Theme and Timbre: Fermata

by RavenD (ravendreams@earthlink.net)

Archive: master_apprentice, anyone else, pls. ask

Author's web page: http://www.ravenswing.com/ravendreams/

Category: PWP

Series: Part of the "Theme and Timbre" Series

Rating: NC-17

Warnings bdsm-esque

Spoilers: none

Summary: Obi-Wan doesn't move.

Notes: Thanks to Mystique, Liz and Velma for the beta. Y'all fix the words that come out broken.

Feedback: Waited for with bated breath.

Disclaimers: Lucas owns it all. I don't have enough money to pay attention.

Fermata - To hold a tone or rest held beyond the written value at the discretion of the performer

I can't decide if I am weeping or sweating. Perhaps it is a mixture of both. This is not an easy lesson. Stripped of my clothes, my illusions, I am unfettered on my knees before you. Blind. Silent.

I feel your heat, smell your body.

I can no longer remember what I have done, what I haven't done. Why have you chosen now for this test, when I was safe and happy?

I know nothing.

All I know is the stern light in your eyes and your voice like iron.

"Obey, Padawan. Control."

I do obey, on my knees before you. I ache in ways I could not have imagined. My balls swing between my spread thighs, the air making them ache. You reach down, give them a hard push, almost a slap, and I swallow hard. I would scream, if I did not know better.

I do know better.

I have never been so hard and my muscles twitch in their stasis. My mouth needs to be filled with your taste. I need my lover, but you have wrapped him within my master.

You left me a note, simple, innocuous. "Strip and kneel before your bed, eyes closed. Do not speak. Do not move." Written on real paper in your heavy script.

For all padawans, the test of obedience is one of pain. I never expected mine would also be one of love, of desire.

I hear you, hear your desire muttering through our bond, taunting me, teasing me. Daring me to move, to come close to you, and then you will touch me. Hold me. Take my aching cock into your hand and let me come. Images dance through my mind, naked flesh writhing. The look upon my face when you thrust into me.

It never stops, this taunting. I have obeyed my master. I have not moved.

Not when I felt your touch, soft and gentle upon my hip.

Not when I felt the first tears drip from my face.

Not when I felt the hot splash of your seed upon my neck and chest.

I have not moved.

I feel your lips upon my face, your mustache brushing against my hot cheeks. I have not seen the light for hours, have not moved, have not heard a thing but your voice growling soft commands.

"You are so brave, Padawan. So beautiful."

This is the worst of all, your warmth, your love pouring over me. I long to bury myself within your arms, feel your hands knead my raw muscles. Rub my aching cock against your skin.

You lick your own seed off my chest. Your hands move upon me and you promise me warmth and home.

Obedience is not an easy lesson.

You catch my nipple between your teeth, bite down, and move away. I am chilled, within and without, until your pride rolls over me. The pride I engender in you, is now, as always, my touchstone. This joy belongs solely to me, succeed or fail.

I grab hold of that warmth and sink further into myself as you begin to test me anew.

I will not move.

The End