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Archive: M_A and my page http://www.ravenswing.com/~eshva

Rated: NC-17

Pairing: Q/O

Categories: PWP, romance

Spoilers: nope

Warnings: Soppy. Qui-drool.

Summary: Inspired by the "Are you masturbating?" challenge. Obi-Wan watches Qui-Gon and thinks about bodies.

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns the universe.

Notes: Well, I didn't manage to get it finished in the Merry Month, but almost. Many thanks to Kalu, Jenn and Michelle for beta-ing.

Feedback: Yes, please.

I knew it was a stupid question even as I was asking it. The glows were turned off in the bedroom - the only light came from the picture-wall, showing a flaming red-gold sunset - but even in the dimness there could hardly be a doubt. When I walked in he was lying sprawled on the bed, his clothing tossed on the floor, big fist wrapped around his very erect cock.

Blame it on the strain. I was undergoing the Ritual of Abstention in preparation for my pilgrimage to the Ciluro temple and it wasn't easy. I'm sure abstaining from all sexual activity for fourteen standard days is not a problem for a Gormek, since they only mate every second year, but it's rather more difficult for a young humanoid male. Particularly one who shares quarters with a handsome Master of compatible species. And especially difficult when the Master in question has recently become your lover.

"I'm sorry, Padawan. I didn't mean to distract you." He moved his hand away and his erection began to subside as he used the Force to discipline his response. Or possibly he just envisaged a Hutt dinner party, which I've found just as effective.

"Just because I'm Abstaining doesn't mean you have to. Please, don't let me stop you."

He levered himself up onto one elbow to better gauge my state of mind. Or possibly body. "Are you sure?"

"My Force control is quite adequate to handle my reactions." Just the merest hint of teasing in my tone. "Though there is one condition."

"Oh yes?" An inquiring lift of his eyebrows.

"I'd like to watch."

He blinked.

"You don't have to put on a show. I just want to watch you. I want to see how you are when you, ah ..."

"Take myself in hand?" The little grin danced over his lips.

"Exactly." I returned the grin.

"Why?" Honest query there - he really didn't know.

My grin softened into a smile. There were so many things I could have said. Because I want to share this with you. Because seeing you enjoy yourself makes me happy. Because when you come it's the most magnificent thing in the world.

"Because you're beautiful," I said.

He decided to accept that, though I'm not sure he believed me. He knew many humans find him attractive - could hardly fail to know - but it's not the same thing. "Just close your eyes and pretend I'm not here."

And so he did, settling back against the pillow, eyes closing, hand returning to his cock, teasing it back to hardness.

I wasn't lying - he was beautiful. Long, muscled legs sprawled against the bed covers, strong thighs parted. With one of those big hands he stroked his cock, slow, languorous strokes, pausing to run his fingers over the plump redness of the glans; the other hand cupping his balls, rolling them gently.

His skin had a golden sheen in the mock sunset. The light played over every dip and curve of muscle. It cast subtle shadows above his collarbone, a part of him I delighted in, the line of bone so finely made, the gentle swell of pectorals beneath. The way the lines dip smoothly beneath the hollow of his throat. Once I poured sparkling Barissian wine into that tempting hollow and then revelled in lapping it up.

His eyes were closed, making him seem somehow vulnerable; lashes fanned against his cheeks, soft lips slightly parted as his breaths began to come more rapidly. His hair spilled over the pillow, a dark frame for his face.

His beautiful face. Well, to me his face is beautiful, craggy and slightly battered though it is. Because it's his, because it's him.

Qui-Gon is comfortable in his body - it was evident in the easy, sensual way he touched himself. Equally clear in his long-striding walk, the sureness of his hands at any task, his ease in using touch to comfort and connect with others. It's not a common thing in a Jedi. There's a streak of asceticism in the Order that regards bodies, with their muck and failings, as far inferior to the purity of the Force. Hence, practices like the Ritual of Abstention.

My Master and I talked about it once, when I was young, and I quoted Master Yoda at him, "Luminous beings we are, not this crude matter".

He disagreed, as he often does when I quote Yoda. "Luminous beings we are indeed, Padawan, and that includes the crude matter. Bodies can be a source of joy, not just pain and inconvenience." Humour tickled the edges of his voice. "Don't be in too much of a hurry to become one with the Force."

It's not just something he says - he lives it. Yes, the flesh is prey to disease and injury and age, and all of them were marked on his body as he lay on the bed before me; the scars, his broken nose, the pattern of lines on his face that map the expressions of years. But the flesh is also a joy to him. I've watched him swim in a glacier melt pool, exhilarated by the frigid purity of the water. Basked with him in the sun on a warm spring day as our skins turned golden-brown. Seen him stroke the petals of a flower, those big, blunt fingers so delicate in their touch, then raise the bloom to his nose and breathe in its scent. Not just tolerating his body, but revelling in it.

I am eternally grateful that when I was going through the hormonal lunacy of adolescence, I had him for a master and not one of the Order's ascetics, as poor Garen did. I discovered during our brief relationship that Garen isn't comfortable with sex - for him it's something furtive and hurried and faintly distasteful and I could sense the influence of his Gormek master. There was no trace of such an attitude in Qui-Gon as I watched him, his movements slow and sensuous and unashamed.

The pace of his hand was increasing. He gripped his cock harder, while his other hand tugged a little on his balls and his hips rocked slightly with the movement. I wanted so much to join him on the bed; to cover his body with my own, to feel his skin against mine, to bury my nose against him and breathe in his scent. I wanted to replace his hands with my hands, with my mouth. To have those long, strong legs wrapped around my shoulders, my waist, to sink myself inside all that bright beauty.

I did none of these things - there would be time enough for all of them when I returned from Ciluro. I stood at the foot of the bed and watched him.

He was very quiet. With me he's quite vocal, with a full repertoire of sighs and groans and full-throated roars to let me know what pleases him and just how much. And because he knows how much it pleases me to hear him.

He was getting close now, fist pumping rapidly, his breathing ragged - and then it happened for him - he threw his head back, the tendons of his throat stretched taut, every muscle of that big, wonderful body caught up in the climax as he delivered up his seed.

And his eyes flicked open, blue gaze fixed on me, seeing me as he came.

I went to him as the tension drained out of him and his body relaxed into the mattress. His chest rose and fell as he heaved in air. His eyes were no longer closed, but the vulnerability was still there.

"Obi..."

Gently, I stroked the hair from where it had fallen across his forehead and brushed a soft kiss against his lips. "Thank you."

He touched my hand softly. "I'll be glad when you return from Ciluro."

I longed to crawl into the bed with him, hold him, lick the semen from his hand, his chest, his belly. But I was already at the limit of my self-control. I would have to spend some time intensively concentrating on Hutt dinner parties to avoid breaking the Ritual.

But it was worth it. Because he was beautiful.