a difference."

"I'm glad to hear it," his padawan murmured, absurdly pleased, reaching down to kiss him. His lips opened, pliant under Obi-Wan's, the taste of his semen shared between their mouths. When Obi-Wan lifted his head again, Qui-Gon's voice was husky.

"We didn't start tonight the right way round, either."

"There's a right way round?" Obi-Wan had never suspected there was an etiquette to these things.

Qui-Gon laughed. "It can be less painful, if that's what you want. You start slow, build up the pressure gently. The skin gets used to a mild sting quite soon, so the next level is simply a little more to adjust to." Gleeful wickedness flashed across his face. "I could demonstrate on you sometime, if you've a mind to try."

"That might be interesting," Obi-Wan said, meeting the challenge unswerving. "But if you prefer, we could do it this way round again."

"It's kind of you to offer, but you don't have to, you know," Qui-Gon said, brushing his thumb down Obi-Wan's cheek. "It's a taste, not a necessity. I've done without it for many years, long before we became lovers, and I can do without it again. It was just..."

"The temptation," Obi-Wan finished for him.

"You ordering me over your knees," Qui-Gon murmured, his eyes half-lidded. "You took me unawares. Even then, I wasn't expecting anything more than the punishment you'd promised, and I knew it would hurt like hell - which it did, in case you have any doubts. Still does." He rubbed his backside ruefully. "But when you told me you were enjoying it...Obi-Wan, I couldn't stop myself then, even though I should have done."

"So punishment became sex. If I'd chosen something else, Master - if I'd actually asked you to stand in a corner, or something equally silly - would you have done it?"

Qui-Gon's voice was grave as he replied, "Yes, I would have."

"Why? Masters don't normally let their padawans punish them. Do you make an exception for me because I'm your lover?"

"I would have done it, whether you were my padawan, or my lover, or neither. I would have done it because you were right. Even a Jedi master can need correction, my Padawan. I'm only glad you would care to take me to task. Many others in your position would not have the courage."

Many other Jedi masters wouldn't have the courage to accept the correction offered, Obi-Wan thought. But that was always the way with Qui-Gon: rank, for him, came from the Force and obedience to its will, a status as available to an initiate as it was to a Councillor. And anyone - initiate or padawan, knight or master, king or servant - who acted with the guidance of the Force could hold him accountable.

And now it was Obi-Wan's turn to be held accountable.

"Master, there was another reason why I enjoyed this - and you may not find it so acceptable. I wanted to assert my control over you, to take charge. I watch you with the other masters in the Temple, or dignitaries like the king," he said earnestly, "and I can't help feeling jealous sometimes. They have the right to a freedom with you that I don't. I'm just a padawan: it's not my place to reprimand you in public, even when I disagree with what you're doing. I suppose, by punishing you, I wanted to make you acknowledge that my opinions count, too." His voice dropped. "I wanted to remind you that you're mine."

"I won't forget," Qui-Gon whispered, blue eyes fixed on Obi-Wan. The look there left Obi-Wan breathless.

"Aren't you going to tell me off? Caution me that jealousy isn't becoming in a Jedi?"

"It isn't. But I can't blame you for a sin I indulge in myself." Qui-Gon shook his head self-deprecatingly. "Why do you think I've been so antagonistic towards the king, hey? He might keep his hands to himself, but every time you're in the room he looks you over as if you were his next meal. I wanted to put his nose out of joint this evening, and I made the rest of you suffer for it. Perhaps we had best both go to Yoda to ask for a suitable punishment when we get back home."

"Perhaps." Obi-Wan was grinning widely.

"What's so amusing?"

"You might like to know why the king keeps his hands to himself." Obi-Wan had noticed the old boy's interest in him, as it happened, but he had never thought to ascribe his master's antagonism towards the man to jealousy.

"And why is that?"

"The queen is not as fluffy as she seems. She keeps him under a tight rein. And she told me this evening that when she catches him straying, she gives him a wallop or two." Qui-Gon's eyes widened as Obi-Wan flourished the brush in front of him. "That's why she only gave us her second-best: she said she needed the other one for tonight."

Qui-Gon laughed so hard Obi-Wan feared he'd do himself damage.

But as they turned out the light and settled down to sleep at last, Qui-Gon carefully lying on his side curled around his padawan, Obi-Wan reflected on who would have the last laugh tomorrow.

For, after the nuncheon, the whole royal party and their honoured guests were due to go horseriding.

Somehow, he thought the king and Qui-Gon might cry off.

*

The End.