Master Apprentice Archive Device 3 Quick search:

Note-- this is the third part of Device, set on Ragoon Six, but there are two more parts, set years later on Ord Mantell, to follow. I consider them a part of the Device series.

Summary: sequel to Device 1 and 2, with Qui-Gon joining Quin and Obi on Ragoon VI. Followed by Ord Mantell Reunion and the rest of my Quinlan Vos slashes

Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Other Male Character, Qui-Gon Jinn

Genre: Angst, Character Study, Pairings: Slash (m/m), Pairings: Threesome or more, PWP

Rating: X

This piece may contain explicit sex, violence or other heavy content.

CONTENT and/or WARNINGS: Bloodplay, Breathplay, Chan: adult / teen, Chan: teen / teen, Masturbation

YOU have been warned about the content of this piece. It is YOUR RESPONSIBILITY not to view material containing subjects that upset you or that are illegal for you where you live.

If you believe the author/artist did not select an appropriate warning for this piece, please contact me.

Authors note: this trilogy, Device 1-3, has turned into a prologue for my other Quinlan slashes, Two Q's and Jaxxon's Twi'leks. Who knew.

From the corner of the training floor on Ragoon VI, Qui-Gon Jinn was observing, and reflecting. He was ostensibly comparing the form and athleticism of Obi-Wan Kenobi, his padawan, with that of his temporary charge, Quinlan Vos. One glaringly obvious difference leaped at his awareness. His padawan had been deliberately lingering at this level of his training. But why?

The two youths were approximately the same age, both humanoid, but possibly because of his late choosing of Obi as padawan, the smaller youth, though talented in all areas, was not nearly as ready for knighthood as his age-mate. And secretly, Qui-Gon was glad. He truly enjoyed sharing Obi-Wan's life.

While Obi's grace suited the classic shien style, Quinlan was trained in the more conservative "mynock" forms, that harmonized with the unusual depth of his sensibilities. Though brought up in the creche like most younglings, he had also witnessed large amounts of tragedy through his ability to read objects, including his parents' murder. His master, Tholme, was ideally suited to the task of teaching the young sensitive to protect himself with layering, both of identities and outer armoring. It made him very hard to predict during a bout, as he had such a concealed arsenal of technique, yet remained sure of the basics of each motion. His natural belligerence was well-channeled into this limited palette of technique, resulting in great power to each form.

As they were attending this trade conference on Ragoon VI, he would often feel the weight of Quin's eyes upon him, instead of on the being making a presentation. That was a state of affairs that he tolerated, because it was Quin's nature to stare fixedly and forthrightly, which in many cultures was not tolerated. Better to have that beetling brow pointed at him, looking for cues, than to disconcert an emissary from a world where eye contact was an insult.

He knew Quin was studying him for reference. He might someday need to impersonate someone like him, the mild-mannered yet implacable diplomat. He might never be one, but he would have the information.

And now and then, he found himself wanting to be read more intimately. He wondered how it would be to share Force-sensibilities with one who read by touch. And what sort of use would the owner of those brooding eyes make of him, if he were to grant access?

The curiosity had been growing ever since the night he had glimpsed Quinlan in the embrace of Obi-Wan. The contrast of Obi's creamy skin to that of the red-tinged Kiffar, with his inky hair, had been very beautiful. And the acts they were engaging in, their 'xeno- archaeological experiments" with that sex-toy, couldn't help but inflame his more private imaginings. It gave spice to the times when his padawan came to him for very private instruction...

Focus, Qui-Gon, he admonished himself. The subjects of these musings are expecting useful commentary on their present engagement, with light-sabres, not their tongues.

Obi-Wan had just managed to surprise Quinlan by turning a parry into a backhand thrust by the right hand, nearly scoring Quinlan's leg. The larger youth countered it only inches from himself, but managed not to give ground. With a shock, Qui-Gon realized that he had used the very same move himself, in a previous bout with Obi-Wan. Quin must be as tall as he was himself, now. Hmmm, how quickly they grow... Focus, Qui-Gon.

The next instant, Obi-Wan's light-sabre went flying into a corner, its automatic shutoff engaging before it damaged the training surface. But his padawan did not stand down as Quin switched off his own sabre. Instead, he leaped on the other youth with a growl, knocking him over completely before Quin's eyes even had a chance to register surprise. With a yell, the Kiffar youth resorted to desperate tactics---tickling.

Qui-Gon couldn't help but chuckle, too, as the pair dissolved in hilarity. "Enough, cubs, " he ordered, with a smile. The two sat up. "What do you call that move, padawan?"

"I call it, Togorian with a sore paw, Master," replied Obi, with a grin, displaying a small burn.

"And what is the name of the move that resulted in this Togorian's sore paw?" inquired Qui-Gon of the other youth. "It resembles a form I know, but the result differs greatly."

"Master Tholme did not tell me its name, Master Jinn. It is used in the Corporate Sector, by Guild bodyguards, to take advantage of over- extension by your opponent."

"Your master is a treasury of information, Quinlan. Will you demonstrate it to me?"

Quinlan looked abashed to be offering instruction to a master, but readily stood in sparring posture once more. Qui-Gon took his own sabre from his belt, and activated it.

"I will imitate the reverse thrust of Obi-Wan, and you tell me how you proceeded from your parry. Then do the motion."

"Well, I swept accross and low with my parry, then engaged the move to disarm. It resembles a simple extension in line with the third finger, but does not rotate like a trap move. After the parry, the blade follows the finger parallel to the opponent's blade, like this- --" and Quinlan held out his right hand, gripping with only the one hand upon the sabre handle, with the finger in question parallel to Qui-gon's blade.

Then, igniting his own sabre, he resumed the parry position that Obi- Wan had forced upon him so recently, this time with Qui-Gon as opposer. First slowly, then at speed, he arrowed the wrist and finger flick toward Qui-Gon's hand. Since he knew it was coming, Qui- Gon easily avoided the glowing tip. "Excellent," he said.

"Now I will engage with you, and both of us will attempt this disarming technique, at any juncture." And they settled into sparring.

It was exhilarating to feel the dark brooding gaze of Quinlan directly upon him, instead of from afar. Qui-Gon drew upon his inner serenity to ignore the pleasure that coursed through him because of it, and to select forms of attack that could lead to over-extension. Such situations rarely came up when sparring with Obi-Wan, as the youth's reach was much shorter than his own. But those molten black eyes were directly on a level with his, above the yellow stripe. And Quin obliged him, by starting with a retreat.

Qui-Gon smiled to himself. It would be much more difficult to get him to over-extend than that! They exchanged several thrusts and counter-thrusts, taking one another's measure, establishing a rhythm in order to deviate from it unexpectedly, and within a few minutes, Quinlan was caught with all his weight over one leg, the chance Qui was looking for. He parried high, then did the new disarming move.

Though Quin attempted to retreat from it, it worked. His light-sabre went flying, and the padawan fell to one knee, unable to recover his stance. Obi-Wan, from his position as cross-legged observer, applauded, but not too hard. After all, he had yet to do this move himself.

"Congratulations, to you and to Master Tholme," said Qui-Gon, and casually reached out to help Quin back to his feet. When Quin hesitated before taking his hand, he suddenly remembered the young man's sensitivity. Oh, well, too late to withdraw the offer. And after a moment, Quin decided to accept, his dark eyes speculating.

And the blazing current that traveled between them froze them both. Their two hands, so alike in size and build, connected two desires that burned with the same heat. And both desires were immediately concealed again, for some future occasion. This was not the time or the place.

They both turned to Obi-Wan, belatedly dropping hands, as he said, " I think I see the method of it, now. May I try?"

"Certainly, padawan. Let Quinlan rest a moment. Set up a retreat pattern, and I will over-reach."

As Obi-Wan rose and ignited his green blade, Qui-Gon was struck again by his padawan's natural balance and grace. His retreat had as much stateliness as a court gavotte in one of Ragoon VI's ballrooms. Qui-Gon waited until the rhythm was established, then broke the rhythm, which his padawan easily anticipated, then switched quadrants abruptly, reaching out with a surprise backhand assault, much as Obi-Wan had done earlier. But instead of the parry and disarm, Obi-Wan opted to trap his blade arm, bringing himself inside Qui's reach.

It was a suspiciously poor strategy, given the fact that despite his over-extension, Qui's center of gravity was lower, and his bulk much greater. All he had to do was reverse the arm trap and return to full stance, to have Obi-Wan dangling in front of him with only the tips of his boots on the floor, their sabres crossed and sparking in mid-air.

//Any excuse to climb into my lap, eh padawan?// Qui sent tightly over their bond.

//Just reminding you which one of us is your padawan,// returned Obi, as his green eyes met his master's. A bit of color crept into Qui-Gon's cheeks. Had he no secrets anymore?

They uncrossed their sabres and stepped apart. "Again," was all he said aloud.

Quin watched the sparring pair, his dark eyes enigmatic. He kept his own thoughts well shielded. Just observing his friend and his master was telling him a great deal more than he wanted to know. Also, he had heard that Qui-Gon and his padawan had come late to mind communication through their bond, unlike him and Tholme, indeed, unlike most masters and padawans of his acquaintance. It wouldn't be polite to let them know that they might as well be shouting.

After a few more minutes of give and take, Obi-Wan successfully disarmed his master, and sparring practice was concluded. The three Jedi went to change into fresh clothing before the final formal banquet of the conference.

On the way, Obi-Wan stripped out of his sweaty tunic, without a hint of self consciousness. He knew the others would like the view. Quinlan, though uncomfortable, was not about to expose himself in a public corridor, though the way Obi-Wan's hairs lay in a sweaty pattern upon his chest was quite harmonious, to those with the taste for it, he had to admit. He was suddenly shy around Master Jinn, not wanting to start anything he could not finish, which included attractng even one more speculative look from those blue eyes.

In his role as mediator, Master Qui-Gon Jinn merited a place near the center of the head table, with his two apprentices to either side of him. All the Commerce Guild representatives with comparable anatomy were also seated here, with tables to either side for those of differing builds. Their Ragoon VI hosts had managed to accommodate everyone, including personal flotation tanks for gaseous and aquatic species.

At the moment, the after-dinner address was being intoned, from the podium of the ruler-representatives of the local systems. All diners were at least feigning attention, when Qui-Gon felt a curious sensation on the inner surface of one knee. Idly he reached down to scratch at it, and discovered the the cause; it was Obi-Wan's foot.

The scamp had removed one boot entirely, and had crossed his leg high enough to walk his foot, toe by toe, up the side of his master's leg. Qui-Gon shot him a glance, but Obi's face was a serene mask, eyes on the speaker. Qui's eyes narrowed; two could play at this.

He imprisoned the trespassing foot, and began an insidious stroking of the sole, with the thumb of the hand that held it. It would have been too cruel to tickle him; his poor padawan might cause a major diplomatic incident! But as the large fingers of his hand held the foot prisoner, the thumb sent its messages, which could only be interpreted as maddening.

As he enjoyed this turn-about, trying to keep a smile off his face at Obi's increasing struggle not to react, he reflected on the adolescent sensibilities that had given rise to the situation.

Obi-Wan didn't want to stop being his padawan, that was it. He was emotionally resisting adult interactions with Qui-gon, and it constituted an attachment. Really, he should not be encouraging this behavior at all. But it was so much fun!-- and he would miss Obi-Wan as well, when at last he was knighted. He meted out more foot- torture, achieving a muffled gasp from the owner of the foot, quickly disguised as a cough.

Then he also felt the familiar pressure of the dark eyes of the young Kiffar. Quinlan hadn't missed their interaction. He shot a glance to his right, meeting those eyes head on. They were glowering as usual; that was their characteristic expression, as much a mask as a commentary. To his surprise, he heard:

//Must you encourage him?//

So, they'd had an audience-- a private audience, to their private amusements. Qui-Gon wondered how much Obi-wan knew about Quinlan's mental eavesdropping. The sending had been very tight and controlled, as befitted a spymaster's apprentice. And as further implications of what Quin might know began to occur to him, he felt a frisson of self-consciousness. And a huge wave of arousal. He found himself imagining the dark gaze of Quinlan traveling over some of the situations he and Obi-Wan involved themselves in, when they were alone; he wondered how to win a response from this hard to woo audience---

Before he knew it, he had yanked Obi-Wan's foot up and onto his lap, pressing it against his arousal, which had suddenly stood to attention. Obi-Wan, startled, turned to him. And noticed Quin's noticing.

Qui-Gon found his reaction quite instructive. With a knowing look, Obi returned to serenely gazing at the speaker. But his foot began to move, giving his master's arousal a gentle but insistent massage. It was Qui-Gon's turn not to squirm. And his toes flexed against the sensitive inner thighs, thick as the trunks of nimbar trees, and, as Obi had reason to know, just as fragrant...

It was all Qui-Gon could do not to moan aloud, as the internal pressure upon his trousers became nearly unbearable. He let himself express the emotion through their Force-bond instead. At the burst of pleasure-pain, Obi's eyes widened.

But so did Quinlan's. Force, this was getting embarrassing. Luckily, Obi-Wan decided to have mercy on his master, because the audience was rising to applaud the speaker.

//Dessert?// came the private message from Obi-Wan, as the diners and dignitaries began to disperse. Qui-Gon's inner turmoil was such that he could barely manage a slight nod. His throat was tight, besieged by memories of the taste of Obi-Wan. Nervously he slipped his eyes to the right, to their silent witness, Quin.

He had on a smug little smile. But the dark eyes wandered away into the crowd, giving master and padawan a semblance of privacy. Qui was fiercely grateful in that moment. He shot his student a heated glare.

//That was inexcusable,// he sent.

//So punish me, master...// Obi-Wan's eyes were green fire.

//Just you wait.//

By the time they reached their accommmodations, Qui-Gon's head was spinning with repressed lust. He simply walked to his chamber and went in. With a sly look at Quinlan, Obi-Wan followed. None of them worried about pleasantries at this juncture. Quin was left alone with his thoughts.

With his jealousy--- yes, he had to admit that he was jealous. And which of the two men was he jealous of? Not Qui-Gon. He knew that padawan relations were seldom discouraged, and that Obi was free to spend as much time as he wished, dallying with Quin. No, it was Obi- Wan he was jealous of.

Obi-Wan had illicit access to the hunk in the next room, while Quin was barred from him, by the little matter of knighthood. There you had it. And Obi-Wan was indulging in this-- dare he say it?-- childish pursuit of pleasure, simply because he could, and Quin could not.

But Quin was nearly a knight. He could exercise knightly restraint, and channel his frustrations into pursuit of the goal. Which, he now admitted to himself, in the privacy of his own mind, was to shag the magnificent Master Qui-Gon Jinn. It would happen.

And to think that he had been looking forward to continued relations with newly knighted Siri Tachi! Now there was a potent package of lust, but she paled in comparison to what he had sensed when Qui-Gon had grasped his hand. His memory swam with magnifications of those blue eyes, to either side of the large nose crooked from past injury, the wealth of extremely fine brown and silver strands falling past those massive shoulders, giving the illusion of blondness, the--- stop it, Quin, don't even think about his legs, or what's between them---

He sighed, and headed for the fresher.

Meanwhile, in Qui-Gon's chamber, both men had stripped out of all clothing in an astonishingly short time. And as soon as they were both down to nothing but skin, the master took charge.

"Kneel, padawan." Obi-Wan did so, eyes lowered modestly, but with a smirk nonetheless. Qui-Gon strode to face him, arms and legs akimbo.

"How dare you-- set foot on me like that!" Qui-Gon was playing it straight, but his apprentice was hard put not to chuckle. "Any apology would be insufficient. Punishment is required. And here is your first taste of it."

Obi-Wan cautiously raised his eyes, to see his master fondling himself, well out of reach. "Aaah--" he couldn't help but exclaim.

"You will not move, or in any other manner express yourself, until I give you leave." Qui-Gon's nostrils quirked above his goatee, as he smiled devilishly at his padawan's dismay over the order. To inflame the young man still further, he paused to lick the palm of his hand, thoroughly and lasciviously, before reapplying it to his task. Obi- Wan trembled at the sight, bit his lip, but held steady.

"It is time you exercised more self-control in general," remarked his master, beginning to stride about the room before his audience, with himself well in hand. The large, rosy length of him protruded straight out, and Qui-Gon angled it upwards as he worked it, with an audible slurping noise from the coating of saliva he had used upon himself. Obi-Wan swallowed and shut his eyes-- no, it was worse with eyes shut, his imaginings were too vivid---

Step by step, his master was closing in on him. From here, he could smell his master's scent.

Obi's eyes rolled up in complete frustration, to meet his master's obdurate blue gaze. His approach continued, augmented by a trembling of the hips that Obi-Wan had come to know very well, signifying the approach of Qui-Gon's release. He licked his lips imploringly, adding to his master's arousal and his own.

"Oh no-- you don't," muttered Qui-Gon hoarsely, and then grunted as the load of creamy jism spurted out, only inches from his padawan's face. Obi-Wan moaned in ecstacy as the spray of it contacted him, and his own unregarded erection let loose as well, falling onto his master's legs.

They looked at each other, the haze of desire receding, leaving them both ridiculous and sticky.

"Am I punished enough, Master?"

"Yes, I think so. To the fresher."

But what should they find in the fresher but Quinlan? He was leaning languidly against the fresher wall, padawan queue and braid undone, eyes shut, humming rather tunelessly to himself, and fisting his own erection. And on a small shelf, meant to hold lathering compound, rested the object of their combined xeno-archaeology investigations, which they had taken to calling simply "the device".

Evidently, Quin was trying to activate it by singing the c-sharp tone, that its dead inventors would use to induce ecstacy. Quinlan had given up on touching the thing directly; it too easily overwhelmed his psychometric talents, and he loathed losing control and feeling like a beast. But the events of the day had left him craving some sort of oblivion, to slake the unrequited longing for a certain Jedi master. Not being very musical, he was trying to hit the correct note by chance.

With a sidelong glance at the master in question, Obi-Wan decided to assist. He sang out the clear C sharp. The device, shaped like a knobbly duck egg, began to blur. And the closed eyes of Quinlan snapped open on his visitors. His jaw dropped.

Obi-Wan approached him first. Quin's eyes roamed incredulously over the decoration that had been applied to his fellow padawan's handsome face and reddish hair. As his master lounged in the fresher doorway, Obi stopped, chest to chest with him, putting his hand around the one Quin was using to pleasure himself.

Hardly daring to believe his good fortune, Quin put out his tongue and gave a lick. Qui-Gon's taste suffused him, along with the reassuring presence of his friend. He didn't bother to restrain himself a second longer. Obi-Wan got a thorough tongue-bath, which he gleefully returned, while grinding himself upon Quin's sturdy thigh, between his own parted legs.

Qui-Gon was truly enjoying this performance, as well as the vibrations of the device, which seemed magnified by the fresher's steamy atmosphere. Even though it was not contacting him, he sensed its madness-- should it be called that, when it was a product of technology? --so that the experiences of the other two seemed to involve his own body. And as Obi's hips swayed before him he was definitely being inspired to participate.

Obi-Wan had decided to replace his hand with his mouth upon Quin's brick-red manhood. He was directing his kisses and nibbles ever downward on Quin's torso. His creamy buttocks were retreating, right into Qui-gon's hands. And as soon as they were within reach, he began to stroke them appreciatively, causing his uninhibited padawan to moan, right onto Quin's erection. In response to that Quin groaned too, and his eyes flew up to meet those of Qui-Gon.

Qui didn't stop what he was doing to Obi-Wan. He had hold of his padawan's organ with one hand and was inserting a large finger between his buttocks with the other. But he locked eyes with the beautiful Kiffar youth, let his eyes tell the story of what he would like to do to Quinlan Vos, if their positions were reversed.....

Though he didn't make a sound, Quin's upper lip began to tremble, and his eyes rolled up into his head. If Obi hadn't had him by the hips, he might have fallen. Qui-Gon could see his padawan enthusiastically lapping at the other youth's crotch, as the reddish hands spasmed against the fresher wall.

He chose that moment to replace his finger with himself, in his padawan's arse. A muffled moan from Obi served as endorsement of his decision. It took only two or three small thrusts to fully settle himself in the welcome warmth. After a few contractions of pleasure, his padawan relaxed enough for him to move freely. The master set the pace, and the apprentice rocked in counterpoint.

Obi finally released Quin to slide down the fresher wall, in order to brace his arms, the better to withstand his master's thrusting. Oh Force, he felt as if he were being pounded into a scabbard for that weapon. His master was taking full advantage of him--one large hand was fingering his balls while the other squeezed at his glans, taking complete charge of his release. It was control, but not self- control. That had evaporated long since, in the pervasive humming of the device on the shelf. He licked his lips, full of the flavor of the lovely youth that thanks to him, was slumped nearly unconscious on the fresher floor. He was having it all tonight. Cries of triumph escaped him, each of which he knew would incite his master to pound at him harder.

Quin swam back to awareness, to the sight of two huge hands wrapped around Obi's shaft and balls, right before his eyes. What a delicious view. He hunched himself forward, his whole being buzzing in tune with the device, to lick at those fingers. The shock of contact ran up his tongue and pulled a cry from him.

In surprise at the touch of that tongue, Qui-Gon's fingers spasmed open. He cried out too, and lost himself inside Obi-Wan. At least he thought it was him--he had the uncanny sensation of being lost in the eyes of Quinlan... and his spasming fingers gave Quin the opening he needed to put his mouth where the hand had been. Just in time.

Obi-Wan gave a shout that was nearly a scream, and shot himself into Quin's throat. Master Qui-Gon was leaning against the fresher wall, visibly shaking, as Obi collapsed on top of Quin.

Having swallowed the cream of Obi-Wan, Quin was moving on to the flesh of him. He knew that the device was going to drive him on till he completely lost consciousness, but at the moment, he had a lap piled with delicious padawan, and he could care less. He licked out Obi's ear, cleaned off his forehead and cheeks again, looking for another taste of Qui-Gon that he might have missed. He sucked hard upon the sensitive neck-flesh, to make satisfying red marks. He dug his nails into Obi-Wan's ribs and spine, trying to rouse him again, getting only a half-hearted moan for now. So what if the master was watching. If he wanted this feast back, he would have to fight for a taste.

He began to bite at Obi's clavicle, as if to worry it out of the skin of his shoulder. It would be so easy just to let his teeth meet, right there, or there, and lap up the warm blood...

Qui-Gon's voice echoed authoritatively through the fresher stall. "Padawan-- turn it off."

Abashed, Quin let Obi raise his head, and sing out the C sharp, one octave higher. The vibrations ceased. In his head, Quin kicked the beast in him downstairs. And Obi-Wan slumped onto Quin, with a huge grin, and fell fast asleep.

With the device shut off, Quin found that he could stand up. He cradled Obi-Wan against himself as he rose, looking diffidently through the tousled black locks fallen over his face, at his friend's master. Who had seen him lose it. Who had very nearly had sex with him. Obi's gorgeous, naked master... he found that he was blushing hotly.

Qui-Gon smiled, and reached for Obi-Wan. "I'll put him to bed. It's been a long day, hasn't it?"

As he was transferred to another's shoulder, Obi-Wan drowsily wrapped one arm around his master's neck, hiding his face there. As he must have done countless times as a child, thought Quin. He swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. Lucky, lucky Obi-Wan. He didn't dare meet Qui-Gon's eyes.

It was Qui-Gon who met his. And lowered his face to that of the younger man, not very far at all, to touch lips with his. Even then, Quin didn't dare deepen the kiss. Not with Obi-Wan sleeping there. But his breath quickened, and thrills shot up his legs, at the promise in that contact.

When Qui-Gon's lips left his, his eyes were shining. "Be knighted soon, Quinlan Vos," was all he said. Then he left, with Obi-Wan on his shoulder.

And Quin was alone again, with that dratted device. It had got the better of him again. He must have been mad, to try to activate it on his own. Thank the Force he'd be leaving it behind with Obi, when he went back to Master Tholme in a few days.

Safe, enigmatic, self-contained Master Tholme. None of this torrid insanity in their relationship. Personally, he thought he'd had enough sex these last few days to last him for months.

Hey, he might even be knighted by then. Smiling, he reached for the towels.