Archive: Master and Apprentice; Kayla's Slash Page;
others--please ask
Pairing: Obi/Qui
Category: PWP, POV, and First Time
Rating: R
Warnings: None
Summary: Whatever Obi wants, Obi gets. . .
Feedback: Greatly appreciated. Feel free to beta =D! But flames
will be used to make s'mores . . .
Disclaimer: These two devastatingly beautiful Force Boyz belong
to George Lucas. Thanks for letting them out to play for a
while. I'll see that they get home in one piece. (If they were
mine, they'd be having a helluva lot more fun. )
You are lecturing me again.
Yet another tutoring session. No matter the time, place or
situation, you are ever the teacher. Ordinarily, good little
Padawan that I am, I would give you all of my consideration,
bracing myself for the inevitable questions. But your lesson
isn't foremost in my contemplation.
I am listening. Somewhat. I hear the words you say. I suppose
that, on some level, they are sinking into me. But the truth is
that it really doesn't matter what you are saying. It could be
anything. Praises, scoldings, blessings, cursings. I stare into
your face, rapt, but not by your little speech.
It's the curve of your lips that has my attention.
Lately, every time I look at you, my eyes are immediately drawn
to your mouth. The camber of your upper lip from bow to corner.
The fullness of your lower lip. The pouting dimple just above
your chin. The slow tease of your crooked smile. The way your
lips open to form words. The way that they purse in
concentration. They way they press together in a thin line when
you are exasperated with me. The way that they look when you
are sleeping; slightly parted, approachable in repose.
How many nights I've wanted to run the tip of my tongue over
those dreaming velvety folds of flesh and unlock the treasure
of your mouth. Would your body rise to the divining rod of that
caress? Tonight I will know. The dance of slow paces is over.
Fingers of longing clutch at my heart and out of habit I
reinforce my shielding.
Almost knowingly, you look at me and I look solidly back at
you, glad for my talent in split concentration. But I don't
care whether you know or not, because I've made up my mind.
Tonight I will give no quarter and accept nothing less than
surrender.
I shrug my cloak closer against the chill air and lift my eyes
to watch the stars wheel above us. What a night! Yes, it is
right that the stars should bear witness. You stand and pace,
turning away from me as the tutorial continues. Yet the
apparition of your lips dances always before my eyes. Lips that
frame the mouth of the most skilled warrior and diplomat of our
Order. Lips whose language of peace has stilled wars; that have
spoken comfort during times of trial; that have borne the hopes
of common people to the seats of power. Lips that train and
admonish. But tonight, an admonition is the last thing I want
to receive from those lips.
I want an affirmation.
I watch intently as you turn back toward me, gesturing to give
the words weight. But the words don't need the endorsement of
your body language. They are the children of your breath,
caressed by those lips at birth, twice blessed. I envy them!
The blaze of the campfire bathes you in golden light, and need
spikes within me. For a moment, I close my eyes.
I want your kiss. . .no, kisses.
I crave the plunder of your mouth.
I am after the breathless 'yes' that will unbolt the door of
your heart and unveil your soul. I want to cover your mouth
with mine and devour your cries and whispers. I covet a lover's
right to watch your lips shape moans of desire and pleas for
release.
And tonight I will ask for. . .no, claim . . .what is
mine.
"Obi-Wan, are you paying attention to me?"
I open my eyes, startled to hear your voice coming from right
next to where I kneel; stunned to feel your arms wind about my
waist, your breath on my neck.
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