Master
Apprentice  Archive
Eros
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Archive: MA, Hilary, and my own page, all others ask first.
Feedback: I won't refuse you-- elekdragon@yahoo.com
Fandom: Star Wars TPM
Pairing: Qui/Obi
Disclaimer: Qui and Obi belong to Lucasfilm; Eros belongs to himself; story belongs to me.
Category: Q/O, AU, Challenge-fic.
Rating: R, Explicit male/male.
Summary: Qui-Gon worships his God.
Notes: For the TMI Hilary challenge: If Obi-Wan was a god, which one would he be and how would he be worshipped?
He walked down the hall with sure steps, his back straight and his head held high. He had waited all his life for this moment, and finally his God had called him to His service. His thoughts wandered back to this morning, when he had been woken from his simple bed, surrounded by the God's priests. Four young men in their prime of youth, edging onto manhood, stood with silent faces made pale against the rich red cloth of their priestly cloaks. Around the Temple the sight of the priests was common, but it was rare to see them step outside its divine protection. At one boy's direction, Qui-Gon slipped out of his bed and stood before the richly-draped priests, wearing only his poor, plain tunic.
The oldest of the four boys--barely into his manhood himself--was the only one to speak. "You have been chosen to serve our Lord, for He has seen your devotion, and finds you pleasing." Simple words, but weighty with power.
From his tiny hovel Qui-Gon was lead into the forest that surrounded the Temple until they found a hidden spring of water, where three of the youths stripped him of his simple tunic and bathed him in the cool waters. The oldest watched from a little distance, his stormy-grey eyes never leaving Qui-Gon's body. Qui-Gon had felt as though he were in a dream, but the soothing touch of six hands on his body were enough to remind him that it was real. The hands were warm and strong, but gentle. They only caressed him enough to awaken his body to the pleasure of the clear, clean water and the nearness of the beautiful priests of his God.
From the stream, Qui-Gon was walked, naked, through the forest with his eyes closed, trusting in his guides to watch his step and bring him safely to his God. With the lightness in his heart, Qui-Gon was sure he was flying. No rocks tripped him, no sticks bore into his bare feet. He had total faith in his guides. Already he could feel the powerful presence of his chosen God.
Qui-Gon wasn't allowed to open his eyes until he was inside the hallway. A thin white cloak was draped around his shoulders, barely covering his body, and two of the boys decorated Qui-Gon's skin with paints and oils. He held still as they marked his body for their God, even though he wanted to rush forward with the ceremony. The designs were familiar to Qui-Gon, for they were the figures and shapes that covered the inner walls of the Temple's alter room. When they were finished, the boys all smiled at Qui-Gon; soft, seductive smiles as if they all shared a secret. Without saying anything, the oldest boy gestured to Qui-Gon that he was to finish the journey, and then he was alone.
Qui-Gon's focus returned to the present. The hallway seemed to go on forever, even though he was sure he was still inside the Temple. It had seemed so familiar at first, resembling the Grande Hall all worshippers must pass through, but if this were the Temple, shouldn't he have reached the alter by now? And where were the other priests, and worshippers? The Temple was never empty like this. It was as though Qui-Gon had suddenly stepped outside time, maybe into a different place.
Qui-Gon steadied himself with a deep breath and drew the loose cloak up close to his bare chest. Wherever he was, he was in the service of his God. He would trust that he would be guided. He kept walking.
His feet were tiring from the hiking on the smooth, but hard, stone floor. It felt like hours, but the hallway never changed, giving Qui-Gon no reference as to how far he had walked, or how far he had left. He wanted to stop, to rest for a little while, before continuing down the never-ending hallway. After all, how could he face the God when he was too worn out to stand?
But Qui-Gon was a determined man, and he kept walking. He had been called, and he would not fail his God.
Finally, when Qui-Gon was about to fall over in exhaustion, he reached a door. It had no handle or lock, so Qui-Gon assumed that it must be pushed to open.
He pressed his hand flat against the solid wood and pushed.
The door didn't move.
Qui-Gon put both his hands on the door, pushing with all his weight behind it, first on one side of the door, then the other.
The door didn't move.
Perhaps it needs to be pulled, Qui-Gon thought to himself, so he dug his fingers into the crack and tried to pull as best he could.
The door didn't move.
It was impossible! Qui-Gon stepped back from the door, rubbing his hands together to soothe the ache in his fingers from trying to force the door open. He was close! He could feel it. There had to be some way to open the door.
Qui-Gon closed his eyes, trying to relax and allow himself to think. The door had no hinges, no lock, no handle, yet there had to be a way to open it. He leaned his head back, resting against the door, and thought.
The door was very warm against his back. Even as he leaned on it, it felt as though it was leaning towards him as well, as if meeting his very weight with an equal force.
Force.
That was it. He knew how to open the door.
Qui-Gon allowed his body to go completely boneless. He slowed his breathing, letting his thoughts wander. He imagined himself to be floating, to be encased in feathers, to be flying through the air; he thought of himself as weightless, as a messenger of the Gods. He thought of his God, carrying the image of the young face framed by outstretched wings, carried by the wind and by love. His God was Love. Qui-Gon was love.
With a soft shudder, the door seemed to split in half, and Qui-Gon fell through it. There was nothing behind him--it was like water parting beneath his back, allowing him to sink deep into its depth. It was like falling into a dream. It was like nothing he'd felt before, yet achingly familiar. He didn't flail his arms as he fell through, but relaxed completely, closing his eyes, trusting in his God to catch him.
And then he felt it, strong yet slim arms catching his body, bearing him up. Qui-Gon was held against a warm body, and then Qui-Gon was flying.
When Qui-Gon opened his eyes, he was facing the ceiling of the Temple, with its elaborately painted frescoes and decorative carvings. A little startled, he slowly sat up and looked around.
He was laying on top of the alter in the Temple. The room was strangely empty of worshippers, but the candles were all lit. The air was fragrant with the scent of rose-wax and sweet incense. He was still naked, even more so now with his cloak draping the alter rather than his shoulders.
Qui-Gon caught a glimpse of something moving out of the corner of his eye, and automatically he turned to look at it. One of the four youths that brought him here--the oldest, the one who spoke--was kneeling in the corner, anointing a candle with glistening oil. He dipped his fingers into a small bowl in his lap, then drew his fingers slowly, lingeringly over the thick candle. The oil dribbling down his hand and onto the floor. The boy had removed his priestly cloak, and his golden skin glistened like the oil he painted on the candles.
"Good. You are awake." Qui-Gon was sure he made no noise, and the boy hadn't looked over towards him at all, but still, the youth knew he was awake.
"I--what--how long?" Qui-Gon asked, not sure if that was the question he had been reaching for, but happy to have something to say.
The boy shrugged, the movement causing a long braid to fall down over his shoulder and sway against his back. "A while," he answered, his fingers dipping back into the bowl. The youth again brought his slick fingers to the candle, running the oil up and down the smooth sides. The action was rather sexual, and Qui-Gon couldn't stop himself from reacting to the simple, sensual presence of the young man. He wiggled a little on the alter, hunching a bit to hide his arousal.
The boy shot a look over his shoulder that was at once sultry and mischievous. His eyes seemed to flash brilliant in the candlelight as he smiled. "You are here to serve the God?" he asked, his voice dropping lower as his fingers found the bowl again.
Qui-Gon swallowed, trying to work some wetness back into his suddenly dry mouth. "Yes. I want only to serve Him."
In a smooth motion, the boy stood up from his kneeling position and turned around. His face was almost predatory, if such a word could be used to describe something so pretty. Qui-Gon leaned back from his seat on the alter, not sure why he had the sudden urge to run when this beautiful, young, naked boy was approaching him.
"Will you serve Him in every way He chooses?" The boy's voice was strong, and it seemed to echo and shake in the walls of the Temple. He continued walking towards Qui-Gon with all the steady grace of a panther on the prowl.
"Yes," Qui-Gon answered, his voice loud even though it felt weaker than the youth's.
"Will you do all that He asks of you, without doubt?"
"Yes."
The youth stopped just a single step away. Qui-Gon could feel the heat from his body. He was radiant. The boy leaned forward, until his mouth just barely touched Qui-Gon's, his breath hot against Qui-Gon's lips. "Will you give yourself over to the God, without reservation or fear?"
"Yes," Qui-Gon all but whispered, the small syllable causing his lips to just touch the boy's.
The youth smiled. Qui-Gon could feel it against his mouth, and could see the change in the boy's eyes. No longer predatory, but still hungry. "Then give yourself to your God," he whispered, and finally closed the small gap between them.
The kiss, even as soft as it was, was like lightning through Qui-Gon's body. Instantly he no longer felt tired. He was energized, and hungry for more. He pressed upwards into the youth, trying to demand more, but every time he pushed, the youth fell back.
When Qui-Gon would have complained, the youth smiled daringly in his face. "Give yourself over to me. You let me lead you when you couldn't see, so now let me lead you in this." Knowing from experience that he could trust the boy, Qui-Gon relaxed, allowing the youth to lay him down upon the alter. His long legs fell to either side of the long table, and the boy stretched Qui-Gon's arms up over his head to grip at the edge of the alter. Qui-Gon's cloak kept his back from being abraded by the rough carvings on the alter as the youth stretched out over him, kissing him gently, maddeningly, on the mouth.
Qui-Gon couldn't keep his eyes open, so he allowed them to close, letting the boy touch him as he willed. It was as if the youth's hands were everywhere at once, like a cool wind over his body, drawing fire from his skin. Quickly, desire as he had never known it welled up inside him, and he wanted to cry out at the overwhelming sensation. It grew in waves through his body, rising higher and higher. He could feel the youth bearing down on him, his hips a delicious friction against Qui-Gon's erection, and this time Qui-Gon did cry out.
His orgasm crashed over him before he was even aware it was coming, a sudden impact of a wave throwing him off balance. Qui-Gon could feel the sharp carvings of the alter digging into his head as he threw it back, the softly wet lips sucking at his neck, the deceptively strong body holding him down as he thrashed with the intense pleasure.
Qui-Gon felt limp and relaxed, but still his body yearned for the boy. He moaned deeply in his chest, praying that the boy would continue making him feel so...so good.
The youth didn't leave as Qui-Gon feared, but continued his assault on Qui-Gon's senses. Immediately at his touch, Qui-Gon could feel himself hardening, his arousal sharp and almost painful with its intensity. He jerked up into the oily hand as it grasped his erection; only a strong hand on his stomach kept him from arching up off the alter completely.
"Don't fight it, don't force it. Just let it happen," a silky butter-crème voice whispered in his ear, and Qui-Gon lay still, letting the skilled hand do marvelous things to his body.
When the hand started travelling lower, finding and pressing against a sweet spot just below his sac, Qui-Gon started squirming again, suddenly feeling afraid. He had never given this to anyone. His body was quickly starting to tense all over, becoming stiff in the pleasuring hands.
But the slick hand didn't give him time to tense, as it spread the oil over his body's entrance. One finger pressed just right and with a choked grunt, Qui-Gon's body accepted the intruder.
It didn't hurt. In some part of Qui-Gon's brain that could still function correctly, it was noted that it didn't hurt. The rest of his body hummed with shocks of pleasure seeming to originate from that finger, travelling up his spine, and out into the rest of his body. The walls of the Temple shook with Qui-Gon's shouts of encouragement, his begging for more.
And the boy gave him more as another finger slipped inside, stretching the muscle and sending sweet tremors of delight through his body. So close, Qui-Gon was so close to the edge again, but the fingers withdrew before he could completely lose himself in the ecstasy of orgasm again.
"Do you give yourself completely to your God?" the boy's silky voice asked again, seeming to come from all around Qui-Gon, and yet speaking right into his ear.
Something larger than the boy's fingers was pressing against Qui-Gon's entrance, just barely any pressure at all, but undeniably there. Qui-Gon was no longer afraid. He wanted it, so much.
"Yes," Qui-Gon answered. He lifted his knees, opening himself further to the boy, begging for him to enter and fill him. "Yes!" The boy pushed forward and suddenly Qui-Gon was filled completely. He gasped, tears coming to his eyes even as he thrashed under the intense emotions and sensations assaulting his body and mind. But it wasn't painful, not really. It was so beyond pleasure, it was like pain, but it felt so good.
"Open your eyes," the youth commanded, punctuating it with a thrust of his hips.
Qui-Gon resisted, wanting to simply melt into the happy darkness with the pleasure.
The boy's voice came again, this time more demanding, turning every word into a rolling thrust of his cock. "Open. Your. Eyes."
Qui-Gon obeyed, and gasped at what he saw.
The youth was radiant. Not just with the glow of sex, but with an inner light. His skin had a sheen to it that no torchlight could produce. His head was dipped forward, his mouth opened with pleasure as he continued to thrust into Qui-Gon's body. He was beyond beautiful. He was divine.
And even as he watched, feeling his body come closer and closer to that inevitable edge, the youth threw back his head, spreading his arms wide. Behind him, two great white wings rose from his back, unfurling to encompass Qui-Gon's vision, stretching towards the heavens, quivering with the rush of pleasure from his orgasm.
Qui-Gon could feel a thick warmth infuse his body, starting from deep inside him and spreading out to the very tips of his being. His whole body felt as though it were being remade. And then he felt his consciousness slip away, and Qui-Gon was falling. He let himself go, trusting in the God to catch him.
Sleep fell from Qui-Gon slowly, like a lover's last lingering caress. He became aware of his surrounding in pieces. First the light, then the uncomfortable sharpness against his back, and finally the soothingly familiar singing of morning prayers as it dimly echoed off the walls of the Temple.
The Temple?
Qui-Gon sat up, his eyes darting around to take everything in. He was still inside the Temple, sitting atop the alter. The candles burned low; some were being replaced by priests as they gathered and removed the stubs of those that had burnt out. Qui-Gon recognized among the priests that moved about the three youths that had come to him just the day before.
Had it only been a day? He wasn't sure.
The other boy, the oldest one, was no where to be seen.
It was then that the night's events came back to him. Not a boy, then, but the God. One of the youths who was tending the alter approached him, holding out a long red cloak, the cloak of a priest of Eros. His quiet face was smiling kindly, but inside it Qui-Gon could see a satisfied smirk of one who knew what he had been through. Qui-Gon returned the smile in kind, and gently eased himself off the alter. He thought he would be sore, but he felt better than he had in years.
Once he was standing, another priest removed the other cloak
from the alter, spiriting it away. Wrapping himself in his
new garb, Qui-Gon walked over to the wall of devotional
candles and began to anoint the new ones with oil.
THE END